New West (3 page)

“Well, good on them.” Ezrah wasn’t sure he believed there was anything still over there except the ruins of old buildings and bridges.

God knew no one had really heard from them in forever. It was like the Lost Coast. Wrecked and gone. He wished the land sailors well, though. He really did. He’d never needed to go farther than old Dallas to know he didn’t want to go no farther.

He just needed to get these beasts to Denver, to the people who dared to take them farther. That was all.

That was enough to get a man killed.

Chapter Four

Jesse’s ass hurt.

His ass hurt. His back hurt. His thighs hurt.

His balls were going to explode.

Also, his brain was becoming mush and was going to leak out his ears.

There was no doubt Queenie was a superior mount. However, she was not like sitting in a rocking chair. Unless the rocking chair was full of stones and prickly pear.

Which, honestly, who did that? No one, that was who. Not even sex fiends out there in the Flow looking for someone to flog. Or hair-shirt monks who lived in old Taos. He’d met two of those. In person.

They were actually kind of cool, and they shared that sour juice stuff, which whoa. Visions.

Big visions.

That had made him hurl, but his ass hadn’t hurt. Just his throat the next day.

He was going to miss the Gathering this year, spending most all his spring right up through to fall on this crazy favor for an old friend he hadn’t seen in forever. Somewhere—in the Flow or in the flesh—one of his friends was laughing at him. Him. On a horse with a bunch of cowboys who would flay him as well as look at him. This was a bad place for a friend of the Diné, and a worse place for a Grounder, and he was both.

Not to mention that whole wanting to stare at Ez’s backside and imagine wicked things. The Diné had a name for that—Two Spirited—and didn’t hold it against anyone. Not even a crazy Grounder who was more interested in the pipe than fighting for the attention of some beautiful tanned-leather boy. He was still a bit of a spectacle and his port…that ran against what a lot of them stood for. Good thing he’d been one of them longer than he’d been a Grounder. The Diné were driven into his skin.

He reached up, touched the tiny spot. He needed it, though. More than the Gatherings, more than the sound of the drums.

In the Flow he could have all of that and more.

In the Flow he could have everything.

He sighed, shifting in the saddle again and wondering, not for the first time, why men weren’t smart enough to ride sidesaddle. His balls hurt really, really hurt.

Not only that, but who had looked at these big-assed animals and thought, “Wow. I should jump on its back”?

“You okay, man?” Ezrah had been riding up and down the column, checking in with the drovers, looking over the herd before they stopped for the night. The man was barely sweating, even though it was hotter than hell.

“Peachy.” And what in the trembling hell did that mean, anyway? Who had looked at a peach all those centuries ago and decided it was the symbol of yay?

“You look as if you might just die.” Ez was laughing at him. Out loud.

“Don’t make me smother you with my poor swollen balls in the night, Ez.”

Ezrah barked out a laugh. “Your sweaty, stinky balls? No thanks.”

“I’ll have you know they weren’t nasty this morning, they were totally reasonable, normal nuts.”

“Now they’ll have to be scraped out of your pants like a burned flapjack. Nasty, deer-hide-flavored flapjack.”

Oh, now. This was clearly an attempt at a one-upmanship. A gross-out battle.

“It’s more like they’ve been mashed into a slippery goo. Slick ball goo.”

“Wow. You should talk to Cookie. He might have a gravy for that.”

Okay. That was uncalled for. “I’ve smelled the chuck. There’s no way he can improve the goo.”

“Hey, he has new stores to work with.” Ez grinned at him. “Half hour before we stop for the night, man. You can do it.”

He nodded. He could. He knew it. He was just going to die as soon as they stopped. Plonk. Gooey death.

Ez spurred off, heading for the front of the column, and he watched that ass meet and separate from the saddle, over and over.

Fine bastard.

“You’d best be careful, Grounder. The boss is a good man. We’re watching you.”

He looked over at one of the dozen drovers riding with Ez and rolled his eyes. “I’m terrified. You assholes couldn’t keep Emmett alive. I’m not worried.”

Maybe he was a little worried, but he knew better than to show fear. Even Ez would attack a weak man. It was who they were. These cowboys had to be hard as nails to survive.

