Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) Page 8

  He looked down at the boy, then pointed over to the women.

  “Listen kid, you see those two women? Go bring them back and we’ll see what we can do.”

  The boy sprinted down the street and caught up with the two. He grabbed the mother’s arm and pointed back at Brogan. Brogan raised his hand and beckoned them back urgently. The mother and daughter began arguing, the daughter shaking her head emphatically and stamping her foot. He knew she was angry with him for not helping her father. It was an irrational anger, one he fully understood and didn’t hold against her.

  Finally the mother managed to persuade her daughter to turn around, and the two headed back to where Brogan and Staunton stood.

  Before Brogan could say a word, the mother spoke up. “I know you must think us very ungrateful. We never thanked you for what you did for us back there.” She looked across at her daughter, who stood with her body turned away to one side, a sullen expression on her face. “It’s so hard to know how to feel. Megan was very close to—”

  Brogan put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It’s okay, ma’am. I know how you both must feel.” He turned to the daughter. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help your father. He was a strong man, but he made an error in judgment. There was nothing I could do for him without risking other men’s lives.”

  The girl ignored his comment and continued to stare away, her eyes welling up with tears. Up close, Brogan was struck by how beautiful she was. With her long, flaxen hair, perfect skin, and Nordic blue eyes, she would have her pick of the young men in the city.

  When her mother looked like she was about to say something, Brogan cut in. “Look, that’s not why I called you back. The question now is, what are your plans? I don’t want you two to go running into any more trouble.”

  “We’re going to get off the street and find somewhere to stay as quickly as possible,” the mother said.

  “You know where exactly?”

  “I have the name of a hotel, but I’m not sure exactly where it is. My…my husband had the details. Seeing as we’ve lost all our possessions, I don’t think anyone is going to pay us any heed once we leave the square.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Brogan indicated with his head to the other side of the square, where a man in a black leather jacket leaned against the wall. He stood in the shadows, barely noticeable. There was no sign of his companion. “See that man over there? As soon as you two walked off, he and his friend peeled themselves off the wall and followed you. They had their eyes on you all the way.”

  The mother looked over nervously to where Brogan had indicated. “You think…?”

  “Yes. In fact, I know.” Brogan indicated to Staunton. “Why don’t you stick with us until you get settled here? It’s not safe for you to wander off by yourselves.”

  The mother looked at her daughter uncertainly. The daughter shook her head.

  Brogan tried another approach. “Let me ask you something. You got money? Or did you lose that too?”

  The mother hesitated. She looked around carefully. “Yes, my husband gave it to me before we ran out to the bus.”

  Brogan was relieved. Without money, life would become very harsh for the two women. “Good. At least that’s something.”

  At that moment, the two ex-convicts ambled over to the group. Earlier they had been as good as their word. As soon as the bus was on its way, both had given back their pistols.

  The one Brogan had talked to earlier stuck out his hand. “So long, mister. Maybe we’ll catch you around someplace soon,” he said. “Appreciate what you did back there.” He pointed to the young man beside him. “This here is my brother, Jake. I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Fletcher.”

  Brogan shook both their hands. Staunton did likewise. “So long, guys. Thanks for helping out,” Brogan said.

  “Glad you gave us the chance,” Jake Fletcher replied. He turned to the girl. “I’m sorry about your father, miss,” he said. “Don’t be angry about us not going back in to fetch him out. We’d have risked our necks for nothing.”

  “Why do you say that?” the girl asked, her face contorted in a mixture of pain and anger. “If enough of you had gone back, you could have saved him.”

  Fletcher shook his head. “No, miss. I talked to the other fellow, the one who made it out. He told me your father was dying, took two bullets in the stomach. One was real bad. We would have just risked our lives for nothing. That’s the truth.”

  The girl was silent, mulling over what the young man had said.

  “So where you guys going?” Brogan asked.

  The two brothers looked at each other, then both broke out into broad smiles.

