Chapter 11
We peel away from the cages, leaving the sanctuary of Eden behind. It's a cooler day in the Wastes, even as the sun rises higher. The heat is still blistering, but not nearly as bad as usual. I breathe the dusty Wasteland air, wide awake despite my rough night. It feels a little strange to be out in the hot, dry Wastes after spending a night in the cool, damp upper city. For a moment, when I was submerged in the water of that pool, I almost forgot what it was like out here. Like it was all a bad dream. But no matter how much of a break I get, this is my reality in the end. I belong out here, fighting for my life, not learning how to read in some city. Terrifying as it is, this is my world. Anuket might not be so wrong about me after all.
Chuckles's route leads us around the outside of the lower city, avoiding the market and all its pedestrians. From there, it's a short drive west to the outskirts of Anuket's territory. We pass between several shacks made out of old, metal trailers with their wheels removed. There aren't nearly as many people out here as in the market, so we don't have to slow down much. The people in our way simply scramble to the side as we race by. Some of them curse, others stare. The smart ones ignore us completely. For the wretched souls struggling to survive out here, avoiding Road Warriors means avoiding trouble.
When we reach the edge of the village, the scenery changes. The trailers here lie in various states of ruin, and there are no people in sight. Four or five of the shacks have been completely reduced to piles of scorched scrap. Old bloodstains are splattered on the sand and metal.
We brake to a halt and kill our engines. Chuckles climbs off his motorcycle and begins looking around. Three and I join him. The dog follows me, sniffing at the burnt metal and dried blood. There are other things, too: clothes, bits of furniture, empty cans. No weapons. No bodies.
"Well, what do you think?" Three asks, picking up a tattered shirt covered in ash.
"I see tracks - bike tracks!" Chuckles shouts, stooping over some marks in the sand. "That means either Mozzies or Blackthumbs. I'm willing to bet Mozzies."
"Roman and I killed a whole lot of them. Their numbers are probably weak."
"Nonsense, there are dozens of individual Mozzie tribes around here!" Chuckles claims. "The biggest group of tribals in the southern Empire."
"Then how come I so rarely fight them?" The Cyclops seems unconvinced.
"They are usually too busy fighting each other to raid us," Chuckles explains quickly. He drops down onto his stomach to examine the tracks, enthralled by the investigation. "This fits them, though: small hit and run on the outskirts of civilization."
"No, it doesn't," the old Road Warrior objects, sounding a little irritated. He points at a patch of red in the sand. "Look. Blood. Mozzies don't spill blood if they can help it, and this is quite a bit here. This was pure, brutal murder."
"Mozzies I ran into came at me with syringes," I chime in, rubbing the place on my neck where they shot me. "They weren't interested in killing me right away."
"They do that," Chuckles confirms. "They use some funky shit in syringes to knock people out. Then they keep them alive and drain their blood to either drink or use for blood transfusions. Then they eat the flesh."
"So Mozzies would take the bodies, sure, but Three's right about the blood. Doesn't make sense. Unless the people here put up a decent fight and managed to spill some Mozzie blood, I'd say we're dealing with something else," I conclude.
"Some tribal variant? Extremists? Hatred for these specific people? Who cares? They are all filthy savages," Chuckles says dismissively as he gets to his feet, sand clinging to his bare chest. He points to the horizon. "The trail leads northwest. Let's follow it as long as we can. If we lose it, let's see if your new mutt is worth anything and can track."
I nod. The dog wags his tail at Chuckles, like he somehow knows the young Road Warrior is talking about him.
"Northwest of here, there is a lot of hills and cliffsides with lots of caverns," Three informs us with his usual monotone. "They are probably up on a high cliff or hiding in deep passages, whoever they are. They have the home terrain advantage. If they have a vantage point, they can spot us from miles away and either rain death upon on us or clear out of there. Or if they are in the caves, we will never find them between guerilla attacks."
"Are you suggesting attacking raiders is dangerous, Three?" Chuckles feigns surprise, sneering at the grizzled Road Warrior.
"I'm saying we need an intelligent plan to not go in guns blazing, you ass," Three retorts, visibly offended. He scowls at the younger man. "Will we get torn up if we walk into a gauntlet."
"If they are even in that region. They could easily lie far past it, or their trail could turn and lead somewhere else. We can't make a plan if we don't even know where they are yet!" Chuckles protests. Despite his determined expression, however, his voice sounds much less confident.
