As I Walk These Broken Roads (15 page)

* * *

“
Wake up.
”

Raxx groaned and threw his arm over his eyes.

“
I brought up some coffee, and I
’
ve got my canteen right here. Drink up. You
’
ll feel better. Oh, and this might help.
”
He handed Raxx his sunglasses.

Raxx struggled up into a sitting position, put on his sunglasses, and downed the offered canteen in three long, gulping swigs.
“
Gah. You said something about coffee?
”

Wentworth handed him the aluminium canteen cup he
’
d filled downstairs. They wouldn
’
t let him bring up a mug. He gave Raxx time to drink and offered him a lit cigarette before he spoke.
“
So how long have we been drinking now? A week?
”

“
At least.
”

Wentworth nodded to himself and stubbed out his cigarette.
“
Much longer and we
’
re going to have critical
liver
failure. I was thinking we could walk around town today. Get you a hotdog or something. The kitchen
’
s closed downstairs.
”

“
Yeah. Yeah, alright. Sounds good man.
”

“
Good. I
’
ll meet you downstairs in fifteen.
”

Hope was built around a large public square. An abstract pattern of red and white bricks paved the ground, circling a two tiered fountain. Tiny droplets broke off from its jet of water, drifting through the air, while the rest filled the upper basin before pouring down into the lower. Children jumped and splashed while their parents gossiped on the surrounding benches.

Along the outer perimeter of the square were market stalls, haphazardly arranged with paths breaking through to the buildings behind them. In the north and south were gaps for supply trains. The square was filled with people enjoying the midday sun, the shouts of children playing, and the smells of stone, sweat, and cooking bread.

At one of the benches sat Raxx and Wentworth, chewing on their hotdogs and sweating. Even with their eyewear the light was aggravating their hangovers, but the heat
was
good
nonetheless
.

“
So,
”
said Raxx between bites,
“
What do you think this is? Rat or opossum?
”

“
Uh-uh. This is dog. You can tell from the tang.
”

“
It
’
s too soft to be dog. I
’
ll bet it
’
s opossum.
”

“
Nuh-uh,
”
said Wentworth with a full mouth,
“
Dog. Boiled it.
”
He finished his and pulled a donut out of the bag sitting between them. He leaned back on the bench, stretching out one arm along its rail, and took a bite.

Raxx finished up.
“
Those were good,
”
he said, pulling out a donut of his own. They ate in silence, enjoying the atmosphere.

Raxx took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the fats and sugars replenish his system.
“
Ya know what man? This is the reason we were drinking in the first place. This,
”
he swept his arm vaguely at the square,
“
places like this. They
’
re still around in the world, ya know?
”

Wentworth nodded, still eating. The sun was hot on his face but a sprinkle of water drifted over from the fountain, beading on his goggles and cooling him.

Suddenly Raxx shifted from his comfortable position. His brow creased, and he looked pensive. Finally he spoke.
“
Listen, man. There
’
s something that
’
s been bugging me. Something I don
’
t get. What I want to ask – what I
’
ve been wondering, is – why did you help me out back there? In Blackstock?
”

Wentworth finished his donut.
“
That
’
s a good question.
”
He chewed his lip, and stared out at the crowd. Seconds passed and he was still reclining. Raxx grew impatient. He was about to ask again when Wentworth started forward, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket.

“
You know, you can always recognize
‘
em, can
’
t you? The derelicts always stand out.
”
He pulled out a cigarette with his teeth and searched his pockets for a lighter. Raxx followed his gaze to the pair of shabby men skulking by one of the booths. Their faces betrayed them, showing that they didn
’
t belong there, that they were forever lost to society. Desperation, fear, and guile sulked within their features.

Wentworth lit his cigarette before going on.
“
It was strange at first… the derelicts treated me different. Started talking to me. Wanted to tell me the
ir stories... you know what I
mean
?
”

Raxx nodded slowly,
“
Yeah, man, I met a few. Them and their
‘
My People
’
stories. That
’
s what I call
‘
em. They always start by saying
‘
Back when I was with My People.
’
Then they ask for money, or start poking at my truck.
”

“
Heh.
‘
My People.
’
That works. But, yeah, you can always pick
‘
em out. Even in the dirt towns where they
’
re all dressed the same, you can still tell which ones are the locals and which ones are the derelicts.
”
He let out a breath of smoke. It lingered in the air until an errant breeze dispersed it. He looked down at his feet and continued speaking.
“
Why
’
d I help you out? Maybe because I
’
m not one of them, not a derelict. I don
’
t know. I can tell you one of those
“
My People
”
stories, though, if you want.
”

Raxx shrugged and nodded.
“
Go ahead.
”

“
My people.
”
He took a drag to collect his thoughts.
“
I guess it all goes back to my people. Say, Raxx, you ever listen to the sort of rumours Vince hears? You ever heard of a group called the Regiment?
”

