The Saffron Malformation (27 page)

             
“Yeah, and nothin save gravy coated meat will satisfy,” a younger one added.

             
Sticklan started toward the group as the men stepped away from their bikes and others emerged from the cars and rig behind.  The bikers formed a line and stepped toward him, stopping him from going toward the cars or rig.  “Something I can help you with?” the one in the middle with the thick beard and sun baked skin asked.  Sticklan could see the toll years spent riding a motorbike under the baking sun had taken on the man.

             
“Yes, as a matter of fact there is,” Sticklan said cheerily as he held up his sheet computer.

             
“Awe,” another of them groaned sarcastically, “Poor thing lost his pussy.”  A round of laughter emerged from the Broodlings.

             
When it subsided Sticklan continued, “Not mine so much but yeah, I need to find her.”

             
“Never seen her,” the one in the middle said and they started to walk past him.

             
“She’s worth a lot of money,” he declared.

             
The men stopped.  Sticklan could see the Broodlings by the other vehicles had begun to take an interest.

             
The man with the thick beard smacked his lips.  “How much?”

             
“Fifty million. Off books.  Roader currency, as its sometimes called.”

             
It took a moment, but the broodlings laughed.  “Hole that tight don’t exist,” the one in the middle said.

             
Sticklan smiled, “Vengeance that strong does.”  The two men looked into each other’s eyes for a moment.  The man with the beard was trying to discern whether or not Sticklan could be believed.

             
“What’s going on up there,” a man in a new, custom-tailored jacket shouted.  He was also cleaner than the rest.

             
“Nothin’ boss,” the bearded man shouted back at him.

             
“Just trying to offer your boys here a sum of cash for some help.  Seems the amounts a bit too much for them to handle,” Sticklan added.

             
“It’s bullshit,” the broodling shouted back at the man climbing from the rig.

             
He stepped forward.  “I think I’ll decide that.  Whatchyer story there partner?”

             
“Just need to find this girl.”

             
The leader, a man who went by the handle Render, looked the picture over and nodded thoughtfully.  His face was clean-shaven with sharp features that squinted into V’s as he thought.  “What’s the bounty?” he finally asked.

             
“Fifty million.”

             
His eyes bulged, and though he had his doubts the leader of this particular pack wasn’t going to shy away from the possibility this opportunity could be on the level.  “What’s she done?”

             
“Kidnapping and murder,” Sticklan answered instantly.

             
The man nodded.  “Must be some important folks she did that to.”

             
“It involves the family of Richter Crow.  I tell you that because I trust you’re a man of discretion but I really can’t say any more save that he’s authorized me to offer such a reward.”

             
The leader nodded.  The Broodling scratched his beard and asked, “Smell any truth on this?”

             
“I smell a bit,” Render replied looking from Sticklan, in his pristine tailored suit, to the car he’d rolled up in.  The suit alone was probably over ten grand, the car would have cost more than some folks’ houses.

             
Sticklan tapped his sheet a few times.  “I’ve left my card marked on this place for an hour.  Add it to your contacts,” he said with a shrug.  “Whether you believe me or not, you roll around enough and if you happen to find her you let me know.  I mean, what’s the worst that happens, I’m lying and you kill me when I come for the girl without the cash in hand?”

             
Render looked into the man’s eyes, nodding slowly.

             
“And I handle the bounty personally, Blue Moon and its security won’t be involved.”

             
“What assurance do I have on that?” Render asked sharply.

             
Sticklan grinned at him.  “They don’t even know I exist.”

             
Render looked over at a young man sitting in the rig and nodded.  The boy ducked into the cab and a moment later he popped his head out and yelled, “Got it.”

             
“Dead or alive?” the leader asked, having no problem with either.

             
“Alive.”

             
The leader nodded and replied, “We’ll keep our eyes open.”

             
Sticklan smiled, “I’d appreciate it.  Guys here seem to think she went north.”  He started to turn away when he noticed the shine barrel with the Pickens and Zaul label across its side.  “Oh and if you happen across a Pickens and Zaul truck, there’s a bounty on him as well.”

             
“Another Fifty?”

             
“Depends how helpful he is once I get him.”  Render looked suspicious so Sticklan added, “But at least ten.”

