Chapter 11: Search and Destroy/Rescue

The Kenzie McGrath Clan had set up their camp near the town square of Flagstaff, having the first choice of boarding by virtue of being the first to arrive. By and large, the group considered themselves to be determined homesteaders and pioneers of the wastes, when it would be more accurate, if ungenerous, to call them an assortment of scavengers, con-artists, gunmen, whores, and other criminals held together solely via the charisma of their leader, the eponymous Kenzie McGrath. Having inherited the group from its last owner as of the result of a duel, Kenzie had led his people against the worst the wastes could offer, and had taken pleasure in the years of good fortune and boons, however scant they might be. Still, he knew that the only way they could remain free was through a united front, even if that meant getting in bed with psychotic cults and sociopathic raiders. Still, the juxtaposition of freedom and independence was something he had tried to grapple with for years.

He strolled away from the ruined apartments, the lights growing dimmer as their laughter and singing faded in the distance. Kenzie had insisted that most of the Clan stick together and focus on keeping their morale up, Daphne was likely just focusing on keeping the carousing orderly. Still, not everyone in the clan was what Kenzie would consider a team player. As he drew closer to the modest tent, he saw the figure perched on a chair, methodically inserting rounds in a magazine.

"How goes, Cade?" Kenzie called out. The sentry made just the slightest pause in his ritual before continuing, finishing the magazine and placing it beside the other completed ones, picking up another to continue his inspection. "Pelt-Brutes giving you any trouble?" Kenzie asked.

"Bad call," Cade said, flatly.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly thrilled about it, either," Kenzie whined. "But you know how bad things are!"

Cade snorted as he picked up his rifle, loading a bullet in the chamber as he checked his sights. Kenzie noted the stock of the weapon was marked with tallies, a common ritual for many wasteland shooters.

"Thirty-three?" Kenzie muttered. "C'mon, Cade, you know as well as I do that's bullshit. I know you wasted more than that in the last three months!"

"Not what they're for," Cade replied, bluntly.

"Then what are they for?" Kenzie asked, agitated with his associate's attitude.

"The ones that matter," Cade said, matter-of-factly.

"…Right. Cade, I didn't come here to socialize," Kenzie finally began.

Cade resumed his work. Kenzie was fed up, but Cade shot him a glance to inform him that he was, in fact, listening. His dead eyes constantly ran a chill up Kenzie's spine, but he ignored the sensation and powered through. "We need someone to get back in contact with Costwood's group."

"Dead," Cade said, flatly.

"And how, pray tell, did you come up with that solution?" Kenzie asked.

"Obvious," Cade "explained."

"Well, please take my old age into consideration," Kenzie asked through theatrical mockery, "and go into details!"

"Costwood is a shitty gunslinger," Cade explained slowly, as if to a child. "Dryxon is useless, and Larain is a rank amateur at best. Happy now?"

"Elated. That don't mean they're dead, it just means your constructive criticism needs work. Besides, even if you happen to be right, we need eyes on the invaders, and you're the best candidate I've got."

"Why?" Cade asked.

"You're the best wasteland hunter and gunner in the clan," Kenzie relented. And you give everyone else the creeps, so sending you away for a few weeks will do wonders for morale, he added in his head.

Cade slung his rifle over his shoulder. "…Rules of engagement?" he asked, rhetorically.

"…If a Cali trooper gets in your way, or a Marshal gets in your way, if anyone gets in your way and gives you trouble, you have my blessing to act as you see fit."

"But if I find any of your other boys, I get them out and send them home?" Cade asked.

"I figured that goes without saying," Kenzie replied. Course I'd have to remind you, you sociopath.

Cade then proceeded to do something he rarely ever did. He smiled. "Can't say working under you ever gets boring, Ken."

And seeing you work is never pleasant, however necessary. "Just… how soon can you leave?" Kenzie asked.

"Morning good enough?" Cade asked.

"Ah, good idea. Get some sleep," Kenzie nodded.

"Don't sleep," Cade said as he picked up his gun and headed to one of the lit buildings. "Need to say goodbye to a few folk."

"Cade," Kenzie began, wearily. "You ain't starting anything else."

"Finish," Cade corrected. "Ain't losing anyone you will miss."

Kenzie pinched the bridge of his nose. "…Who and how many?"

"Schultz and his group," Cade explained.

"What did they do now?" Kenzie asked.

