As I Walk These Broken Roads (34 page)

The way they held their rifles
wasn
’
t overly impressive. They probably knew how to use them but they didn
’
t seem particularly threatening or hostile – just bored. Then again, Wentworth couldn
’
t blame them. It was both cold and humid, with a painfully bright sun. He knew from experience how tedious guard duty could be, especially with bad weather.

They all sported facial hair, though the younger two
’
s beards were patchy, but what really struck Wentworth was their skin colour. It was a rud
dy brown, with an almost orange
quality to it. He
’
d never seen anything like it, not in the history vids or anywhere else. At first he thought it might have been reflected light from their crimson sashes and turbans, then he wondered if it might be some sort of paint, but neither seemed to be the case. Mentally he shrugged his shoulders;
maybe
they just had too much
carotene
in their diet. Either way they seemed healthy enough.

While he was thinking this, one of the younger
Kshatriyas
had been examining his motorcycle.
“
Hey,
”
he asked,
“
that
’
s some steed you
’
ve got there. What do you call it?
”

“
Call it?
”

“
Yeah, man, I
’
ve never seen one of those before.
”

“
Oh. It
’
s called a motorcycle. It
’
s pretty good fuel wise, I hardly ever need to fill the tank, but you can
’
t haul much.
”

“
Jeez, that
’
s what they got out in Steeltown, ain
’
t it?
”

Wentworth shrugged.
“
Couldn
’
t say; I got mine out east.
”

Before the conversation could continue Vince and the Sergeant finished their business.
“
Alright lads, we
’
re good to go,
”
said Vince, getting into the truck.

The Sergeant walked over in between the two vehicles so that he could address both Wentworth and Raxx at the same time.
“
Alright, I
’
m going to get you guys just to pull these vehicles into the parking compound down the road on your left as soon as you go in the gate. Any motorized transport is prohibited in Mississauga, so you
’
re going to be foot-bound until you leave. Don
’
t worry about security, we take care of that. All the merchants use the lot for storing cargo. Vince here knows the drill. Just make sure you go down to the far end, all motorized transport has to go down there, ya got that?
”
They both nodded,
“
Alright. There
’
s no smoking or drinking in Sauga, except in the visitor
’
s quarters, south-west corner of the Erin Mills Centre, and the Hospital groun
ds are off limits unless if you’re
one of the Brahmin
, a patient,
or a guest. Rajah, get the dragon
’
s teeth. Sunoco, the gate.
”
He looked back over to the two drivers.
“
Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.
”

Two days later Wentworth was feeling pleasantly bored. He was sitting at a bar
’
s patio with his feet up, sipping on
an imported
brew, while the light from the sun played across his legs, warming them despite the nippy air.

Mississauga was known for two things: having the largest market east of Petrolia, and the best medical technology anyone knew of. The Brahmin
’
s administered the latter, treating patients as well as exporting medicines and physicians, while the former was kept secure by the large force of
Kshatriyas
who guarded against theft and violence. A patrol was maintained on the parking lot where they
’
d left their vehicles, along with a number of other caravans. There were even a few other motor vehicles present. After they finished helping Vince set up his booth in the Erin Mills marketplace Raxx and Wentworth were free to roam. There was no need to guard his booth as they had in the smaller towns.

The Erin Mills Centre was a massive concrete building two stories high and half a kilometre long. As they
’
d entered the gate it had stood majestically in the distance, three giant grey blocks connected by slightly smaller corridors, forming a flattened
‘
T
’
. The interior was open and spacious with the occasional flower garden along the center of the pathway. Sunlight shone in from above through
empty
skylights; the interior was open to the elements. There were still puddles on the floor, evidence of the recent rainstorm. About half of the rooms bordering the pathway were occupied by permanent merchants and businesses, the others were empty, awaiting tenants. The sounds of humanity and the voices of merchants hawking their wares echoed through the corridor.

The steward came by and brought Wentworth a fresh beer. He nodded his thanks. The beer had an odd taste to it, almost spicy, with a full body; he liked it. The bar he was sitting at was set by the main thoroughfare, where it crossed a pair of service corridors; it looked like it had been a bar before the war. The furnishings were well made, and aged. From where he was sitting he could just make out the fountain plaza down towards the centre of the crossroads and watch the locals go about their business.

During their first day wandering the Centre Raxx had discovered a store selling scavenged tech, stuff that was still serviceable. He
’
d looked over the different items while excitedly talking to Wentworth about what they did and what they could be used for. He spoke without realizing he was going over the man
’
s head. He
’
d ended up buying a number of pieces and heading back to his truck to work on whatever it was that he was going to do with them.

