Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) (31 page)

Holmes went on to recount the sequence of events that had transpired over the past couple of days. Once the perps arrived in the city, delayed for several days after one of their motorbikes had broken down, Cole put a twenty-four hour watch on the three men and Brogan.

“Since Ritter and his men got here, I’ve spent most of my time either on call or watching you,” Holmes told him. “Last night, when Cole told me you’d left the hotel, I followed you and the girl down to the Paradise. I think you might have spotted me at one point, right?”

Brogan nodded.

“At that time, we had no idea of the girl’s involvement, otherwise I’m sure John would have ordered me to intervene. It was only later, when he ran back through the tapes, he saw she’d been down at the Paradise Lounge the previous day. He was kicking himself he hadn’t spotted it.”

“John’s too hard on himself. He can’t track each and every person who walks in and out of a bar,” Brogan said.

“Yeah, that’s what I told him too. Anyway, as soon as I saw what happened outside the Paradise, I legged it home and got straight on the radio to John. Broke the protocol too,” Holmes added with a grin.

“That’s when he told you to come here? To the Black Eagles camp?”

The agent nodded. “That’s right. He’d watched your roadside encounter with the chief the other day. We couldn’t think what else to do. It wasn’t like I was going to go storm the Paradise by myself or anything.”

Brogan shook his head. “You took a hell of a risk, Darrell.”

“Got to admit, I was sweating it pretty bad when the chief gave me a grilling last night after you told him you were ex-SRF. I had to tell him everything in the end. Good thing the warrior chapters have their own code when it comes to stuff like respect and honor. They don’t give a crap what anybody else thinks, either. I’m glad it all worked out. You’re a lucky man, Frank. I think you know that.”

“Without a lot of people’s help, I’d be dead right now. I think I managed to do just about everything wrong,” Brogan said, embarrassed once more by his reckless behavior. “So where is Ritter now? Is John still tracking him?”

Holmes shook his head. “I’m afraid we’ve lost him for now. After he jumped out the back window, he got picked him up right away on infrared and tracked all the way back to the Vegas Drag. He ducked into a building and hasn’t been seen since. I showed the chief where to look, but by then he’d long gone. Don’t worry, we’ll pick up his trail again.”

“Sure. He can’t hide forever.”

Brogan felt bitterly disappointed. Ritter wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t figure out everything, but he’d piece enough together to be far more careful with his movements going forward.

“So what now?” Brogan asked Holmes. “No matter what the chief says about keeping quiet about what went down, it’s too dangerous for you here. Things have a habit of getting out.”

“I’m riding back to Winter’s Edge in a couple of hours,” replied the agent. “My time here is done. That’s the deal we made.”

Brogan raised an eyebrow. “The deal? What deal?”

“John promised me he’d bring me back to Metro if I did this for him. By the way, brass don’t know anything about this, we had to come up with a story for them without involving you.” Holmes smiled at Brogan. “John’s good at handling stuff like that.”

The agent’s comment made Brogan feel even worse. Both Holmes and Cole had taken big risks with their professional careers to help him, Holmes with his life.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’m glad to hear you’ve got your side of things covered.”

A serious look came over Holmes. “John told me what happened to your family back in the State. It’s part of the reason I agreed to do this.”

“I appreciate that, Darrell. I owe you big time.”

“Don’t sweat it, buddy. I’m glad it all worked out. And all considered, taking out two of the perps is a good result.”

“I guess.” A hard look entered Brogan’s eyes. “Next is Ritter. I’m going to find that weasel, no matter where he’s crawled off to. Then we’re going to spend some quality time together. Just me and him.”

The two talked a little longer. Brogan’s headache started coming on strong again, and it became a struggle to keep his eyes focused. Holmes could see it too and after a few more minutes, he bid his leave.

After shaking hands, Holmes said, “Oh, nearly forgot.” With a grin, he tossed his hat onto Brogan’s lap. “Take this. Orders from above. I won’t be needing it anymore.”

Brogan stared at him, a puzzled look on his face.

