Rage

TWENTY-ONE

The rocky hills and jagged cliffs of the Wastelands changed into a flat plain of rubble and sun, with nothing on the horizon.

A few times Raine checked the map and tapped his globe compass-a far cry from GPS-to make sure he was heading in the right direction to the city of Wellspring.

And it seemed to be, though he would be reassured by seeing someone else heading this way-or anything at all on the horizon.

But the map showed that he still had a lot of ground to cover, especially if he was to reach the city by nightfall.

He imagined that you didn’t want to be out here when the sun went down.

It didn’t feel any too safe being out here now.

He was well beyond the radio range of Dan’s settlement. It’s not that he had anything to say, but another human voice would be comforting.

So thinking it might help, being out here all alone, he started talking to himself.

An hour later he stopped to pour more gas into the tank.

Dan had given him four large containers, nearly fifty gallons. Enough-he said-to get him to Wellspring.

He looked up, the brilliant sun overhead.

Raine had wrapped a cloth around his exposed neck and lower face, even though that made him sweat. The material was sodden where it touched him, but he guessed it was a good idea to keep the sun off his skin.

Did it feel different? Was the sun here, now… any different?

Clouds seemed scarce. Was there ever a rainy season?

Then he said it aloud. “Ever rain here?”

He laughed. “Rain, Raine.”

Again, aloud. “Got some Raine now.” He got back in the buggy and started once again toward Wellspring.

It didn’t take him long before he resumed his conversation with himself.

“Damn sun is hot.”

Dan had given him a hat with a big brim and a flap of material on the back. His hands, though, were exposed, and all he could hope was that whatever it was that helped his wound heal so quickly made him resistant to sunburn, too.

More words…

“C’mon, Wellspring. Pop up. Let me see you.”

Had to be real, right? Couldn’t be a made-up Oz? Fall asleep during the disaster and wake up in a fantastical land. Follow the yellow brick road.

Any wizards there?

He drove, letting his thoughts drift to the movie. The red shoes and the hidden magic they contained. The flying monkeys. They had given him nightmares as a kid. Real nasty monkeys that could fly.

And the four of them on that hunt for Oz? Good buddies. Allied in their mission. Loyal, true.

Strong values there, he thought.

Watching out for each other.

Good stuff.

And though he was no singer-even on the most drunken of karaoke nights-Raine began, quietly…

“ ‘We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful-’ ”

As if in response, he heard a noise from behind. A sputtering cough from the engine.

“C’mon, wasn’t that bad. You’ve heard-”

The joke dying on his lips as his engine coughed again, now followed by a puff of smoke belched from the front.

And that one cough turned into more, until he felt the wheels halting, the drivetrain slipping. The engine clearly in trouble.

“Christ,” he said.

And he couldn’t do anything as the buggy jerked ahead a few more meters before the engine died and the vehicle rolled to a complete dead stop.

No manual. That was for sure. Not when you had a vehicle that had been cannibalized from a dozen other vehicles.

It was a massive Lego construction, with the only person who really knew how it all worked being the person who made it.

Raine bent over the engine.

The smoking had stopped, but the engine, when switched on, just produced more coughs.

Battery, he thought. They had to be using decades-old batteries, somehow their life prolonged. If he kept playing with the on/off switch, he’d be dead in the water.

Or the desert, as it were.

He had played with broken-down Humvees overseas. He knew the basics. But looking at this crazy quilt of belts and engine parts, with seemingly two carburetors and a handmade drivetrain-he was in way over his head.

He looked up.

Past midday.

He was losing time. And if sitting out here all day didn’t kill him, what the night brought certainly could.

He leaned closer. The drips from his brow fell like rain on the hot engine block.

He saw two rows of spark plugs. Again, they looked handmade.

No Delco plugs here. Refurbished, remade, whatever.

“Okay,” he said to himself. Another few drops of sweat. “Just take your time. It’s an automobile engine. How hard can it be to figure out how it works?”

First thing, he thought, find the fuel line.

Yeah, let’s begin with that.

Thankfully, the buggy did have a few tools in the back.

Nothing terribly useful except a tire iron, a screwdriver, and a chunky hammer better suited for driving two-inch nails into wood. But it was more than he thought he had.

Using the screwdriver, he was able to remove what appeared to be two fan belts. Did they both do the same thing? Why two? Then he saw the fuel line leading into the main engine, on its way up to the rows of handmade spark plugs.

If it was misfiring, it could be that the fuel line was clogged. Shouldn’t be too hard to get that off. Suck out some of the gas. Clear the line.

He wondered if this happened because the fuel they used wasn’t refined petroleum. That maybe it was some low-grade mixture, barely able to burn?

He also wondered if Dan knew that his trip to Wellspring itself could be a 50/50 proposition? Raine knew that staying at the settlement hadn’t been an option… so maybe facing death in the desert was the only way, as bad as it was.

He pushed that thought away.

“Stay focused,” he said.

He had worked on Humvees in the field, sure, but every engine was different. He reached down to the fuel line. It felt wet, slippery. A leak perhaps. Good. If he got that off, if that was the problem, he could get this thing going again.

For a moment he allowed no other possibilities, because this one at least gave him hope.

He heard a sound.

A voice.

Wasn’t me, was his first thought. I didn’t say anything. Not just now.

He looked up from his study of the engine. On the horizon, coming toward him and making a lot of noise, was something.

Wavy, blurry images of something. Noises like words.

Like words…

But clearly not.

He put down the screwdriver. Because he knew he might need both hands free.

Raine ran back to the buggy’s interior. First he picked up the handgun. Stuck it under his belt. Then the rifle. For now, he let the shotgun stay in the back.

Could just be other travelers, he thought, immediately realizing how stupidly optimistic that was-and how this was not a world to be optimistic in.

All he could do was stand there and watch what was in the distance come closer, slowly clarifying into recognizable shapes.

Raine thinking:

Bandits.

Thinking:

Oh fuck.

But as he stood by his buggy, the sun baking him, it only took minutes for him to see that the figures racing toward him weren’t bandits at all.

Fuck.