Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) (7 page)

Brogan nodded. “That’s rough,” he said. He thought about his own wife and daughter he would never see again, no matter where he chose to live. “At least you can hold your head up. Sounds like you did the best you could for your family. Sometimes things just don’t work out.”

“Guess so.” Staunton had a glum expression on his face. “It’s left me pretty short on dough. Going to have to move fast when I get to Winter’s Edge.”

“Don’t worry, Dan. You’ll make it, I can tell,” Brogan said. He meant it too. Staunton was tough. He had what it took to be an Outzoner.

Staunton cheered up a little at Brogan’s words. “Thanks, buddy, you too. This place ain’t for wimps, that’s for sure.”

Underneath his coat, Brogan had strapped on his tactical belt. He snapped a magazine into both Glocks, then slid them into the holsters on either side of his belt and pulled down the Velcro straps. After he’d double-checked his rifle, scope, ammunition, and other accessories, he put them back into their hard plastic case and kicked the ripped cardboard packaging under his seat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the guards by the gate talk into his chin mic, then stride quickly over to a red control box attached to the wall by the entranceway. Opening it up, he punched in a code on the keypad inside.

Moments later, the gate began to slide open. After a few feet, it stopped and the second guard slipped out through the gap, the gate closing behind him again.

“What the hell’s going on?” Staunton asked.

“I’m guessing the bus has arrived and they’re doing an on-board security check first before letting it in.” Brogan smiled briefly. “Just to make sure there’s not a bunch of crazed bandits inside it.”

A few minutes later, the gate opened again and the guard came back inside and scurried over to his companion. This time the security gate slid across until it had fully opened.

Staunton whistled. “Oh man, well ain’t that something.”

Parked outside the entrance was what was known in the Outzone as a “technical”—an open-backed pickup truck with a tripod-mounted machine gun attached to the load bed. A gunner stood leaning over it, one hand draped lazily over the mount. Directly behind the pickup was an old school bus that had been painted dark green. That would be their ride into the city.

The pickup gunned its engine, then drove in through the gates. With a hiss of its brakes, the bus followed it into the enclosure, and in a sweeping move pulled up alongside the edge of the shelter, close to where Brogan and Staunton stood watching.

Behind the bus was a second technical. It had started its engine too, and entered the enclosure.

The gate began to close again, and Brogan stared at the bus. Bolted onto its sides were large sheets of two-inch steel, and welded across all the windows were thick iron grills. He spotted several dents around the vehicle, some of them large, where it looked like it had come under fire.

A big grin came over Staunton’s face. “What the hell, Frank? Looks like we’re riding into the Outzone in a goddamned armadillo.”

“And one that’s been shot up a few times too, by the looks of it,” Brogan replied, still staring at the bus closely.

The driver had switched off the engine, though he remained in his seat. Another man stood up and came down the steps to the door. Brogan heard the sound of heavy bolts being pulled back, and a moment later the door swung open.

“Jeez, that heap’s got plenty of security, but no automatic doors,” Staunton muttered under his breath.

“No frills in the Outzone,
amigo
,” Brogan replied. “Security is all that counts here.”

The man stepped out of the bus and onto the curb while a group began to congregate around him. He was in his early forties, about five-ten, and heavily built. He scanned the group with a stern gaze, accentuated by a set of thick black eyebrows that met at the middle of his forehead. In his waist holster he had some type of service revolver, and strapped across his shoulder was an old pre-century Kalashnikov rifle. After a few moments, he waved toward one of the guards.

The senior guard, the one Brogan had spoken to earlier, strolled across, pushing his way through the crowd until he made it to the front of the bus. Turning to face them, he held up both hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Listen up, everybody,” he called out. “I’ve got three things to tell you. I won’t be repeating them neither, so listen good. First, this here bus is the one and only transportation coming today. Once it leaves the terminal, anybody left behind will be escorted out the gates. Said gates will then be shut, never to open again, no matter what the circumstances.”

