Refugees from the Righteous Horde (Toxic World Book 2) (13 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The rising sun woke Jeb up early the next morning. A sharp breeze blew into his face from the shoreline barely a pistol shot away. In his sleep he had rolled himself up in his blanket like a sausage, but he was still chilled and stiff. He stood and stretched his aching muscles. One by one the other machete men rose and did the same.

All except one. The thinnest—Jeb didn’t know his name and didn’t care—lay huddled in his blanket, looking pale. Every now and then he let out a weak cough.

“You better not get us sick,” Jeb grumbled.

He was disappointed to see that it wasn’t the guy who saw him slip the knife to Leonard. He had to figure out a way to get rid of him without anyone suspecting.

Breakfast came and once again Jeb got a double share. As the guard served out the food Jeb asked if Annette was going to come.

The guard merely shrugged. “How am I supposed to know what goes on in the Burbs?”

“I don’t get that. It’s like you’re two different cities,” Jeb probed.

“There’s only one city, buddy. New City. That dump over there’s called the Burbs and it’s nothing but a bunch of drifters, scavengers, and hangers-on.”

“They’re bigger than you.”

“And there’s more toxic land than green. I guess that’s just the way of the world.”

“But they fought at your side,” Jeb objected. For some reason he felt offended by this guy’s attitude.

“Yeah, and nearly got the whole place destroyed. If we hadn’t let them in your spies wouldn’t have shot The Doctor. Hell, you guys almost got the gate open!”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that. They didn’t tell us anything.”

That was true to a point. The Pure One had sent the spies ahead of the main force. They’d been living in the Burbs for more than a month, posing as scavengers and traders. Even the Elect didn’t know about them until just before the attack.

“We would have lost a lot fewer citizens if we had just let the Burbs people stay outside the walls like usual,” the guard said.

Jeb blinked. Like usual? So on previous attacks—and there must have been previous attacks, the wildlands had been full of bandits before the Righteous Horde wiped them out—the people of the Burbs had been left to fend for themselves?

Jeb’s reaction must have made it to his face because the guard went on.

“What, you’re surprised? We’ve never let those people inside before, except for the kids and the associates, who are sort of half citizens. Why would we? Civilization stops at the wall.”

With that the guard turned and left. Jeb watched him go.

Yeah, civilization stops at the wall, but on which side?

Jeb sat down to eat his breakfast and watch New City and the Burbs waking up. Citizens strolled in and out of the gate, some casting curious or hostile glances in his direction. One guy flipped him off. Their pen was set a little to one side of the gate so he couldn’t see inside, but he imagined the well-fed residents of those cozy homes all going about their business without a care in the world now that the Righteous Horde and been slaughtered and driven back into the wildlands. The smell of baking bread wafted through the air from that direction. The bread he’d been given along with the two eggs for his breakfast was still warm and fresh. He guessed it must have come from that unseen bakery inside.

If we’d won we would have had as much bread as we could eat, but hell, I’m getting enough now and this place still stands. I think I got a better chance as a prisoner here than a member of the Elect wandering through the wildlands right now.

It had gotten bad after the defeat. The Pure One had given a furious speech about how God had abandoned their cause because there were too many sinners in the ranks. His bodyguards had rounded up some of the Elect, those who were slow to pray and quick to mock, and had gunned them down as an example. While hardly anyone he knew had taken The Pure One’s theology seriously, Jeb had always been careful to tow the line. The smart ones all did.

The Pure One then said that the army had to cleanse itself. Most of the women were ditched, there were prayer meetings morning, noon, and night, and any members of the Elect who didn’t join in enthusiastically enough were shot.

The whole thing was ready to explode. He and the other members of the Elect had always resented the bodyguards for getting the best women and food, and the bodyguards knew it. Some Elect got all subservient, trying to please their masters. Others deserted. On the third day of the retreat some started a coup. That came as a surprise to Jeb—he hadn’t been asked to join—and after a quick appraisal of how the battle would go he threw in with the loyalists. The coup was stamped out within an hour and the surviving rebels were crucified.

There had been a lot more executions in the following days. Jeb knew that sooner or later his number would be up, that sooner or later he’d make some mistake—not bow his head enough during prayer, not smile enough to some bodyguard in a bad mood, or simply be caught standing too close to the wrong conversation. He had to get out of there. So one night when he was on sentry duty at the perimeter he’d clubbed the man next to him and lit out for the wildlands.

And now he was here.

A citizen emerged from New City gate pushing a handcart. Its top was piled with something covered in a sheet. As he passed by, heading for the Burbs, Jeb and the others caught a whiff of freshly baked bread. He and the others crowded up to the wire and watched the cart disappear down the main street toward the market. Even the sick man roused himself to watch the bounty go by.

As the baker disappeared out of sight, the machete men lay back down in the same listless postures as before, except for the one who knew his secret. He edged up close to Jeb.

“Hey man, looks like we’re not so bad off now, eh? That lady sheriff is taking good care of us. I guess once they’ve pumped us for what we know they’ll let us loose, huh? You think?”

Jeb didn’t respond. Instead he looked around. They sat under the tarp and the sentries couldn’t see them. Not that the sentries cared. They could see the wire perimeter and that’s all they needed to see. If the machete men tried to make a break for it, they could pick them off at their leisure. The guy next to him continued.

“So how did you end up getting double rations? Is it because you saved Annette? Or at least they think you saved Annette. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Jeb kept looking around. There were a few people about, but no one was looking in their direction at that moment.