“
Uh, once, I think. Last year I was talking to this guy at a bar – Uh, Joseph? Jerry? I
forget –
anyway, he worked for the North-Route Company. We were mostly talking tech – he had an O2 sensor that was right for my truck, which I needed –
he mentioned something about the Regiment. Said he got a lot of stuff from
‘
em. But that
’
s it. They
’
re north-east of here, right?
”

“
Due east, about three hundred klicks. Around the Ottawa
Vale
.
”

“
What, through the wasteland?
”

“
If you go far enough north, you can loop around
the lakes, avoiding the radiation
. That
’
s the route the merchants take.
”
He shrugged,
“
I didn
’
t. Blackstock wasn
’
t the first time I used those pills.
”

He flicked his cigarette,
“
Anyway, the Regiment: they
’
re my people.
”
He paused as a couple walked by their bench. Once they were out of earshot he continued.
“
Any decent sized burg, they all got their own culture. In Blackstock it was the tattoos. Here it
’
s the way they dress,
”
he nodded at the locals with their flowing, pastel colours,
“
with us it was tradition and discipline.
”
He tapped hard at his cigarette.
“
Do you know what the Military was?
”

“
Uh, yeah. They were the police, prewar. What I was told growing up was that they patrolled the cities to try and stop the guys with the computers. I heard they stretched out all the way between two oceans.
”

“
That
’
s about right. They were part of the old Country – the people trained to use force. They weren
’
t just patrolling the streets, they were patrolling everywhere – air, sea, space
… anyway
, that
’
s where the Regiment came from. We were a military group before the war. Every group
’
s got their thing, and ours came from that: rank, order, and discipline. We
’
re – they
’
re still the military. At least, that
’
s how they see it.

“
After the war we
’
d kept pretty much to ourselves... we survived using the old tech, and for a long time we didn
’
t think anybody else had survived, anywhere. Not until five years ago. We called it E-Day… Exodus Day.

“
That
’
s when we moved out. The brass had decided – the bosses had decided – that it was time to start expanding; to try and rebuild and recover what was left…
”

He looked around, at the mothers gossiping, the merchants hawking, and the children shouting. He dropped his head, shaking it.
“
Maybe… I don
’
t know. When the rubber hit the asphalt the shit hit the bricks. Maybe… maybe we were more
‘
military
’
than we should have been. Back in the day the troops were married to civilians… normal citizens – normal people… but not us. We were just the Regiment.
”
Behind his goggles he looked up at the citizens wandering throughout the square.

“
We thought we were different. But after E-Day… it was nothing but war. Always a different enemy, but always the same. We thought we were something… but then we didn
’
t even know what we were.

“
See, what we found when we moved into the
Vale there
was nothing but mess. Prewar there had been two different tribes living there; they
’
d spoken different languages, but they
’
d coexisted peacefully, more or less. Until the bomb hit; whatever had been boiling under the surface had exploded, and when we showed up it was still going strong.

“
We stepped in on one side, and the other fought back. We started making progress, but then our rear echelon was getting attacked… we pulled back to reinforce them, only then the attack started on our front. It got to the point where every month we were changing plans, changing enemies… it turned into a cluster fuck. Everything was messed up, we didn
’
t know who was on our side, whose side we were on, and all the slaving
and drug running that we
’
d managed to stop during the first campaign
came back ten-fold…

“
But the leadership wouldn
’
t hear any of it. Every day, things got bloodier and bloodier, and they kept firing down the same orders . . . none of it made a lick of sense.
”

He didn
’
t speak for a long moment. Frozen, he stared at the stone work in front of him. The reverie was interrupted when his cigarette burned down to his fingers. He flinched, throwing it away.

“
So I left. I pulled the pin, made my escape. Hell, maybe the whole world
’
s crazy, but at least now I
’
m making my own choices. I told you that I have shit following me: well, I
’
m a deserter. They might not be close, and I don
’
t know how much they care… but they haven
’
t forgotten.
”

Raxx frowned,
“
It sounds like you did what you had to, man – they can
’
t just force you to do something without your say so. That doesn
’
t make any sense. Your bosses told you to get involved in a mess that wasn
’
t yours, and that
’
s bullshit.
”

Wentworth shrugged,
“
Yeah, well, they might see it different. But that
’
s life; shit happens and you gotta move on.
”
He grimaced,
“
We
’
re nothing but our choices. You choose the behaviour, you choose the consequences.

“
So
that
’
s why I helped you. See, if I hadn
’
t, I would have been nothing more than the label they put on me – a deserter, a derelict. I wouldn
’
t have had any principles. Instead I chose – chose to help you, just like I chose to leave their shit behind. And maybe – I don
’
t know, maybe I
’
m trying to do what the Regiment, the Military, whatever – what it was supposed to do in the first place. I
’
ve got these
skills;
I
’
ve got to use them. Or maybe I
’
m just a trained killer, and nothing else.
”
He shrugged.
“
Who knows? You can
’
t choose your situation, but you can choose your behaviour. That
’
s all I know.
”