             
Suspicion melted under the heat of greed and the men exchanged glances as Sicklan walked back to his car.  “Think he went west,” he added before climbing into his car.

             
“What cha thinkin boss?” the bearded Broodling asked.

             
“I think we better eat quick while I activate the chapters.  See how many we can get ta meet us here then take off.”

             
“Which direction?” one of the younger broodlings asked.

             
“Fifty million,” the leader huffed.  “Shit boy we’re going everywhere.  I don’t care if this bitch is in the moon and we haveta shoot you outta a cannon, we’re going to find her.”

             
Life had been kind to Sticklan Stone.  He’d been allowed to roam free and to kill as he pleased for years before getting locked up in a mental institution and even then no one suspected who he really was or what he’d done.  He’d been given an amazing ability to fool people, to remain calm and bide his time.  Even when they locked him away he knew it was only a matter of time.  See, he wasn’t the sort that got what was coming to him, he was what paid a visit to the sort that do.  The knowledge of this truth is what kept him together, kept him sane and functional.  He was a real life monster but he existed because without him bad people would never get what they deserved, and if he happened to have a bit of fun along the way well then that was just his reward for existing.

             
This current situation was a perfect example.  Rain was one of the unfortunates who the universe had decided needed to pay for her arrogance and he was just the sort of thing she needed.  In exchange for his good deed the universe had sent him the Angels of the Brood.  He knew what a group of barbarians like that would do for the hopes of fifty million in coin.  If anything less than a worldwide riot broke out he’d be disappointed by their lack of effort.  There would be blood, and that was the important thing. It made him smile.

             
Sticklan flipped on his sheet and decided to find a place worth waiting for the Brood’s call.  He found Pajarah, a city a little more than four hundred eighty kilometers north.  He could be there in three hours, less if the road was straight enough, and there’d be a real restaurant and hotels.

             
As he started the car and backed out of his spot he could see the Broodling with the thick beard had gathered the others and he was relaying orders the leader had given him.  When he got to Pajarah he’d check the satellite feeds, maybe he’d be able to watch a bit of their carnage while he rewarded himself with a five-star lunch—something raw and bloody perhaps.  Then maybe he’d find a hooker and just when she thought it was over, just after he handed her some coins, he’d show her his knife and watching her face would be better than his orgasm.

Cat and Mouse

             
The rig with the faded Pickens and Zaul decal on its trailer sped through the streets, air horn blowing.  Rachel was unconscious in the sleeper compartment and Dusty was sitting with her, holding her in his lap and caressing her cheek.  He spoke softly to her, words Quey couldn’t quite, and didn’t try to make out, while he checked to make sure she was still breathing.  Faintly, the air was flowing.

             
Quey rolled fast through an intersection and glanced to his mirrors.  Behind him Arnie was driving Reggie’s blue car, careful to keep in view of the rig’s mirrors at all times.  Reggie was sitting calmly in the passenger seat, a rifle in his hands.  He hadn’t fired a shot since they took off from the pack of bodies they’d left in the streets outside Banner’s Seafood Grill.

             
The pair of vehicles made moderate progress toward the edge of Fen Quada but Quey still felt agitation clinch around his chest and settle in his leg, rendering it itchy with a need to grow a great deal heavier on the accelerator.  He took long breaths to compose himself and leaned on all the will he could muster to keep from letting that happen.  They needed to get out of town fast but wrecking the rig along the way wouldn’t do them a bit of good.

             
The plan was to take a back road north up the coastline.  It would be a slow go but they hoped the Brood wouldn’t be watching it.  In that they were correct.  The Brood had posted watch along the highway looking for the moonshiner or the girl.  They hadn’t looked over the maps closely enough to realize there were other ways out of town.

             
A car pulled into the intersection ahead of Quey’s rig and his eyes flared as he realized a crash was inevitable.  He turned the wheel hard to the right, aiming for the rear of the vehicle in hopes he could hit it and keep moving.  The rig was heavy and its engine was strong but Quey knew better than to think he could simply roll through anything.  Getting something lodged under the truck wouldn’t do them a bit of good either as they’d never make it out trying to drag a car through the streets.

             
The front end of the truck slammed into the trunk of the car and crushed it like a brick hitting a soda can.  The car spun around, scraped along the driver’s side and continued to spin to a stop.  The pair of Broodlings in the front seats of the car took a moment to regain their bearings while Arnie and Reggie sped by in the blue car.