“John says you need to wear it when you go out. Told me he nearly had a heart attack trying to keep track of you last night along the drag. This’ll make it a little easier for him to track you from now on.”

Brogan picked up the hat and placed it on his head. “How’s that?”

“Dude, now you look like a proper
hombre.
”

“Right now I feel like I’m all hat and no horse,” Brogan replied. “Got a motorcycle back in town though. Guess that will do.”

On the third morning of his stay at the Black Eagles camp, Brogan awoke early to discover his headaches had completely disappeared. So long as he didn’t knock or touch the knuckle of his severed finger, the pain had reached the point where he was no longer constantly aware of it.

Examining his face in Roja’s hand mirror, he was relieved to see that his eyes looked clear and focused, and though his bruises had turned a nasty yellowish-brown, the swelling on his face had subsided considerably and he no longer looked like an extra out of a zombie movie.

He put down the mirror and poked his head out the tent flap to see a beautiful pink-tinged dawn breaking over the eastern skies of the Arrow Valley. Over the past couple of days it had been cold and blustery, and he had barely left the tent.

Looking around, he saw no sign of Roja and guessed she had gone to the bore well where she went each morning to fetch water. The well was located at the far side of the farm, about five hundred yards away from the camp.

With his energy returning and the improvement in the weather, Brogan decided it was time to be a little more adventurous. He put on his boots, grabbed his jacket, and was about to step out of the tent when he remembered one last item. Turning around, he leaned down and scooped up his newly-acquired hat from the foot of the bed.

Outside, the air was cool and crisp, and it felt good to walk the stiffness out of his legs as he strolled through the camp. Other than a few curious stares, no one paid much attention to him as people went about their early morning chores to the yelling of children and the barking of dogs. A rough count told Brogan there were about twenty-five tents pitched at the camp. It fitted in with what Roja had told him—that there were nearly forty warriors in the tribe, not including children.

Holtzer’s Place was a farm of around ten acres to which, each year between mid-October and the first week of November, the Black Eagles would pack up their belongings in the North Mountains and make the three-day trek south. Brogan had been curious what the Holtzer family got out of the deal. Roja explained that the tribe had some excellent mechanics, carpenters, and other skilled tradesmen. In exchange for the plot of land for their winter camp, the tribe helped with the repairs and maintenance of the farm vehicles and buildings. She told him they were in the process of constructing a new barn at the moment, and come spring the tribe would help the family with the preparations for the new planting season before packing up and leaving for their summer grounds in the North Mountains again.

“It’s good for security too,” she had said. “Everybody here knows their connection with us. No one around these parts is going to fuck with the Holtzers.”

From his own experience, Brogan had no doubt about that.

“They’re good people,” Roja had added. “It’s nice to help good people.”

After ten minutes of aimless ambling, Brogan decided to seek out the chief. Over the past couple days, he hadn’t seen much of him. Since the night he’d rescued Brogan, Bear had come to the tent only once, for a few minutes, to check up on his progress. Roja had been there, and the body language between the two seemed tense and awkward. Brogan figured there must be some history between them. What that was exactly, he could only guess.

He stopped a passing brave, a young man barely out of his teens, and asked him to take him to the chief. The warrior led him through to the back of the sprawled-out campsite to a large canvas tent with an in-built porch at the front. It was considerably bigger than any of the others in the camp—certainly larger than Roja’s little nylon tent. Brogan recognized Bear’s custom dirt-track, black and silver Harley parked to one side, and a few hundred yards behind it he could make out the lake. The chief had chosen a nice spot to pitch his tent.

Just outside the porch area, a small wood fire had been started. A blackened old metal pot sat on a grill perched between two bricks, and he could smell the inviting aroma of freshly made coffee.

The brave called out discreetly, and soon a young woman appeared from inside the tent, a pretty cafe-colored girl with long braided hair wearing a dark wool sweater, tight-fitting jeans and a pair of old trainers. Brogan recognized her immediately as the girl who had ridden on the back of Bear’s motorbike that first day they’d met.

She saw Brogan and smiled. “I heard you were better,” she said. “Wait here.”

