Five Days Dead (5 page)

Tabasco and a Side of Fries

The deputy marshal’s name was Victor Shelley. He was a hulking nanobot enhanced, medprint junky who prowled the Utah Wilderness to keep the peace, rape, pillage and hunt, not necessarily in that order. He was horribly untrustworthy and without scruples. Harley liked him. With him were a young man and two small children who Harley did not know.

Harley was going to open a window and assist in killing the animals of the Rages, but in the end there was no need. The ball of light dancing in the darkness took care of things nicely and after the herd of deer was either killed or ran away, the rest of the creatures – owls, mice, raccoon, bats, faded back into the night. They waited for another half hour and then got out of the truck and wove through the carnage of dead animals toward the fire.

While Harley fed the fire Deputy Shelley butchered a deer and put half a dozen steaks on a spit over the fire. The younger man drug a couple of the larger logs Harley had scavenged closer to the fire and sat down with his children. Harley could feel them looking at him as he sat on another log. He ignored them. From what he could see of the man he was a soft blinker, completely out of his element in the Wilderness. The two kids looked on the verge of tears. Terrified, Harley wondered what in the world could these children be doing out in the night with the likes of Deputy Shelley? He waited to hear from them before he asked any questions.

The big deputy knelt by the fire and removed the deer steaks from the spit and placed them on metal plates he had taken from a kit in the back of his truck. He bit into one and smiled. “Now that’s good eatin’. You’re not going to have any of this Harley?”

“Had pizza for dinner.”

“Counting on the storks for your food now? You’re getting soft.”

“May be.” 

The deputy removed a cooler from the back of the truck and fished out two beers. He offered one to Harley with an arm that looked a mile long. “Me too.”

Harley accepted the beer, popped the top. “You print yourself even longer arms Vic?”

“Longer?” Victor flexed massive biceps. “No. These are the same ones I had last time I saw you.”

After Victor Shelley accepted a position as a deputy marshal he printed himself new, larger arms at a medprint and once he recovered from the surgery he had nanobot enhancements to increase his strength. He now was a wild caricature of a human being, with oversized arms and shoulders. With his extra-large and long arms if he wasn’t careful with his posture he would drag his knuckles on the ground. Rumor had it that his arms weren’t the only medical enhancement he had ordered at a medprint, but Harley wasn’t going to be foolish enough to ask him about it.

“Well, you look like a damn orangutan.”

“Maybe so.” Victor smiled and rubbed his bald head with one massive hand. “But I could reach across this fire and squash your melon like a bug.”

Harley wasn’t going to argue with the truth, so he didn’t, but he did turn his attention to the young man and the two children.

“What’s their story?” Harley asked, not bothering to talk to them directly.

“This,” Victor took the three of them a plate of venison steak that they accepted halfheartedly. “Is Quinlan Bowden and his son Noah and daughter Raizor. Noah is eight and Raizor here is six, is that right Raizor?”  The girl nodded as she picked up the steak and tore a piece off with tiny white teeth. 

Harley leaned forward to peer at the little girl. “What kind of name is Raizor?”

“Mine.” She took another bite of steak and chewed quietly.

The deputy sat down on the log beside Harley. “Quinlan is looking for his wife and their mother and I am doing my best to be of assistance.”

“Course you are.” Harley said. “And why are you looking out here?”

“Because we believe Quinlan’s lovely wife Vania was taken by the Wrynd. The last time Quinlan saw her was two weeks ago, shortly before five zombies were spotted in the Spanish Fork Memorial Park, licking their lips at all the little ones running about. They left the Hub and she left with them, under her own free will or not is the only question.”

Harley looked at the young man who was dark haired, slim and had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “That right?”

“That’s right.” Quinlan nodded back and his voice held a hint of steel Harley hadn’t expected to find there.

“So you brought your children along to catch up with zombies who have either gobbled up their momma or made her into one of them?”

