As I Walk These Broken Roads

Eddie shook his head. “T’ain’t me. It’s Elmo over there. I just thought you might like a chance to go talk with Marie and your friend… you know, before Elmo decides to speak with them himself.”

* * *

“So I’ve been thinking. And I have a theory.” Raxx took a sip of his beer. “See, there was this other place up North I stopped at for a while, and I think the same thing happened there. It was part of what they called the ‘Woodsman’s Code’ — it was a lot like the ‘Corn Cycle,’ it was their rules for how to farm — trees up North, not crops, but still — and how to run the town.”

He took another sip of his beer. He was forcing the idea out, and it was coming in halts. “I’ve got to tell you another theory first. You remember the Silver Beetle plague a few years back?” Wentworth didn’t, but he nodded to keep Raxx talking. “The only barley that wasn’t hit was the one they use for animal feed — the two-row barley. That year all the farmers switched over to it, and didn’t grow the other stuff until the beetles disappeared. I remember the beer being shitty. I switched to drinking whiskey.”

The statement reminded him of his drink and he took a sip, eyebrows still furrowed. “But here’s what most people don’t realize: I was talking with these farm hands one time, and they told me that during the plague they’d sometimes find a crop of two-row that was infected. So they’d burn those ones, just like they burned the fields of Four-row and Six-row. Now here’s where it gets interesting. The next year — after the plague was over — they said that the two-row had changed. Four- and six-row were still the same, but the two-row was a darker brown than it used to be.” His shoulders hunched. “Why? Why had it changed, when the others were still the same?”

Wentworth shrugged, and grunted for him to continue.

“Here’s what I figure; the seeds they used to grow the four- and six-row were from two years before — they’d burned all the plants during the plague year, and none of them had produced seeds. But for the two-row, they used the stuff that the beetles hadn’t eaten — that they hadn’t burned. And those seeds were different.”

He tugged at his eyebrow ring as he thought, “There hasn’t been a plague with the cattle or oxen, not that I can think of — but the ranchers are always picking out which cattle they’re gonna breed, and which ones they’ll slaughter based on things like milk and size. So I’m guessing if there were a plague that we’d probably see the same thing happening with the animals as we did with the plants. Some of them would be better at surviving than others, and the ones that did would be different somehow.”

Wentworth scratched the side of his glass with his index finger. It was empty. “There were a lot of prewar ideas like yours. I’d say you’re probably right.”

Raxx looked up with a flat gaze. “That’s good, because it leads up to my next idea. When most people think of the War, they only think of the bombs. But where I grew up most of the stories were about what came after. They all said that the punishment for the War was worse than the War itself.

“It was… basically, it was sort of like a ten year plague… and if the Silver Beetles could change the barley… well, couldn’t something like that change people?

“Say you survived the bombs; half the people you meet are gonna be sick, or dying; would you want your daughter taking a chance marrying one of them? When you knew your own kids had survived okay?”

He grimaced in agreement, and Raxx carried on. But Wentworth had lost interest in the conversation. He was sick of these provincial hamlets, and wasn’t interested in rooting out Blackstock’s traditions. He was only listening because it would make the Mechanic feel better.

When was the bartender going to look up from his conversation and bring over another pint?

“…but even though there’s no reason for it anymore, they still do it, because the Corn Cycle is tradition. It’s all one big piece, and that’s the problem; they can’t take a small part of it and look at it, figure out whether or not that part makes sense, and then decide if it should be changed. In their minds, it all goes together, or none of it does.” He tilted his glass to drink only to find that it was empty too. He shook his head in annoyance and slid it over to the corner of the table. “I feel like an idiot for ever thinking I could fit myself in here.”

Wentworth shrugged, looking down. “You never know how locals are going to react. The bigger burgs are usually better.”

“Yeah, but they don’t got—” Wentworth’s head snapped up, and Raxx stopped speaking. He raised a hand in caution, and peered through smoky lenses towards the front of the room.

