DustRoad Page 5

  The girl gave a whistle. “That’s some catch.”

  Lynx grinned. “I know, right? Now, Kara, these here are the Wildcats, my very own pack. Golden-locks over there is Leo, and this cute little kitten calls herself Tigress.”

  That was it, Joe realised. Each of the three had styled themselves after a different big cat – lion, tiger and lynx. Their clothes, their hair, their tattoos, even the jewellery they wore – it all added to the effect.

  The lion boy drifted closer, scanning the boat. “So where’s the traitor?”

  Lynx pointed down. “Safe and secure.”

  “You meet any trouble?” the tiger girl asked.

  Lynx shrugged. “None I couldn’t handle. Now come on, we’ve got ground to cover if we still want to make the big bash.”

  Lynx steered for shore, the horizon coalescing into a skyline pricked with crumbling tower blocks. The city had been grand once, Joe could tell, but decades of erosion had taken their toll. It was even more derelict than London now, few blocks standing more than a few storeys, with heaps of oil-streaked rubble sloping between them.

  They turned north, into a channel between banks of submerged concrete. On the shoreline Joe could see a peculiar white shape – a vehicle of some sort, but not one he’d ever seen before. It resembled the airplanes in Miss Ella’s clips, only chunkier and wider, with a black nose and letters painted on the tail – an ‘N’ and an ‘A’. Then he realised.

  “That’s a spaceship!”

  Lynx grinned. “Space shuttle, if you know your history. This is Houston – it’s where they sent rockets up, back in the real olden days.”

  “Do they still?” Joe asked excitedly. “Do any of them still fly?”

  Lynx laughed. “If there was a way off this planet, I know a few folk who’d have took it by now.”

  Beyond the city the towers thinned, replaced by rows of giant steel tanks linked with pipes and girders. Dark figures swarmed between them, wearing padded suits and oil-smeared helmets. There was a whoosh and a pillar of flame erupted from one of the pipes; even from this distance Joe could feel the heat on his face.

  “What is this place?” he asked.

  “Oil refinery,” Lynx said. “Wildcat operation. Literally.”

  “But the Gulf rigs were shut down centuries ago,” Nate objected. “We learned about it in history class – they sucked up every last drop.”

  “There’s still oil down there, if you know which bits of the sea floor to rip up. And it just so happens The Five do.”

  Nate frowned. “That’s horrible. The Gulf has a unique ecosystem.”

  Lynx laughed. “Spot the Mariner.”

  “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned this Five,” Kara said. “Who are they – some kind of gang?”

  Lynx cut the engine and they drifted, bumping up against the concrete sea wall. “Round these parts The Five are everything. Moon, sun, and stars in the sky. Some folks would give their right arm to meet them in person. Hopefully you won’t have to.”

  After weeks at sea it was strange being back on solid ground – Joe’s stomach kept rolling queasily, and the stench of petroleum didn’t help. The other Wildcats had parked their jetskis and now Leo ambled over, inspecting Nate and his deflated life jacket.

  “This is Mariner merchandise,” he said. “Is that what you are, boy?”

  Nate flushed. “Yes, actually. So don’t mess with me or you’ll have an Ark to deal with.”

  Leo took hold of the jacket, snapping the straps and tugging it free, almost dragging Nate off his feet. “Hey!” he protested. “That’s mine.”

  Leo grinned. “Not any more.”

  Lynx waved a hand. “Leave him be, he’s harmless.”

  Leo drew the serrated knife from its holster, holding it up. “You think?”

  He crossed to Kara and Joe, gesturing for their jackets and slinging them over his arm. Then Lynx ushered them forward, across the dock towards a pair of huge eight-wheeled vehicles with oval-shaped tanks on the back. Refinery workers bustled around with lengths of rubber hose and the concrete was black with spilled oil.

  Tigress joined them, leading the prisoner from the Ursula. Behind the trucks was a smaller vehicle, a squat, rust-pocked bus painted yellow, with the letters CHO stencilled on the side.

  “This is us,” Lynx said, pulling a lever to make the bus doors creak open. “After you, please.”

  Kara paused, fixing the smuggler with a hard stare. “I don’t know where you’re taking us,” she said, “or what you and this … Five have got planned. But I warn you, if Joe gets hurt, or Nate, I’m going to hold you personally responsible.”

  Lynx blanched for a moment, then forced a silverpointed smile. “I told you, there’s nothing to worry about. We’re going to a big gathering in the desert. They’ll be coming in from all over to join the crusade. Trust me, it’s going be fun.”

  6

  The Show

  The yellow bus was ancient and rusted, with holes in the corrugated floor so they could see the cracked tarmac passing underneath. Kara gripped the metal bench, the walls rattling around her, the din of the engine loud in her ears. It just isn’t natural, she thought. People weren’t meant to travel so fast, except maybe in a boat where the going was smoother and it didn’t feel like your innards were going to leap through your mouth every time you hit a pothole.

