Xenofall (The Wasteland Chronicles, Book 7) (5 page)

“When the Emperor has a message to carry, he needs a man he can trust. That man is me.”

“Do people live this far out?”

“Most of the city is abandoned. The Reapers say they control everything, but that’s only in name. The farther from downtown, the more dangerous. Many criminals live here, outside the Reapers’ justice. Or so I’ve heard.”

“The Reapers’ justice?” Anna asked. “Didn’t know there was such a thing.”

Francisco chuckled. “Even a man like Carin must keep peace. In the Empire, the old cities are the same. They are too large to control.” Francisco made a sweeping gesture toward the crumbling, abandoned cityscape. “What you see here, my friends – that is no city. It is as wild as any jungle of Nova Roma.”

The rest of the trip passed in silence. On our left, I noticed a wide, concrete-lined ditch, dry as a bone. The ditch ran even with the highway for a long while before widening and filling with dull, gray water. A high, arched bridge crossed the ditch that was now as wide as a river. The highway twisted, and Francisco followed its arc, before crossing the bridge.

“Long Beach,” Francisco said. “Now called Port Town by the locals.”

My gaze went out over the water. Docked in one of the harbors were fourteen wooden ships, sails furled after their long voyage. A good half of the ships were large things, with three masts and meant for carrying large quantities of cargo. The other ships were smaller, but sleeker, built for speed. These ships might have been the escort for the cargo ships. Men moved on the docks below, going on and off the ships, unloading crates of supplies.

“That’s a sight,” Anna said.

“The supplies will be traveling north to join Augustus’s forces,” Francisco said. “The fleet will return to Nova Roma in the morning.”

“A long way to come just to go home,” I said.

“Augustus needed the supplies,” Francisco said. “These waters are usually bad, so it’s good fortune that they made it.”

The ships disappeared from view as Francisco drove the Recon down the bridge and entered the street. We continued to drive down the avenue, each side of the street flanked by buildings that had seen much better times. Trees stood wilted and fallen in the narrow median and on the avenue’s sides. Dirt covered much of the road and sidewalk. Sailors milled in and out of one the buildings, most of them jovial.

“There are the bars,” Anna said.

“They should still be working,” Francisco said.

Whether they were supposed to be working or not was not really my concern. I was just here to find Marcus and Char.

“Pull up here,” I said. “We’ll start our search at this place.”

I could hear the sailors’ raucous laughter, even inside the Recon. They wore baggy cargo pants and plain shirts, for the most part, overlaid with heavy jackets designed to protect from the harsh sea wind. Several pointed at us.

“Careful,” Francisco said. “Port Town isn’t safe. Don’t be deceived, even if Augustus’s men are here. Some gangs that are discontented with Warlord Black take up residence here.”

“Good,” I said. “We don’t like Black, either.”

“I’m just telling you to be careful.”

“Where can we find you once we get Char and Marcus?” I asked.

“I’ll be here,” Francisco said. “If not here, then nearby.”

We left the Recon and stepped onto the dusty street. As Francisco’s Recon drove away, a group of sailors standing in front of a bar set eyes on us. Several of them smiled and catcalled Anna, despite the fact that I was standing right next to her. I wanted to teach them a lesson, but knew, in the end, it was probably futile.

Anna just ignored them. “Keep your gun showing. I doubt most of these men are carrying anything more sinister than a knife.”

“A knife can still kill,” I said.

“Yeah,” Anna said, touching the hilt of her blade. “But mine is bigger.”

Several of the men averted their eyes upon her touching the blade, but the bold ones continued to stare.

“Come on,” I said. “We can start with this one.”

Anna looked at the crudely painted sign hanging above the glass door, of two drunken sailors holding bottles. The door was wide open to the wind, but I could see that the glass had several bullet holes and webs of cracks.

“The Wasted Wastrel,” she said, reading the sign. “Do any of these men know what that word
means?”

“Do you?”

She shook her head. “Come on. There are probably ten other such places here. Finding Marcus and Char might be difficult.”

“Let’s get started, then,” I said.

