Refugees from the Righteous Horde (Toxic World Book 2) (18 page)

“Damn,” Jackson said. “You’re right about him being crazy, but all that toxic waste is someone’s fault. It got there because of the greed of the ruling class. In the Old Times they kept pollutin
g the earth to make money and—”

“Blame
,” Annette said from the front.

“But you know—”

“Blame,” Annette cut him off again. “Just because you’ve already been branded and somehow made deputy doesn’t mean you get to Blame.”

Jackson shook his head and looked out the window. For a minute no one spoke. Jeb broke the silence. “As I w
as saying, there’s a big rivalry between the Elect and the bodyguard. The bodyguards believe in the shit he’s spouting. The Elect are just tagging along for the loot and women. If things get too bad the Elect will desert if they can.”

“Then our problem may a
lready be solved,” Nguyen said.

Jeb shook his head. “It won’t be that easy.
Some of the Elect will stick. They’re scared. Besides, where are they going to go? They’ve burned all their bridges. And even if The Pure One loses most of his army he can build one again. He may be crazy but he’s a hell of an organizer and he can whip up a speech like you never heard.”

“Bet you bought everything he said,” Christina grumbled. The barrel of her pist
ol was still stuck in his ribs, which gave him a much different feeling than the warmth of her thigh pressed against his in the crowded back seat.

“I never
bought a word of that bullshit, though some of the machete men and even some of the porters did. That’s how good he was. You don’t understand because you got it easy in New City. But if you’re stuck out in the wildlands with all your family and friends gone, your settlement burned down, and nothing in your future but starvation, you’ll grab onto anything. Yeah, you got it easy.”

Although
Christina looked away, her pistol didn’t stray from his side. Jeb went on. “You got a crime against blaming anyone for the fall of civilization, but out in the wildlands and the farms people talk about that shit all the time. Everyone’s got their own idea of whose fault it was.”

“And that’s why it’s illegal,” Rachel said as she swerved around a rock. “If everyone starts Blaming, pretty soon everyone starts arguing. Then it won’t be long before some group o
r other becomes the scapegoat.”

Jeb thought for a moment. “Yeah, I can see that. In the smaller settlements people usually
all agree whose fault it was, or at least the people who don’t shut the hell up. In a big place like New City you’d have all kinds of ideas and that could lead to trouble. The thing is, though, you keep people bottled up like that and sooner or later they’ll bust out.”

“They’ve never bust
ed out before,” Christina said.

Jeb glanced at Jackson.
The deputy’s face was turned out the window.

“Don’t be so sure,” Jeb said. “You’ve kept together because you’ve had to fight the Righteous Horde and probably a bunch of bandit groups before that, but if people don’t get to speak,
they get antsy. Cause trouble.”

“We know how to deal with troublemakers,” Christina said, follow
ing Jeb’s look towards Jackson.

“With the Righteous Horde they were able to keep everyone in line by shooting anyone who said anything wrong. That worked for a time but as soon as things got bad the machete men. . .me a
nd the rest. . .rebelled.”

“The scouts say there’s still infighting,” Annette said. “Shoo
tings in the camp every night.”

Jeb nodded. “I bet. Probably been a couple more coup attempts since they retreated, and there’ll be plenty of executions. It’s going to be a lot smaller group
than the one you tangled with.”

Soon they were heading up the first foothills to the mountains. The road from the Old
Times was cracked and crumbly from years of weathering, so Rachel kept the vehicle to the side, which Jeb noticed had been cleared of trees and bushes and large stones. Obviously the farmers out here were doing their part to keep New City connected with the outlying settlements.

How far into the mountains did those settlements reach? He wondered.
One of the guards had mentioned that more and more people came to stay every year. Would New City keep expanding, becoming something like the old city-states Dad used to talk about?

He’d ditched his old bandit group and joined the Righteous Horde because he thought it would be the winning side, and with it swe
eping the wildlands it seemed for a while that it would. But then they’d come to New City, which looked like a piece of the Old Times, and they’d been defeated. He was glad. The Pure One and his true believers were a sour leftover of the old wars, the worst of the Old Times. New City offered some of the best—community, medicine, safety, law. Sure, they weren’t perfect, but they were a hell of a lot closer to perfect than anything he’d seen since he was a kid living on the farmstead. And it had proven to be strong too, pushing back the biggest force anyone had seen in decades.

