As I Walk These Broken Roads (30 page)

* * *

“
This – this isn
’
t fair. Not in public like this, not with me. Iain… you always respected my uniform before. This is
cruel
.
”

They were sitting in the town square; Patricia was taking her lunch break. A couple of hotdog wrappers lay on the bench between them.

“
You
’
r
e right. But I didn
’
t know where
else. I
’
m sorry. Patty – I don
’
t have a choice about leaving – if I stayed it
’
d just put you, and the rest of Hope in danger. These guys who are after me aren
’
t all that forgiving. I
’
ve gotta keep moving.
”

“
Bullshit. You could deal with them if you wanted to. Who are these guys, anyway?
”

Without lipstick her lips appeared thin, but to Wentworth the austerity only made her more beautiful. He didn
’
t answer her question. She wouldn
’
t believe him. He just held his neck straight.

“
Oh, Iain…
”
she stared into the distance, dry-eyed,
“
here you are, leaving without reason. It started out as a wild night, and I guess that
’
s how it
’
s going to end. So here I am – not even knowing who you really are,
”
she sighed,
“
No hard feelings though, nothing lost…
”
She reached over and squeezed his knee without looking at him.
“
Where were you ten years ago? I have half a mind to go with you… but I can
’
t do that. And I guess you can
’
t stay, either.
”
Her hand remained resting on his knee.

“
I
’
m sorry,
”
he said again, not knowing what else to say. Patricia was as goo
d as any woman he
’
d ever known.

Memory flash. There’d been that other one, holding a compress over his femoral, telling him to breathe–

He felt shame for thinking of her right now.

Another memory flash. A young girl, sixteen maybe, eyes flecked with blood, with pain, her fingers blackening from–

He blinked hard, cancelling the memory. Sunlight, birds chirping, the smell of cooking bread
;
Patricia was speaking to him.

“
Tell me it meant something?
It wasn
’
t… it wasn
’
t just
a collection of
one night
stands
, was it?
Iain, give me the truth – did it matter or not? I
’
m too old for you to lie to me about this.
”

His eyes felt heavy.
“
Patty – it meant something.
”
He stared at her for a moment, then kissed her hand. She brought a hand to her face and
held it there
.

Patricia was… competent. In his own mind, he couldn
’
t think of a better compliment. She was competent,
strong, and deep inside she was all woman
. But there was no hope here.
Not for him.
The old loneliness swept over him again.

“
Will I ever see you again?
”
Patricia was staring dully at the stones in front of them.

Wentworth tried to think of what he should say but he was at a loss. The dream-like nights they
’
d spent in each other
’
s arms washed up
against
his chest. He
met her eyes and answered as honestly as he could.
“
I don
’
t know.
”

Now she made eye contact with him, finally, a sad and wistful smile on her face.
“
Well, Iain Wentworth, take care. I don
’
t hate you. Though I probably should. I hope you find whatever it is that you
’
re looking for.
”

He met her gaze but didn
’
t reply. After a few second she moved
towards him
, awkwardly
and took his chin in her hands. T
hey shared one last kiss,
trembling,
like nervous teenagers
. Then she stood up and marched off
.

Wentworth watche
d
her go.

* * *

Raxx rolled out from underneath his truck. He got up and put away the wrench he
’
d been holding, then grabbed a rag and wiped the grease off of his hands.

He kneeled down by the back end and inspected the shot-out taillight.
“
Don
’
t know where I
’
m going to find another one of those,
”
he said to himself. Running his hand over the cargo door he traced the circles where bullets had punctured the metal,
“
Ah, it gives you character girl.
”
He stood up and patted the vehicle lovingly.

* * *

“
Oh, I forgot my duvet. I can
’
t forget that. Are all the preserves packed up? I hope we can
find a good place to set up shop
once we get there. Did you make sure that Raxx will meet us on time? I don
’
t–
”

“
Sweetheart!
”
Vince grabbed Maria by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“
You
’
re worrying too much. We
’
ve got everything in hand.
”

She sighed, and smiled at him.
“
I know. But I
’
m just so excited and nervous. I
’
ve never been far outside of Hope – you know that! Are you sure we
’
re going to be alright?
”

“
We
’
re going to be just fine, Sweetie!
”

* * *

The sun had set but still she
hadn
’
t
turned
on the lights. The bottle of whiskey was almost empty. She downed the shot in front of her and refilled it. She looked up at the prewar posters
and
caressed
her
glass.
“
Oh, Iain…
”

T
he tears wouldn
’
t flow.