Left on his own Wentworth had stuck to people watching, reading, with a bit of window shopping mixed in. The day before he
’
d spotted some items for sale in a weapons store and he
’
d returned the next morning with an empty duffle bag to purchase them. It was now full and under his table. The odd skin pigmentation he
’
d noticed earlier, while not universal, was prevalent amongst the Vedas. He also noticed that most of them were carrying Kukris
, not just
the Kshatriya. After thinking for a while he
’
d decided that this must be a cultural norm rather than an attempt at
self-defence
, given how few people were carrying sidearms

Aside from the shopkeepers – the Vaishyas – who were
overly
friendly, the locals ignored him. The culture here was not just unique, as Vince had suggested, but powerful as well. They had a strong identity. If you weren
’
t part of their family unit you
just
didn
’
t register
with
them. It wasn
’
t hostility, just indifference born out of a strong sense of self.

His meal arrived, causing him to reflect on the idiosyncrasies of the Vedic culture. While he
’
d picked out the Indian roots, the Vedas were clearly a postwar development.
‘
Chicken Curry
with Tomyum soup
’
was
just one example
.

He
’
d finished eating and was debating with himself over the wisdom of having a third pint when he heard the voice for a second time.

“
Hey, you!
”

The first shout had failed to register. With the second Wentworth realized that they were speaking to him. Annoyed, he took a sip of his beer and slowly looked over.

“
Yeah, I
’
m talking to you!
”

The gangly youth had a scruffy beard, and he carried a Vedaic kukri. Dull eyes and open mouth suggested low intelligence, while his furrowed brow made it seem as the world l
eft him perpetually confused
. On top of this he appeared to be well into his cups even though it was only mid-afternoon. Thinking back Wentworth remembered seeing him when he first arrived, arguing in a barking manner with a group of similar individuals. His friends had left him alone at some point, and now he wanted to share his ideas with the rest of the patrons.

Wentworth waited a beat before replying.

“Yeah?”

The response seemed to confuse and anger the youth even more. The kid’s eyebrows knotted as he searched for a response. “Doncha know this ain’t no derelict bar?”

Wentworth spent another few seconds examining him before responding, wondering if he should point out that this was Visitor’s wing. “No, I didn’t.” He turned back around, hoping the idiot would leave.

It took the kid a while to respond but when he did it was clear he wasn’t going to let things lie. “Hey, donchou turn your back on me, derelict!” There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor as he got up.

Wentworth turned his head around and the youth stopped in his tracks, halfway between their two tables, staring at him, chest heaving as he breathed through his mouth. Something in Wentworth snapped.

With the sudden burst of adrenaline he stood up, hearing the table and chair clatter and the cutlery shatter. All of his pent up frustrations exploded at once. Maybe it was the kid’s vacant gaze. Maybe it was the ‘derelict’ epithet. Or maybe it was just the mouth breathing. Whatever it was he found himself standing with his pistol drawn and pointed at the kid’s skull before he had a chance to think.

He immediately regretted it. He’d upped the ante when he should have been talking his way out of it. He was only helping this idiot cause trouble. But it was too late to back down. In the background he heard the rest of the patrons as they caught on to what was transpiring. He held the pistol in a firm grip, willing the kid to back off, watching his eyes through semi-polarized lenses.

One’s eyes are nearly impossible to control; they’re hardwired to the brain. The kids were wavering. They ticked to his left.
Back off,
thought Wentworth keeping his gaze steady. They wavered again, unable to choose. Then they twisted, darting to the right. Wentworth was moving before the kukri was drawn. The curved blade was
dangerous;
he could feel the kid
preparing to slash
it in a downward arc. He twisted the pistol in his hand, catching the blade on his finger guard, swirling it clockwise to the right and away. His left hand caught the boys wrist and he hooked his right foot behind the boys ankle, toes curled slightly upward, cupping it. He pistol whipped him, then dropped the gun and grabbed his shoulder, going down with him as the kid fell backward. Guiding the shoulder, he allowed the momentum to bring his opponent’s elbow down on his knee while keeping a firm grip on the wrist. There was a loud crack as the elbow bent backwards and the kukri clattered to the floor.

The silence lasted a split second. Other patrons were still scrabbling out of their chairs by the time it was done.

The kid blinked twice in confusion. Then his eyes widened in pain. He began shrieking.

Shit,
Wentworth looked over at the table he’d knocked over and the shattered remains of his plate and glass. Idly he kicked away the kukri.

He looked at the bartender, and pulled his
money clip
out. “Sorry about the dishes. Let me cover that.” He glanced around the bar. Mostly foreigners like himself, but a couple of locals were there, cigarettes dangling from long holding stems. The wary gazes were split between him and the kid. “How about I buy a round for the house, seeing as how I interrupted their meals?” He lay another wad on the counter, and saw a slight nod in response from the bartender.

