Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) (32 page)

“I don’t feel good about how things ended between us,” Bear finished up. “Roja’s a good person. What happened to her wasn’t right. It’s just the way the thing went down.”

Brogan mulled this over. It seemed strange to him that Bear would give up Roja on the request of a dying chief. But this was the Outzone, a crazy world where a multitude of different cults and societies made up their own rules. After only a few weeks here, he was already beyond judging any of it.

“Well, Chief, sometimes life is like that. Things slip out of your control and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. I know a little bit about that myself.”

When Brogan got back to the tent, Roja had returned. She was preparing them a breakfast of oatmeal mixed with nuts, milk, and honey, and had a mug of strong coffee waiting for him.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“I went to see the chief.”

She looked at him inquiringly.

Brogan shook his head. “Still no sign of the weasel,” he said, taking a long sip from his mug.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Whatever it takes.”

While she poured out the porridge into two large bowls, Brogan stared over at her with an ever-growing respect.

After breakfast, Roja did the eye test again.

“That’s better,” she said, dropping her hand. “You still getting headaches?”

“Nope, they’re gone.” Brogan looked across at her. “So I was thinking, now that I’m better, maybe you could drop me into Two Jacks later this morning.”

“You planning on leaving?” Roja asked in a surprised voice. She didn’t sound happy about it.

“No. I’m still running up a bill at the hotel, and I better pick up my gear and motorbike too. Before someone gets the bright idea it belongs to them.”

“Okay, I’ll drop you in. I’ll wait for you to settle up, then we can ride back together.” Apparently Roja had no intention of letting him out of her sight.

“Checkout’s not till noon,” Brogan said, grinning at her. “If we leave soon, we can rest up in the room a couple of hours. It’s a big comfortable bed.”

A wide smile came over her face. “Okay. Time to find out if you’ve made a full recovery.”

An hour later, Brogan climbed onto the back of Roja’s fifteen year-old Suzuki 250cc and they made the twenty minute run into the city.

Riding in pairs—two at the front, two behind them—four heavily-armed Black Eagle warriors escorted them all the way in. Bear had insisted on it. Though there had been no sign of him, Ritter could return to Two Jacks at any moment, and the chief wasn’t taking any chances.

After catching up with Ralph, who was relieved to find his friend still in one piece, Brogan set the four braves up at the counter of the Quiver’s bar to drink beer and whiskey on his dime. It was two full hours before he and Roja emerged from his room and checked out, pleased to be told that he had indeed made a full recovery.

The following day, Brogan departed from the Black Eagles camp, taking Roja with him. In his hotel room the previous afternoon, the two had talked at length between several bouts of lovemaking. Brogan had told her he planned to leave soon, that he needed to find Ritter before the trail ran cold.

“Take me with you,” Roja had said. “I can help you. I’ll watch your back.”

Lying on his side, Brogan swept a hand up the inside of her smooth brown thigh, resting it over the taut muscles of her stomach.

“Things could get ugly,” he said, like this was the first time he had considered it. “Ritter may have lost his men, but he’s still dangerous. You know that, don’t you?”

“All the more reason to take me,” she replied.

And that had been that.

Back at the camp that evening, Brogan told Bear of his plans, and asked for his permission to take Roja.

The chief had looked pleased. “It’s a good move. For both of you. You won’t find a more loyal woman in the Outzone. Just watch out for that temper,” he warned Brogan. “It’ll bite you on the ass when you least expect it.”

The next day after lunch, the two packed up their gear. With a practiced ease, Roja dismantled the tent, stuffing the poles into one of her packs, followed by the tent itself rolled up inside the groundsheet. When everything was ready, she and Brogan strapped their laden packs onto the tanks and fenders of their machines and they were ready to go.

Their farewell was brief. Brogan thanked the chief for all his help, and told him they should return in a couple of weeks. Bear shook Brogan’s hand, then took Roja’s offered hand, telling Brogan the tribe would keep an eye out for Ritter. Then the pair got on their motorbikes, started their engines, and rode out of the camp.