"Made one of the girls rather uncomfortable, so much so that she paid me to keep them away. If I'm leaving, I won't be able to honor my end of the bargain."

"And can I ask who paid you?" Kenzie requested.

Cade said nothing.

Kenzie sighed. "Make it quick and clean. The sooner you leave, the better." As Cade marched away to end the lives of four of the clan, Kenzie thought back to why he tolerated given that psycho such free rein. He figured that the day he found a better gunner was the day his services would no longer be required, but the truth was that the primary reason he had invited Cade into the family was that he didn't want to risk someone else, like the Legatum or RMX, to hire the sick bastard and turn him against his Clan. As Kenzie took out his stogie and lit it, he heard the four shots ring out. He took a drag as the shouts and screaming grew louder, knowing that Cade had already disappeared and had gone on his way.

The dull, throbbing pain had finally broken Larain out of his stupor. Wincing as he braced his back off the cot, he sat up and reached to his shoulder to feel the cotton taped to the wound. His mouth felt dry and his eyes felt heavy, the only sense he could currently use at the moment was his ears. He heard the sound of fabric being pulled over skin. Looking over, he saw jeans hiked up over a familiar-looking ass. Buttoning up, Rosa tied her belt and strolled out of the tent. "Hey, wai-" Larain tried to call out as he stumbled out of the cot.

It hurt, but not agonizingly so, and Larain struggled to his feet with little difficulty. Looking around, he saw a pair of slacks and a t-shirt flung over a chair, boots resting at the base. Not wanting to leave his new shelter in a paper gown, Larain assumed generosity and helped himself to the clothing.

Exiting the tent, Larain found himself in the middle of a camp, noise washing over him as the khaki-clad troopers and duster-wearing marshals passed and mingled with one another. Occasionally someone in a white lab coat would snake their way through the crowd, carrying supplies and occasionally manning a stretcher. Peering through the cacophony, he saw Rosa chatting with two of the marshals, some guy with a cane, and another who was wearing an honest-to-God suit in the middle of the desert.

Cautiously, he approached. The first one who noticed him was the guy in the suit, his slicked-back blond hair peeking out under his pork-pie hat. His green eyes glared down Larain, stopping him in his tracks. Lots of people in the wasteland had terrible attitudes, and quite a few of those had killed people. However, as Kenzie had taught him, there was a difference between someone who had killed people, and a Capital K Killer. To the sheltered, it may have come down to a sense of semantics, but to those who lived the life, it was putting to words a sense of intangibility that came when one had to process death on a too regular basis. This guy was a Killer.

"Leave him be, Jimmy," the man with a cane said.

The other three then turned to see Larain, who could only awkwardly wave as the one called Jimmy turned towards him. As he passed, he roughly shoulder-checked Larain on his wounded side, causing him to wince as Rosa walked up to him.

"…Hey," Larain began. "It's been a while."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Rosa asked, without ceremony.

"I… don't know," Larain admitted. "I thought I was going to die."

"You need to leave," Rosa said.

"Why?" Larain asked.

"Because I said you have to," Rosa elaborated.

"Now is that anyway to treat a boyfriend?" the female marshal heckled.

"Now wait a minute," Larain tried to start.

"Not my boyfriend," Rosa interrupted. "And not staying."

"I gather you have recovered quite well," the blind man stated. "Melody will be delighted at the news."

"Can someone just take a moment to tell me what's going on?" Larain asked, exasperated.

"We found you for dead in a nearby town," the man with the cane said, which Larain had only now realized was also blindfolded. "You were clinging to life, but thanks to the efforts of my wife and Ms. Perez here, you still remain among us," he smiled.

"Not for long, because he is leaving," Rosa announced as she tried to push Larain away.

"Woah, now," the male marshal called out. "I understand how awkward the relationship must be between you and your boy toy…"

"Shut up," Rosa snapped.

"…but I wouldn't be doing my due diligence if I just allowed this injured soul to wander back out in the wasteland he barely survived," the male eyed Larain up and down. "So, just what in the hell happened to you in the first place."

Larain was about to answer when his mouth clammed up. It was bad enough he was brought to these people in a half-dead state, how much worse would it be if they ended up thinking he was nuts, too? "…Raiders," Larain confessed, looking away.

