Blighted Land: Book two of the Northumbrian Western Series (Northumbrian Westerns 2) (16 page)

Casper grunted at this. That was true. Nico had put some time into building up his arsenal. He’d soon pulled out that rocket-launcher the other day. God knows what else he had. If he was still around.

‘And what happens when we get there?’ I said.

Casper looked at Becky then she spoke, her face a pattern of rippling shadows from the fire. ‘We make contact, show we’re decent people…’ She went into her bag and pulled out a glass bottle. Easing the stopper out she drank from it before wiping her mouth on her sleeve. ‘Then we’ll neutralise Eblis, dump it somewhere out of the way.’

‘I see.’

She offered me the bottle. It was vodka of some type. Rough and strong. After a drink I made a joint from some grass I’d brought in my bag. The woods were quiet and the fire had died down to several logs. I lit the spliff, drew on it then passed it on to them. We smoked in silence for a few minutes.

I felt ready to probe them a little more. ‘Where did you get the tank from?’
 

They looked at one another, said nothing for a moment. There was a scuffling noise from a tree behind us, then silence.

‘It was in storage,’ said Becky. Casper nodded and she continued. ‘An old army base near Birmingham. Hidden in a bunker behind a warehouse. We noticed a ventilation shaft to it. Took some getting out. At least the manuals were hidden nearby otherwise we’d never have got in.’
 

Casper picked a twig up and threw it into the fire. It landed on the bright embers and flared up. Burnt away to nothing. Becky didn’t seem keen to say any more.

For a moment we sat without speaking.
 

Then I stood up. ‘I’ll get some more wood.’

‘Thanks,’ said Becky.
 

I stepped away from the fire and wandered off into the shadows. Gathering up branches I moved further away, watching them. They were leant forward, heads close together. All that stuff about Arcadia sounded half-baked. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t worked a route out. They were up to something but it was hard to say what. I’d play along for the ride but keep my wits about me. Watch my back.

I picked up sticks and returned to the fire.
 

When I got back they were rolling their bedding out.

‘Early start,’ said Becky.

‘Yeah,’ I said, chucking the logs onto the fire. They hissed as the damp steamed out. Casper straightened his sleeping bag, sat on it and stared at the burning wood.

I set out mine, thinking of the times I’d done this before. Travelling with others: Jamie and Lawson. People I’d trusted.
 

Becky said good night and Casper muttered something, both of them slipping into their bedding, turned away from me. I sat by the fire, as it spluttered and flared up.
 

Then I lay down, stared into the clear sky at the stars. As shadows flickered across the clearing I drifted off to sleep.

W
HEN
I
AWOKE
B
ECKY
was next to my bag. She saw me and moved over to the fire and stacked it up with logs. There was a pan of water at her side. ‘Sleep well?’ she said.

‘Fine,’ I said, though I’d slept shallow for most of it, dreaming of movement in the woods as the fire cracked and popped into the early hours.
 

I slid out of my sleeping bag and stretched. There was thin cloud and the trees cast soft shadows across the clearing. ‘Where’s Casper?’ His sleeping bag was folded but there was no sign of him.
 

‘He’s gone off to get some drier wood.’ She arranged twigs in the white-edged embers. ‘Look, Trent, he’s not at his best…He’s had a rough few weeks with the journey here and Round Up.’

‘I know.’ I knew he’d been kicked around. I knew that I didn’t trust him.

The twigs caught fire and flared up so she added several larger sticks which she snapped first. I knelt beside her and helped. She smelled of wood smoke and dandelion tea. We added sticks for some time, breaking and dropping them onto the growing pile.
 

She stopped and put her hand on mine. ‘Trent...’

‘Yes?’

She turned towards me, her eyes soft. Then she kissed me, straight on the lips but with her mouth tight, eyes open.

Pulling away she gripped my hand. ‘Casper can get very protective, so…’

‘So?’
 

She slid her hand free, stood and snapped a branch over her knee, keeping me in her gaze. I helped her set up the fire but didn’t say anything else.
 

Casper joined us carrying a pile of dry wood. We made small talk about the weather and how we’d slept. Nothing about Round-Up or leaving town. We stacked the fire before warming tinned sausage and boiling water for tea. As we ate and drank Becky checked the map and Casper stared off into the woods. He’d not said more than a dozen words since we’d left town. Part of it must have been what had happened to him. Being locked in that room alone for days wouldn’t have been much fun with Nico dropping in to administer punishment now and then. Gregg keeping him awake all night. Me quizzing him.
 

When Becky went off to the Eblis, Casper started packing his bag. I approached him. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Doing?’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’ He carried on stuffing his ripped sleeping bags into the rucksack.
 

‘I know what Nico and Gregg can be like.’

Looking up at me he exhaled slowly. For a moment he didn’t move. We were eye to eye. Then he inhaled and carried on packing the bag. ‘Yeah, well, I’m out of there.’

When he didn’t say any more I stashed my own gear.
 

Becky came back and packed her stuff, saying how it looked like a nice day and we’d picked a good spot to stop. Chit-chat that I gave short answers to. And Casper ignored. Once everything was away they laid out the map. Becky suggested routes, all back roads, adding to the distance and limiting the speed we could go, but she had a point. If anyone from Round Up had survived they would be in the town’s fastest machines: the Jag and Audi A6. Nico’s Range Rover. They’d have commandeered every drop of bio-eth available and be out racing after us. The Eblis was better armed but they could dig up a few nasty weapons. There was a chance that Casper had blown some of them to pieces but the weapons were stored at the far end of Round Up Central, where the walls were thickest.

