By the Feet of Men Page 5

  ‘Fine.’

  Cassady shifted in his seat to face him. ‘What’s gotten into you?’

  ‘That wasn’t a normal broadcast. You know that.’

  The sinewy Runner lifted the peak of his cap to reveal his eyes. ‘It hasn’t got anything to do with us. Let’s just get to the camp. I don’t want this dynamite in the rig for any longer than it needs to be. And we haven’t got much of the afternoon left.’ He checked the map. ‘A marker will be coming up in 30 to 40 minutes. Some kind of military bus. Then it should be another twenty Ks to the drop-off point.’

  Ghazi pushed the button next to the wheel and the low whine returned. They rejoined the road. He threw the truck into the next curve, replaying the message in his head. He couldn’t share Cassady’s pragmatism. Technology to reverse the Change. A snatched message broadcast on a frequency reserved for a listening station. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Either the universe meant for them to hear it or it was a poor omen. Whichever it was, it left him restless.

  The grass gave way to scrubland, with plants that looked like mould growing on a brick of orache bread. Deep in the hills, the road finally fell apart and became a barely visible dirt track. Both men became more alert. The shadow of the truck stretched further outward. Ghazi had to shake his arms to relieve the cramps in his elbows. The pain was something he and Cassady had to live with, like the heat and the constant throb of hunger. He sipped thick water from the bota bag and ran his tongue over his teeth. He detested the chlorine tang. Cassady insisted on treating all water they collected with a puritab, but he didn’t think the chemical made it much safer. Every water supply was probably contaminated by radiation anyway.

  A band of cloud obscured the sun. The A/C rattled on a low setting. Flies buzzed inside the cab, but neither man attempted to brush them away. Then Cassady sat up straighter.

  ‘There.’

  The back end of the marker, the military bus, was visible ahead. Like a sinking ship, the front was submerged in a sea of dust and earth. The paint had flaked away, leaving only a brown husk. Devoid of wheels, axles and windows, the ragged holes in its sides had been blocked with planks of wood, rusted chicken wire and other flotsam. Ghazi eased off on the pedal. Cassady pressed his forehead against the glass.

  ‘Ground’s disturbed by the back doors. We’d better take a look.’

  They stopped. ‘Let me go first,’ said Ghazi. He looped the ignition key around his neck and flipped the kill switches. Then he threw open the heavy door and jumped out, his hand on his pistol. He scanned the scrub. Nothing moved except the flies and the lizards. He moved around the hood of the truck. Cassady was right. The ground near the rear doors of the bus was scuffed. An incomplete boot print stood out like an accusation in the dust. He motioned for his partner to join him.

  Cassady pulled out an old, scarred machete from underneath the passenger seat, left the truck and approached the back doors while Ghazi covered him. He yanked the door open and the sound of screeching metal disturbed the silence. With his machete raised, he peered inside. Then he turned away and suppressed a retch.

  ‘Wasted. You can put your gun away.’ He returned to Warspite for a couple of respirators and threw one to Ghazi. The plastic cup was uncomfortable and barely worked anymore, but it was better than nothing. Cassady climbed into the remains of the bus first. The shell creaked under his weight. Ghazi took another look up and down the road, wary of a trap, and followed him inside.

  The air was ripe enough to burst. A sweet, putrid stench clung to their throat and nostrils. The bus was a grave. The drone of a thousand flies disturbed from a banquet filled their ears. There were no seats or frames bolted to the floor of the bus, only dead scrub, a layer of earth and handfuls of rags. Lying in the middle of the space were two decomposing bodies.

  ‘How long?’ asked Ghazi, his voice muffled. Cassady crouched beside one of them.

  ‘Three or four days. Starvation, probably.’ He scratched the back of his glistening head.

  ‘We should leave.’

  ‘We will. Go back to the rig. I’ll check them.’

  Ghazi’s eyes lingered on the bodies and he whispered a quick prayer. At least they hadn’t been mutilated or the bones picked clean. But it was a miserable way to go. Middle of nowhere, nobody to hear their cries as they died. He didn’t want to know how they’d become stranded in the bus like that. He climbed out and stripped off the respirator, then wiped his lips and forehead and blew hard through each nostril. The rotting stench would stay with him now for the rest of the day.