Their first stop was Two Jacks once more. There was a certain person Brogan needed to find. Someone who worked the night shift. Someone who might just know where Ritter had holed up. That morning he had run his idea past Roja. After a moment’s consideration, she’d shrugged and told him she had no problem with his plan.

There was a look of surprise on Ralph’s face when the two came in through the lobby door of the Quiver.

“Back so soon?” he said, raising an eyebrow quizzically. The clerk reached back to the board behind him and took down the key to 211. “I guess you two lovebirds will be wanting the same room.”

Brogan was about to take the key when Roja stepped forward.

“No,” she said. “We’ll take a different room. Something farther up the hall.”

Ralph gave Brogan a questioning look.

“Whatever the lady says,” Brogan said. He took out his wallet and slapped three dollars on the counter.

“That’s always been my advice too,” Ralph said in his laconic drawl. He took the money and scrawled the details for room 217 into the ledger. “Especially when it comes to sleeping arrangements. Women can be kinda tricky about them, ya know?”

Once back outside the hotel, Roja and Brogan mounted their machines.

“In case you didn’t get that, I’m not sleeping again in the same bed you fucked that treacherous whore,” she said. “Once is enough.”

Brogan nodded. He got it alright. Circumstances had changed. Yesterday they were getting it on for the first time and a bed was just a bed. Today they were a couple. Women were like that.

The two drove their motorcycles around to the side entrance, where a young man let them in.

“Where’s Harold?” Brogan asked him as they drove in through the gates.

“It’s his day off,” the young man told him. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

The two spent the rest of the afternoon making the most of the comforts of their hotel room, Roja’s hard athletic body demanding even more from him than the previous day. Early evening while the two dozed, Brogan realized that this was the first time since Sarah’s death he had felt this close to a woman. And not just physically. The hour he’d spent with Marlee had been no more than a roll in the sack, one that had an ulterior purpose. With Roja, an emotional connection was growing between them, a bond they had both become aware of. The glances, the sense of ease that had developed between them.

Both were wise enough to understand there was no way of telling where it might lead. For now, they would enjoy the moment. This was the Outzone. It was how things worked here.

At seven p.m. the two got up, showered, and dressed. When he came out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, Brogan stared over at Roja by the dresser mirror. She had let down the ponytail she’d worn all day and brushed her hair out, putting on a tight-fitting crimson top, blue jeans, and a pair of high-heeled black boots. She caught him staring at her.

“Just admiring the view,” he said grinning. “If you don’t button that blouse up some more, they’re going to pop out.”

Roja’s lips parted into a shy smile, showing off her perfect white teeth. “That’s how it’s done in this town,” she said. “I don’t want to look out of place.”

She dropped her nine-millimeter Herstal into the rig under her bottle-green leather jacket. Then, crouching down on one knee, she slid her hunting knife inside the strap of her left boot. When she was done she stood up and looked over at him. “Ready?”

Brogan nodded. “Expecting trouble?”

“Always.” A serious look had come over Roja’s face. “Let’s go.”

Brogan slid one of his Glocks into his waist holster, picked up his hat from off the bed, and they left the room. In the hall, he locked the door, threaded his padlock through the latch, and snapped it closed.

The two were hungry from their exertions. Leaving the hotel, they headed for the burrito joint at the corner of the block. The weather had held up, and outside it was a cloudless night.

Brogan tipped his hat back over his head, held in place by its strap. He still felt a little self-conscious wearing it, and wondered whether John Cole was watching him at that very moment. As they strolled up the street, Roja slipped her arm through his. It felt the most natural thing in the world.

After eating, they walked back to the hotel and entered the Quiver Bar. It was just after nine p.m. and though it was a weekday night, the bar was already busy. In all the times Brogan had been there, it had never been less than half full at this time of the evening.

He led Roja to the counter where she took the last available stool, while he stood beside her. A barman came over, one Brogan recognized.

“Bourbon and coke for the gentleman,” said the barman, pointing a finger at Brogan. He turned to Roja. “How about for the lady?”

“Same.”

The barman nodded and went off to get their drinks.

