The Seeds of Man (21 page)

Tre struggled with his answer. He wanted to live Crow’s fantasy. He wanted to take Star Valley away from Voss and give it to the people. But that would require a leader, someone who could emerge from the dark hole he was living in long enough to get things done. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Crow, not to anyone, because to do so would require thousands of words. So Tre said what he could. “I know where a large cache of weapons is buried.”

There was another moment of silence. The chair made a squeaking noise as Crow turned around. Tre was shocked by what he saw as the light fell on the other man’s face. There were dark circles under Crow’s eyes, his cheeks were sunken, and he looked ill. “You
what
?”

“I know where a large cache of weapons is buried. It’s here . . . in this journal.”

Crow held out a hand and Tre gave the journal over. A match flared, a second lamp was lit, and more shadows danced on the walls. “I marked the relevant pages,” Tre said helpfully.

Crow chose to ignore the comment as he opened the journal, read the first couple of pages, and began to skim. That left Tre with nothing to do but stand and wait. Finally, after what might have been five minutes, Crow looked up. “Where did you get this?”

“From the library.”

Crow frowned. “So you don’t know anything about it.”

“No.”

“But you believe the weapons are there? Buried at Massacre Rocks?”

“We know the armories were looted. But this stuff was buried. So it’s different.”

“But what’s to say that Marley didn’t come back and dig it up later?” Crow demanded.

“The journal ends.”

“So you think Marley was killed.”

“Yes.”

“And all of her troops?”

“Yes. The enemy was closing in on them. That’s why they buried the weapons.”

Crow considered that. “You read the journal, so maybe someone else did too.”

Tre shrugged. “That’s possible.”

Crow frowned. “
Why?
Why are you pushing for this?”

“Because I want you to do all the things you said you would do.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a pain in the ass. Have I mentioned that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Pass the word. We leave in the morning.”

With the possible exception of Freak, who never knew what was going on so far as Tre could tell, the rest of the gang was glad to hear the news and began to prepare. Rumors flew, and most of them were false, a fact that became painfully obvious when Hog spoke to Tre at dinner. “I heard you found a map!”

“No, it’s a journal.”

“Whatever . . . The main thing is that we’re going to have rocket launchers! That will even things up.”

Tre sighed. His attempts to tamp things down had met with very little success. His reputation and standing in the group were riding on what they did or didn’t find at Massacre Rocks. If they failed to find any weapons, he would take the heat instead of Crow. Having been forced to accept that, he took the plate that Hog offered him. “Yeah, rocket launchers would be nice.”

They left early the next morning, made their way to the meadow where the horses were grazing, and saddled up. Then, with Smoke and Fade leading the way, the rest of the gang followed. Crow came first, followed by Bones, Hog, Tre, Freak, and Knife. As before, Patch and Slick remained behind to guard the hideout.

A complex network of trails led them down to Highway 89, where they took a break and waited for the scouts to return. When they did, Smoke was carrying a flyer, which according to a traveler she had spoken to, was identical to others posted up and down the highway. The words “WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE” were printed across the top. Then, in smaller print, it said, “1,000 rounds of .45 ammo will be paid to the person or persons who capture, kill, or provide reliable information leading to the apprehension of the murderers depicted here.” It was signed, “Luther Voss.” There were three drawings, all of which were pretty good likenesses. Crow laughed when he saw his face and handed the sheet to Bones. “Pass it around.”

Once the sheet of paper made it to him, Tre was shocked to see his face sandwiched in between Crow’s and Knife’s. At least one of the mercs had a good memory. Suddenly, like it or not, Tre was committed in a way he hadn’t been before. Yes, he could still return to the Tangle, but it would be as a wanted man. That would make it much more difficult to survive on his own. “It looks like you,” Knife said. “Ugly as hell.”

So knowing that people were likely to recognize them, the gang was careful to bypass the fortified inn located in the hamlet of Freedom and rode west. As they did so, Tre was very conscious of the fact that Highway 34 was going to pass through Wayan and very close to the Tangle. Part of him regretted the decision to join the gang and wished he could return to his previously solitary life. But he had a purpose now, something worth fighting for, and knowing that made him feel better.