  “Well, let’s see now,” Steve Fletcher said. “Guess we’ll try to find someplace that’ll put us up for the night. Somewhere that’ll accept a couple of hours work for a bed.”

  “What you’re saying is, you boys are running a little low on money, is that it?” Staunton asked.

  “‘A little low’ would be a dream right now,” Jake said cheerfully. “We each got a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. That’s about all they gave us when they let us out of the can. Nice, huh?”

  Staunton looked around the group. “Say, how about we all find someplace together?” he suggested. “Between the six of us we should be able get a deal somewhere. See if we can’t hustle you two boys a free room. What do you all think?”

  The two ex-cons appeared delighted with Staunton’s proposal.

  “I’m cool with that,” Jake said. “How about you, Steve?”

  Steve nodded emphatically. “For sure. Safety in numbers. That’s what they say.”

  Brogan considered things a moment. Despite being ex-cons, both young men were extremely personable, and neither of the two women had objected. It might just be what it took to persuade the mother and daughter to join them.

  “Agreed. Depends on one thing though, and that’s who’s making up those numbers.” He stared at the two young men intently. “Now don’t get all bent out of shape, but I got to ask you, what was your crime back in the State? And don’t bullshit me either.”

  The two ex-cons looked at each other. Steve spoke up first. “Alright, we won’t bullshit you. Won’t sugarcoat it, neither. Me and Jake were serving time for armed robbery.”

  Brogan gave him a questioning look. He needed details.

  Steve smiled at him weakly. “For hijacking a booze truck coming up from Denver. We took it just south of Metro. Plan was to bring it over to the Outzone.”

  “You were going to smuggle a booze truck into the Outzone?” Staunton said incredulously. “Never heard of such a thing. How does a guy go about doing something like that?”

  “There’re ways,” Brogan said. Staunton shot him a curious look. “Just the booze, right? Not the truck.”

  Steve Fletcher nodded. “We drove it thirty miles west of Metro, where the Exclusion Wall’s not so high,” he explained. “We had a guy on the other side with a truck-mounted hydraulic crane. Plan was to haul the crates over, ourselves too on the last pallet.”

  “So what went wrong?”

  “What went wrong is that after three loads the crane broke down on their side. While they were still fixing it, a StealthHawk packed full of SRF goons touched down right beside us and that, as the fellah says, was that.”

  “Shit. Tough break,” Staunton said.

  Brogan was pretty sure he hadn’t participated in the action that day, though he couldn’t swear to it. He had been involved in many similar cases.

  “We didn’t see any future working a dead-end job in the IZ for the rest of our lives,” Jake said, anxious to explain. “Thought we’d take the risk and set ourselves up properly over here.”

  “Tell me about it,” Staunton said ruefully.

  “Drones got everything on camera,” Steve said. From the look in his eye, the young man was reliving the event. “Funny thing is, in the courtroom, watching it all transpire again on the big screen, part of m
e was still hoping we’d make it. Damn, if it wasn’t for that bust crane we would have, too,” he said wistfully.

  “Anyway, we got here in the end,” Jake said with a grin. “Three years later, twenty pounds lighter, and with only the shirts on our backs.”

  Staunton scratched his head in amazement. “Jeez, guess this ‘ol square right here just don’t hang around in the right circles.”

  Steve laughed. “Better that way, Dan. Trust me.”

  “Anyone get hurt during the robbery?” Brogan pressed, staring from one brother to the other.

  Jake shook his head vehemently. “No way, man. Truth is, the truck never really got hijacked in the first place. The driver was in on it. Me and Steve never ratted him out. He was our friend.”

  “But you had guns, right?”

  “Damn straight we did!” Steve exclaimed. “Who’s going to go over to the Outzone with fifty grand worth of whiskey and no guns?”

  Brogan grinned. “Silly question.”

  Gazing around the square, he saw that everyone had dispersed. While they had been talking, some of the departing men and women had patted him on the shoulder or shook his hand as they had left. It was time to get going.