  Warspite was idling by the time Cassady climbed back into the cab. He slid the machete back under the seat and dropped a couple of razor blades into one of the holders next to the dash.

  ‘Found them under the rags.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘That was it.’

  Ghazi’s boot touched the pedal and Warspite leapt away from the forsaken bus.

  ‘Still another two hours before we hit the settlement,’ said Cassady. ‘Hungry?’

  Ghazi’s fingers tightened against the wheel. ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘We haven’t eaten since daybreak. Don’t tell me a bit of carrion can put you off your food.’

  The lean Runner reached behind him and grabbed a metal container that was sealed tight. He popped the lid and took out a small red cake of pemmican. The meat had been dried out in the midday sun, crumbled up into pieces, formed into a rough ball and bound with melted animal fat. He held out a piece to Ghazi, who shook his head and winced.

  ‘Sometimes I don’t understand you.’

  ‘Human fertiliser. That’s all they were. Don’t think about it.’

  Cassady tore into the flesh-coloured cake. Ghazi moved Warspite up through the gears, wound down the window and drove with his head leaning out of the cab. It was the only way to blast the stench of death from his body.

  5

  The Gaean camp was on a plateau, with good views of the land in every direction. The few trees and bushes that had been growing near the top had been cut down to give a clear line of sight, and the settlement was protected on all sides by a palisade fence, the top of which had been cut and honed into a row of serrated teeth. The fence hid everything inside from view, making it difficult to guess the camp’s strength. The only way to reach it was to follow a narrow track that wound its way around the hill to a crude metal gate. Once inside, it would be impossible to leave in one piece unless the Gaeans allowed it.

  Warspite halted in front of the gate. Rifle barrels and arrowheads protruded from loopholes, but nobody appeared on the track.

  Cassady eyed the hardware and ignored the sweat that rolled down his back. ‘Be ready to cut out.’

  ‘They’re just flexing their muscles.’ Ghazi’s hands massaged the wheel. ‘I hope.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘So why do you look so tense?’

  Cassady grunted. It was the rifles that were making him sweat. All it would take to set them all off was a single nervous kid fondling the curve of a trigger too much. He and Ghazi would be dead before they could throw the Old Lady into reverse.

  A hatch in the bulwark opened and a woman wearing a pale robe emerged. She stood with her arms out and her palms facing the truck to show the Runners she was unarmed.

  Cassady kicked open the door. ‘Wait here.’ He jumped out of the cab and mimicked the woman’s stance. The air on the plateau was cooler than he’d been used to for the past few weeks. It was almost bearable.

  ‘Identify,’ she rasped. Dark blue tattoos formed geometric worlds on her forehead, chin and neck. Somebody had cut open her cheeks and sewn them back together to leave behind vivid tribal welts. Long grey hair collected at her shoulders.

  ‘Cassady, Warspite. ANFO delivery from Prestige.’

  The woman walked up to him, so close that he could smell the sourness of her. She reached out and they gripped forearms.

  ‘Follow the path to the end of the stockade. A disciple will be waiting.
Remain here for the night. Your safety is guaranteed. Does your vehicle require recharging?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We will make our energy available.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We are indebted to you. We can now continue our journey.’

  ‘What journey?’

  ‘To meet the Mother. We shall dwell within Her and we shall hear Her voice. She will tell us how to repent our sins. We shall be born again.’

  The woman held his gaze for a moment before turning away. The conversation was over. Cassady returned to the cab.

  ‘So?’ asked Ghazi.

  ‘All clear. She guaranteed our safety.’

  ‘I think we can believe her.’

  Any further conversation was cut short by the sound of the bulwark being dragged out of the way. Warspite entered the camp. Beyond the palisade wall, large and small tents were laid out in clusters across the plateau. Each cluster had a tangle of Gro-crop and a solar still next to it. Men, women and children eyed the truck with simple curiosity and then returned to their tasks. Cassady relaxed. A glance in the mirror showed the metal shield being pushed back into place.