Having hiked the highway many times, always on the lookout for bandits, Tre enjoyed the feeling of invulnerability that went with being a bandit. Still, there was plenty to worry about because he knew that fifty mercs could be waiting around the next bend. If they were, the fight wouldn’t last very long.

The group arrived in Henry, Idaho, by nightfall. Although there was no town to speak of, they found a beautiful camping spot on the shore of what Crow’s much-abused map said was the Blackfoot Reservoir. As Tre looked out across the perfectly still water, he saw two conical mountains. They were almost entirely bare of trees and reflected in the reservoir. The sky was a deep shade of lavender and the stars were coming out. That was when Freak appeared at his side. “Balloon.”

Her hand was small and seemed to crawl into his. Tre felt an urge to put an arm around her shoulders and to kiss the lips that seemed to be waiting for that very thing. But then he remembered what Crow had told him. “Freak isn’t ready for a boy-girl relationship.” So he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and let go. “Balloon to you too,” he said, and went off to gather wood.

Tre stood sentry duty for two hours, but the night passed without incident, and they got under way the next morning. The sky was gray and it was raining, so Tre felt thankful for the flat-brimmed cowboy hat and poncho-style rain slicker that covered him and most of old Willie’s saddle. Thunder rolled as the column followed the east side of the reservoir south, and occasional sticks of lightning could be seen on the horizon. It was, as Hog put it, “a crappy day.”

The plan was to ride south to Soda Springs, follow Highway 30 west to Interstate 15, and take Interstate 86 to Massacre Rocks, what Crow hoped would be a two-day ride. After an hour or so, Tre was standing in the stirrups to relieve the pain in his knees when he saw Smoke round the gently sloping hill off to the right and gallop their way. The scouts always departed first and typically stayed well ahead of the column all day. So why was Smoke coming back?

Smoke began to shout as her horse skidded to a halt. “They got Fade! Come on . . . We need to save her.”

Crow reached out to grab hold of the horse’s bridle. “They?
Who?
“

Smoke was frantic and the words seemed to tumble out of her mouth. “There’s a civil war battlefield on the other side of the pass. Tanks, armored personnel carriers, you name it. They’re scattered all over the place. There wasn’t any activity, none that we could see, so we rode in. That was when one of the tank people popped out of an armored personnel carrier and threw himself at Fade. They hit the ground together, and I was going to help, when two of them ran out in front of me. I shot one in the face and kicked the other. By then a couple of them had hold of Fade and were taking her away. That’s why I came for help.”

“You did the right thing,” Crow assured her. “Don’t worry, we’ll get Fade back. Do you know where she is?”

“No, but they were taking her west. So it will be over that way.”

“Okay. Knife, Sticks, listen up. Here’s what I want you to do.”

As Tre listened to the plan, his heart began to beat faster. Could he do it? Crow thought so . . . And if Knife had doubts, he was keeping them to himself.

The key, according to Crow, was stealth. He, along with the rest of the group, would follow the highway to the edge of the battlefield, where they would try to make contact with the tank people. Meanwhile, Smoke would lead Knife and Tre over the mist-shrouded hill on the right. Once on the other side, they would be at the northern edge of the battlefield. Then, after securing their horses, they would slip into the maze of shot-up vehicles and find Fade.

Knife and Tre followed Smoke south, up onto the nearly featureless hill, and into the mist. They were traveling fast—
too
fast for Tre, who feared that he would fall and his break his neck. But old Willie was sure-footed if nothing else, and he survived the journey. “Remember,” Smoke said as they tied their horses to a bush. “Keep it quiet. Don’t use guns unless you have to.”

Knife was wearing his Samurai sword slung across his back and had half a dozen other blades stashed about his person. Tre had a couple of improvised fighting sticks that he’d been working on for the last week or so, plus a knife and the nine-shot .22 Magnum revolver that had been recovered from Brute’s body.

Smoke led the way and Tre was impressed. She was fast and graceful and seemed to flow from place to place, much like the substance she was named for. Knife came second. His movements were quick, precise, and carefully calculated.

Visibility was limited, but Tre could tell that the terrain on the south side of the hill was flat, the perfect place for armored vehicles to clash. He didn’t realize they were in among the wrecks until a rain-shrouded hulk appeared on his right. The battle tank was
huge
, but judging from the fire-blackened hole in its turret, something had been powerful enough to penetrate even its thick armor.