"Raiders?" the male marshal repeated. "Doesn't seem like their usual MO. You had a knife still on you, and it doesn't seem like they took a lot of your personal belongings. I've never heard of a raider that left someone alive and didn't take their stuff."

Larain fought back a gulp. The two marshals were staring him down, making this even more awkward than he knew how to navigate. Rosa didn't seem that interested, but even she shot him the occasional glance. Whether by some merciful fate or another equally mysterious force that Larain couldn't comprehend, the blind man spoke up. "He's telling the truth."

The marshals both turned to look at the blind one. "He is?" they asked, simultaneously.

"Enough of it," the blind man admitted.

The two marshals looked to one another, then to Larain. "…Guess you're cleared," the male said.

"Good news for you, Rosa!" the female added in a chipper tone. Rosa thumbed her nose at the two. "Well, if it's all the same to you two, I got stuff to do."

"What stuff?" the female asked. "You've been confined to your quarters for the near future. I guess that's where Larain will be staying as well, considering you kept him company all ni-"

"ANYWAY," Rosa screamed. She looked up and down Larain. "…Guess I can't kick you out just yet. C'mon, you. Jimmy has an in with the quartermasters, give you some proper gear, at least."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," the female marshal called out, a smile on her face.

"Blarg-blarg, pig," Rosa shot back as she grabbed Larain's hand and marched him away.

"Who were they?" Larain asked.

"Shut up," Rosa growled.

"Where am I?" he continued.

"Stop talking," Rosa growled.

"And why did you spend the night with-" Rosa immediately wheeled around and threw a straight jab into his wounded shoulder. Larain's knees buckled as he keeled over, barely keeping his balance. "Let's get one thing perfectly clear. I am not on vacation, and I have no idea what you are doing here, but as soon as you can leave, you are leaving. Got it?" she hissed.

"I get it, I get it," Larain wheezed. "Not the first time someone wasn't proud of a one night stand."

Rosa reared her fist back again when suddenly a cane snuck its way in front of her elbow. "After all the work we put into preserving his life," the blind man said, "it would tarnish our hospitality to further brutalize him, wouldn't you say?"

"…You know what?" Rosa seethed. "Why don't you take him to the quartermaster, Joe?"

"It would be my pleasure," Joe smiled as he bowed his head. Rosa just stormed away, throwing her hands up at Joseph's relentless hosting. Larain looked to his new guide as he made his way further into the camp. "…So…"

"My name is Joseph Young, I am a pastor and occasional spiritual guide," he began. "The others you met are Jimmy Bishop, Tobey and Carla Boone, and I believe you are already familiar with Rosa. You are in the middle of the Allied Expeditionary Group's main camp, just outside Fort Abandon. We stopped for some logistical concerns when we just so happened to stumble across you."

"Oh," Larain finally got out, his surprise over receiving information temporarily drowning out his gratitude. "…Ah, thank you. I feel lucky."

"I prefer blessed," Joseph smiled. "My wife did most of the mending, though she advises you avoid anything particularly strenuous in the foreseeable future," he chuckled for some reason. "If it is all the same to you, I would suggest you lodge in my wife and I's tent. The fewer toes you step on around here, the better."

"Yeah, I don't feel particularly welcome," Larain admitted.

"Give them time, they'll come around. You are quite capable, considering what you survived," Joseph smiled.

"Yeah," Larain shuddered. "Raiders, am I right?"

"Just a broken animal who believes survival is the same as living," Joseph said. "…The raiders, I mean."

"…Right," Larain stated. "So, I don't want to be rude, but…"

"I was wounded many years ago as a boy," Joseph said. "It has been so long I barely consider it a handicap."

"Fair enough. Good to know," Larain exhaled, grateful his host was being so forthcoming.

"What about you?" Joseph asked. "What brings you so far out into the wasteland?"

Larain suddenly felt self-conscious. "…I was on a hunting trip with some friends," he began. "I got separated from them and then jumped by the… raider."

"Hmm," Joseph replied. "And are your hunting partners nearby?"

"…I… don't think they made it," Larain reluctantly admitted.

"I am so sorry," Joseph bowed his head. "Is there anywhere else you have to go? Family?"

Larain bit his lip. Lying wasn't something he took particular relish in, but doing so to someone who had been so forthcoming, especially after he had apparently helped save his life, was something he didn't quite think he had the stomach for. So, he thought to himself, if telling enough of the truth worked so well before, why stop now?"

