Judge Dredd

THIRTY-TWO

The only trouble with the Judge Hunters’ sand cruiser was the sand. Fergie wondered how technology could build a Mega-City, and still make an air valve that ground a fine engine into mush.

“We’re finished,” Fergie said, pulling himself from under the machine. “Finished. Done. Dead.”

“We’re walking,” Dredd said.

“We’re what?”

Dredd didn’t answer. He picked up Fargo’s shotgun from the hood, turned away, and started east. Fergie squinted at the sun and gently touched his cracked and swollen lips.

“You’re crazy, Dredd. It’s about two million miles to Mega-City. We don’t have any food. We don’t have any water. I can’t even spit anymore.”

“It’s seventeen miles, you moron. You can take a droid apart, you can’t add? Those Hunters punched a trip-dial before they left home. It’s a regulation.”

“Might as well be a million miles,” Fergie muttered to himself. “We’re not going anywhere without water.”

“Have a nice day,” Dredd said.

He kept on walking. He didn’t stop or turn around. Fergie watched him go. In a moment, he seemed to be walking on glass. His body wavered as the heat rose up from the earth. The horizon rippled like a cheap video.

He’s nuts, Fergie told himself. He’s a Judge and he’s nuts. Judges don’t think like normal people, and Dredd’s about seven times crazier than the rest of that bunch.

Fergie couldn’t see him anymore. All he could see was a quivering silver lake. The lake turned upside down and shimmered in the sky.

He’s crazy, but he’s not that crazy. He didn’t walk out there to die. He left me here to die is what he did. He’s got water… the bastard’s got water and he’s left old Fergie to die!

Fergie ran. He ran for a minute and a half. Then he dropped on his face and ate sand. Then he got up and ran again.

When Dredd came back and found him, he was on his hands and knees, chasing a centipede. He said the centipede had a canteen and wouldn’t tell him where.

“You’re a groon,” Dredd said. “You want water, pick that thing up and eat it. Insects have moisture inside.”

Fergie looked at him with red and hollow eyes. “Forget it. I’m not really thirsty. I’ll wait until we find a nice bar.”

“Good.”

“You want my bug? You can have my bug.”

“I don’t want your bug.”

“Maybe I’ll keep it.”

“Fine.”

“Just in case, you know?” Fergie squashed the bug and put it in his pocket. Dredd would be sorry. Dredd would get thirsty and want his bug. Fergie would tell him, “Forget it, find your own bug, man.” Fergie grinned. It made him feel good to think about that.

“I knew you were out of your mind. I didn’t know how far, is all.”

“You can stay here. Nobody says you have to go.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s what you want to do?”

“Absolutely. That is exactly what I want to do.”

Dredd shook his head. “Just the answer I’d expect from the criminal mind. The habitual offender has no initiative, no will to survive.”

“Hey, nix on that. I got a will to survive.”

“Only if it’s not any trouble. If you don’t have to get off your butt you’ll maybe give it a try.”

Fergie mumbled to himself. He huddled on the parched ground, his knees folded under his chin. What the hell kind of world was this anyway? Five minutes before, the sun had been frying his head. Now, there was only a glow in the west and he was freezing to death.

Craning his neck, looking nearly straight up, he could see the broad stripe of gold, the dying sun’s reflection on the great Mega-City wall. The band of light was climbing fast; the sun was already far below the curve of the Cursed Earth.

In a moment, the stripe narrowed and disappeared at the top of the wall, half a mile high. Now, as the darkness began to gather in, he could clearly see the glare of flame low on the wall, not twenty yards ahead. A brief puff of smoke appeared, then vanished in the air.

“It’s a vent from one of the city’s incinerators,” Dredd had explained. “There’s a burst twice a minute. That means we’ve got a thirty-second interval to get through the tube before it flames again.”

“That means you are out of your mucking mind,” Fergie said.

“You thirsty?”

“Yes.”

“You got any water?”

“No.”

Fergie thought a minute. “The guys that went through, they made it okay. They got in, right?”

“Wrong.” Dredd shook his head. “They were droogs. Cursed Earthers. About as bright as Junior Head-Dead.”

“You’re saying, you’re saying they didn’t get in.”

“They got fried. But that’s because they didn’t figure it right. There is no reason it can’t be done.”

Fergie looked at him. “I’m stupid, remember? I’m a habitual offender.”

“Right. But you’re smarter than Junior Head-Dead anytime. Come on, get up. Let’s go.”

“No way, man.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Fergie stared. “Are you kidding? Wearing that pot on your head all these years has baked your brains, Dredd. You’re going to get me killed. You’re—oh, God, look at that!”

A fireball roared out of the vent, a tongue of flame thirty feet long. Fergie felt the heat on his face, smelled the charred remains of a million garbage cans.