The planned route looked easy enough. There was no easy way through the Lowlands so Becky suggested we skirt Edinburgh. Seemed as good a choice as any. Maybe I’d jump off after that. See what the southern end of the Highlands had to offer. I’d not been up there for since The Collapse.
 

‘Should we head off?’ said Becky.

‘Suits me,’ I said.

Casper just grabbed up his bag and went to the tank.

I wheeled the bike alongside. We’d not talked about fuel stops. Casper and Becky slid their bags into the tank.

‘Where are we going to get juice?’ I said.

‘Juice?’ said Casper.

‘Fuel.’

He laughed but Becky gave me a serious look. ‘We don’t need to refuel,’ she said. ‘Didn’t Round Up tell you?’

‘Seems not.’
 

She patted the vehicle on the back, near the air vents. ‘This was a prototype, the last gasp of the old world.’

‘It’ll never need refuelling,’ said Casper. ‘You’re standing next one of the few nuclear powered tanks.’
 

‘Right.’ I nodded and smiled at this. Tried to seem impressed. For me nuclear meant weapons, or the sludge that lay across the west coast. It wasn’t something to trust or feel safe with. Becky and Casper loaded up and chatted about some setting they had to adjust. Something technical.

I stared at the back end of the Eblis, where the reactor had to be. It had lasted for decades. Survived all kinds of military tests, as well as what it went through in Faeston, so it was unlikely to just blow. That was what I told myself. But still there was some doubt about it.

Becky gave me a wave and shut the hatch.
 

I started the Scrambler. The valves chattered in the cold engine and I revved it up. As the Eblis whirred off I followed after it. Along the rough track through the trees.

When we joined the road, the Eblis shot off but it was too twisty a route for it to pick up much pace. We joined the B road and swung off to the right.
 

I kept an eye on my mirrors for Nico and co. Watched every movement, waiting to see when they appeared.

We bounced around for a couple of hours, the road hemmed in by thick woods, a light mist hanging over the trees. Midmorning we passed a carved stone at the roadside.
Welcome to Scotland
it said but it was adorned with animal skulls and bones. Spattered with dried mud and pitched at an angle where someone had tried to tip it over. We were in the northern reaches of the Border Forest now, the old plantations merged and spread out. Birch and pine trees had taken over, the ones that were fine with the unreliable weather. It all looked pretty on a sunny day but there were some nasty places round here. Rough villages where the locals had gone feral and killed their neighbour. Stuck them in a stew. I’d seen some of them first hand and didn’t want to again. So normally this was somewhere I’d avoid but normally I wasn’t travelling with an armoured vehicle.

There was no sign of anyone behind, in front of or to the side of us as we made our way along the track, the Scrambler’s motor blatting out. It was actually good to be on the road. It felt natural after all those years I’d spent in the wilds.
 

The Eblis swung off to the east. We cleared the trees in a few miles and came out onto moorland dotted with saplings and smaller patches of woods.
 

As we dipped into a valley we past a sign for a town. The original name had been crossed out, scraped off the metal and Pleasure Town painted in uneven lettering. I knew of the place but had steered clear in the past: it was too near the Border Forest. It had a reputation for being lively. Living up to its name.
 

As we came round a bend several high-pitched thuds came from undergrowth and pinged off the front of Eblis.
 

Gun fire. Someone was firing at us.

The tank stopped and I hauled the Scrambler up at the far side of it, sheltered from any further shooting. There were no more shots so I stuck my head up over the bulkhead. At the far side of the road there was a patch of stunted sycamores. Several of the branches moved and there were voices. A glimpse of an arm holding a rifle that lined up on the tank.
 

I ducked back down and there were several more shots. Silence. When I looked up this time something flew into the air, hard surfaced with a flame licking out of it. It sailed over towards us and thudded against the tank with a smash of glass and the smell of methylated spirt. The liquid caught light with a woof and flames rolled across the flank of the vehicle. The meths dripped into the vents at the rear end.

Then there was a rattle from the turret, several shots followed by a few more. They rippled through the undergrowth and one man staggered out and fell forward. Another cried out.
 

The gun stopped and there was no sound. Just the hiss of the burning meths.
 

Suddenly a figure burst from the trees. He had another Molotov Cocktail in his hand but before he could throw it the tank’s machine gun clattered again. He jerked up and flopped forward. Landed flat on the road where the bottle smashed and its contents flowed out.
 

He lay still in the pool of fire.
 

The tank’s turret popped open and Casper looked out. ‘You hit?’

‘No. I’m fine.’

He twisted round to look at the fellas he’d shot. ‘Morons, eh?’
 

‘Think we should move him?’ I pointed to the man in the road. The flames had now worked their way onto his coat which crackled as it burned. The road off to his right was ablaze as well.

‘You kidding?’ He looked round at the rear end of the tank. The fire had died down and left sooty marks across metal. He watched them the last few flames fade then he grunted and slid back in.
 

Clicks and whirrs came from the Eblis. A few seconds later it moved off. The tracks clattered as it picked up speed down the road. I was about to start the Scrambler but instead stepped off and went over to the burning body. I grabbed the arm that wasn’t alight then flipped him over and stamped out the flames on the road.
 

He lay smoking on the singed tarmac, a smallish fella in scruffy coat and threadbare trousers. I grasped his boots and hauled him over to the verge. He slid on his chest and face, arms stretched out and I pulled him in as far as he would go then got hold of his shoulders and rolled him into the bushes. The other two lay splayed further into the undergrowth. There was a pile of weapons beside them: assault rifles, shotguns and more Molotov Cocktails. They were probably the lookouts for the town. They townsfolk would eventually figure out they’d lost some people and get all jumpy. If we were stopping off we’d have to make it a short one.