  They continued straight ahead, passing turnoffs to the left and right until they reached a large round tent in the centre of the camp. A bald man in a tunic hobbled out of it and signalled for them to stop. Cassady stuck his head out of the window.

  ‘Follow,’ said the man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. He led them along the track and then down a side path that terminated in a bay shielded by a canvas screen. The palisade wall and a squat black solar still lay just beyond it. After Cassady had dropped the hatch at the back of the truck, the man called out a command in an unfamiliar language. The flap of a nearby tent was thrown open and eight women filed out. Without paying any attention to the Runners, they carefully unloaded the sacks of explosive and the boosters and set off along the track.

  ‘Charge battery there,’ said the man, pointing to an old energy storage unit. He sounded as though he was chewing gravel. ‘Remain at all times this area. No communication with persons. Understand?’ He stared at the two sun-burnished men, evidently not trusting them, and shuffled back in the direction of the main track.

  ‘No friends here,’ said Ghazi. He stretched his back and tensed his right arm until his elbow crunched. ‘How large do you think the camp is?

  ‘Four hundred. Five, maybe.’

  He ran his nails along the canvas screen hiding the ancient truck from view. ‘Wonder why they felt the need for this.’

  ‘To keep us away from the true believers.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Always.’

  While Ghazi busied himself with the rations, Cassady retrieved their entrenching tool and dug a shallow latrine near the palisade wall. When he was done, he took the storage unit provided by the Gaeans over to Warspite and hooked it up to the depleted battery. It would take most of the night before they were back to full power. A tiny display indicated the cells were charging. He wished they had a backup.

  Next he checked the solar still. He lifted the cone and ran his finger along the trough at its base. It was dusty. He was thankful they had enough water in reserve.

  ‘Chow,’ called Ghazi softly.

  Cassady took a seat on one of their collapsible stools and watched the mechanic tear open one of the 24-hour boxes Faustine had given them as payment for the run. He reached over and picked up a piece of cardboard. The expiry date was seven years ago. According to the label, the contents had been treated with Cosinex, which meant they would still be edible. Or at least he hoped.

  Ghazi checked off the items. ‘Biscuits, meat spread, jam, peanut butter, tea, coffee, sugar, salt, chocolate, creamer, beef tea, soup, gum, dextrose tablets and powdered lemon. Take your pick.’

  ‘Toss the jam, the chocolate and the creamer. Divide the rest. I’ll heat some water.’

  They ate in silence. The tang of the Cosinex overpowered everything, but neither man complained. Their stomachs were full for the first time in weeks.

  Afterwards, Ghazi lay on the floor and joined the stars with an invisible thread. Cassady rummaged around in a kit locker until he found a half-full canteen. He poured a mouthful of the liquid into a cup and sniffed. It didn’t need chemicals to stay good.

  Ghazi broke the silence. ‘I was thinking about the transmission we heard earlier.’

  Cassady hesitated. The clear, urgent voice echoed inside his skull. He couldn’t say exactly why it had made him feel so uneasy, and he had little desire to discuss it now. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I think it was real. Something to take seriously.’

  ‘How can you know?’

  ‘I can’t. But the voice was human. You heard it. The words it used were precise. It knew what it wanted to say. We weren’t the only ones listening in. It had an audience. And it has support behind it.’

  ‘You’re guessing.’

  ‘It said ‘we’, not ‘I’. It spoke of agents. And the matter was urgent. Only a group with enough resources would be able to take a technology by force and hunt down an intruder before a deadline.’

  The food congealed into a cold, hard brick in Cassady’s stomach. ‘Pointless to waste energy like this,’ he said quickly. ‘You’re reaching for conclusions.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know what it meant?’

  When no response came, Ghazi lapsed into silence. Cassady closed his eyes and listened to the world. The palisade wall creaked in the breeze. Footsteps carried over the tops of the tents. An engine whined for a moment and then died. He was surprised there were any other vehicles in the camp.