Reaching inside the porch, she picked up a camp stool and placed it by the fire.

“Sit down. I’ll make you some coffee while Josh fetches my husband,” she said, indicating to the brave.

“Thank you, miss. Where is your husband?” Brogan asked, remaining standing. He put a hand on the brave’s shoulder before he could take off.

She turned and pointed toward the lake. “He’s back there somewhere, fishing.”

“I’ll just get Josh to take me to him, if you don’t mind.”

The chief’s young wife looked disappointed. Brogan guessed she was curious to listen in on his conversation with the chief.

“If you prefer. I’ll have some coffee waiting for you when you get back.”

Brogan thanked her, then headed off accompanied by the young brave.

A few minutes later they reached the banks of the lake, where a thick mist lay over its waters, the bright morning sun shimmering through, giving it the appearance of pink cotton candy. Somewhere off in the distance, he could hear the sound of ducks.

When this is all over, I’m going back to the West Valley, to my farm
, Brogan thought to himself.
I’m tired of city living.

Fifteen minutes later they found the chief over at the far side of a hilly promontory that jutted out into the lake.

Held over the big man’s head was a fishing rod. He was about to cast it when he spotted Brogan and the brave marching through the thick grasses when they came over the brow of the hill. The chief paused a moment then, expertly flicking his wrist forward, cast the line out into the lake. As soon as it hit the water, he began to reel it back in again.

The young warrior came to a halt. He patted Brogan on the arm, then turned back toward the camp.

“Nice way to spend the morning,” Brogan said a couple of minutes later when he reached the chief. “Especially on a day like this.”

“This is work,” Bear said. He stared at the hat on Brogan’s head a moment, but made no comment. “I’m catching lunch.”

The chief indicated to a plastic bucket on the ground beside his tackle box. Inside was a green and gray colored fish about ten inches long.

“That’s not even breakfast for a guy your size,” Brogan said peering down at it. “Looks like you got more work to do. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“It’s fine. Plenty of time till lunch.”

The chief reeled in his line then, flipping the bail, he locked the reel and stuck the hook into the rod’s cork grip so that the line held taut. Bending over, he rested the rod carefully down on the grass beside his bucket.

“Come on,” he said, standing up. “Let’s take a stroll.”

The two men walked back from the promontory to the main shoreline, then turned southward along a narrow overgrown path. A soft breeze blew in off the lake, its waters lapping gently onto the shore. With each step Brogan felt better as the last of the cobwebs cleared from his head.

He was keen to know if there had been any news of Ritter. The chief told Brogan he had sent men into Two Jacks at different times of the day to look for him. Yesterday evening, Bear himself had gone into town with a party of braves and gone to the Paradise Lounge to find the place all boarded up. There was no sign or word of Ritter anywhere.

“I’m pretty sure he’s left town,” the chief said. “That’s what I’d do in his position. Find somewhere to hang low for a few weeks until everything blows over.”

Brogan knew the chief was right. To pick up Ritter’s trail again, he would need to get back to Winter’s Edge and see if John Cole had managed to track him down. Now that Holmes had left Two Jacks, there was no other way for him to contact his friend.

“You say he’s a hunter and trapper,” the chief continued, looking thoughtful. “He could have a cabin out here somewhere. Most do.”

Brogan thought about this. “Good idea,” he said. Maybe that was something he could work on before going all the way back to Winter’s Edge. “I’ll look into that.”

After they walked a little farther, the chief asked him, “How are you getting on with Roja. She looking after you good?”

“Real good. I’m lucky to have someone like her take care of me.”

“Well, now that you’re better, maybe you can do something for her in return.”

Brogan stared across at the chief. “Like what exactly?”

The chief smiled. “I’m sure you can think of something. She likes you, you know. A man could do a lot worse than to have a woman like that.”

“I wouldn’t argue with you there.” Brogan hesitated a moment before going on. “Chief, seems to me, like you two aren’t exactly on the best of terms. Is there anything I need to know?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

Bear spent the next few minutes spelling out their history together as Brogan listened carefully. Soon the awkwardness he’d observed between the two of them the other day made sense.