By the Feet of Men Page 6

  The camp was beginning to stir. The sky was grey now. They didn’t have much time. They skipped over guy-ropes that seemed to have been thrown in their way on purpose, but froze when one of the tent flaps opened. Ghazi’s hand snaked to the bayonet on his belt. A hooded disciple strode out without noticing their presence and joined the path. They continued on until they reached the edge of the clearing, where they spotted Renfield. A tall man with long, spider-like limbs and not a hair left on his head, the Runner’s attention was on a can bubbling over a small, wood fire. Ghazi’s features softened at the sight of him.

  ‘The old buzzard looks calm,’ muttered Cassady.

  ‘He always is.’ Ghazi made a quick assessment. ‘If we stay low, we should be able to make it behind the screen without the guard noticing. He’s looking at the trail, not the tents behind him.’

  ‘Lead the way.’

  He dropped to the floor and pulled himself forward over brittle ground that rubbed the skin from his elbows. He kept his eyes on Renfield, who stirred the contents of the can. He was much older than him or Cassady, with wrinkled skin that collected in sacks around his neck and arms. The sun’s touch through the driver’s window had left one half of his face more mottled than the other. A couple of years ago he’d lost his pantech in a rockslide and been lucky to escape, and a short while later he’d joined up with Brandt. The two veterans worked well together.

  As Ghazi reached the screen, Renfield finally raised his head. A slight twitch of the lips was the only indication that he’d seen the two men crawling towards him. He stopped stirring the food and, with some difficulty, heaved himself into the back of the monster rig. Ghazi dragged himself behind the screen and scrambled to his feet. Cassady was right behind him. No shouts came from the track.

  Renfield emerged once more, dropping to the ground with a quiet groan and straightening up until his knees clicked. Behind him was an even taller man, shirtless, with a muscular chest and arms showing early signs of disrepair. They walked over, both limping slightly.

  ‘How’s the old boys’ club?’ asked Cassady.

  ‘Been expecting you,’ muttered Brandt, and stuck out a hand for the pair of them to shake. A thick German accent twisted the words into unfamiliar shapes. Ghazi hadn’t seen the grizzled old Runner for a while, but his appearance had changed little in the meantime: flat grey eyes, a halo of grey hair, sharp-angled face, broad shoulders. A real block of granite.

  ‘We clocked you coming in last night,’ said Renfield. He smiled. ‘Jürgen called it. Said by the sound of the engine that the rig was yours.’

  ‘Impressive,’ said Ghazi.

  ‘Every engine has its own heartbeat,’ said Brandt. ‘Yours beats faster than most.’

  ‘Scares away rabid dogs,’ said Cassady. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘We turned up a couple of hours before you did.’ He spat out a wad of root pulp. ‘Directed to this spot, told not to leave the area. I went anyway. A few of those fanatics showed up. They weren’t so threatening, but I got the idea they wanted us to stay put and wait.’

  ‘You want to try for the gate?’

  Brandt folded his arms. ‘I’m not in any hurry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d say we’re here for a reason.’

  ‘Is that what the Siren told you?’ asked Ghazi.

  ‘She told us this was a milk run. That was all,’ said Renfield. ‘We simply have to be patient, boys.’ He walked over to the fire again and poked around in the tin with a knife. Ghazi’s stomach twitched at the smell of Gro-crop heads caramelising. He hadn’t eaten yet. Around them, more flies were waking up.

  ‘You know there are two other crews here besides us?’ said Cassady.

  Renfield glanced over his shoulder. ‘No. We didn’t hear them. They must have arrived before us. Did you get the chance to identify the pantechs?’

  ‘One is Orion.’

  Brandt’s features softened for a moment. ‘Die liebe Katarina. I wonder how Hearst is taking her captivity.’

  ‘Not well, I would guess.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘Unknown,’ said Ghazi. ‘I didn’t get a good look at it. But it’s a tank. Newer than our pantechs.’

  Brandt scratched at the white fuzz on his chin. ‘Strong group. Do you have an idea what for?’