New City was the future, and he wanted to be part of it.

But the deal had already been made. He had to risk his neck tracking down the Righteous Horde so Annette could take a shot with that cool gun of hers, and all he’d get in return was a thank you and a bit of gear. Bad trade. He needed to think of some more options.

Option 1: Bug out the first chance you get. You’ll keep the gear and avoid the fight with the Righteous Horde. Christina didn’t look like she’d lower her guard, though, and the others probably wouldn’t either. Plus that cut out any possibility of getting back to New City.

Option 2: Turn them into The Pure One. Tricky, and you might not get the chance. Would make you one of the bodyguards, though. Something to think about.

Option 3: Pull another trick to make you look like the hero, like you did with Leonard. That might get you back to New City.

Sounds like the best option. How to pull it off?

Jeb peered out the front window and saw the mountains looming closer. New City was now far behind, and soon the furthest farm would be left behind too. They were entering the wildlands, and he knew from long, bitter experience that anything could happen in the wildlands.

Jeb turned and peered out the back window, ignoring Christina’s pistol as it jabbed into his side.

This won’t be the last time you travel this road, buddy, I promise you that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Susanna cursed herself for her pride. The corn cake had staved off her exhaustion for only a couple of miles
before a weary ache dug its nails into her bones. The Giver had offered a whole bag of food and she had refused it.

Temptation to turn back and find him nagged at her. She shook that feeling away as unworthy and continued south.

The clouds were gathering again, bringing with them the stench of a toxic downpour. She hastened her pace, hoping beyond all reason to make it to New City before it started raining again.

Half a mile later those ho
pes were dashed. A sheeting rain soaked her through within minutes. Susanna choked on its acrid, rotting odor.

She wrapped the dripping blanket around her he
ad and shoulders and kept moving forward. There was no shelter here and in any case she was done with hiding. She needed to get to New City and make a deal. She needed to set a few things right. Derren was going to pay. Abe was going to pay. Oh, how she’d love to make them all pay!

Her rage kept her going
. She’d survived the Righteous Horde, survived captivity in Weissberg, a little rain wasn’t going to stop her. She stumbled, she slipped, she gagged at the smell of the tainted water, but she kept going.

The rain let up after a ti
me, only to sweep across the desolate land once again.

Bent toward the wind,
Susanna wondered about the man who called himself The Giver. He hadn’t preached to her or babbled about some great revelation like so many of the self-styled holy men of the wildlands. Instead all he had asked was for her to deliver a message to his daughter in New City, a message he scrawled on a paper with the nub of an old pencil.

Susanna had looked
over his shoulder. If she was going to deliver a message she wanted to know what it was. The Giver didn’t try to hide what he wrote. There was no need. It was gibberish, clusters of letters that made no sense.

A code. Why would he be sending a
code to his daughter? Was this just the insane ramblings of some loner? Perhaps there wasn’t a daughter at all.

B
ut he didn’t seem insane. Susanna had seen enough madness in her time to tell. Some of the faithful in the Righteous Horde had been insane, not just cattle like Eduardo but completely disconnected, truly believing that slaughtering tweakers and sick people would make God forgive the world its sins.

As if God cared.

No, The Giver was driven, not crazy. He had the same burning, calculating eyes as The Pure One. She suspected The Doctor would look the same way. Anyone who gave up their name for a title usually did.

So what was this scavenger after? When he spoke of New City he spoke of it with loving disapproval, like a father speaking of his successful yet wayward son. Susanna got the impression that he and this girl of his were cooking up something.

None of her business. She’d deliver the letter in exchange for that corn cake. It was a fair trade. He’d thrown in something else too, a little box that he called a crystal radio. It picked up Radio Hope without requiring any batteries. She’d love to listen to it now. Those broadcasts had always comforted her. Just the thought that a station existed out here in the wildlands somewhere, broadcasting information everyone needed and asking for nothing in return, helped her keep a bit of faith in humanity.