             
“Call me crazy,” Von said from the passenger’s seat of the now crumpled vehicle.

             
“Yeah, I thought I saw it too,” Cray confirmed, meaning the Pickens and Zaul decal.

             
Von reached into his leather jacket and pulled out his sheet, folded into a palm sized rectangle.  He touched a tiny button on the top of it and the screen flashed to life.  He tapped the icon shaped like a wolf’s head with a moon behind it and spoke into the microphone on the base of the device.  “Spotted shiner in lower Fen.  Dot’s on me.”  Then he pushed the button marked ‘howl’ and all across Fen Quada the Angels of the Brood’s devices chimed to life.  Most howled like a wolf, others had customized their sounds, usually replacing the wolf’s howl with something violent or sexual.

             
The brood’s jammers kept signals from transmitting to the satellites but if a device was in range, no more than a few dozen kilometers, you could still send a howl to your wolf pack.

              In a rig on the streets of upper Fen Quada, Render sat in the passenger’s seat watching the sheriff’s station burn.  They had one of the officers tied to the hood of his car and they were about to begin asking him if he recognized the shiner and the girl and if he did then where might they be found, when his device howled.  Render pulled it from his jacket and read the message.  He could see some of the men on the street were doing the same.

             
“What is it?” the driver, a young man with only a single patch on his shoulder asked.

             
“Suckin’ fat titties,” Render answered with a smile, “Looks like we just found ourselves a small fortune rollin’ up outta this hole.”

             
The driver smiled and shifted the rig into gear while Render sent a howl of his own.  This one informed Wayne, a scruffy Broodling who’d been with the group for more years than Render could count, that he was to take charge of his group and finish the raid while Render took his crew after the truck.  Then he accessed the Friends of the Brood’s Network and selected Von’s dot.  The device took a moment to plot an intercept course for them to follow and Render relayed the directions to the driver.

             
“Pull up to this intersection and head right.”

             
The car with the smashed trunk was following them as best it could with its rear end crumpled and scraping along the street behind it.  Now that they were nearing the outskirts Quey was able to let his foot do what it had been begging to for the last few kilometers: he pressed it hard against the pedal and smiled as he felt the engine begin to pull.

             
A few moments later a pair of bikes rolled up along side the car that was fading into their rear-view.  The two men in the car waved for the bikes to hurry on as their car struggled to continue.

             
Reggie watched them through the back window, taking aim with his rifle, waiting to fire.

             
“What cha suppose they want?” Reggie asked Arnie who was keeping an eye on his mirrors and his foot heavy on the pedal.  His hands were firm on the wheel but he was relaxed.

             
“Maybe they’re just thirsty,” he joked.

             
Reggie looked over at him, unsure for a moment, then saw the sarcastic twinkle in his eye and they both laughed a little.

             
As the last of the outskirts of Fen Quada zipped by and they flew past the sign asking them to come back soon, Reggie’s smile faded.  They had started up the cliffs and he could see the convoy racing toward the edge of town—a dozen vehicles at least.  “What the fuck are you hot for?” he whispered.

             
Arnie glanced at him a few times and kept the car steady.

             
Dusty was sitting in the sleeper behind Quey, petting Rachel’s hair.  He’d kissed her forehead at least twice and he was talking to her, assuring her that things were going to be fine—assuring himself really.

             
From the dashboard the sheet flashed, they were out of range of the Brood’s jammers, and Quey gave it a quick tap.  Reggie was staring through the screen.  “I got bad news.”

             
Quey nodded, “They’re chasing.”

             
Reggie nodded, “Hard too.  I’m not sure they even left anyone in town.”

             
Quey peered thoughtfully at the road ahead.  “Why would they…?” he asked himself.  But he knew—at least he thought he did.  He had cargo, and a truck like his was worth more than cash to the brood.

             
“That’s what I can’t figure,” Reggie replied.

             
“I heard them talking,” Dusty chimed in from the back.  “When I was on the roof.  They said something about looking for a rig.  ‘Maybe that’s the rig he’s looking for…’ or something like that,” he finished.

             
Reggie and Quey exchanged a glance through their screens.