"Look, northwest is our best bet right now," I pipe up. I figured this job would be tough, but I didn't count on having to deal with these two going at it. Guess I forgot what it can be like to work with other people. "I say we assume they're in those cliffs. Turns out they're not there, we just track them to wherever they did go. Better to waste time than blood."
"Yeah," agrees Three. "But what's the plan? We don't know how many scouts and spotters they have, and we don't know what weapons they use. We could be shot before we even get to the cliffs."
I get the feeling he'd rather just let his die to decide what we do. Or maybe he's testing us - waiting to see what the younger Road Warriors can come up with. A man that as much experience as Three must have tracked an unknown group before. Or maybe he just rolled that cube and got lucky.
"I see no bullet casings," Chuckles answers. "That means they didn't use firearms. So cudgels, most likely."
"Could have other weapons stashed in those caves," I remind him. "Just because they didn't use guns here doesn't mean they won't use them on us, and we'll be dead before we even get close."
"We got a legendary Road Warrior and a wandering Mozzie-slayer and his dog!" Chuckles exclaims, growing impatient. He raises his arms and gestures dramatically to Three and me. "No tribe can stand up to you two. We will be fine if we just charge them."
"I would say I didn't get a reputation for being reckless," Three sighs, giving in. "But that's exactly how I got it."
"Excellent!" Chuckles cries, adjusting his stupid hat again. "What do you think, Blonde? Are you a risk-taker?"
"Not if I can help it," I say, shaking my head reluctantly. "But…"
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling uncomfortable. This whole situation makes me anxious. Normally, I just do whatever I think of first. It's gotten me this far, but this is more complicated than anything I've had to face alone. I don't like not knowing who I'm fighting.
"Don't see a way around it," I continue, shrugging. "Not unless one of us wants to go in first to see if they get shot full of holes. I don't."
"We're not sending in bait," Three states. "We're a team."
I raise an eyebrow at him, genuinely surprised. I didn't take Three for a team player kind of guy, but he seems confident enough working with us. As I stare, trying yet again to figure him out, the Cyclops pulls an object out of the pocket. I sigh inwardly, waiting for him to roll that stupid die after all. To my surprise, it's just his cigarette box. Guess he at least he trusts us enough to make a decision for him. Or maybe he doesn't really care. Three looks inside the box, then sighs frustratedly and returns it to his jacket. Must be empty. No wonder he's on edge.
"A team! Exactly!" Chuckles shouts, thrilled to be counted alongside more seasoned Road Warriors. "The more of us are attacking, the less likely they are to take us all out. Let's just go in and play it by ear. You two took out a whole Mozzie tribe! Judging by the size of this raid, these guys can't be any bigger than a tribe."
"Fine," I agree, forcing the misgivings out of my head. It's not much of a plan, sure, but it's the best we got.
Three heads toward his truck, and I pull the dog away from the rubble and back to my car. Chuckles brushes the sand from his slim torso before mounting his bike.
"You all right on that thing, or do you wanna ride with me?" I call to the rookie. "Can't have you dying, yeah?"
"I'm fine on my bike," Chuckles insists, lifting his chin up proudly.
"If it doesn't fall apart," I mutter under my breath, giving Chuckles's ride a skeptical glance.
At least he'll be a small target. If these attackers are smart, they'll focus on taking out the bigger vehicles first. Three will definitely be the main target. His truck makes my car look as fragile as Chuckles's bike in comparison. Then again, if they end up having sharpshooters, Chuckles will be picked off in seconds. I take a deep breath and tell myself he'll be fine. He'll be just fine. Maybe I am a risk-taker after all.
The dog hops into my car, and I follow. He sits in the passenger seat this time, wagging his tail wildly.
"Unless you're gonna help me shoot, stay in the back." I reach a hand out to shove him into the backseat, but he snarls and tries to bite my fingers. I sigh and give up. No sense in getting myself hurt before the actual fighting starts.
I take out the pistol and set it on my lap. The revolver, crossbow, and rifle get thrown into what space is left in the passenger seat next to the dog, along with extra ammo. He looks down at the weaponry and wags his tail again.
"Better not try to bite me when I'm reaching for those, yeah?" I warn him as I start the engine.
Three's truck roars and lurches forward, heading northwest along the tracks. I step on the gas and follow after him. Chuckles keeps pace with me, letting Three have the lead this time. Not so eager to be out in the front anymore now that we're closer to danger, I see. At least he has some good instincts.
We leave the settlement behind, tearing across open desert on our way to the cliffs. Sand pours into my car through the chicken wire, getting into my eyes and making the rusty, worn interior even dirtier. Maybe the Blackthumbs could help me upgrade some things when I get back. If I decide to work for Anuket more, I'll never run low on replacement parts. That could be how Three got such a nice ride.