* * *

He
’
d done the full pre-driving inspection on his cycle and she
’
d checked out. Oil, coolant, everything was topped off and she was in perfect driving condition. Outside of Hope
’
s perimeter wall he sat on her, fully kitted up, rifle strapped to his back, with the bike humming underneath him, burning
through the fuel
.

His arms were crossed over the handlebars and his head resting on them as he watched the sun clear the horizon. The dawn winds had picked up and they were cool against his exposed skin. Red, pink, and black, the sky filled with colour as the shadows of lone trees and ruined structures spread across the land towards him. His goggles polarized with the light and tiny dust devils swirled around his feet.

By the time the sun had risen and turned the sky light-blue he heard the rumble of Raxx
’
s truck coming out the city gate. He pulled over next to Wentworth. Vince and Maria were in the cab with him, the back was piled high with goods under a tie-down tarp, and a trailer was hooked up to the rear.

“
Hey buddy, been here a while, eh?
”

“
Just listening to the open road.
”

“
I
’
ve been dreaming about it all night. What do you say, ready to get going?

“
Fuel tank
’
s full.
”

“
Right on. Let
’
s get out of here while the getting
’
s good, and maybe the pot-holes will leave us alone today.
”

Wentworth nodded, did up the chinstrap of his helmet, and shifted the bike into gear, closing the kickstand in the process. With a roar he throttled up the cycle and Raxx followed, racing onwards, eating up the highway which stretched on endlessly in front of them.

They were still alive and the future was full of possibility.
There were so many places left to see.

Henry grunted as he hauled the urn in from outside. It was made of orange plastic and ribbed like a beehive. He
’
d picked it up from a passing merchant a few years back, and after filling it at the water pump i
t had grown heavy. He wrestled it
through the door, onto the back shelf behind the bar, and wiped his brow. The damned boy was supposed to have done this after close, but he
’
d probably been drinking again.

There was no time for him to dwell on it. The customers across the street at Mel
’
s Flophouse would be waking soon, hungry for their breakfast. One of them had woken already; he
’
d seen him while he was filling the urn. The old man had been wearing a long coat and a wide brimmed hat, just standing there smoking a pipe, waiting for the bar to open.

He went back to work cleaning up the mess from the night before, wiping down the tables, making sure there was fresh sawdust on the floor, and lighting a few candles. The windows were high on the walls, they didn
’
t let much light in
. The building had been a warehouse when it was built, and back then there had been electrical light to fill the interior. It had made a decent bar, though, the tin roof reflected enough light to keep it cool during the summer, and during the winter body heat was enough to keep it warm. On the exterior he
’
d painted
‘
Henry
’
s
’
in two-meter tall orange letters with a black background, that and the
‘
Open
’
sign were enough to tip off travelers as to what lay inside.

Finally he was done, or
at least
close enough as to make no difference. He opened up the heavy wooden door and hung his
‘
Open
’
sign on the
screen;
soon enough there was a steady trickle of business coming in.
For the next few hours he was kept busy
serving drinks and
frying eggs
.

His place and Mel
’
s were the only occupied buildings at
an otherwise barren crossroad;
enough traders, merchants, and wanderers came through to keep
them
in business
. It was more dangerous than
the place
where
he
’
d grown up, but he liked it better, paradoxically because it was both
more
and
less
isolated than
his hometown
. He was free of nosy neighbours, but there was always someone new to talk to. Some of the wanderers were a problem, but
for the most part
they knew
well enough
to leave the
bartender
alone.

The breakfast rush finished and was replaced with sporadic traveller
s
. He took the opportunity to tidy up the last few things the boy had left undone. A couple of working girls from the Flophouse came in and he nodded at them.