As the Imperial sailors stared on, Anna and I strode toward the door. The stench of ale, sweat, and smoke became stronger as we neared the building. Several men called out to Anna in Spanish. I was glad I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

We pushed open the swinging, wooden door.

***

A
t least fifty filthy and extremely drunk sailors were crowded into an area that was about equal to the deck space of the entire
Perseus
spaceship. The interior was dim and dingy, both from lack of light and an abundance of smoke – smoke not just from tobacco, but various, questionable origins. Anything less than a yell could not be heard in this environment.

Trying to find Char or Marcus in this place, or in ten others like it, was definitely an unenviable task.

“Just work your way around the room,” I yelled.

Anna nodded, and we jostled our way through the stinky and teeming mass of humanity. As we came to the room’s far corner, I was surprised to hear the honky-tonk jangle of a battered piano, an old sailor mashing on the keys hard in order for the song to be heard. Several sailors belted out words to a Spanish sea chantey. If there was a regular piano player for this establishment, he’d probably been run off by the horde of sailors.

The men drank deeply from pint glasses, the brew the color of deep amber. Froth covered lips, beards, and faces. A sour reek permeated the air. I couldn’t believe Marcus or Char would want to hang out in a place like this.

“I don’t think they’re in here,” I said.

Anna shrugged off the groping of a fat-bellied sailor. I reached for my gun, but Anna slapped my hand away.

“We’re here to find Marcus,” she said. “Not start a fight.”

I noticed more drunken men leering at Anna. I realized Samuel might have been a better companion for a task like this. I hadn’t realized how full these bars would be, especially in the daytime. The sooner we found Marcus and Char and got out, the better.

We got to the bar itself, completely filled with boisterous mariners. Two men chugged from pint glasses while others cheered on.

Marcus and Char.

Anna and I watched, shocked, as our two friends raced to drain their mugs. Fists pounded on tables as batts shifted between sailors’ hands. Who would win, the Alpha of the Raiders, or the Chief of the Exiles?

But at last, Marcus tipped the remainder of his mug, draining what was left of the froth, wiping his red beard in victory. His brother finished just a second later.

A roar emanated from the watching sailors, batts exchanged hands, and a second round was bought for both brothers, regardless of victory. They nodded their thanks to the jovial sailors, and began drinking anew

I stood, shocked, as Anna strode up. She laid a hand on Char’s shoulder. Voices quieted as she spoke.

“I haven’t seen you drink like that since the Bounty,” she said.

Char turned, flashing Anna a rueful smile. “Care to join us?”

“No, but I see why you were missing your radio calls.”

Both brothers looked at her, shrugged, and took another drink.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had a drink,” Char said. “As brothers. We thought one last time wouldn’t hurt, before the second end of the world.”

Marcus laughed, even though there was no particular reason to. I noticed his crutches leaning up against the bar. His leg, still in a cast, hadn’t stopped him from wetting his whistle.

“Remember, Char,” Marcus said. “The first time the world ended, we were at a bar.”

“Aye, it’s true,” Char said.

“Look,” I said. “There’s been some important developments. It’s probably best to rejoin the crew.”

“Probably?” Char asked. Marcus giggled next to him.

“He means that this is your last drink,” Anna said. “Makara will have no tolerance for this kind of thing.”

“Oh, piss on Makara!” Marcus said.

Char held up a hand. “No. She’s right, Marc. We’ve been here too long. Remembering old times, too much.” Char sighed wistfully. “Much has changed on this road, over the years, but the Wastrel still makes the finest ale in Port Town.”

Marcus nodded his agreement, taking a sip out of his mug. Since it was his last, he had decided to savor it.

“Don’t take too long,” I said. “We have a driver waiting outside.”

Both men sat and drank in silence. I had officially killed the buzz for good, but it wasn’t time to be partying. The entire world was on the line, and two of the Angels’ most important members were drinking in a bar.

From next to me, Anna cried out.

“Let
go!”

She pushed a burly man, but two more flanked his side. At second glance, I realized these weren’t sailors from Augustus’s fleet. They were probably locals.

“I was wondering where the entertainment was,” the burly man said.