"I'm an orphan," Larain admitted. "Don't know who my mom was and my dad left when I was way too young. Had an uncle who did most of the raising, but we kind of had a falling out."

"I see," Joseph said as he turned to Larain. "I'm sorry about your father."

All at once, images flashed before Larain's eyes. The sky was burning, towers and earth cracked and split as death mercifully took most of the inhabitants. One centurion wasn't so lucky, as his flesh was seared from his bones as his sanity and wherewithal boiled away. Madness consumed him, and hatred, though without any direction or purpose. The living corpse would walk for years until a dreadlocked man broke his neck with a flagpole, and only then would relief find the wretched drifter. Relief, and the faintest memory of the son he left behind.

Larain's mind returned to his body. Shaken, he glanced at Joseph, who seemed just as caught off guard. "Is there something wrong?" Joseph asked.

"…Nothing," Larain said, trying to hide his nervousness. "Just heatstroke, I guess."

"Right," Joseph replied, equally disturbed. That phenomenon was something new, even to an experienced dream walker like him. Memories were one thing, but that wasn't a mere memory. He would need some time alone, to pray and contemplate. Still, he had a job to do. Thankfully, the journey to the quartermasters tent proceeded without incident.

Two stood guard as the third sniffed the powerline. "Well?" Ronny asked as Davy finished. "He was definitely here," Davy nodded. Petey groaned as his stomach growled. "Can't we just get something to eat? Father is already after him, what are we here for?"

"He murdered our clutch," Ronny hissed. "Butchered our brothers and sisters while they were hatchlings. As our brother's keeper, it is our responsibility to end his life, not Father's," Ronny explained.

"Don't make no sense," Petey groused as he picked his teeth. "I smell humies."

Ronny headbutted her brother in the jaw. "Ouch! What was that for?" the larger one complained.

"Stop using that word. It makes you sound like an idiot. Use the proper words."

"Fine," Petey relented. "I smell monkeys. Happy, now?"

"That's better. And no," Ronny shook her head. "It will be too risky. He'll be close by, it's too good for him to pass up, but he will not attack head on."

"So he'll be picking off stragglers at his leisure," Davy finished. "Which means…"

"Stay near the monkeys, stay near to Sonny," Petey recited as his stomach continued to grumble.

Davy reached down into the dirt, clawing away at it until he grasped the thin, naked tail of a giant rat that had burrowed into the dirt. Prying it from the ground, Davy tossed it into the waiting maw of his brother. "Happy, now?"

Petey smacked his lips as he swallowed it whole. "Beats carrion."

"Now that we are all happy, can we focus on the matter at hand," Ronny interjected. "Father is going west, which means he's lost Sonny's trail."

"Or maybe he's just smart enough to not mess with the monkeys, maybe he thinks that they will kill him."

"And if they find out what Sonny is, what will that mean for us?" Ronny asked. "We can do just fine if they think we are mere lizards, but when they discover that we can speak and think as they do? What will that mean for all of us?"

Davy and Petey glanced at one another. It was like their father explained to them, humans were for eating, but it was like eating an ant-hive. The more you took, the more attention it brought you. And the next thing you realized, you'd be covered in ants and dragged to their lair. Sonny, greedy fucker that he was, believed he could take as many ants as he wanted and was confident he could just kill the rest on his time. It was not a risk they were willing to let him take.

"So, sister, where next shall we go?" Davy asked.

"We wait until night, move only under the cover of darkness. Sonny prefers the dark too, so we will move when he does. And remember, when we catch him…"

"We kill him immediately," Petey finished. "Don't let him suffer, that's what humies do."

Davy did the honors this time. "Sorry!" Petey relented.

The three hooded lizards left that juncture, having narrowly avoided the armed mercenaries and the misfit party of adventurers who occupied that town just hours prior to their arrival. The three weren't interested in the goings-on with humanity and their never-ending petty struggles. With the three, survival was the only item on the agenda. That being said, that didn't mean they wouldn't pass up the occasional unlucky straggler who ran across their paths. There was being cautious, there was being pragmatic, and there was just being plain old wasteful. If more monkeys could understand that, then perhaps they could attain a power beyond that which their packs lent them, and they could experience the joys of the wasteland that only the strongest could revel in. Of course, not everyone was built to partake in the joys of wasteland living. One would need thick skin, cold blood, and claws the size of knives.