  Brogan felt comfortable with the two misguided brothers. He made his decision. Looking down at the young boy still waiting patiently beside him, he said, “Okay, kid. So what’s the name of this hotel you’re taking us to?”

  Chapter 11

  Cloud Valley, The North Mountains, Outzone

  Bose had been hunting for several hours, so far without success. Earlier that day, he had left the Cloud Valley camp nestled in the foothills of the North Mountains and gradually made his way higher, the air growing colder as he moved stealthily through the forest.

  He checked his watch. It was late afternoon. Soon he would have to turn back. When the sun passed over the triple peaks of the Three Sirens, the temperature would drop fast. Up here, the turns in the weather were fast and vicious. A man on his own could easily get caught out; he wouldn’t be the first. And as big as he was, Bose wasn’t top of the food chain. Bears and wolves roamed these mountains, their populations growing ever larger since the war.

  Earlier he had come across fresh deer tracks in the snow, but he had yet to sight one. You needed patience to be a good hunter, and at the age of forty-seven, six of them spent in various prisons across the country, patience was something Bose had learned a whole lot about. Of course, that had all been when he was younger, taking foolish risks without a full appreciation of their consequences. He hadn’t seen the inside of a jail for over twenty years, long before the Great Global War had even begun.

  Perhaps it had been those years cooped up in a six by eight cell that made him enjoy the raw beauty of the Outzone wilderness the way he did, even on a day like this when it appeared he would return to camp empty handed. And though alert to his surroundings, eyes peeled for animal tracks or any sign of danger, Bose’s mind felt as fresh as the cold mountain air whistling around his ears, allowing him to think carefully and clearly about matters important to him.

  Now was a good time to think about the tribal meeting in two days’ time when the Black Eagles tribe, one of the five warrior chapters of the Outzone, would sit to discuss the succession and elect a new chief. The previous day their old chief, Sureshot, had died, taken away by a sudden winter fever. Over the last couple of years he had become increasingly frail after taking a bad fall from his motorbike, although his mind had remained as sharp as his shooting and riding had once been.

  For those few days, as he lay in his tent in a high fever, racked by a rasping cough that ate away at him night and day, Bose spent many hours by his bedside. During the times when the chief had some strength, the two would talk.

  “You know I’m done for,” the chief said to Bose on the fifth evening. His pale blue eyes were cloudy and strained, the gray hair at his temples soaked with sweat. “Each day I’m slipping, getting weaker. And these damned herbs the women boil up do nothing for me. Taste like shit too. Maybe that’s what’s killing me.”

  Bose smiled. “Chico will be back soon. Just hang in there,” he said. “You’ll be fine once he gets back with the medicine.”

  The tribe was camped deep in one of the far valleys of the North Mountains and the nearest town that would have a supply of antibiotics was two days’ ride there and back, perhaps longer depending on the weather. The previous morning Bose had sent out a small group of riders led by his trusted lieutenant as Sureshot’s condition had gotten progressively worse. He hoped his leader could last until they returned.

  However, Sureshot knew better. He shook his head firmly. “No, amigo, this is my time to go.” He stuck out a bony hand from beneath the blankets and clasped it over Bose’s wrist. It felt hot and clammy on his skin.

  “Tomorrow, at first light, bring the council here to me. I will talk to them about the succession.” He gave Bose a weak smile. “I know how to play the game. I’ll make them pledge their allegiance to you in front of me. The wishes of a man on his deathbed are hard to resist.”

  “Sure, Chief,” Bose said quietly. “In a week’s time you’ll be up again and riding your Dyna. But I’ll bring them…just in case.”

  Sureshot looked pleased. “Good. One other thing. When I’m gone, I want you to take Daniella as your wife. A chief needs a good woman beside him, someone the tribe respects.”

  Bose felt the cheeks of his scarred and weathered face coloring. “Chief, I can’t do that!”