But the
squall coming in off the sea made her afraid of getting it wet, so it remained wrapped in a cloth in an inside pocket, where she hoped it would stay dry enough to make it to New City. There she could trade it for a couple of meals. The thought that she’d never get to listen to it saddened her. She missed Radio Hope.

Susanna kept to a straight path, on
ly shifting to avoid large ruins and once a heap of rusted barrels that gave off a poisonous smell she whiffed half a mile off despite the rain. Any time she had to go off course she tried to head windward, the direction of the sea. New City lay on the coast, and while hugging the meandering shoreline would double the distance she needed to walk, she needed to keep close to it in order not to pass the city without seeing it. If she got lost, she’d never have the strength to make it.

Her mind was a blank. Anything not directly in front of her faded. Strange black shapes flitted at the edges of her vision.

The rain came in waves. At times it would let up and even a bit of blue would peek through the looming gray, then another band of black clouds would sweep overhead, bringing with it another foul downpour. She leaned into it and took it head on.

Susanna stumbled, then stumbled again. After a time she was more stumbling than walking. Her eyelids drooped and odd thoughts and fragments of dreams sparked in her mind. Reality and fantasy mingled, and when she saw the vague shapes of buildings and tents in the distance at first she didn’t think they were real.

She stumbled on, and the forms blurred by rain solidified into tents and corrugated shacks and a few cabins.

As she passed into the outskirts of the settlement, Susanna didn’t even slow down. The Doctor would be further in, past the gate. That’s where she needed to go.

The path between the shelters was abandoned. Alone she walked through the city that she had seen once before as the rearguard of a conquering army.

A blurred face at a rain-streaked window. A shout. She kept moving. Three figures in waterproof capes made from old tarpaulins hurried up to her. Two men and one woman.

“What are you doing?” one of the men asked.

Susanna kept walking.

“Hey! What’s the matter with you?” the other man said.

“It’s one of the porters,” the woman said.

“Oh great, another one!” the first man said.

“Hey,” the woman said, putting a hand on Susanna’s arm.

Susanna yanked her arm away and kept walking. The trio walked beside her.

“Relax, we won’t hurt you,” the woman said.

“She’s nuts.”

“No, she’s half dead.”

“Leave her for the guards.”

“She’ll die if she stays out here too much longer. Come on, honey, we won’t hurt you.”

One of the men put a hand on Susanna’s arm. She yanked it away again, slipped, and fell into a puddle.

“OK, OK, let us help you.”

Hands lifted her up. Susanna was too weak to resist. The fall had knocked the last of her energy out of her.

“Bring her inside.”

“I’ll get Frank.”

One of the men ran off while the other two led her into the cabin. Through hazy vision Susanna saw a tiny interior with a few bits of rough, homemade furniture—a double bed along one wall, a small table, a shelf with a couple of cans, and two chairs set in front of a crackling hearth. They sat her down in one of the chairs.

The woman smiled at her.

“I’m Francine. Here, let me help you get those wet clothes off. I’ll give you a blanket. Don’t worry about James, he’s gay. James, could you reheat the soup?”

The man took a pot from the bricks on the edge of the hearth and set it on the grill in the flames.

Susanna let herself be undressed. James kept his back turned while the woman dried her with a blanket, turned it over so the damp side was out, and wrapped her in it. Then she busied herself hanging up Susanna’s wet clothes.

“I need to see The Doctor,” Susanna murmured.

“Glad to hear you can talk,” James said, smiling as he handed her a steaming bowl of soup. “I’m sure Doc will take a look at you. What you need now though is to get warm and fed.”

Susanna took the bowl in her hands. Warmth seeped into her fingers and she inhaled the sweet smell of cooked vegetables.

Francine was putting up the last of her clothes. She reached into an inside pocket and pulled out the letter and the crystal radio.

“Put that away,” Susanna said.

Francine turned to her and smiled. “I’m not going to steal your radio. We have one too.”

“No, I mean the letter.”

Francine looked at the damp, folded paper. She shrugged and put it back in the pocket, turning the shirt so that the pocket faced the fire.