“We have no family. Was I supposed to leave them home alone?”

“Safer than out here.”

“Oh, I’ll keep them safe Harley. I’m a Deputy Marshal of the Founder Federation.” Victor put his massive hand over his heart. “It is my sworn duty.”

Harley finished his beer. “Are you serving in your official capacity right now Deputy Marshal Shelley?”

Victor laughed. “Well, no, I’d have to say that I’m not officially on the clock.”

Harley nodded. Victor Shelley was known to be something of a hunting enthusiast. When he wasn’t on duty, he liked to comb the countryside. While most people hated that the Rages had turned nature against humanity, Victor Shelley reveled in it. He felt the same about ink and what the drug had done to its addicts. He hunted Wrynd with equal glee.

“Bring a couple of kids on a zombie hunt. That’s brilliant.”

“You don’t like children, do you Harley?” Victor grinned.

“Like them fine. With Tabasco…and a side of fries.” He stared blankly at the two children huddled against their father. “Do yourself a favor and turn around and go home. Your wife is dead or much, much worse. Forget about her and keep your little ones safe.”

Quinlan shook his head softly, sadly. “Can’t do that.  If she’s still alive, I can save her. I have to try.”

Victor stood up and offered Quinlan a beer he did not take. “He has to try Harley. You’d have to care about something to understand that. Probably a foreign concept to you.”

“Probably.”

Victor grinned and hooked a thumb toward Harley. “Harley here is a rare breed. An enigma in our modern world. On his right hip, he carries his sidearm low, like a gunslinger of ages old; on his left he carries a sword, steely and ready to tear flesh from limb. So is he a cowboy or is he a pirate? Does he even know? Does either belong in the New Age of Discovery?”

“May be I’m both.” Harley lit a cigarette.

“May be.” Victor raised his beer to him. “I know about the cowboy side, but enlighten me about the pirate side, Harley.”

Harley pulled the cutlass from its scabbard, it sang as he freed it.  “This is a replica of the 1917 cutlass once used by sailors of the United States Navy.” 

“Navy?” Victor grinned.

“The United States once had a navy, the greatest navy in the history of man.”  Harley’s voice betrayed the slightest hint of respect, the slightest hint of remorse.

“And today it is a bureaucracy of the Founder Federation, just like every other nation on earth.”

Harley nodded. “May be. But once, it was an empire and we all owned a piece of it. This,” and he held the sword above his head, smiling softly, “was a weapon of honor. High-tempered steel, it is long enough to serve its purpose and short enough to serve it well.”

“With a blaster on one hip, why do you need a sword on the other?” Quinlan asked, picking at a deer steak he had no interest in eating.

“Because technology can fail you, but if you hone your skills and sharpen your blade, then your strength and your sword never will. As long as you have those you can fight on and in the end, that’s all that matters, being able to fight on.”

“You used to be a cowboy?”  The boy asked between bites of deer steak. “I learned about cowboys. You used to ride horses?”

“Oh yes!” Victor crowed. “Harley used to be a cowboy. He used to ride a horse on the range, herd cattle, all that happy shit of days long gone. Your horse tried to eat you, didn’t he Harley, when the Rages came?”

Harley took the Stetson from his head, wiped away some of the dust on its brim and scowled at the big deputy. “He didn’t try to eat me. He tried to stomp me to death.”

Victor grinned. He had an aggravating grin. Harley motioned to his elongated arms. “I guess you’re still only sleeping with fillers with a body like that?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised how many want to be wrapped in these arms Harley.” Victor winked.

“Just fillers I’d reckon.” Harley smiled.

Fillers were simulations on the Link, background people who did not display real personalities, but would respond to whatever desires you happened to wish. They were particularly popular as love interests for those just looking for satisfaction in whatever form it might take or for those who were less than charming.

It was Victor’s turn to scowl. “Have you seen any zombies in your travels Harley?”