“So remember who your friends are, OK? Maybe put a good word in for me and get me some extra food? I could be real useful to—”

Jeb spun and gave the machete man a savage right hook. The man sprawled out flat and didn’t move. The others looked at him wide-eyed. Jeb checked the guy’s pulse. He was alive. Alive and a bit smarter than before. He’d love to kill this piece of shit but that would look suspicious. He needed to figure out another way.

Standing up, he dragged him over to where the sick man lay. Maybe this idiot would catch it.

Jeb went back to his vigil on the wire.

He studied the Burbs. While he couldn’t see down the main street to the marketplace where The Pure One’s gun crew had set up the Gau-18/E to strafe the wall, he could see enough lanes and houses and tents to know that the Burbs was even more full of life and activity than New City. People talked and laughed and traded, and several residents had set up their own little businesses.

The sun shone fine in a clear sky and while the winter air felt crisp, it was pleasant enough that everyone was out. In front of one tent near the edge of the Burbs a woman had set up a loom and was weaving some cloth. Not far off a man had set up a little bar, nothing more than a plank set atop two barrels and a few rickety stools for the patrons. Despite it being early in the morning he was conducting a brisk business. Another man walked by with strings of fish draped over each shoulder, calling out, “Fresh fish! Just off the boat! Fresh fish!”

Jeb snorted. There was no such thing as fresh fish. It was all toxic, and anyone who could afford otherwise ate something else. Even his captors hadn’t served their prisoners fish. He bet it hadn’t even occurred to the citizens of New City to feed them fish.

Despite that grim reminder of the state of the world, Jeb marveled at the life in this place. Men and women busied themselves with the day’s work, or sat chatting in pairs or small groups. A pack of kids ran laughing between the tents, heading for the nicer homes a little further away. Jeb looked to see if Pablo was among them but didn’t spot him.

A short while later Pablo did go by, hurrying on some errand into New City and hurrying back out a few minutes later. The kid glanced in his direction but didn’t come over. Jeb felt glum. About an hour later Clyde and some guards came out and started building another barbed wire enclosure.

Jeb perked up. What was going on? Annette appeared and his gaze followed her eagerly as she passed by. To his disappointment she didn’t come over. Then he looked at her companions—four porters from the Righteous Horde.

“It looks like we’re not going to be the only ones,” one of the machete men said. “I wonder what they plan to do with us all?”

Good question.

Jeb studied the faces of the four newcomers. No, he didn’t recognize any of them. A good thing too, because that younger piece would have been someone he would have pulled out of the porter camp for a night’s entertainment.

If they bring anyone in who could recognize me I’ll be in deep shit.

He tried to reassure himself that with his beard shaved and wearing different clothes, it was unlikely someone would recognize him. The porters and machete men made a habit of looking down when being addressed by one of the Elect. That was wise. He’d cracked a few heads for the sake of discipline himself. But still, he felt exposed sitting here behind a spool of wire for all to see.

Hope we head out soon.

The porters were locked inside the wire. A couple of townies came by and gave them food, one of them giving the machete men a nasty look. A little while later he saw Pablo coming back, carrying his stick bat and baseball. This time the kid looked over his shoulder with a guilty air and then walked in his direction.

Careful, Jeb. Play this right and you could get a hell of a payoff. Just go slow and see how it goes.

Jeb hunched on the ground and put on a sad face.

“Hey,” Pablo said.

Jeb looked up as if he hadn’t noticed Pablo arriving. The kid had stopped well out of reach.

“Oh, hey! You been playing?”

“We play every day.”

“I used to play baseball,” one of the machete men said.

Jeb shot him a look and the man shut up. Turning to Pablo he said, “Still with that same old bat?”

“It’s not so bad,” Pablo said defensively.

“Oh, sure, if you want to play stickball. But if you want to hit hard and far, you got to have the right material. That looks like you whittled it from an old oak branch. Not a bad job either. But the best wood for a bat is maple. You don’t get maple trees much in these parts but I’ve seen a few in the foothills. Maple is really strong so the ball flies right off the bat. Makes it go farther. The bat will last longer too. And you also have to get the right shape. I saw the inside of that warehouse. It’s a great setup. I’m thinking the machine shop has a lathe, am I right?”

“What’s a lathe?”

“It’s a machine that will turn something while you cut at it. That way you get an even cut all around. But even without a lathe you can use a knife to carve a decent bat if you got the time.”

With that Jeb let out a little chuckle and looked around at the wire that surrounded him. Pablo followed his look and smiled.

Good, you get my point.

“You sure know a lot,” the kid said.

“When I was your age they couldn’t keep me off the diamond. My dad and I practiced every night after he came in from the fields. Your dad practice with you?”

Pablo’s face fell. “My dad’s dead.”

Bingo.

Jeb put on a sad face.

“That’s too bad. We sure had a good time playing. I was one of the best. There was this other kid, though, Randy. Damn he could throw a curveball like you’ve never seen. He was tough to beat. I scored a couple of homers on him, though.”

“A curveball?”

“It’s a pitching trick where the ball looks like it’s coming in at a curve. Fools the batter.”

Pablo’s eyes widened. “How do you do that?”

“Kind of hard to show you when I’m locked up in here. When your mom lets me out I can show you.”

Pablo gave him a suspicious look. “She’s letting you out?”

“We’re going to hunt down The Pure One and get rid of him. I hate that guy. I never wanted to be in his army and so we’re going to hunt him down and save the Burbs.”

Pablo looked hurt.

“Mom’s going away again?”

Not getting enough adult attention, are you? That could be very, very useful.

“Just for a little while, and it’s to save the Burbs, like I said. After that I can show you how to pitch a curveball. I’d make you a bat too but I don’t have any tools.”