Men of Truth (The Wasteland Soldier #4)

The air was filled with the smell of coffee.

She wore an ankle length skirt with a roll neck sweater and a knitted cardigan, long sleeves bunched around her wrists. Her long-fingered hands tapped lightly against a wooden desk with a scratched plastic surface.

“We need rooms,” said Stone.

She nodded toward a blackboard with prices written in chalk. Cali handed him a coin roll and he tore open the wrapping. He kept one back and filled his pocket with the rest. He spoke again, explaining they required two cabins; one for him and one for the two girls. She looked at him harshly and he wondered if he’d offended her. Maybe she would’ve have preferred the word women and not girls. Maybe she thought it wasn’t correct or appropriate for a man of his age to be travelling with two young women. He didn’t give a shit either way. Yuan politely reminded him of Weaver, and that he would need a room, and Stone grudgingly asked for a third cabin as he handed over the solitary coin.

“You’ll struggle to spend these in town,” she said. Her voice was flat. “I can accept it but a lot of the businesses only handle low value coins. Go to the bank and change your coins there.”

The woman took a metal tin from beneath the counter, unlocked it, and deposited the single coin inside, handing Stone back a small amount of change. A row of keys hung from metal hooks on the wall behind her, each with a number fob, and she took down three of them.

“If you’re accepted there’s cheaper accommodation available in the centre of town, if that’s the sort of thing you want.”

“I’m sure your place will be fine,” said Weaver.

He smiled, cocky and self-assured. The woman looked at him blankly. Cali allowed herself a wry chuckle.

“I’m Jodie,” she said, finally making an introduction. “I run the motel. If you need anything you ask me.”

Stone was thinking he wouldn’t be asking her for anything. He’d never encountered such a morose person. Jodie began to explain a few rules of her own, imparting all her words in a monotone voice, but Stone was already heading for the door, key in hand.

He stepped out into the cold, silencing her voice, and stood for a moment, deep in thought. He washed a hand over his face and glanced back at her. He had never come across her before, he was certain of that, but there was something unsettling about her, something familiar.

He picked and scratched at his brain, found no answers.

The man in the metal chair was dangling a bottle between his legs. He looked up, squinting as the sun went into his eyes.

“What number you want, mister?”

He spoke incredibly slowly.

“Fifteen.”

“Behind me, mister. Right behind. That row there. Just there.”

He pointed with the bottle. It was half-filled with orange-coloured liquor. He took a swig, laughed.

Stone began to move off, but the man spoke to him again.

“First day, right? I’m Duane, mister. Call me Duane. Fifth day already for me. Not going to be more, no. I’m out on day seven, day seven, out on seven.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t mix well, no. I’m not what they want. I don’t break the law. Out on seven, I am, mister.”

The wind whipped around the motel. Duane seemed untroubled by the cold, despite the goose bumps on his arms.

“You want a drink, mister?”

“Sure.”

Stone wiped the rim, drank and tasted tequila. It was good. He passed the bottle back.

“Where’d you come from?” asked Duane.

“North.”

“I came from the east. Real wet east, mister. I didn’t like east, no. All water. What’s north?”

“A few communities.”

“Like this? Places like this? ’Cause I’m out on seven, mister.” He drank. “No votes for me.”

He laughed, knuckled his forehead.

“Might go north. You reckon I should try north, mister?”

“Sounds like you don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, you’re smart. I’m out in seven. Reckon I got no choice but to try north. Jodie don’t like me, no.”

“I don’t think Jodie likes anyone.”

Duane laughed.

“Good luck getting accepted. You’ll need it. I’m out on seven, day seven, out on seven.”

Stone closed the door.

There was a bed made from wood, and a mattress with crisp sheets, and blankets and pillows.

There were walls, four of them, and a floor that creaked beneath his dirty boots, and a ceiling that kept out the wind and the rain.

He perched on the corner of the bed, and made no movement for several minutes, no gestures, nothing, until he finally unclenched his left hand and placed it onto the mattress, palm down.

It was soft.

There was a plain rug on the wooden floor, smudged with a fresh muddy boot print, and an unlit stove in one corner, with a pipe that fed into the roof. There was a wicker basket piled with logs, a rocking chair, a dresser with a basin and jug, and a storage chest with an open hinged lid.