The guard motioned toward the man standing next to him. “Second, as your conductor will explain to you, making your own way to Winter’s Edge is a bad move, as in probably your last. Don’t even think about it. Finally, three, in case you didn’t read the small print of the papers you signed when you pleaded to be let out of here, once you leave, the State is finished with your sorry asses, as in forever. Don’t even think about coming back. It ain’t going to happen.”

“Four—
as in
you’re a fucking douchebag,” Staunton growled, standing beside Brogan. “Like nobody knew that.”

The guard turned to the conductor. “It’s all yours,” he said. He stood back a couple of feet and folded his arms.

There was a moment’s pause, then the conductor spoke out in a gruff but clear voice.

“People, the bus will be leaving in fifteen minutes. Passengers on board will be taken to the Outzone’s main city known by all as Winter’s Edge. It’s a twenty minute non-stop journey straight to the city center…or at least you better hope it’s non-stop.” The conductor allowed a small smile to play on his lips. “Anyone trying to hitch a ride along the way will be considered hostile and dealt with accordingly.”

He drew his breath before continuing, gazing around at the crowd listening to him attentively.

“People who want to find some other way to the city are free to do so. Every week there’s a brand new fool who thinks they can make it out of here on their own. What you need to know is, ever since the State closed the border six months ago, there’s been no one outside these gates except a bunch of cutthroat bandits. If you don’t believe me…well, that’s your—”

“Cut to the chase, mister,” a tall man said in a loud voice, his head sticking out above the rest of the crowd. Brogan recognized him as the man who had stood at the head of the line with his wife and daughter inside the terminal building earlier. “How much are you charging to take us there?”

The conductor stared at him without any change of expression on his face. “To board this bus, every person regardless of age needs to purchase a ticket. No exceptions. Cost of each ticket is one half-ounce of gold, or ten ounces of silver. No other currencies accepted.”

A rumble of discontent rippled through the crowd.

“For a lousy twenty minute journey?” a voice shouted out. “That’s daylight robbery!”

The conductor stared at the man grimly. He indicated back toward the entrance. “
Amigo
, daylight robbery is what awaits you out there if you try to make it on your own.”

“Bullshit!” It was the tall man again. He looked around to either side of him. “Listen to me everybody, this is a setup.” He jabbed a finger at the guard. “He’s in on it too. They’re all looking to fleece us. You really think the State cares if these guys make a few extra bucks out of us on the side? They don’t give a damn.”

A murmur of assent ran through the crowd. The guard shook his head, but kept quiet. Brogan could tell he’d given up caring what people thought a long time ago.

However, the conductor had skin in the game. He wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

“Don’t be fools!” he shouted. “Did no one here bother to do their homework?” He gestured to the two technicals parked in the yard. “You really think my outfit drove all the way here just for show? Make no mistake about it, this run into the city ain’t no cake walk.”

The tall man pushed his way through the crowd. He stepped up beside the conductor and raised both his arms. “Listen, everyone, it’s an hour’s march to the city’s southern perimeter. On flat ground too. If five or six of us armed with rifles band together, we can make it easy. We’re going to need every penny we’ve saved for our new lives in the Outzone. Don’t give it to these hustlers.” He gazed keenly around the crowd. “Which of you are with me?”

A couple of men raised their hands. The tall man ushered them over to him and the two stepped to the front of the bus and stood beside him. Moments later another one joined them.

“That makes four of us.” The tall man gazed around looking for more volunteers. “Come on,” he urged. “Who else here’s got some balls?”

A moment later, another man wearing a light tan jacket raised his hand. His wife standing beside him clutched his arm and looked up at him apprehensively. The man put his arm around her for a moment, saying something to reassure her. Then picking up their suitcases, the couple joined the group.

Brogan and Staunton stood several feet away from the crowd. Neither of them had budged. The leader of the newly-formed group caught Brogan’s eye and strode over to him. As he got closer, Brogan saw he was about six five, a couple of inches taller than himself.

The man gazed sternly at the two of them. “How about you two?” he said. “You with us or not?”