They spent the next hour at the counter sipping their drinks slowly. The mood in the bar was boisterous as usual, but neither of the two talked much. Brogan felt tense, and though he would have liked to loosen up with a few drinks, he didn’t order anything more. He needed to remain clear-headed. Roja seemed out of sorts as well, and he wondered what exactly was going through her mind.

Around ten o’clock, a familiar face came in through the door of the saloon. Standing by the side of Roja’s stool, Brogan spotted her right away.

When Marlee stepped inside, her eyes prowled the room while she unbuttoned her coat. Underneath it she wore a frilly cream colored blouse with the obligatory first set of buttons undone, a pair of tight-fitting jeans, and bright-red high heels.

She spotted Brogan. Her eyebrows arched, and her heavily-lipsticked mouth opened into a small O. After a second’s hesitation, she hurried over to him.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. She gazed up at the bruises on his face with a look of concern. “Honey, I thought you were dead.”

Brogan stared at her coldly. “Who told you that?” he said tightly. There were only two bodies dragged out of the Paradise. Neither of them looked like me.”

“Somebody I talked to the next day,” Marlee blurted out. “He told me some huge biker dude carried you out of the bar over his shoulder. Said you looked stone cold dead.”

“Well, despite your best efforts, here I am.”

Marlee had taken off her coat off and hooked it over her arm. She tilted her head up at him, a wisp of blonde hair drifting across her face. “Please don’t say that. It’s not what you think,” she said giving him a pleading look.

“Sure it is, so cut the crap. Question is, what do I do with you now?”

“Frank, please. I swear to you, I never meant you to get hurt like that—never,” Marlee said, her voice strained with emotion. She gazed up at him, her pupils dilating, a look of utter sincerity on her face. “I just—”

“I said cut the crap!”

The man on the stool next to them turned and stared at the two of them. Brogan had raised his voice louder than he’d meant to.

Unsure what to say, Marlee turned her head away. She looked over at Roja sitting on the stool, her drink in one hand, her face expressionless.

Marlee checked her up and down. “You new here, sweetie?” she asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Roja nodded. “Just arrived today.”

“Well, aren’t you in for a treat.” Marlee had gathered her composure again. It never took her long. She glanced over at Brogan. “Frank is a real gentleman. He knows how to treat a lady good…I mean,
real
good
.” A tinkle of laughter escaped from her lips.

From her stool, Roja continued to gaze at her, her face giving nothing away.

“Marlee, I’m going to make this real simple,” Brogan said, his face glowering. “You need to tell me where Ritter is hiding out or I’m going to kill you, gentleman or not.”

Next to him, the stranger had continued listening in on their conversation. Marlee glanced over at him nervously.

“Please, Frank,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t want to talk about this here.”

Brogan could see Marlee was genuinely apprehensive to talk about Ritter in public. He looked around the room. The bar had become busier, and all the tables were taken. Then he remembered the anteroom at the side of the lounge, the one Marlee had taken him through back to the hotel the night they first met.

“If you want to talk somewhere private, we can go to the room out back,” he said, indicating toward the lounge. “Where the band takes their break. One way or another, you’re not leaving here until we talk.”

Marlee contemplated her options. Talk out in the open where everyone could hear them, or take a risk and go someplace where she would be alone with him.

Roja slid down off her stool and stood beside Brogan.

“Her too?” Marlee asked, staring at her.

Brogan shrugged. “Why not?”

That made up Marlee’s mind. “Okay, fine with me.” She broke out into a giggle. “People will think the three of us are off to do something naughty. Oh my, now there’s an idea!”

Brogan glanced over at Roja. The corner of her mouth had curled up into an ugly sneer. He shot her a warning look.

With Brogan leading, the three walked into the lounge and across the room. When he reached the door at the far side, Brogan held it open for the two women.

“What did I tell you?” Marlee murmured as they passed through. “A real gentleman.”

Inside the back room, Brogan was relieved to see there was no one else inside. He closed the door behind him. “Alright, you got your privacy,” he said, standing directly in front of Marlee. “So what you got for me?”