Men of Truth (The Wasteland Soldier #4)

The diner was near the bridge, family run, brick walls hung with salvaged first-world metal signs, jokes that no one understood. They were a little mangled at the edges but not enough to spoil the colour and character they brought to the place. It was the sixth day. It had been light for several hours. Stone and Cali were in a booth. She had eggs and beans, slices of bread and rolled meat. The food was good. The service was good. They didn’t have to hunt or steal. The food was cooked and brought to them and they paid before leaving.

There were a handful of regular patrons.

The sky outside was light blue, marred by the ugly red streaks that had clung to the roof of the world for centuries.

Stone plucked a piece of meat from her plate, chewed, and washed it down with coffee.

She swore at him, half-heartedly, and told him to order something but he said he wasn’t hungry.

“Yeah, not now.” She forked egg into her mouth and swallowed, rolled her eyes and groaned with satisfaction.

“The food is so good here. I want to live in this place.”

He nodded, glanced out of the window, and watched the town sluggishly rise.

She leaned forward, talking low as she ate. “I’ve got a spot to stash everything once we clean out the bank. It has to be tonight.”

“It will but you might not need a hiding place. We may have to change our exit.”

“You thinking of going out tonight?”

“Jeremiah told you there was no time to waste. Besides, we haven’t found a patsy to dump this on. We can’t hope that the suspicion won’t point in our direction.”

“What about Weaver?”

“Too obvious.”

“What are you going to do about him?”

Stone shrugged. “He’s still breathing. He should be thankful for that.”

“What about Yuan?”

“She seems happy here.”

“But she’ll get the blame the moment we bust out of this place with the weapon.”

Stone sipped his coffee and said nothing.

“Is she the patsy?”

“No.”

“She came in with us, man. They’ll tag her as a … what do you call it? They’ll think she had something to do with it.”

She wiped her sleeve across her mouth. “What about …?”

“I don’t have all the answers, Cali,” he said. “But the longer we stay here the more suspicious they’ll get. They’ll pin the robbery on us in the end.”

“They will if we run. Jeremiah thought this through, you feel me? The plan is solid, man.”

Her cutlery scraped against the plate.

“How will we get past the towers? Have you thought that out? You said they ring the town like a fence, snipers and shit.”

“I’ve got an idea for that.”

She sliced up the meat, wolfed it down. She looked angry.

“Are you telling me I lugged those motherfucking coins all the way from Kiven for nothing?”

“I told you to ditch them.”

“Yeah, you did that.”

“The coins gave us a way in,” he said. “Now we know what we’re up against. Pretty much.”

The stolen drug money had been sitting in the bank vault since the morning of the second day. The teller had tried to conceal her surprise at the value of the deposit. It was more coins than she’d ever seen but it didn’t matter what she thought. The coins had allowed them access beyond the lobby with the cement floor and the plain walls and the grilled windows. They had been given a guided tour by the bank manager and now knew the layout. A corridor, two offices, a restroom and a hallway with stairs to an underground viewing room and extended vault with iron gates and long racks filled by numbered boxes.

“I still got a big problem with this,” said Cali. “How do I identify the right box?”

He eased back, took out the drawing, and smoothed it flat; stars in the night sky, no moon.

“I wish he’d told you what this meant.”

“You’re not the only one,” she said, tossing down her cutlery. “Yeah, do you see that, Stone? I’ve upgraded from eating with my hands.”

He ignored her comment. “I’m hoping you’ll recognise it when you see it.”

“What the weapon is don’t mean shit. There are hundreds of motherfucking boxes in that vault.”

“Then open all of them.”

“Simple as that? Open all of them? Man, don’t come at me with that. There are too many. What if I run out of time?”

“Then the mission fails.”

“Yeah, thanks, no pressure on me then. What the fuck, man? Can’t you think of something?”

“This is why I put the armband on.”

He folded away the piece of paper.

“I thought there would’ve been a bit of resistance but it happened twice before, appointing a non-approved citizen as a deputy. People trust Rawles and he seems to enjoy my company.”

“Really? Maybe the old dude got shot in the head as well.”

“He likes chatting guns.”

Rawles loved his weapons and so did Stone. The old sheriff was fascinated by the range of makeshift weapons Stone had used and come up against in the wastelands. Rawles told him he had an old lever-action rifle that was deadly accurate and was keen for them to go into the woods and shoot with it.

“You like the old dude, right? Is this a problem for you? Ripping off his town?”

“No.”

“Are you suspicious of him?”

“It crossed my mind,” said Stone. “That he’s only keeping me close for a reason.”

“Friends close, enemies closer, right?”

“I asked him outright.”

“What’d he say?”

“Choosing a good enforcement officer is about a gut feeling. His words. Reckons he has a good feeling about me.”

Cali thought for a moment. “What if you have to take him out?”

“Thousands of lives are at stake. We get that weapon out of this town. No matter the cost.”

She understood. The table was silent for a moment. Two men got up, paid and left.

“Ain’t no sign of that bitch Pavla. What’d you think her next move is?”

“Sneaking in isn’t easy,” said Stone. “The spotters in the watchtowers are more than just lookouts.”