             
“They’re going to catch up to us,” Arnie offered.  Reggie looked at the boy and Quey shifted his eyes to his screen.  “The bikes will at least.  Ten minutes or so.”

             
Reggie looked back into the screen and exchanged a look with Quey.  “What now?” the big man asked.

             
Quey looked at the road ahead, saw it was going to fork.  “Stop.”  He slammed the breaks and Arnie mashed the ones in the car.  Both vehicles slowed to a stop a few hundred meters before the fork.

             
“What are you doing?” Dusty asked from the back seat.

             
“You’re sure about what you heard?  They want the truck for some reason?”

             
Dusty nodded.

             
“Then we need to get you and Rachel into the car.”

             
“What?”

             
Quey turned to him.  “You have to get her somewhere.  Somewhere with a doctor.”

             
Dusty looked down at Rachel.

             
Quey heard the car doors open behind him and a pair of footsteps jogged toward the truck.  Quey waited for Reggie to yank open the passenger side door and ask, “What’s up,” with Arnie standing behind him.  The boy didn’t know whether he was supposed to follow or not, he just did.

             
“All of you are going to get into the car and then we’re going split at the fork.”

             
“Why?” Reggie asked with a shake of his head and a furrowed brow.

             
“Because they just want the truck.  Or me maybe?  I haven’t quite worked that out yet.”

             
“So you’re gunna give it to them?” Arnie shouted.

             
“No but…” he trailed off.  “I don’t want-”

             
Reggie raised his hand and glared at him.  “If you think for one minute I went through all the trouble of finding you assholes just to fucking cut and run, you must be out of your mind.”

             
“Yeah, fuck that,” Dusty said from the back, Rachel resting beside him.  “At least together we stand a chance.”

             
“Look there’s something in the back of this truck that’s important,” Quey began.  “Maybe somehow they know about it, maybe someone’s paying them to want it, who knows but I think that’s what this is about.”

             
“What?  Some fucking moonshine?” Reggie asked.

             
“It’s the machine isn’t it?” Arnie asked, meaning Geo.

             
Quey didn’t look at the boy but he nodded, “I think it might be.  It’s all I can figure.”

             
“Look,” Reggie began, “We put Rachel in the back of the car, Dusty in the passengers seat with a gun and Arnie at the wheel- kid can drive.  Put me in the back with some firepower and we run together.  Shit goes bad,” he looked back at Arnie, “You get out.  Get her somewhere that can help.”

             
Arnie nodded and glanced at Quey who sat thoughtful.

             
“Might not be perfect but it’ll give us a chance,” the big man concluded.

             
Something occurred to him and Quey looked at Reggie.  “You got grenades?”

             
The big man grinned and chuckled heartily as he said, “Betchyer ass.”

             
Reggie ran to the car, stopping to raise the trailers door along the way, and gathered a bag of guns and a case of ammo.  Dusty carried Rachel in his arms, his back arched and his feet taking small quick steps under her weight, and laid her gently in the back of the blue car.  He caressed her cheek once, saw her head was still bleeding a bit and the sight of that stabbed him before he took a breath and closed the door.  Reggie handed him a bag with some guns and ammo inside and hurried back toward the rig.  Quey shifted the truck into gear as the sound of engines made its way up the road.  Reggie jumped into the back of the truck as the first of the bikes began to close in.

             
Dusty climbed into the front seat in near synchronicity with Arnie on the other side and the doors slammed.  The sound of engines grew louder as the Angels of the Brood approached.

              The rig took a bit to gain speed but Reggie was ready for the Angels gaining on them.  Six bikes rolling two by two and moving fast were roaring up the road behind them.  He could see the first two clearly.  The one on his left had a scraggly beard and looked like the years on the road had been unkind to him.  The one to his right was in equal need of a bath and a shave, but this guy was younger.  Kneeling in the trailer of the truck behind a barrel of shine he rested an elbow on its top and took aim at the younger man.

             
The rig rolled forward toward the fork with the blue car close behind.  It didn’t matter which direction Quey took, north up the coast or east toward the inlands, but he chose east.  The roader in him just knew it was the better choice.

             
In the car behind the rig, Dusty chambered a round in the rifle and leaned out the window.  “You swipe ‘em if they try to get by,” he shouted to Arnie, half his body hanging out the window, wind whipping his short blonde hair into a frenzy.