Raxx was twisting around to see what he was looking at, just as a loud giggle broke over the music. The two caravan guards were at a booth with Marie; one sitting, the other leaning over the table. Raxx stared at the scene, trying to figure out what had Wentworth tensed when a sudden bellow shot lead up his spine.

“Ai!”

The bar froze at Elmo’s shout. The canned music was heavy and latent.

“Marie! The shit you think you’re doing?”

A sibyllic change swept over the redhead. “Fuck you, Elmo! Go back to your bitterroot!”

The giant heaved to his feet, upsetting his table. His glass exploded as it hit the stones. He wobbled briefly then strode forward with purpose. “Don’t you be shitting me, Marie, not four days before the fucking Corn Festival —”

Marie’s response was lost in confusion as Billy shouted over her. Verizon tensed like a spring. Marie’s tattoos were an angry blue smear, and she screamed incoherently. Raxx was dimly aware of Wentworth sliding out of his seat as he found himself standing up as well.

“Here’s you, talking to these blasting yarnels—” Billy moved towards him, hands out in placation. In a haze of drunken pain, Elmo mistook the gesture. He shoved the man back with a pair of meaty hands, knocking him onto Marie. She started shrieking and Eddie’s shouts joined the bedlam.

Wentworth moved through the nest of overturned tables like a bead of hot oil skipping across water.

“You son of a bitch!” Verizon was climbing over the table in defence of his friend. Elmo grabbed Billy, lifting him by his mohawk.

“Sneaking with my cousin!”

Wentworth reached Elmo a step ahead of Raxx, hiding in the background of Elmo’s rage. He placed a steadying hand on the giant’s shoulder, while his other closed over the fist tearing through Billy’s hair.

The motion was a fluid twist. It ended in a sharp jerk and a shriek from Elmo.

The floor shook with the giant’s collapse, silencing his scream. Wentworth was on top, pinning his arms.

Raxx shifted gears and stepped over them. Verizon was jumping off the table — he caught the guard in mid- air, and heaved him back onto the table. “Stay!” His hearing came back — Wentworth was yelling in Elmo’s ear.

“Calm Down There Buddy! Calm Down! No—” he dug in with his knee, “Don’t Do That — I Need You to Calm Down! Are You Calm? Are You Good Now Buddy? Okay, That’s Good.” He looked over at Eddie and jerked his head, motioning him over. Raxx fixed his gaze on the guards; they were flushed and panting, but they weren’t moving to interfere. “Eddie’s gonna take you home, that okay buddy? You’re gonna be walked home to bed, if you stay calm. Yeah, Marie’s going with you too — you need to calm down so you can look after her, right? Are you gonna calm down? That’s good, ‘cause Marie need you to be calm. You gotta look out for her, right? Okay, buddy, I’m gonna let you up now — you’re calm right? And who’s gonna walk you home? Eddie, that’s right.

“Raxx, give me a hand here.”

“Okay, we’re gonna help you up, and then you’re gonna go home with Eddie, okay? You ready? One — Two — Three! There you go — you’re calm still, right? Look at me! You’re calm? That’s good now, Eddie’s gonna take your arm — and here’s Marie, she’s going to take your other arm. Now are you going to be okay? You’re going to be able to take Marie home? That’s good. Aright, I’ll see you later buddy, is that okay? Good. You have a good night, now.”

The three locals left the bar, and then it was just the four of them. Raxx saw Wentworth’s face slide into a scowl and his leg start jittering as he surveyed the two guards.

“You okay?” he asked Billy.

“Uh, yeah man, I think so.” He rubbed his head then looked at his arms; he wasn’t bleeding anywhere that Raxx could see. “Yeah, man. I think I’m okay.”

“Good.” Wentworth turned about, as if dismissing them, and walked behind the bar. He started rooting through the shelves, oblivious to their questioning gazes.

After a few seconds Verizon glanced from Raxx to Billy. “The fuck was that about?”

“Shut up.” Wentworth had placed a bottle on the counter, and was searching for glasses.