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“They operate a signal system that’s changed daily. It means Pavla can’t take down one lookout and expect to slip right through into town.”

“What about the bridge?”

“There haven’t been any strangers since us.”

A waitress stopped at the table, cleared away crockery. She was of a similar age to Cali, the eldest daughter in the business, brown shirt and brown trousers with a brown apron and a wide smile. She had no scars, bruises or burns. They waited until she had left.

“I could do this alone,” he said. “Leave you here in Silver Road. You could start again with the money, a clean slate.”

“Damn, why are you always trying to dump me?”

“I don’t want to see you dead, or worse.”

She extended her arms, drummed her fingers against the table. He noticed she’d painted her nails.

“What’s worse than dead?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

Children streamed by the diner, loud and unruly, heading for school. Stone watched them, unblinking.

The youngsters messed around, bright faces capturing all that was innocent in the second-world, leaving all that was shit far behind.

He was suddenly very tired, and Cali saw the weariness in his face.

“We’ve got this far,” she said. “We’re finishing this thing together. Feel me? For those in New Washington. For Jeremiah. For the fifteen dead rangers.”

“The prison truck from Starkville is due tonight. That will be our way out.”

“But we still don’t know what the weapon is. Or what box it’s in.”

“We will by tonight.”

“How’d you reckon?”

“We’ve been invited to meet with Mayor Jefferson before I go on patrol. Yuan and Weaver are going tomorrow. He’ll know what box that weapon is in.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s the mayor. He’ll know.”

“Good, but we got another deal to sort out before then.”

Stone frowned. “What?”

“I’m being followed.”

“It’s a small town.”

“I get that.”

“You’ll end up seeing the same faces.”

“I get that, too. I wasn’t sure at first. But now I’m certain. Dude is on me, Stone.”

She folded her arms.

“Means I can’t go anywhere near that bank.”

They left the diner, and went in opposite directions.

Stone turned left, heading toward the bridge. Cali crossed the street, now on the same side as her stalker, and started walking to the right, mingling with the swarm of schoolchildren.

The man was bald-headed with a thick beard. He was loitering beside a dusty store that repaired and made footwear. There was a workbench and an open toolbox with expanded drawers. There were boxes of cotton reels, buckles and cuts of leather and a cubby hole against one wall, half-filled with shoes. It was a family business, they were all family businesses, but it wasn’t open and wouldn’t be for some time.

The bald-headed man was lousy at tailing. He continued to stare through the grilled window of a store no one would show interest in at this hour.

Cali sauntered, relaxed, fully aware of him. Her long black hair was loose and the wind caught at it. Her hands were thrust in her coat pockets and she swung her arms from side to side as she walked.

The bald-headed man pushed off, and mirrored her steady pace.

Stone was already on his way back. He slotted in behind.

The man lumbered forward, flexing his arms as he walked, trying to look anywhere but directly ahead.

Cali weaved through the schoolchildren, stopping to shout down a clutch of boys who eyed her and made gestures.

The bald-headed man stuttered, glanced up at the sky. Stone pressed forward, his pace much quicker.

Cali moved off once more, and crossed the dirt road, back on the side of the diner, and started off in the other direction, toward the bridge.

The bald-headed man came to a standstill, and loitered outside a closed bar. He was half-turned, watching her from the corner of his eye, hands in his pockets, long arms bent at the elbows. He idly kicked at the dirt as she drew level, going the other way, out of his line of vision.

He watched the throng of schoolchildren for a few more seconds and then slowly turned.

He didn’t even see it coming.

Stone clattered him with a right hook around the head. The man cried out and lost his footing. The schoolchildren whirled around and rushed back to watch. Stone hit him again with two rapid blows to the stomach and sent him sprawling in the dirt.

The schoolchildren looked on with anticipation. He wore the blue armband. He had a responsibility.

“He broke the law,” said Stone. “Took something that wasn’t his. This is what happens.”

Adults came onto the street, quickly admonishing the children and shooing them off to school.

As Stone herded the battered man in the direction of the barracks a woman patted him on the arm. “You’re alright by me, deputy.”

A voice shouted out behind him. “Well done, send him to Starkville.”

Stone reached the brick building and smacked his groaning prisoner through the front door.

Carlton was at the stove, making a pot of coffee.

“You don’t have to be here yet, Stone.”

“Keys.”

“Sure,” he said, and tossed him the ring. “What’d he take?”

Stone didn’t give him an answer because he didn’t have one. The law was much simpler where he was from and he’d never had to explain or justify himself for taking a man down.

He unlocked the door with the aluminium handle and hustled the bald-headed man into a corridor. It was tight and airless and went a short distance before bending to the left into a much larger room.

Daylight streamed through a high-barred window. Dust motes floated and twisted.

There were four holding cells, side by side, floor to ceiling iron bars, a bunk, a lidded bucket and nothing else.

A man occupied the furthest cell. He was black and shirtless, grunting against the cement floor as he performed push-ups. Stone ignored him, opened the furthest right hand cell, and tossed his prisoner inside.

The bald-headed man shook his head.

“You don’t know who I am.”

“No, but you’re going to tell me.”