  When he came to, his chin was resting on his chest and it was dark. Ghazi leant with his back against one of the tyres and ran his precious whittling blade over a piece of wood. Cassady lifted his head and struggled to work some moisture around his mouth. ‘Turning in time,’ he said hoarsely.

  Without using a light, they strung tripwires and laid mantraps around the truck. Then they laid their sleeping mats on the cargo bed and strung up a mosquito net from the central rib. Cassady looped the strap on the handle of his machete around his wrist. He listened to Ghazi’s breathing become deep and slow, and waited for sleep to come to him.

  6

  Dawn was on its way, but the camp remained dormant except for one man. Ghazi jogged along the track, kicking up plumes of dust that coated the toecaps of his boots. His hand gripped the handle of the bayonet hanging from his belt. His shifting, liquid eyes were little more than slits. He didn’t know what to make of what he’d just seen, but he wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions. He had to speak to Cassady.

  When he neared the end of the trail, he slowed and shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. Sitting in the porch of the tent closest to Warspite was the bald man who had directed them to the berth the night before. A rifle, old and discoloured but well maintained, lay across his thighs. His head rested on his shoulder and his eyes were closed, just as they had been twenty minutes earlier. Ghazi walked by without making a sound, climbed into the back of the truck, and dragged the mosquito net aside. Cassady’s eyes flicked open.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘There are other Runners here. Three rigs.’ His voice was scratchy.

  Cassady sat up, skin taut against his jaw. ‘Together?’

  ‘No. Hidden behind screens, same as us. North, south, east and west. Guards watching each one.’

  Cassady wiped the sleep from his eyes and reached for his vest.

  ‘Recognise any of them?’

  ‘Two. Brandt is here with Renfield.’

  ‘Faustine said she’d sent them north.’

  ‘I remember. Why would she lie?’

  ‘I don’t know. Who else is here?’

  Ghazi hesitated. ‘Orion.’

  ‘They’re here? You’re sure?’ Despite the situation, the news made Cassady smile.

  ‘Difficult to mistake that beast.’

  ‘What about the third one?�
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  ‘I don’t know. Looks like a bunker on wheels. Newer model, probably post-Change. Automatic transmission for sure. Painted black. I didn’t see the drivers. Know anyone who would drive something like that?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Any of the guards spot you?’

  ‘No.’

  Cassady rubbed his chin, stood and launched himself over the tailgate. Within a minute he was back. ‘The battery’s charged. If we need to make a break for it, the Old Lady’s ready to go.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘That we’re being set up.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  It couldn’t be a coincidence. The camp was too small and the drivers were too good to be sent to the same place simply to deliver supplies.

  ‘Do you think Faustine wants the pantechs?’ continued Ghazi. ‘Maybe the fighting hit her harder than she showed and she needs to restock her fleet.’

  Cassady shook his head. ‘If she started killing off Runners whenever she was short, she wouldn’t be in business for long.’

  ‘The Gaeans, then. They’ve orchestrated it. You heard what Faustine said. They sold everything just to get those explosives.’

  ‘So why didn’t they cut our throats last night already?’

  ‘I don’t know. In any case, we should speak to Brandt and Renfield. Four heads are better than two.’

  Cassady weighed up the decision and reached for his machete. ‘Then let’s go.’

  The bald man was still dead to the world. They retraced the boot prints that were visible in the dust, following the camp trail until it forked off to the left. Ghazi winced as Cassady’s boots thudded against the ground. The noise was loud enough for him to squeeze his partner’s wiry arm and raise a finger to his lips. He earned a scowl in response.

  As they approached the eastern edge of the camp, they dropped to a crouch. Flies settled on the backs of their necks and hands. They left the path before they could be observed by the guard and ducked between cramped tents and patches of Gro-crop. Keeping low, Ghazi led Cassady in an arc until they reached the palisade wall. The smell of the cut wood cooled his thoughts. They could see Brandt’s vehicle, Telamonian, looming over the tents, an eight-wheeled tank that was too large to be fully concealed by the screen. Hollow bars had been welded to the cowl to give the monster a set of tusks. It looked as though it could knock Warspite aside without moving into second gear.