Good thing Jesse knew a thing or two about keeping his head down and staying out of sight.

“Just watch your back, man, and find a way to be useful.”

“Oh, trust me. I am useful.” And ready for this particular conversation to be over.

“You boys get back to work.” That was one of the older men, the one he thought he remembered as Ezrah’s trail boss. He seemed a reasonable sort.

He didn’t thank the man; that wouldn’t be taken well. He just kept his mouth shut and rode, fingers stroking the port behind his ear. Maybe soon he’d find a spot underground, a hidden well. He needed it, really, needed his own reality.

Needed to fly.

Maybe after they settled for the night. He could check the perimeter of camp, see if there was a place to slip underground.

A guy could hope, right?

“I’m Cyrus, by the way. You probably don’t remember me.” The trail boss nudged his horse over, reaching to shake hands. “We appreciate your help, son.”

“Jesse. I’ve been friends with Ez a long time, but I’m sorry to say I don’t really recall. I’m happy to help.” If by happy, he meant willing and not sure what the hell he could do.

“I don’t remember much about you either, son, but I heard a good bit. From Emmett, believe it or not.” Well, that explained why Cyrus wasn’t treating him as if he were a pariah.

“Emmett was a good man. We all grew up together. I taught him to shoot.”

“No shit? Well, no wonder he couldn’t hit the side of a barn.”

Jesse hooted, the horse dancing underneath him at the sudden sound. “You know it. We learned on a rifle that cocked left.”

“That explains a lot.” Cyrus chuckled. “Well, you watch yourself around the boys. They’re a superstitious lot.”

“I get it. I’ll watch my back.” And his front. And his sides.

“Good deal.” They grinned at each other just as Ezrah called a halt.

“Man, I’m afraid if I dismount, I’ll never walk again.”

“You’d be best if you walk a good bit, actually,” Cyrus said. “Work it out.”

“I can do that, thanks.” He could walk and search for a place to get underground. His skin itched. He needed in. Needed to be somewhere real again, somewhere he belonged. His port throbbed in the back of his head, a constant reminder of its hunger.

“Hey.” Ez stopped next to him, smiling a little, his face etched with dust.

“Hey, there.” He dismounted, forcing himself not to wince. He could do this. He felt as if he had jock itch, his inner thighs were so chafed.

Why had he come again? Right. Ez. They were friends, him and Ez. Family, almost.

Bound by their love of Emmett, if nothing else.

“You look so serious. The boys already harassing you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. It happens.” It happened when they were kids, it would happen again.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Ez grunted. “You’ll eat with me. We’ll have our own little fire, because we have a lot to talk on. Hour ‘til grub if you want to try and find a hot spot.”

“I will.” There was one close, a low tickle in his ear, a buzzing whisper. His fingers clenched at the need to dig out his cables and all.

“Be careful.” Ezrah clearly didn’t understand, but he was trying.

“Just keep your cowboys off me, yeah?” He could find a place, port in. Soar.

“I’ll do my best, man. Can you tell if there’s anyone else about?”

“I’m not a seer, Ez. I’m a Grounder. Once I’m in, I’ll know who else is in the stream. It isn’t magic, for fuck’s sake. It’s technology.”

Ez gave him a measured look. “I know that. But if the old man has someone in there hunting us, you’ll know, right?”

“I will. I have to be careful, Ez, or they’ll know I’m here too.”

“Do what you gotta do, man.” Ez clapped him on the back before leading both their horses away.

Jesse took his bag and wandered away from the bustle, from the lights, focusing on that weird little buzz promising connection. The stories were, before the earth broke apart into a million pieces, everyone was connected. No one had to search for spots. The world was a single, living piece of information.

Then the quakes had started.

He’d seen images on the Flow, of the first quakes. The coast went first, then the far East, just disappearing into the oceans. It hadn’t stopped there. He’d seen the remains of ancient roads, the black crags jutting up as if they were shattered mountains. The steel and glass buildings like jagged teeth.

Crazy, how the world could change, just because of some cracks deep in the earth.

He found a deep, wide fissure in the earth and the buzzing in his port got stronger, so he slipped in, searching for that echo, that promise. There were places, they said, where there were communities of Grounders, groups of them living together under the earth. They risked the aftershocks, the rains, to come together and—

There.