When the boy finally arrived
mid-afternoon
he was both late and hungover. Henry cuffed him before setting him to work cleaning the sink full of dishes and refilling the urn. The stream of business had picked up and there was much to do. It
was
then that he took note of a customer who
’
d come in
an
hour
before
, who
was now standing at the bar. He was slight, with wispy black hair
, a thick beard,
and a broken demeanour. It took him a second to respond when Henry asked what he wanted, and he hesitantly asked for a bottle of beer. Henry gave it to him
and was almost tempted to over-
charge the man. He might of got away with it, but that was that sort of thing that would get you
knifed out here
between the cities.

He charged him a fair price.

The man took the beer and moved to a table. He slumped in his seat, looking broken, slowly nursing the drink. Despite his odd behaviour he wasn
’
t a threa
t
;
not to himself, anyway, and he wouldn’t
attract any predators looking the way he did.
His
dark clothes were tattered, and he
didn’t look to have any
thing of value.

The
derelict
slipped from Henry
’
s mind. He didn
’
t order anything after the first beer,
and
the traffic was getting heavier as the afternoon wore
on. T
he boy was in the back puking in
to the piss trough.

Henry tried to think of a punishment before deciding that puking into a piss trough that hadn
’
t been cleaned the night before was punishment enough.

The bar grew quiet and Henry looked to the doorway to see what was blocking the light. A huge man stood silhouetted in the
frame
, scanning the room
.
He
was wearing a loose robe to keep the sun off of
him
self
, but it did nothing to conceal his massive shoulders. His eyes alighted on the old man Henry had noticed earlier,
and a
brief look of surprise passed between them.

The din of conversation in the bar resumed once everyone had look
ed
. The giant strode over and sat down with the old man, ignoring Henry completely, and the two of them, odd couple that they were, dropped out of his thoughts; it was busy and h
e had people to serve. Half-an-
hour later he was filling up a pitcher with luke-warm beer when the bar quieted again. The giant was speaking with a rising tone, silencing those around him.

“
…you gave rise to a race of monsters
!
You created us in your own image – and that makes you think you
’
re a prophet? You
’
re more deluded than any of us – at least we knew what we were! But you… listen – you were never in control. Never. You
’
re just a broken little thing that thinks his dreams are the reality.
I was using you
. And I was going to kill you.
”
There was a silver flash.
“
Like
this
.
”

The old man stumbled back, knocking over his chair. His bottle fell and rolled off the table, hitting the floor with a clink and soaking the sawdust with
stale
beer. His hands were clutched at his throat as blood bubbled between his fingers and through his mouth, he hacked and coughed. In the giants hand was an open switchblade. He put it on the table then grabbed the old man by the front of his shirt.

“You brought this misery! Your cravenness and lies! Look at me!” He gave the old man a backhand slap, spraying blood from his throat and exposing the wound, causing several other patrons to shriek. “It all comes back to the vileness you embody. You took my Catamite. So you die. Die here amongst the filth, the filth you hated so much! You’re home now. Go! Die amongst these heathens.” He spit in the man’s face, then released him, letting him fall to the floor. After a moment he turned away
.

He looked around the room, challenging everyone there. When no one got up he moved to the door. Henry dropped his gaze. Without another word, the giant strode out of the bar into the hot afternoon. The old man was still choking, but soon enough he’d be dead.

Conversation picked up once more, most people ignoring the body of the old man and avoiding discussion of what had just occurred. With the help of the boy, who looked like he was about to suffer another fit of nausea, Henry dragged the surprisingly light body out the back door and into a shed. If nobody came to claim it in the next few days he
’
d burn it; you couldn
’
t let the wolves get a taste for human flesh.

He felt no sympathy for
the old
.
Whatever the situation had been between them
,
he
’d probably had it coming;
and even if
he ha
dn
’
t, what was he supposed to do about it anyway?

It wasn
’
t the first time he
’
d something like that
had happened,
and it wouldn
’
t be the last. Henry had long ago perfected the art of keeping his head down, his mouth shut, and his bar running. He wasn
’
t about to throw
it all
away over the life of a derelict
.