He picked up and holstered his pistol; there was still no round in the chamber; then pulled the duffle bag from under the turned-over table. The kid was whimpering pathetically now, rolling back and forth on the floor while clutching his bicep, the forearm hanging at too-straight an angle. He pulled a couple more bills out, and dropped them on the writhing form. “I hope that’ll cover his medical expenses,” he said to the bar at large.

Then he vaulted over the wrought iron fence, and disappeared down the service corridor.

* * *

Saxony grunted as he lifted the crate up to the loading dock, Jeremy took it and put it on the forklift’s palette. Despite cool air he was sweating.

“Oy, gents!” The two of them glanced over. Approaching them was a foreigner dressed all in black with a duffle bag over one shoulder. “Is this here Anderson’s shipment?”

“Who?” asked Jeremy.

“Anderson, I just rode with him outta Steeltown.”

“Sorry guy,” said Saxony, “This is nothing but
farm
crops we got here. You’re with one of the highway traders?”

“Yeah, I was just supposed to be guarding for him, but then one of his kids sprained his ankle, so now I gotta help him unload. It’s a big shipment, whole bunch of electronics.”

“You must mean for Gizzer’s shop?” said Jeremy.

“Yeah, that sounds about right – is this loading bay C1?”

“No guy, this is C2. Only local stuff in here. Any highway merchants, they all go over to the other side – C1 should be the first. Hey, you know you can even cut through Complex, there’s a door just over there.”

“Nah, I just came from there – it’s locked on the other side, I was hoping maybe this was the right place. Guess I just gotta go for a little walk, then.”

“Uh, locked? Shouldn’t be,” said Jeremy, “Tell you what, the keys are just over there in the key box, how ‘bout I go open it for you.”

“That’s alright, you
guys
are busy. I’ll just take the long way around, if I can squeeze past you. Thanks, though.”

“Sure. No problem, guy.”

* * *

Raxx was underneath his truck inspecting things when he heard Wentworth
’
s voice.

“
I come bearing gifts.
”

“
Oh, hey man.
”

Awkwardly he crawled out from underneath. Wentworth had laid his duffel bag on the hood and was rifling through it.
“
I saw this stuff for sale and I thought of you.
”
He pulled out a large black vest with large shoulder pads and covered with pockets and handed it to him.
“
Try it on.
”

Raxx slipped it on over his sweater. It was heavier than it looked and a bit loose, but comfortable enough.
“
Nice, what is it?
”

“
Fragmentation vest. It
beat
s
the hell out of those football pads of yours. Won
’
t stop heavier calibers, but it
’
ll keep you safe from most rifles and explosives. Here
’
s the other thing.
”
He handed over a longarm made of slick, moulded plastic, with a drum magazine and a bull-pup design.
“
It
’
s a proper combat shotgun with a constant recoil system. Fully automatic, twenty round mag, and a hell of a lot nicer on your shoulder. I
’
ll show you
how it operate
s later.
”

Raxx hefted it. It was much lighter than his old shotgun but it looked well made.
“
Well, thanks man. Did you get anything for yourself?
”

Wentworth shrugged,
“
Just this.
”
He held up a piece of tubing roughly thirty centimetres long with a trigger at one end.
“
It
’
s a grenade launcher. But it
’
s rusted all to shit, and Lord knows where I
’
m going to find some ammunition for it.
”
He shrugged.
“
I got it free with the other stuff.
”

“
How much it set you back?
”

Wentworth grinned.
“
Enough. Don
’
t worry about it though, I figure I owe it to you for having my back so many times.
”
The smile left his face and he stared out at the horizon.
“
Listen, I don
’
t know about you but this place is starting to feel a bit too civilized for my tastes. Plus I can
’
t stop staring at that tower in the distance. What do you say we go check out those ruins east of here?
”

“
Yeah, sure thing.
And yeah,
I know what you mean, not much is happening here. But first I got something for you, too.
”
He grinned widely and wiggled his eyebrows. He went around to the back of his truck, gesturing for Wentworth to follow.
“
Here put this up against your ear.
”
He handed him a black disc connected to a wire. Wentworth listened while he picked up a similar unit.
“
Breaker-breaker-one-niner,
”
he said.

“
Breaker-breaker-one-
niner,
”
came
the tinny voice in Wentworth
’
s ear.

“
I got the idea the other day while we were listening to the radio. Radio
’
s easy enough to do, you don
’
t even need expensive parts. Now we can talk when we
’
re on the road.
”

“
Right on,
”
Wentworth nodded in admiration.