His eyes closed as a buzzing rang through his head, and he slipped his port in, brain searching for a way in. Yes. Tiny, but the connection was there, and as he followed it, the single bee turned into a swarm.

Jesse sank to the dirt as he dived in, leaving the soreness and the dust and the people behind. Oh. Oh, better. Magic.

He’d lied just a little when he told Ez it wasn’t magic, it was just technology. Not everyone could do this. Not everyone could dive in and find their way back. They lost dozens, every day, bodies left empty while their consciousness stayed inside. He’d never been that lost, but in the world they lived in, he could see how someone would just want to run away.

This got into your nerves, into your blood and the very meat of a man. Jesse craved it, the wash of it in his soul. No amount of dancing with the tribes, no amount of peyote and pipe could give him this.

The Flow was…oh, what was that?

He saw something interesting and followed it, murmurings about cattle. About Denver. It was like a little rabbit hole with a psychedelic bunny.

Oh, rabbits.

Look at that.

No. No getting distracted.

No floating off. Floating off was bad. Especially with him having a job to do. Job. Ez. God, it was a buzzkill.

When he thought of Ez, it was as if little fishes were nibbling around the edges of his mind. Shh. Shh. He relaxed, gathering the questers around him, trapping them. Then he started sorting through, seeing who was really poking.

Most of them were people interested in cattle, but two, they were looking for land. They were looking for Ezrah.

Damn. He pulled back, not wanting to give himself away. He couldn’t believe old man Chastain was using Grounders.

He slipped into his body, unplugging reluctantly. He really wanted to stay plugged in, but he wouldn’t put Ez in more danger.

Lord knew how much time had passed when he crawled out, heading to the fires that dotted the prairie. Jesse blinked, trying to reconcile the two worlds. Man, he’d been down awhile.

He sat down, hard, his legs reminding him he was real, physical. Gracious. He hoped there were no snakes.

Or big bugs.

Coyotes.

Ravenous night-dwelling desert chickens.

“Are you gonna come eat?” He could suddenly smell a cigarette, and Ez loomed over him.

“Uh-huh. You’re not a chicken.”

“Nope.” Ez cocked his head to one side. “Bawk.”

“Very nice.” He stared at Ez, but his legs were just noodles.

“Gimme your hand.” Ezrah pulled him up, then slung him over one shoulder as if he weighed nothing.

“Ez!” Shit, the man was strong.

“What? You’re like a greenhorn, you been living underground so long.” Ez wasn’t just strong. He was hot as fire and smelled of horse and sweat. Not an unpleasant combination. Manly.

“You’re carrying me. These yahoos are going to beat me down.”

“Anyone who tries will have to go through me. I have rage, Jess.”

Ezrah put him down next to a fire, a single tent, the dark green Ez’s mom’s favorite color. There was no one around to give them shit, and their chow was already there in a covered Dutch oven.

He could smell the stew, rich and savory, and the scent took him home, in a sudden, painful rush. God, how long had it been since he’d had real food?

Sweat popped out over his skin, leaving him chilled, shaking.

Ez eased him down on the dirt, then went to dip him a cup of water. “Here, man. You need to drink more.”

“Thank you.” The water was sweet, clean.

“You’re welcome.” Ezrah sat across from him, staring a little.

“They want your land. You know that, though.”

“I do. I’m not sure why except we’re the last holdout.”

“You’re the one at the mouth of the river. You have control of the dam.” It really was that simple, right?

Ezrah blinked, as if that hadn’t even occurred to him. Maybe it hadn’t. The boys’ momma was still alive, and she and their dad had always run things. Besides, if it had always been yours, you didn’t think about it.

“Shit. No wonder. God. Mom.” Ezrah looked downright gray.

“She’s got to have folks with her, doesn’t she? Someone?” Surely Ez wouldn’t leave her without protection.

“I left my most trusted men with her, except Cyrus. I just figured they’d come after me. She’s not a rider; she’s not going to be out with the cattle. He’d have to come right up to the front door of the house and kill her in cold blood. You can’t do that.”

“Then they’ll hold it there. If he’s hunting you, he’s looking to take the land without the sheriff involved, without the law. There is still some back home.”