Staunton looked at Brogan uncertainly. “What you think, Frank?”

Brogan shook his head. “Don’t do it,” he said to the man. “There’s bandits out there, heavily armed and mobile. Right now, they’re just licking their lips waiting for you.”

The man’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “How do you know that?” he said. “You falling for their bullshit, or you just a chickenshit coward?”

“Neither. I have it from a reliable source. Someone who knows the score. Maybe you’ll get lucky and make it through. Odds say you won’t.”

The man snorted in disgust and turned away. Brogan reached out and grabbed him by the arm. “Seriously, friend, think of your wife and daughter. You really going to put their lives at risk?”

The man wheeled around. He took a step forward, and looked like he was about to punch Brogan. Staunton quickly stepped in between the two of them.

“Easy there, fellah,” he said. “My friend’s only trying to help. Do what you gotta do. No need to take it the wrong way.”

The man glared one more time at Brogan, then turned away and strode over to join his group who had opened their gun cases again, checking their pistols and loading magazines into their rifles.

“You sure about this, Frank?” Staunton asked. “I’d hate to be paying this kind of money for no good reason.”

“I know for sure it’s not worth taking the chance,” Brogan replied, staring across at the man’s wife and daughter. Both looked nervous, glancing back at the other passengers waiting to board the bus. The girl appeared no more than seventeen years old. He gritted his teeth, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Damn fool’s going to get his family killed,” he muttered.

The group were ready. They had their rifles loaded, pistols hanging by their waists, some with their spare magazines slotted into weapons pouches on their belts, others stuffing them into the pockets of their coats. It had been seven years since the end of the Great Global War, five since the end of the Secessionist Wars. Judging by their ages and how they handled their weapons, all the men had seen action. Perhaps they might make it. For the sake of the women, Brogan sincerely hoped so.

The tall man strode over to the guards standing by the gate, talking to them and making animated gestures. Brogan caught the gist of the conversation. He wanted the group to be allowed to leave now. Why should they have to wait for the bus?

He had to admire the man’s tenacity.

After arguing for a couple of minutes, he got his wish. The guard shouted up to the watchtower, then went over to the control box, and moments later the gate opened a couple of feet and the group of six armed men and three women picked up their belongings and filed out through the gate, one at a time. When the last one had left, the gate closed again.

Staunton looked across at Brogan. “Well, you did your best,” he said. “What happens to them now is their business.”

They had started letting people on the bus. Brogan reached down, grabbed his pack and hauled it onto one shoulder. Then, picking up his rifle case, he said to Staunton, “Come on, Dan. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Brogan was last man to board the bus. Fishing out two quarter-ounce gold coins from his pocket, he handed them to the conductor. The conductor examined them carefully, then dropped the coins into a plastic money pouch strapped to his waist. He tapped Brogan’s rifle case with his finger.

“Keep your rifle in the case. If we run into any trouble, I’ll let you know.”

Brogan nodded, then climbed up the steps of the bus. Staunton had taken a seat halfway up the aisle, and he took the seat opposite him. There was plenty of room inside, seeing as how a large contingent of departees had declined to join them.

He lifted up his backpack and put it in the overhead luggage rack, followed by his rifle case. He couldn’t help noticing how the racks had been refitted, positioned lower down from the roof so that they allowed for more storage space. He had to duck his head to sit down, and squeezed his large frame into his seat. Apparently no one in the Outzone used the bus’s underneath luggage compartment, preferring to keep their possessions within easy reach.

The conductor slammed the door shut and slid the bolts across. From his window, Brogan saw the yard gate roll open. The driver started the engine, tugged hard at the wheel, and the bus turned around. Ahead of them, the lead technical cleared the gates. Moments later, the bus passed through them too.

“Well,
amigo
,” Brogan said to Staunton as they left the enclosure behind them and the bus began to pick up speed, “welcome to our new lives in the Outzone, however long that lasts.”

Across the aisle, Staunton grinned and raised a hand in a mock toast. “Same to you, buddy. Here’s to a brand new adventure.”