Through Darkest America

Harlie looked straight at him. “Shit, boy, it sure beats dyin’ rich and sober, which is likely what we’re in for on this little party.” He grinned and whipped his mount away.

“Least half of that, anyways.”

Howie watched him go. Harlie wasn’t thinking much different than anyone else in the crew, he decided. pardo’s riders weren’t nearly as excited about filling their hats with gold as they had been the night before. The corn whiskey in their bellies had dried up quick on the hot plains. There was nothing to do now but ride, and wonder where you were going.

Pardo was a tricky bastard, for sure. If you got a man drunk enough, he’d work all night loading horses and packing gear, and take off riding at sunup without asking why. Now, though, like Harlie, they were remembering how they’d left the Keep all stiff and bleary-eyed with half the town up to see them off. Every halfwit in Roundtree knew they were carrying a fortune in guns out to the Rebels. Pardo had done everything but nail up signs pointing the way.

Now, all a man could do was curse Pardo for a fool and keep a wary eye over his shoulder. If there wasn’t something after him already, there soon would be.

The top of the ridge was a midday stopping point and, before the tail end of the column reached the summit, the first riders had small fires going to warm their rations. The heat felt good, too. Even under the clear blue sky there was a slight chill to the air. A rider who’d been through the country before told Howie they had left the plains behind and were now on the edge of a great mesa that stretched all the way to the far mountains.

“You seen the mountains?” Howie asked him. “For certain?” He’d looked at a picture once, in a real book, and stared at the tall, craggy white towers of stone that seemed to reach clear to the sky. It was hard to believe they were anywhere near. He was sure you could already see anything that big, if you were close enough to talk about them.

“They’re there, all right,” the man told him. “Taller’n God. Some so high a man can’t hardly get all the air he needs on top.”

Howie doubted that. There was air everywhere—why wouldn’t there be some on a mountain, too?

In the late afternoon he traded outrider duty with Harlie and rode along at the front of the column with Kari. Howie had mixed emotions about her presence on the trip. He was glad she was there, but he knew they were in almost certain danger and didn’t like to think of something happening to her. Pardo had felt the same way, for different reasons. Kari was too valuable to risk on the trail. He sure didn’t want to think about trying to replace her.

Kari had stood her ground, though—there wouldn’t be any shipment of high quality arms without her, and she’d damn sure see them through to the finish.

Earlier, Howie had promised himself he wasn’t going to let anything show, this time. She could make a fool of someone else if she wanted to, but it wouldn’t be him. Not any more. The minute he was with her, though, the whole business started all over again. Everything tightened up inside, like something was fair squeezing the life out of him. He felt hot all over, even in the crisp wind sweeping off the mesa.

He talked about the trail, and the different kinds of rocks, and how cool it was getting, and anything he could think of besides stopping right there and pulling her clothes off and laying her good and proper. Godamn, she looked good, even under the heavy cotton jacket that near covered her from head to toe! It didn’t do any good at all if you knew what was there.

“Howie…”

“What?”

“Stop it, Howie.”

Howie flushed. “Stop… what?”

“What you’re thinking.”

“You don’t have any idea what I’m thinking, Kari.” “Sure I do, Howie.”

“You sure as hell don’t!”

Kari didn’t answer, but he caught the slight corner of her smile. “You really do like that, don’t you? You think I’m real funny.”

“No.”

“Uhuh.”

“I said I didn’t, Howie.”

“Well… what do you think, then? You gotta think something.”

She looked at him a long moment, gray eyes sleepy beneath her lids. “No I don’t,” she said finally. “I really don’t have to think anything.”

Howie felt vaguely uncomfortable. There was something about the way she looked at him that told him it might very well be true. And not just about him, either.

At sundown the sky turned brilliant red, coloring the mesa in stark shades of fiery pink. Gray, crimson-topped clouds hugged the horizon, and Howie imagined they’d reached the mountains already, though he knew that couldn’t be.

Pardo stopped the column at an ancient site, where two long ribbons of man-made stone crossed each other and wandered off straight as arrows across the mesa. Everyone knew they were roads and that machines had used them to carry people before the War. Just how this was done no one could say for sure, though there were pictures that showed what it had looked like.

You could see traces of roads most everywhere; there had been plenty of them and they usually turned up right where you were fixing to plow, or dig a stock pen. This one was in fair condition, with a lot of surface showing. Time had taken its toll, and the stone was cracked and split all over and choked with sand and weeds, but you could still trace its edges with your eyes.

Some of the crew grumbled over Pardo’s choice of campsite, not too many liked the idea of spending the night in old places. Pardo ignored them, he had a reason for stopping there. Right at the crossroads there was a gutted building. It had thick stone walls higher than a man, and a narrow doorway. It was here he planned to store the guns overnight. More than that, he explained, if anyone decided to bother the column, why, there was a ready-made fortress right at hand, and it’d be worth a man’s life to try to take it over flat ground.

No one argued, but all the riders said they’d just as soon sleep outside in the sand until something happened to bring them inside.

“I wonder what they looked like?” said Howie.

Kari kicked her boot in the sand and squinted at him. “What?”

“The roads. Before, I mean.”

“Just like they do now, Only newer.”

Howie shook his head. “You know what I mean, Kari.” “I’ve seen lots of them. Better than that. Some good as new.”

“Where?”

“Where I come from.”

“Where’s that?”

“That way.” She jerked a thumb west.

“Huh?” Howie raised a brow. “You mean the mountains?”

“No, past that.”

“California? You come clear from California, Kari?”

That was all she would say, though, and he decided wearily he probably knew more about her than anyone else, anyway.

He watched her make a windbreak for herself in the sand, and spread her blankets down, then he walked around the far side of the old building and made his own bed. No wonder she didn’t talk like anyone else. He’d never seen anyone from California before. ’Course, she hadn’t come right out and said that was it, but he figured it was so.

He wondered, wistfully, if all the girls from California looked like Kari. He decided they didn’t. Hell, if that was so, every man in the country would’ve high-tailed it out there already and there wouldn’t be anyone left anywhere