His two sniveling companions snickered. They had long, greasy hair and hollow eyes.

“You want entertainment?” I asked, stepping up, putting a hand on my Beretta.

The men looked me up and down. The burly man, who seemed to be in charge, answered.

“I’m not into that sort of thing,” he said, with a smirk. “But Rummy, here...” He gestured to one of the men, whose black eyes danced. “He might be more accommodating.”

Anna’s eyes warned me not to go for my gun. If I shot these guys down, it might go badly. The entire bar would erupt in a fight, which was the last thing we needed.

“Leave her alone,” I said. “Or else.”

The man sneered. “Or else, what? You come into our bar, you play by our rules, kid. The Krakens rule the Port and the Krakens take the spoils!”

With this, he grabbed Anna’s wrist. From the anger in her eyes, it was all she could do not to draw her katana with her free hand.

By this point, a space had widened around us. Char and Marcus, even in their current state, took note and came to back me up. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, the piano player closing the instrument’s top and beating a hasty retreat.

“Hands off, scum,” Char said. “Last I heard, the Wastrel was a free bar open to any and all.”

The man gave a sour smile. “You need to get with the times, old man. The Krakens had to step in and protect this place years ago.”

“Things have changed, then, since Raine’s time,” Marcus said.

The burly man said nothing. Now that it was not just me, but Char, Marcus, and the sailors that had been cheering them on, the Krakens weren’t so sure of themselves.

“Maybe we should let her go, Crash,” Rummy said.

“You should listen to your hound, Kraken,” Marcus said.

Crash’s face seethed with anger, but in the end, he let Anna go.

“You’ll regret this, all of you!” he spat. “You’ll rue the day you crossed the Krakens.”

This man was in no way intimidating, and in fact was quite pathetic. He and his cronies backed off, tails between their legs. Several of the sailors clapped and hooted at the gang’s hasty retreat.

“Come on,” Char said. “I’ve lost all taste for this place.”

“Me, too,” Marcus said.

We turned and headed for the door, Anna casting a glance backward to where the Krakens had retreated. They were nowhere in sight. I noticed an open doorway, partitioned with a curtain. The curtain shifted, as if someone had just entered.

I kept my hand on my gun, watching that doorway as we walked toward the exit. It was still crowded, even more so than when we’d entered.

We were halfway across the floor when the first shots came, echoing loudly in the bar’s confines.

“Go!” I yelled.

The bar turned into a panicked and screaming mass as men made for the one exit. We were pressed in from all sides. If we fell, we were more likely to be stampeded than shot.

Several men screamed as bullets ripped into them. Bar stools splintered as men tumbled to the ground, and mugs filled with ale shattered on the floor.

The Krakens had cleared half the bar – there were five of them. More must have been in the back room.

“Just get out,” Char yelled. “No use risking a fight.”

More sailors went down. The exit was so jam-packed that there was no way to get through.

“Alright, we
do
have to fight!” Char said.

Together, the brothers upended a nearby table, facing its top toward the Krakens. Anna and I ducked behind the table, joining Char and Marcus. I pointed my Beretta outward, letting off several bullets. I struck one of the Krakens standing in the corner. He yelped before falling to the floor, a spray of blood bursting from his shoulder.

The three Krakens near the curtained partition retreated into the back room, leaving one last Kraken exposed near the piano. Char and Marcus shot, missing each time because their aim was less than steady. As bullets riddled the tabletop near the Kraken’s side, I took careful aim, firing and hitting the gang member in the chest. Red sprouted on his shirt as he fell to his knees, curling on the floor.

The sailors had mostly cleared from the doorway and were out in the streets. It was time to make our own retreat.

“This reminds me of Raider Bluff,” Char said.

“Only worse,” Marcus said.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s slide the table over to the door. And keep your heads down.”

We did just that, using the table as our shield. When we reached the exit, we ducked outside into the dull sunlight.

Sailors formed a ring around the bar, and more still were coming to join the throng, asking questions. Fingers pointed at us as we stepped onto the sidewalk. I scanned the crowds, looking for our ride.

Francisco honked from the Recon. It was already pointing in the direction of the freeway.