The Wasteland Saga

“Dunn,” said Dunn, extending a thick and calloused hand.

The Boy remained silent and then after a moment took Dunn’s hand.

“Bear Killer, huh?” Dunn chuckled in the quiet morning, the noise of the river distant, almost fading as the heat of the day increased.

After a moment…

“Might as well be, as opposed to anything else, right?” Dunn paused to spit chewed grass off the side of the bridge. “Times are strange anyway. Names might as well be too.”

“I never said my name was Bear Killer. That’s just what the Rock Star’s People called me.”

The Boy saw a flash of anger rise up like an August storm and slip through Dunn’s easygoing cowpoke facade.

Dunn turned and regarded the far end of the bridge, as if counting off moments to himself.

“That’s one explanation. I’ll buy it today for the sake of being friendly.” He turned back to the Boy. The August storm had passed.

“And I’ll give you this one for free,” continued Dunn, his tone easygoing, his manner quiet. “How you want to spend it’s up to you. Okay?”

The Boy nodded.

“Fine then. You ride hard and watch our backs. We’ll watch yours. Don’t question the work. There’s no such thing these days as dishonorable work. Whatever the work is, someone’s paying to have a job done and a job done is the way we do it.”

After a moment the Boy said, “I can live with that.”

Dunn watched the Boy for a long moment.

“There ain’t nothin’ left anymore. So sometimes work is something that’s just got to be, regardless. We could use a kid like you. But you’re gonna find some of the things we do might not sit right with you.”

Dunn paused.

“If you’re gonna ride with us then you might need to let go of some of those sensibilities.”

Dunn nodded to himself, as if checking a list of things that needed to be said and finding all points crossed off.

“That’s for free, kid. Next one’ll cost ya.”

Dunn smiled, then ambled over to another of the Hard Men to wake him for his shift.

When Vaclav awoke, black fury and a knife came out at once.

As if expecting someone else, Vaclav was ready.

But in that same summer-storm moment, the dark and swarthy Vaclav got up from the dust, then nodded to the Boy.

Hard men, Boy. Each and every one of ’em. You watch yourself.

I will, Sergeant. I will.

Chapter 26

The Chinese patrol, or what was left of it, waited on their knees in the pasture as the Hard Men watched their interrogation.

Only their leader stood. He was standing in front of a stump, a day’s ride from the outpost at Auburn.

Vaclav and the Boy worked with shovels in the big pit the Chinese prisoners had been forced to dig. It needed to be deeper, so Raleigh told Vaclav, and with a maximum of spitting and curses Vaclav grabbed a shovel and threw another at the Boy.

“New guy digs too,” he spat.

They worked in the pit while Raleigh screamed in Chinese at the patrol leader.

Krauthammer, another of the Hard Men, who the Boy knew by the brief introduction of post-battle observation to be a searcher of pockets and a cutter of fingers for rings that don’t slide off so easily. He had the patrol leader’s pack out on the grass of the pasture and was going through it, tossing its contents carelessly out for all to see.

Dunn stood by the stump, one dusty boot resting upon it. He was chewing on another blade of grass.

Earlier, when Vaclav was up riding point, he’d spotted the Chinese patrol.

Leaving the wagon full of bodies in the road, the Hard Men pulled back into the forest after staking the wagon’s horses and locking the brake.

“You’re with me, kid,” said Raleigh. “You too, Dunn. Rest of you circle around down by the river and come up along the road behind them. Once we attack, come on up and give us a hand.”

No one said anything. They’d done this before.

Back among the trees, the hot afternoon faded in the cool green shadows of the woods.

“Chinese are killers, kid,” whispered Raleigh. “You’re too young to remember, but they killed this country. Now we’re gonna take America back.”

Dunn laughed dryly.

Raleigh rolled his eyes.

The battle was short.

When the Chinese came walking up the road, they fanned out once they spotted the wagon full of dead bodies. A few of them moved forward to inspect it.

A moment before they reached the back of the wagon, Dunn whispered, “I don’t see no guns.”

“They wouldn’t have ’em this far out, Dunn. Too afraid of losing ’em.” Raleigh’s voice reminded the Boy of a rusty screen door.

Good, don’t think about the fight until you have to, Boy. You don’t know nothin’ about it till it starts up, so no use gettin’ worked up before it begins.

The Chinese carried long poles, spear-tipped ends.

Dunn charged out of the foliage, his horse snorting breathily as he beat the croup hard with a small cord. The Chinese recoiled as first Dunn broke the brush, then Raleigh, and finally the Boy.

Don’t think about it, Boy.

He knew Sergeant Presley meant more than just the fight. If for a moment he’d harbored the idea of riding away during the confusion of this battle, he knew they’d forget the Chinese and come straight after him.

I know too much.

They closed with the Chinese and the Boy chopped down on one of the patrol with his tomahawk then wheeled Horse about to swing into the face of an enemy shifting for a better position.

So these are the Chinese, Sergeant.

My whole life has been filled with the knowledge of them as enemies, as monsters, as destroyers. I have seen them play the devil in all the villages and salvager camps we passed through on our way across this country. But you taught me they weren’t the only cause of America’s destruction, Sergeant. You said they only came after, trying to carve away a little bit of what was left for themselves. I’ve never seen them as the devils so many have. You fought them for ten years in San Francisco, Sergeant Presley, but you taught me they weren’t our worst enemy.

We destroyed ourselves, Boy.

You taught me that.

Now it was parry, thrust, and chaos as the Chinese oriented themselves to the attack of the Boy and Dunn and Raleigh. Some fell, bleeding and screaming and crying, but their leader organized the rest quickly and it seemed, at least to the surviving Chinese, as though they had turned back the main assault.

In moments, the other Hard Men were up out of the woods and all over the Chinese patrol.

A few hours later the Boy found himself in the pit, digging out its edges.

Above him Raleigh was still screaming in Chinese.

“Got it,” said Krauthammer and held up paper. Then he held up a stick. After that, he pulled a bottle of dark liquid out of the pack.

“Put that one down first.” Raleigh pointed toward one of the Chinese waiting on his knees.