  Daniella was a tall, dark-skinned girl and the younger sister of Jamila, Sureshot’s wife. With a soft and gentle personality that matched her beauty, she had joined the tribe recently and didn’t have a man yet. The braves around the camp who had tried to catch her interest mistook her shyness for aloofness, and grumbled she was picky. Perhaps she was, or perhaps her sister was guiding her, telling her not to rush into things.

  If Bose didn’t already have somebody, he might have been happy to hear Sureshot’s words. But he already had a girl, Roja, a lithe, raven-haired Latina as fiery as her name suggested. While he had no long term plans with her, they had been together for over six months. This would spell trouble. A lot of it.

  The chief shook his head. “Roja is a hothead. She causes too much trouble. You only have to remember how you two met to know that.”

  Bose had met Roja in Winter’s Edge, on a trip the Black Eagles had made to help settle a dispute that had broken out between two of the Kill City biker gangs. She had been at the heart of the feud, having killed a high-ranking rival member for some alleged slight. As part of the peace agreement, and for her own safety, she had agreed to leave her gang. That had been fine with Roja. By that time, she and Bose had already hooked up.

  Still, Bose was stunned to hear his chief speak like this. He had never alluded to it before. A memory flashed through his mind. His close friend, Clement had recently brought up the subject too, as delicately as he could manage. Bose had told him angrily to shut up or lose his front teeth. It occurred to him, now, that perhaps Sureshot had put him up to it.

  "The men, maybe they don’t care so much,” Sureshot continued. “Roja is young and pretty. That goes a long way when you are young and stupid and keep your brains down your pants. That won’t be in her favor with the women. Most just don’t get on with her. You’ll need their votes too if you want to become chief.”

  What Sureshot said was true. Roja’s quick temper and haughty manner hadn’t exactly ingratiated her with the women of the tribe, who shared equal voting rights with the men. Theoretically, a woman could even challenge to become chief, though the rule of the blood challenge made sure that had never happened yet.

  Bose opened his mouth to argue. Sureshot cut him short. “If you want to become chief, you must chose a wife, as our laws demand. One who’ll help win you the votes,” he said firmly. “Why not Daniella?”

  “Why haven’t you said this to me before…about Roja?” Bose asked.

  Sureshot shrugged. “
Why spoil your time together? Now that time must come to an end.” A determined look came over the chief’s face. “You must win the succession. Who else here is fit to lead as both a warrior and a wise head? If it were just a strong warrior the tribe needed, then someone like Ironclaw would make a good chief. But he is too bloodthirsty, too full of anger. He would keep the tribe in constant war. You need to take care; he has a following within the tribe. He mustn’t win the vote.”

  Ironclaw was a tough, barrel-chested warrior feared by many for his violent ways, and along with Bose was on the tribe’s council of seven. He was also the spokesman for a small contingent of braves who advocated that the Black Eagles should leave the confederacy of warrior chapters, an alliance Sureshot had put a lot of work in bringing the tribe into several years ago. Though he respected his bravery and proven strengths as a warrior, Bose didn’t care much for Ironclaw. The feeling was mutual.

  “What about Jamila?” he asked. Bose suspected perhaps Sureshot’s love for his wife had something to do with this too. With her sister as the new chief’s wife, her standing would remain high in the tribe.

  “Just make sure she’s cared for when I’m gone. After time passes, help her find someone who’ll treat her good. Not some vain strutting brave who’ll fuck every bitch in the casa the moment he hits town.” The chief glanced up at Bose. “God knows, I was like that too when I was younger, but Jamila deserves better than that. So will you swear it? Will you take Daniella?”

  Bose sat there, unsure what to say.

  “Amigo, trust me,” Sureshot said gently. “It’s for the good of the tribe. When you become chief, everything you do must be for the good of the tribe.”

  Bose stared at the chief, thinking hard. He got on well with Roja, and respected her. She was loyal, and always had his back. But she was crazy too, to the point of being dangerous. Perhaps the chief was right; someone divisive like Roja would just lead to his nearest rival, Ironclaw, winning enough votes to become chief. Neither of them wanted that.