For a while no one talked and the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the rain hitting the tin roof. Susanna sipped her soup, her mind a blank. The world darkened.

Hands grabbing her snapped her awake. She was being carried to the bed.

“She needs to sleep,” Francine said.

“Let’s tuck you in, hon.”

She felt herself being laid out and covered with blankets. Within an instant she was unconscious.

Sometime later, voices woke her. Rain still pattered on the roof of the cabin but it had slackened off from the hammering that she had heard when she had first entered.

The residents—what were their names again?—were sitting by the fire talking to a burly, black-haired man who was still dripping after coming in from the outdoors.

“Look, she’s awake,” the woman said.

The burly man turned to her.

“I’m Frank Edgerton, deputy sheriff here in the Burbs. What’s your name?”

“Susanna,” she replied in a hoarse voice. “I need to see The Doctor.”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I have something to tell him.”

“I’ll tell him,” Frank said.

Susanna shook her head.

“She’s really out of it,” the man said. James was his name. Susanna remembered now.

“Are you alone?” Frank asked.

Susanna nodded.

“We’ll let you rest here until the rain lets up. Let you regain your strength a little. After that we’ll take you to where we’re holding the rest of the porters.”

“I need to see The Doctor,” Susanna rasped.

“I’m sure he’ll see you soon.”

“No, now.”

Frank cocked his head.

“He’ll see you when he sees you. Relax already.” Frank turned to the others. “I’ll come back in a couple of hours if you’re OK with that.”

“We’ll be fine,” Francine said.

“It’s not like she’s much of a threat in this state,” Frank said.

“I’m not a threat,” Susanna whispered. “I’m no threat to anybody. I’m ugly and stupid. Ignore me.”

They gave her quizzical looks. Frank shrugged and headed out the door.

“Could I have my radio?” Susanna asked when he was gone.

“Sure, you rest now,” Francine said, handing her the little box and earphone.

Susanna had never seen a crystal radio before and didn’t know how it could work without batteries, but it looked simple enough to use. She stuck the earphone in her ear and turned the one knob. A soft voice spoke in her ear.

“. . .and you’ll have a safe, warm shelter that will last you through winter. Coming up next on Radio Hope, we have another in our continuing series on filtering out toxins from your food and water supply. . .”

Susanna lay back and closed her eyes. Sleep beckoned her. The Doctor could wait a few hours. She let the calm, reassuring voice from somewhere out in the wildlands lull her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Far too soon, she was awoken again. Frank stood above her, shaking her shoulder. Her earphone was still in her ear.

“. . .to forge iron, you’ll need temperatures in excess of. . .”

She pulled out the earphone so she could hear what Frank was saying.

“Time to go now. The rain has stopped. It will be dark soon and I want to get you settled before then.”

Susanna sat up, feeling like she was made of bricks. A few hours of sleep had taken away the numbness of her long march, replacing it with a deep weariness that made every move an agony. Slowly she got dressed and, waving away Frank’s offer of help, stood up.

She looked at James and Francine. “Thanks for taking me in. Here’s my radio as trade.”

James laughed. “You don’t owe us anything.”

Susanna shook her head. “I don’t take charity.”

“It’s not charity,” Francine said.

“Take the radio,” Susanna insisted.

Francine pointed to the shelf, where an identical crystal radio sat. “We told you, we already have one. Now don’t worry about it, OK?”

Susanna thought for a moment, trying to clear her head. “OK. Once I’ve talked with The Doctor I’ll come back and clean your house. I stank it up pretty bad with those wet clothes.”

“Sure,” James smiled. “You come back whenever you want.”

Something in his smile told her that he didn’t expect to see her again.

“I will,” she stated.

Frank led her outside. It was evening, and the Burbs stank from the tainted rain. Large, foul puddles dotted the street. The caustic stench rising from them stung her eyes. Susanna wrapped her blanket around herself and followed Frank. The man was more than a head taller than her and twice as wide, nevertheless he kept a sharp eye on her.

Susanna ignored him. Trudging along the muddy lane, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the radio. She put the earphone in. A woman’s voice came to her over the airwaves.