  Ghazi glanced at Cassady, who chewed his lip and said nothing. He always did that when he was mulling something over. He drifted over to the palisade wall and rested a hand against one of the wooden stakes. ‘We could climb out,’ he said quietly. ‘Circle the camp, link up with Hearst and Katarina. They might know something we don’t.’

  Then a rough voice rang out. ‘Runners.’

  The four men turned around to find the bald man standing by the canvas screen. Flanking him were four robed Gaeans, all with rifles pointing towards the ground. The early sun cast long shadows behind them.

  ‘Remove weapons. Place on floor. No harm.’ The bald man spoke without intonation.

  Ghazi immediately looked to Cassady. One hand was wrapped around the handle of his machete and the veins jumped on his forearm.

  ‘Don’t do anything,’ he said. ‘You heard what Brandt said. We’re here for a reason.’

  ‘Mr Ghazi is both correct and sensible,’ said Renfield. ‘There’s no need for bloodshed this early in the morning, either.’ He held out his hands towards the bald man. ‘I’m not carrying anything.’

  Brandt reached behind his back and pulled out two gimlet knives that he tossed on the floor. The bald man pointed at a holster on Brandt’s belt. ‘Pistol.’

  ‘It isn’t loaded. I don’t have any bullets.’

  ‘Pistol,’ said the man again. The German threw the firearm next to the knives.

  Taking care not to make any quick movements, Ghazi drew his firearm from the holster, released the magazine and placed the pistol next to Brandt’s. There was no round in the chamber. He stuffed the magazine into a pocket.

  Only Cassady remained. His body vibrated with energy and beads of sweat dripped from his head. He didn’t want to give up so easily, but he unbuckled the machete holder from his leg anyway. The metal rang out as it hit the floor. The four guards moved in and stuffed the weapons into a bag, which they then threw into the back of Telamonian. The bald man jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  ‘Follow.’

  Renfield kicked dust over the flames of the fire, scooped one of the crop heads out of the pan, and juggled it from hand to hand until it was cool enough to eat. Then, sandwiched between two guards at the front and two at the rear, the Runners walked in single file along a dusty path that wound its way towards the centre of the camp.

  7

  Two men and two women waited outside the stockade’s main tent, and a handful of robed Gaeans with blank expressions watched over them. The men were strangers, but Cassady recognised the women as Hearst and Katarina. He tried to crush his fear into a ball, but it was proving difficult. He shouldn’t have given up the machete. Now he was at the mercy of the fanatics with rifles and the limping bald man who kept turning around to check they were following.

  Brandt fell into step with Cassady, who dug his hands into his pockets. He hoped the old man hadn’t seen them shaking. Brandt spoke quietly. ‘Bleib ruhig, friend. Whoever brought us here needs us more than we need them.’

  ‘I know that.’ He didn’t try to disguise the irritation in his voice. Brandt raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

  The bald man turned around again and pointed at the tent. ‘Stay there. Return soon.’ He hobbled away along another path. The four Runners joined the group. For a moment there was silence as the men and women eyed each other up, and then Brandt grinned and stepped forward to embrace Katarina. Older than any of them, her hair was as white as a salt pan and wrapped in tight braids that fell down her back. He kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Hello, Kaja,’ he murmured. They broke apart and he studied her face. ‘So lange. You are in good health. Better than me, th
at’s for sure.’

  ‘We’ve been lucky. Food and rest go a long way.’ She smiled and took Renfield’s arm. ‘Länge sedan sist. It is good to see you both. Truly.’

  ‘Isn’t it time for us to retire yet?’ said Renfield with a laugh.

  ‘Speak for yourself.’

  Cassady turned his attention to Hearst, who had taken a step back from the others.

  ‘Keeping up okay?’ She inclined her head slightly and looked away. The long scar running from her temple to her jaw gleamed in the morning sun. It had been stitched together badly, and it made her face appear crumpled. Like Ghazi, a short strip of hair ran across the top of her otherwise shaven head, while brutal geometric tattoos covered the back of her scalp. Hearst was probably the best driver Cassady had ever run with. Orion was her rig, and it was a toxic insect in mechanical form. Hearst never seemed to tire, had the reflexes of a viper, and rarely said more than a few words at a time. Only Katarina was able to get her to open up even a little.