I drive on high alert, which makes every moment feel like an eternity. My guzzolene gauge barely moves, but I can't tell if that's because we haven't actually gone very far or because it's busted again. At some point, the ground becomes rougher. The sand gives way to pebbles, which send up clouds of dust under our tires. We must be close now.
Suddenly, Three's heavy vehicle screeches to a halt in front of me. I slam on the breaks, and Chuckles skids and swerves to a stop beside me. As I brush the grit from my eyes, I see Three step out of his vehicle, shotgun in his hands. My vision clears, and I finally see what made him stop.
In the distance, an enormous cloud of thick, dark smoke rises from behind rocky hills and cliffs. The uneven terrain prevents us from seeing the source, but the pillar of smog is so big I figure an entire village must be burning. Looking up, I see black forms dancing through the smoke, circling high above the hills. Birds. Hundreds of birds.
I scramble out of the car, pistol in my hand. The dog stays behind, staring out at the smoke with his ears flat against his head. I can't remember the last time I saw so many birds in one place. Watching them swoop through the smoke makes me uneasy, though I don't exactly know why. It's like the smoke is alive.
"Think they're burning the bodies they took? Or they got attacked by someone else?" I ask, moving to stand beside Three.
"I have no idea," Three replies slowly, not taking his eye from the smog. "I have never seen that much smoke before."
"It looks like burning tires and bad exhaust times ten," Chuckles calls. I look over my shoulder to see him leaning against the handlebars of his bike.
When I turn back, Three has taken the die from his pocket. He rolls it across the hood of his truck. Guess he's done waiting around for us to make a plan.
"It doesn't change anything," the Cyclops says, scooping up the cube before I can see the number. "We need to keep moving."
I nod, deciding not to comment on the rolling this time around - but only because I agree that we need to keep going. But if he thinks that thing can keep making decisions for all of us, we're gonna have words.
"Agreed." Chuckles maintains his forced frown, but his eyes are sparkling with curiosity and excitement. "Hopefully a rival tribe has already done half our work for us."
"Or something worse is waiting over there," I say, tearing my eyes away from the birds and starting back towards my car. We'll find out soon enough.
I get in and slam the door, hoping we don't have any more stops on the way there. The sooner I can see what we're up against, the better. I also hope those flying things clear out before we arrive. I haven't had much experience with birds, but I don't think I like them very much. I prefer things to stay on the ground where I can deal with them.
We continue towards the smoke with Three still in the lead. The dark smog grows thicker and the birds get louder with every passing car length. We reach the first set of cliffs, racing through a maze of rocky passes. I scan each crevice for the glint of a firearm. Nothing. No signs of life at all.
Over the growl of our vehicles, I start to hear roaring fires and idling engines. Whoever did this is still here. As we draw closer and closer, I feel my adrenaline starting to kick in. My hands grip the wheel tightly, and my heart speeds up. More black birds come into view. These ones roost on rocks and ledges above us, eerily silent.
Three pulls over beside one of the cliffs. What's making him stop this time? He'd better not be trying to roll that damn cube again. I grunt frustratedly and follow his lead alongside Chuckles. The rookie and I glance at each other through the wire in my windows. The young man's scowl has started to crack, revealing both enthusiasm and anxiety. I gaze back at him with what I hope is a look of confidence, but I've never been very good at hiding fear.
The Cyclops steps out of his ride and walks over to our vehicles. As he opens his mouth to speak, a loud, crackling noise pierces the air, cutting him off. The birds in the cliffs all take flight at once, darkening the sky above us for a moment before returning to the rocks. I duck instinctively, even though I'm inside a car.
The noise screams out again, dispersing the birds once more. I recognize it as static. Like a radio, but much louder. Three whirls around, looking for the source but finding nothing. The crackling bounces off the cliffs, making it impossible to tell where it's coming from. I get out of my car slowly, eyeing the agitated birds as they flutter above my head. I definitely don't like birds.
Suddenly, a man's voice cuts through the static, booming against the rocks.
"And when the lamb broke the third seal… I heard the third living creature say… say, 'Come and see!' And I looked, and I saw a… a black truck. And its rider. Its rider held a pair of dice in its hands…"
My eyes snap to Three. A black truck. Dice. Whoever it is, they know about the Cyclops. He's well-known around here, I think, but how did they know Anuket would send him this way? Could this entire thing be a setup? My hand tightens around my pistol.
"Come and see," the voice repeats tauntingly.