Hell Road Warriors. James Axler
Toulalan pursed his lips in thought. “Would you care to hear some Canadian history?”
There was nothing at the moment Ryan wanted to hear more. He took a sip of beer and idly considered the can. “If you want to tell it.”
“Well, skydark came. This we all know. But Canada, we had no nukes and far fewer—how do you say…high-value targets? Oh, we got hit, but for the most part surgically. Capitals, military bases. It wasn’t like the horrific exchange that created the Deathlands. We have been south. We know. Few earth-shaker bombs, tailored viruses or, as we say, orgy weapons like the United States and its prime enemies flung at one another.” Toulalan sipped wine. “Nevertheless, the weather changed, the Earth changed. Tailored viruses will spread, and fallout and chem storms, well, they know no boundaries. When the big freeze happened, well…” Toulalan shrugged. “This is Canada.”
“And?”
“And so. In the Deathlands, people left the cities because they were radioactive. In Canada, the cities were abandoned because in the nuclear winter they were freezing and there was nothing to eat. You have thousands of ruins. We have thousands of ghost towns. Winters were always long in the north and summers short. Now the winters are longer and the summers shorter. Spring and fall? Beautiful respites, but I warn you, do not blink. They are ephemeral. And come Father Snow, we have, what we call, the hard freeze. You can literally see it come toward you, like an avalanche across the horizon. Pray you never see it, except from behind thick stone walls with a roaring fire at your back.”
“Speaking of that, isn’t it getting a little late in the season,” Ryan questioned, “to wag it cross country?”
“Indeed.” Toulalan leaned forward. “We’re behind schedule. We must push hard.”
“Where are you headed?”
“West.”
Ryan ran his eye over the collection of wags. “I noticed you don’t have a tanker. You got tanks and cans loaded on every wag, but not enough fuel to cross country.” Ryan crushed the empty can in his hand. “You’re going from bunker to bunker.”
Toulalan tossed off a postapocalyptic French-Canadian shrug and considered the one-hundred-year-old wine in his glass by candlelight. “Will you tell me how you got into the bunker?”
Ryan was starting to believe that Yoann Toulalan had no idea what the mat-trans chamber was. “Codes can be broken.”
“The computers are locked.”
“Trade secret.”
“Ah.”
Ryan threw his cards on the table. It might be for an ephemeral moment, but Ontario was green. His rad counter told him this was the cleanest land in North America he’d seen in a while. His friends didn’t want to jump again, and despite his every effort he found himself liking Yoann Toulalan. “What are you proposing?”
“You and your friends can drive and fight a LAV. That’s worth its weight in gold.” Toulalan set his glass on the table. “I’m tempted to offer you a place here in the convoy.”
“But?”
“But I beg of you, tell me something of you and your friends.”
Ryan kept it short and to the point. “I’ve led convoys, guarded convoys and drove convoys. I can drive any wag you got, and I can wrench a little.”
“Very useful.” Toulalan looked up toward the LAV guarding the convoy. “And your pale friend?”
“Jak’s the best fighter I know, and he’s a tracker.”
“Excellent.” Toulalan looked over at J.B. The Armorer was getting deep into his beer. “And your cannoneer?”
“Armorer. He can fix any blaster you got.”
“Excellent.” Toulalan looked at Mildred. “And her?”
“She’s a healer, and you tell Six ‘hands off.’”
“Understood.” Toulalan ran an appreciative eye over Krysty. “And her.”
Ryan smiled. “She’s mine.”
“Ah.”
“She’s a crack shot,” Ryan said.
“Better and better.”
Toulalan looked askance at Doc. “And him?”
Doc was well into his wine and speaking French to a good-looking young woman wearing a coverall and a tool belt. Ryan had to admit the old man was something of a sight wherever they showed up.
The one-eyed man smiled. “Doc’s our…resident scholar.”
“Ah!” Toulalan laughed. “Very good!”
Ryan watched Six walk by. He never stopped walking the perimeter, but each time he passed the feast he cast long looks at Mildred.
“Your man Six doesn’t like muties.”
Toulalan made noise. “Who does?”
Krysty’s body went rigid against Ryan. He kept his tone neutral. “You don’t tolerate them?”
“In the Deathlands, do you?” the man countered.
“Some villes do. Some don’t.”
“Ah. Well, in Val-d’Or those born mutant are culled.” Toulalan shrugged again. He seemed to consider the matter to be of little consequence. “Life is hard enough without nurturing horrors.”
Krysty’s hand clenched Ryan’s knee.
Ryan kept his voice neutral. “What’re you proposing?”
“Accompany us west. As far as you like. My convoy will be far stronger with you among us. As for you, there’s safety in numbers. Alone, even a wag as powerful as a LAV is vulnerable.”
Everything Toulalan said was true. Ryan took another beer. “Authority?”
Toulalan shrugged again. “I’m the leader of this convoy. You’re the leader of your people. If I wish something of any of your people, I’ll ask you. You’ll accept my authority over the convoy and obey my orders until the day you find you can’t. On that day you and I’ll shake hands and part as friends.” Toulalan held up his glass again. “If you join us, the only thing I’ll promise you is food like you have never known until that food runs out. That will be your—how do you say it in Deathlands, jack? And when the bounty of the Diefenbunker runs out…” Toulalan shrugged again. “Well, you have tasted Six’s pig.”
It was a damn tempting offer. “I’ll have to talk with my people.”
“But of course. Take your time. You may give me your answer in the morning, and whatever that answer should be, I insist you and your friends stay for breakfast.”
“Mighty kind, and I’ll think on your offer.” Ryan rose and took Krysty’s hand. He looked over at the mandolin player and the flautist. A young man playing a hand drum had joined them. “Right now I’m gonna dance with Krysty.” The redheaded beauty grinned in delight and stood to join him.
RYAN SIGHED as Krysty collapsed forward onto his chest. He pulled the top blanket back over them both. He handed her the canteen without being asked, and Krysty gulped water thirstily. She gasped and tilted the spout to Ryan’s lips. He drank deeply and relaxed back, staring up into the Northern Lights. “What do you think?”
Krysty sighed. “It’s greener here. The air is cleaner. Open country. Just lying here I can feel Gaia more strongly.”
“Toulalan said the good times don’t last long.”
“Neither does a man’s orgasm, but I don’t hear you complaining much.”
Ryan snorted and got back on topic. “And?”