  He was aware the two strangers were staring at him. They were young. One had a shock of blonde hair, quick eyes and a dangerous smirk. The other, tall and gaunt and dressed all in black, with his hands out of sight behind his back, hadn’t moved a muscle while the others talked. Neither man looked as though he had eaten much in the past few weeks. But before Cassady could ask them their business, Katarina gripped his arm and drew him close, and he allowed himself to enjoy the old woman’s embrace. She whispered into his ear. ‘You look tired, Edward.’

  Cassady grimaced. He felt the blood rise to his cheeks and he pulled away.

  ‘Busy schedule. You know how it is.’

  ‘Not every day has to be a battle.’ She turned to Ghazi. ‘Salam, my friend. Is he getting enough rest?’

  ‘He would if he ever let go of the wheel.’

  The braids swayed as a laugh escaped her body. ‘Ah, yes. He still believes himself to be an island.’

  Cassady bit off his retort. He didn’t appreciate being spoken about as though he wasn’t there, but it wasn’t worth picking a fight over already. Instead, he fixed his mismatched eyes on the unknown crew.

  ‘What’s the story with you?’

  The boy with the blonde hair stepped forward and held out his hand. ‘My name’s Victor,’ he drawled. ‘I know who you are. No need to waste words.’

  Cassady frowned, unsure whether the kid was testing him or if he was just arrogant. He nodded at the other newcomer. ‘What about you?’

  The other man offered the shortest of bows, but his hands remained clasped behind his back. ‘Hideki Tagawa.’ He paused for a beat. ‘Pleasure.’

  ‘How long have you been running?’ He hadn’t meant it to sound like a challenge, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice.

  The skin creased around Victor’s eyes. ‘A little over two years, all told. Drop in the ocean compared to you, Cassady. But we all gotta start somewhere.’ He became mock-serious. ‘Wanted to meet you for a while, by the way.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Pick a reason. Driving into the ruins of Berlin and making it out alive. Breaking the blockade at Souk. Those ain’t things you can shrug off like they’re nothing.’

  ‘Drivers like to stretch stories further than the Watched Road. Free advice: don’t trust what you hear in the watering holes.’

  ‘Even so, there’s no smoke without fire,’ said Tagawa.

  Victor cuffed the hair away from his forehead. ‘So are we done with the introductions now? Don’t you wanna find out why we’re all standing here? We ain’t got any weapons and we ain’t getting near our rides unless these wackadoos want us to.’ He folded his arms. ‘You wanna tell us what you know?’

  Cassady bit the inside of his cheek. The boy was too sure of himself.

  ‘No more than you do, I should think,’ said Renfield. A grin played across his lined face. Unlike the others, he was clearly enjoying Victor’s performance. ‘Jürgen and I came in from Prestige with a cargo from Faustine yesterday evening. Simple run, no problems. Same for Warspite.’

  ‘Us, too,’ said Katarina. ‘But we arrived yesterday morning. Our hosts told us they were waiting on three more rigs and that we were invited to stay. Nothing more. And here you all are.’

  ‘Did you get the feeling we’re in danger?’ asked Cassady. ‘No. In fact, I believe they know about as much as we do.’

  ‘You’re saying they don’t have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Not beyond keeping watch on us. Somebody else is pulling the strings.’

  Brandt cleared his throat and jerked his head towards the path. ‘I believe we may be about to find out who.’

  The head of a giant bobbed above the tents. There was a patch over the hole where his left eye should have been. Cassady exchanged a glance with Ghazi, whose features remained neutral. He dug his sweating hands further into his pockets and tried to ignore the feeling that the situation was spiralling beyond his control.

  From somewhere down the hill came the sound of a bag of ANFO being detonated. None of the Runners flinched. Sergei broke between the tents and stalked towards them, a metal case clamped in one of his scarred hands. Behind him stumped the bald disciple, supporting a gaunt, pallid man with a head wrapped in bandages. From inside the tent, two robed figures appeared bearing a table. Sergei slammed the metal case down onto it.