Dredd waited until the flames died down, then walked up to the edge of the vent, keeping close to the wall. “Do what you want,” he said. “I’m going in, I’ve got things to do. There’s a maniac loose in Mega-City.”

“There’s another one loose out here,” Fergie said. He looked at the darkening sky, pleading with whoever might reside up there.

“Great time I’m having. I’m out of Aspen, I got a new life ahead, right? Wrong. I’m crashing in a shuttle. Cannibals think I’m the catch of the day. Now I got fireballs up my ass. And I owe it all to you. Thanks, Dredd.”

Dredd looked at him. “Me? You’re blaming me?”

“Of course I’m blaming you. If you hadn’t arrested me on false charges, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“That’s faulty logic. That’s lawbreaker talk, that’s—”

“Yeah, I know. It’s the criminal mind.” He glared at Dredd. “Well, that’s it. I’ve had it.” Fergie slid to the ground against the wall. “I’m sitting right here. Someone arrests me, fine.”

“All right.”

“Or until you apologize, Dredd.”

Dredd looked at him. “Until I what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You heard what I said.”

“You’re mentally impaired.”

“Okay.”

“The Law doesn’t apologize, Ferguson. Do I have to remind you of that?”

“So? You’re not a Judge anymore. I gotta remind you of that?”

Dredd looked tired. “Ferguson, what difference does it make? What if I was sorry, which I’m not. This is going to change your life or what?”

Fergie brought himself to his feet. He looked at the dark horizon, he didn’t look at Dredd. “I’ll bet you’ve never said the words in your life. Not ever. You owe it to me, Dredd.”

Dredd cocked his head and looked at Fergie as if he’d just dropped in from Mars.

“I’m supposed to say… exactly what?”

“ ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s it. That’ll do fine.”

“I’ll review your case, Ferguson. I will take the circumstances into consideration.”

The vent belched flame again, then retreated in a veil of foul smoke.

Fergie thought about that, then a smile spread across his face. “Review. Review is okay. Review is good. I’ll accept that. That’s a start, it’s a—huh? Dredd!”

Dredd picked him up by the waist and tossed him into the chute.

“Go, Ferguson! Thirty seconds—run!”

“No!” Fergie turned and started back. Dredd was right behind him. He stiff-armed Fergie in the back and sent him sprawling down the chute.

“Twenty-eight… twenty-seven… twenty-six…” Fergie said.

“Stop counting, droog,” Dredd shouted. “Move!”

“Twenty-two… twenty-one… twenty—where was I? Dredd, I’m going to fry!”

“Right. I’ll make sure you don’t.” Dredd racked a shell into the chamber of Fargo’s gun. Fergie looked over his shoulder, saw the weapon pointed at his head.

“Okay, okay, I’m running!”

Fergie heard a low rumble, then a tremor he could feel through his boots, a thunder so deep it shook the walls. Something flickered far ahead. Something bright and red. The sight nearly stopped his heart. The fireball, coming right at him… God, he couldn’t be that slow, he still had time!

“Damn you, Dredd! You were wrong!”

“Maybe it wasn’t thirty seconds,” Dredd said behind him. “Maybe it was something else.”

“Oh, shiiiiiiit!”

Dredd suddenly stopped. He reached out and grabbed Fergie’s collar and jerked him to a halt. Fergie stared. Dredd shoved him against the wall. He braced himself and fired the Remington at the floor of the chute. He pumped the weapon again and again. Fergie felt blood in his ears. Through a veil of dirty smoke, he saw the twisted grate at Dredd’s feet. Dredd kicked it with his boot. Kicked it again. The grate gave way with a clatter and vanished in the dark.

Dredd shouted in Fergie’s ear. Fergie couldn’t hear, but Dredd’s gesture was perfectly clear. Fergie jumped into the dark hole. Half a second later, he saw the fireball roar overhead, felt the awful heat, smelled the hair burning on his head.

Fergie flailed his arms in the air. Hit something soft, plowed through it and didn’t stop. Struck bottom on his knees, came up hacking and spitting black ash. Felt Dredd’s boots hit his back and went down again.

A dim light, from somewhere to the right. Dredd rose from the dark, his face black with soot.

“I’m alive,” Fergie said. “Hey, you are, too. How about that? We’re both alive!”

“Right. I can see that.”

“Dredd?”

“What?”

“Review’s okay, like I said. I mean, I’ll accept that. If you wanted to, you know, if you wanted to do any more, like actually apologize…”

“Forget it,” Dredd said. “I must have been out of my head. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

“You admitted you got it wrong.”

“I did what?”

“You said maybe it wasn’t thirty seconds. You said it was maybe something else.”

“So what?”

“So it wasn’t thirty. It was maybe thirteen.”

“It wasn’t thirteen.”

“You don’t know, you don’t know that. It might have been twelve.”

“Shut up,” Dredd said.