Harley almost lied but in the end did not. “There’s a tribe about 10 miles down the canyon on the other side of this slide. You’ll have to hike in.”

“Ten miles?” The big deputy grinned in the darkness. “Why would we need to hike? You mean to tell me you hiked all the way up the canyon from Price?”

Harley shook his head. “Didn’t say that I did. I have a truck.”

“Then we can hike over the slide and use your truck to get us there.”

“Don’t think so.”

Victor narrowed his formative brow. “And why not?”

“My truck. I’ll need it when I get back from the Hub.”

“And it’ll be there when we’re done with it.”

Harley considered for a moment. “You let me take your truck to the Hub and I’ll let you take mine to the Wrynd camp.”

“Not likely.”

“Then no deal.”

“I could just take it from you.”

Harley nodded, put his hat back on his head. “You could try.”

Victor took a large bite of his steak and laughed between chews. “Good enough. How long will you be at the Hub?”

“No longer than 48 hours.”

Victor nodded. “Link up and I’ll access you to the truck.”

Harley fished in his backpack for his eyeset and slipped them on his head. On the Link Victor granted him access to his truck and Harley slipped the eyeset back off his head and into his pack.”

“Wait a minute,” Victor said, pointing a large and long finger his way.  “What about yours?”

Harley fished in his pocket and brought out the truck’s access tag.  He tossed it at the deputy. “I’m old school. That’s the access tag.”

“You driving a brontosaurus?”

“It runs well enough.”

Victor eyed him for a moment and finally shrugged and looked at the younger man and his children. “We get up early and we’ll have those kidnapping Wrynd scum by early afternoon.”

“There’s quite a few of them.”

“Yes. But there’s quite a lot of me Harley.”

After they had eaten their venison, Victor put Quinlan and his children in the back of the truck and brought up the shell so they could sleep without the fear of any more Rages and then he came out to drink more beer with Harley. 

“One of us should probably keep watch. Just because we’ve been through one Rage doesn’t mean that’s the only one that will hit us tonight.”

“Pfft.”  Victor looked up and the small glowing orb that had killed the deer and ran off the bear slowly approached the two men sitting by the fire. It hovered two feet above Victor’s head.

“I guess a scye does come in handy from time to time.” Harley said, eyeing the floating orb warily.

Victor flexed his massive biceps. “With these I don’t normally need it, but it does come in handy…from time to time.”

Harley rolled his eyes. The scye glowed brightly in the night and Harley could just make out a soft hum from its shielding. He tried not to let Victor see how interesting he found the little orb, but it was difficult.

“I’ve heard that if you hit someone with one of those hard enough it will pass right through their body. Any truth to that?”

“I don’t know.” Victor looked at Harley and the orb suddenly shot toward his head, only to stop two inches from his nose. It gave off no heat. “Shall we test it?”

“Are they difficult to control?” Harley’s hand was on his sidearm, something Victor had obviously noted, but chose to ignore.

“Takes some practice. They aren’t as user friendly as the original civilian models. It’s like having an extra arm or leg.” While Victor talked, he let the scye zip around the little camp area like an oversized firefly. “It takes a while to learn how to control it without giving it any thought, to make it just a physical reaction, like using your hand to scratch your nose or open a door. They still make the tourist model. Buy one and try it out.”

“Not much need for it.”  Harley said. “Why do they call them scyes anyway?”

Victor crushed a beer can between one of his massively inhuman biceps.  “Sensory control of your environment.” He belched, loudly. “Originally they were designed as a reality interface for the slugs who like to experience the real world through the Link. They were a way to interact with the world without having to step outside of your house. Through the Link and with the scye you could see, hear, taste, and feel everything just like you were physically present. When they first rolled them out a bunch of people died from sensory overload because they crashed them into the sides of a mountain or the ground or some other damned fixed object.”  Victor slapped his leg, laughing and looked at Harley quizzically.  “You don’t think that’s funny? That’s some funny shit Harley.”