Stone massaged the bridge of his nose. He was filthy and hungry, carrying wounds yet to heal. He had no supplies or ammunition. He slipped off his pack and set it down with the unloaded shotgun.

A large wooden cross hung over the bed.

He’d encountered it for the first time in the state of Ennpithia. It had left a bad taste back then. They had called him faithless. He had watched them bend, bow and plead.

He took the cross off the wall, placed it inside the storage chest and closed the lid.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

Then he went outside.

Cali and Yuan were talking to Jodie. Weaver was nowhere to be seen.

“Got directions for the diner,” said Cali. She slapped her stomach. “Man, I need feeding.”

Stone nodded, told her to come straight back once she was done.

“Hey, don’t play the old man role now. Why don’t you come with us?”

He shook his head and ignored his gut. He went looking for Rawles. He didn’t want food. He wanted bullets.

Stone arrived back at the intersection, his scarred face and wounded head drawing the attention of a woman who suddenly spun on her heel and disappeared hurriedly in the other direction. There were children on the street now, lots of them, loud and rowdy, pushing and shoving, all coming from the same direction. Stone assumed lessons were over. Excitement spilled into teasing and then a fist fight broke out in a flash. A circle formed and there was jeering and yelling until a number of adults rushed from stores and it was quickly broken up.

Deputy Carlton was on duty at the bridge and carried a rifle slung over his shoulder, hand gripped tightly around its strap.

He glared from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

“Help you?”

“Rawles?” asked Stone.

“Sheriff is in the barracks.”

“Where’s that?”

Carlton ignored the question, nodded at the handguns tucked in Stone’s belt.

“You any good with them?”

Stone said nothing.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

Carlton loosened his grip around his rifle strap, flexed his fingers. A holstered pistol was worn on his right hip.

“Then answer the damn question, citizen.”

Stone regarded him.

“Men who boast are usually only that.”

Carlton sneered.

“Yeah, ain’t that the damn truth.”

He pointed onto the bridge, toward the tyre tracks.

“That’s where it happened. It shouldn’t have gone down like that. Nicky didn’t deserve to die.”

Carlton took his rifle from his shoulder, cradled it across his body.

“Rawles tell you what happened?”

“No.”

“Nicky was too slow to be an enforcement officer.” The deputy tapped the side of his head. “Up here. We got a lot of them. Good people get accepted but you take a gamble on the generation they bring through.”

Stone said nothing.

“Our spotters saw the trouble coming down the fifty-five,” said Carlton. “A single car was tearing its way along with a shit load of bandits after it.”

Uppers, thought Stone.

“We got snipers in the trees and watchtowers. Protects us from the wrong kind of people sneaking in. We took a few long distance rifle shots, and knocked out one of the cars, sent it crashing down into the creek. They gave up once they knew we had rifles on them. Then this fella, the one they were chasing, his cars skids and flips, and he rolls out, gun drawn, all jangled up from the chase. Nicky went to him, didn’t mean any harm, but simple Nicky had his weapon out. He didn’t stand a chance. Fella killed him with one shot, threw down his gun once he realised what he’d done.”

Carlton kicked at the ground.

“Nicky is dead because one guy got spooked. That’s the kind of shit that can happen when people don’t know how to handle their weapons. So I’ll ask you again and this time you’ll answer. You any good with them?”

“I know how to handle them.”

“Reckon you do and all.” He pointed. “Barracks is on Main Street.”

As Stone began to walk away, Carlton called after him. “Ain’t just Mayor Jefferson you have to impress, Stone.”

Stone halted, turned.

“What do you mean?”

“Sheriff Rawles gets a vote, and so does Jodie. You need two out of three to stay in Silver Road.”

“I’m sorry you lost your friend.”

Carlton chewed his lip, spat.

“No need to soap me. I don’t get a vote.”

“I don’t care about votes.” He looked around the town. “Seven days of somewhere decent is more than I’ve had in a long time.”

“I get that. How’d you find Jodie?”

Stone said nothing and Carlton sneered.

“Yeah, I thought so.”