Rain rattled on metal and gravel crunched under their boots as the bandits dashed from wreck to wreck, pausing every now and then to look and listen. It was during one of those moments that two tank people rounded a truck and ran into them. There was a moment of confusion and Tre found himself face-to-face with what looked like a cave man. Except that the caves he lived in were made of steel. The tank man’s face registered surprise as Tre shoved a stick up a nostril and rammed the other rod into a mouth full of rotting teeth. He was choking on it when Smoke jerked his head back and slit his throat. “Enough screwing around. Let’s find Fade.”

Tre looked for Knife and saw him standing over a headless corpse, sword in hand. He wiped the blade clean. Then they were off again, zigzagging from one vehicle to the next, when the fake negotiations broke down and the firefight began. Neither side wanted to use any more ammo than necessary, so what Tre heard was a flurry of single shots. That was when a witchlike creature dropped off a tanker truck onto Knife’s back. She had her legs wrapped around his waist and was about to claw his eyes when Tre jerked her loose.

Water splashed as she hit a puddle, made a screeching sound, and was silenced as both sticks struck her head. “Come on!” Smoke shouted. “Follow me!“

They ran side by side toward a boxy vehicle that was fronted by a fire pit and a sitting area protected by an old tarp. Poles of various lengths had been stuck into the ground, each topped by a human skull.

Two tank men were stationed in front of a tracked command post and raised their weapons as the bandits charged them. A shot rang out, a geyser of mud shot up, and Tre threw one of the fighting sticks like a spear. It hit the rifleman in the chest but did no harm. It was enough to prevent a follow-up shot, however, and gave Tre time to close with him. They collided, and as Tre grappled with his opponent, he could smell the other man’s rank body odor.

Wiry fingers wrapped themselves around Tre’s neck and began to choke off his air supply. Tre brought both forearms straight up to break the hold, kneed the other man in the groin, and snapped his head forward. The fight was over. All the strength went out of the tank man’s knees and he collapsed.

Tre stepped back, looked to the left, and saw a body lying on the ground. A muddy head lay nearby. It was faceup, staring at the sky. Knife nodded. “Nice job, Sticks . . . but try some cold steel next time.”

“She’s alive!” Smoke announced as she escorted Fade out of the command vehicle. “They were planning to eat her.”

Tre was thrilled to see the scout but went for his pistol as a man appeared behind her. “Don’t shoot!” Fade said. “That’s the Deacon . . . He was a prisoner as well.”

Tre took his hand off the .22 as all three of them made their way down a wooden ramp. Fade was disheveled and thirsty but otherwise okay. The Deacon had stringy hair, a bald pate, and bright blue eyes. An upside-down cross had been tattooed on the center of his forehead, and when he spoke he touched the symbol as if doing so would testify to the veracity of what he said. “Thank you! Thank you, Lord!” he said fervently. “For you have delivered me from the hands of evil into the arms of the good.”

Crow arrived at that point, along with the rest of the gang. They were on horseback. A rare smile appeared on the bandit’s face when he saw Fade. “Are you okay?”

Fade nodded. “Sorry, I feel stupid.”

Crow shook his head. “It could have happened to anybody. All right, let’s collect anything worth collecting and get out of here. This place reeks.”

The next two days passed without major incident. The rain stopped by the time they passed Soda Springs, a fortified town similar to Afton. Armed riders emerged to challenge the gang and continued to dog them all the way to the Bancroft turnoff. The night was spent at the Lava Hot Springs. The resort lay in ruins, but there were still plenty of pools to choose from, and the bandits took hot baths, a truly wondrous luxury.

They passed through the bombed-out ruins of Pocatello the next day. At some point during the civil war, the once proud city had been reduced to a lunar landscape of overlapping craters, gaping basements, and rubble-filled streets. Tre wondered why but knew the people who could tell him were dead.

The scouts located Interstate 86 without too much difficulty and led the group south. There was some traffic, but not much, and what there was consisted of hikers and travelers on bicycles and in horse-drawn carts, any of which could have been theirs for the taking. But Crow insisted that they be left untouched, and that gave Tre reason to hope. Maybe, just maybe, Crow would deliver on his promises.