  ‘Let’s get to it,’ he growled as an introduction.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ snarled Victor.

  Sergei gave him a look that suggested he change his tone. Cassady took a step forward, wishing he had his machete. The dread was solidifying into a hard ball of anger.

  ‘Answer him,’ he said.

  Sergei drew himself up to his full height. He was easily a head taller than Brandt. ‘All of you watch it. You ain’t the only ones feeling tender. I want two minutes now to tell you what’s what. So be quiet.’ He stared at Victor. ‘Hear me?’

  The boy gave a short nod.

  ‘You all know each other by now. What I gotta tell you might be difficult to understand, but these are the facts. I ain’t gonna water it down, because there ain’t time. A little while ago, we found out about a settlement deep in the Italian desert. Seems it’s some kind of geo-engineering research facility, set up while the Change was shaking us back to the Dark Ages, and the people there have been working their asses off on all kinds of different technologies ever since. Clean energy, sustenance, terraforming, that kinda thing. For the past few years they’ve been developing some kind of machine that could, if it works, clean up the mess we’ve made of the planet. Turn back the clock, I mean. Sea levels, rainfall, jungles, animal life, the deserts, all reversed. But now the settlement has hit a big damn snag and they need help from outside to get them back on track. We’re that help.’

  Sergei paused to draw breath. It was the chance Victor needed to jump in.

  ‘Where’s the joke?’

  ‘No joke, boy. You’re on this hill for a reason.’

  ‘How can you prove what you’re saying?’ asked Katarina.

  Ghazi spoke up. ‘I can.’

  Cassady’s eyes bore into him. He was going to tell them about the broadcast. Throwing away their bargaining chip before they even had a chance to work out what they could get from it. Sometimes the man was too quick to do the honest thing.

  ‘We heard a transmission on the road. Yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘What did you hear?’ asked Sergei.

  ‘We were keyed into a station frequency, but there was no report. A message was broadcast instead. A man’s voice, not encrypted.’ He dug a small notebook out of a pocket.

  Cassady shook his head. He must have copied it down sometime during the night.

  Ghazi read aloud from the page. ‘This is how it started “…must find the intruder. All agents have been activated. They understand the importance of the task. This technology could restore nature’s balance and repair the damage wrought on a global scale. It is imperative for us to seize it. The threat is�
�” That was all it said before it cut out.’

  A new voice spoke. ‘When did you hear that message?’

  The gaunt stranger who had been following Sergei stood leaning on a cane, his gaze firmly on Ghazi. Deep lines were cut into either side of his mouth, as though he’d spent most of his life laughing or in pain. A wave of brittle hair sat atop his head, while an iron-grey moustache fanned out to the middle of his cheeks.

  ‘Yesterday afternoon,’ said Ghazi.

  The man winced. Cassady wasn’t sure if it was due to the words or the discomfort he had to be in. A dark patch showed on the bandage wrapped around his temples. ‘The machine is real,’ he whispered, the words thinner than paper curling in a fire. ‘And the intruder was me.’

  Nobody in the group spoke. The pregnant silence stretched until they could feel it scratching at the hairs on their skin. The man swayed on his feet. Cassady prepared to dart forward and catch him before he hit the ground, but he steadied himself and used the cane to limp over to the table.

  ‘I will take it from here,’ he said to Sergei. The giant clasped his hands together and stepped back. ‘My name,’ he said, shifting his gaze to each Runner as he spoke, ‘is Lupo. I am a scientist, and I am here with a plea for help. I come from a settlement, a research facility, in the deserts of Italy. We call it La Talpa. It is my home. Two weeks ago I set off on my journey, along with three others. I faced death several times, but I survived. My comrades were not as fortunate.

  ‘Just under three months ago, the first of us at La Talpa fell ill with the disease that has brought so much misery to our community. The symptoms are mild at first. Localised bruising coupled with insomnia. Later on, the bruising spreads. The body is in a state of constant pain and is unable to heal itself, and the patient is exhausted from the lack of sleep. At the end, the body bleeds internally. It cannot be stopped. Before I left, we had lost nearly sixty people. Among these were twelve engineers who had been working on the machine.