  Lynx was driving, hunched over the large black steering wheel. There was no glass in the windscreen, just a pair of metal plates with a gap in the middle to see through. Up ahead were the oval-shaped tanker trucks, sending up clouds of dust as they rumbled over the dry desert road. And darting between them were two swift cars piloted by the other Wildcats, each one body-painted to match its owner, with eyes on the headlamps and snarling mouths on the engine grilles. Lynx’s own dun-coloured vehicle was chained to the back of the bus, dragging along behind.

  “Hey, there are people out there,” Joe said in surprise, squinting through the window. This was shielded too, but the steel was pocked with small holes that must have been made by bullets.

  “How do they survive?” Nate asked, leaning over Joe to peer out. “Everything’s so … dead.”

  He was right – through a crack in her own window Kara could see the wasteland that surrounded them, dotted with the carcasses of houses, vehicles and barns. Packs of dogs roamed the hills and occasionally there were dark figures at the roadside, clad from head to toe in filthy rags. They kept their distance as the convoy rattled through, taking shelter in gullies and culverts.

  “They call this the DustRoad,” Lynx said. “Runs all the way from sea to shining sea. Farther inland is outlaw country, nothing but bandits and cannibal cults, and thieving scum like that one back there.” The prisoner had been shackled to the rearmost bench, staring forward in sullen silence. “But this is The Five’s territory and, believe it or not, they are making improvements. For years this whole state has been deader than a Mariner at a pirate party. Nothing living, nothing growing. But that’s starting to change. Look.”

  The smuggler gestured down into a stony valley, the road hugging the higher slopes. At the bottom Kara could see a slender ribbon of reflected light: a stream, barely a trickle. But to either side the land was transformed – green stems waved in the breeze, irrigation pumps spraying clear water. There were solar panels on the concrete roofs and workers in the fields, wide-brimmed hats shielding their faces. Crows circled and goats lounged in patches of shade.

  “There are ranches like this all over now,” Lynx explained. “The Five raised me up from nothing. They gave me a direction, a purpose. Now they’re doing the same for this whole deadbeat country.”

  “So those are The Five’s slaves?” Nate asked.

  Lynx snorted. “We’re not savages, kid. They’re workers – they get fed, they get meds, they can leave any time if they got somewheres else to go, though not many do. And best of all they get the chance to serve The Five directly, to be recruits for the cause.”

  �
��What cause?” Kara asked. “What are The Five really up to?

  Lynx smiled enigmatically. “Oh, you’ll find out. Real soon.”

  By late afternoon, Kara was beginning to understand. They were no longer the only ones on the DustRoad – a line of trucks, cars and buses stretched ahead and behind, all moving in the same direction. They came in all shapes and sizes and many were clearly handcrafted, patched and soldered from the wreckage of other vehicles, decorated with ornaments and symbols and spikes like weird metallic crustaceans. Most had weapons mounted to the hood or the roof; machine guns and rocket launchers housed in purpose-built turrets. Often a faster vehicle would pass on one side or the other, a shiny speedster or an off-road buggy, the driver tipping Lynx a nod as they rattled past. They were men for the most part, with ruddy faces, shaved heads and uniforms of brown and grey.

  “What do the flags mean?” Joe asked. Almost every vehicle had a banner waving from the roof or painted on the hood; Kara saw blue crosses and red stripes, silver stars and black eagles.

  “They’re state flags,” Lynx explained. “That one’s from Kentucky, and that’s from Tennessee. Some are from even further – the green banner’s from Washington and the tree is Vermont.”

  “But aren’t the states at war?” Joe asked. “That’s what my teacher told me.”

  “Of course they are,” Nate put in. “America’s been a battleground for more than a century, all except the Mariner lands in California.”

  “You’re behind the times,” Lynx said, shifting gears. “They might be flying their state flags, but look there, and there. It’s not the only symbol they’re showing.”

  It was true – on dusty hoods and rusted bumpers Kara saw another sign, a golden hand with five outstretched fingers. Some had slogans stencilled above or below – UNITE THE STATES was a popular one; AMERICA: ONE NATION another. She watched them rattle by, a sense of deep unease growing inside her.

  At last the convoy slowed, tracking the curve of a muddy river fringed with weeping willows. On the far side, a city rose from the plain, cracked glass towers fracturing the purple sunset. They passed a battered sign that read EAST AUSTIN SHOWGROUNDS, entering a concrete lot filled with vehicles parked in rusted rows as far as Kara could see. Their drivers stepped out, rifles and machetes slung across their backs, pistols and water canisters strapped to their belts. They shook hands and clasped shoulders, smiling with tense anticipation.

  The tankers rumbled on but Lynx found a berth, pulling the bus in and switching off the engine. “End of the line, folks.”

  The smuggler stood, striding to the back of the bus and yanking the prisoner to her feet. Lynx marched her back down the aisle, and as they passed Kara thought she saw something in the prisoner’s hand, metal gleaming, just for a moment.

  “You three as well,” Lynx ordered. “And don’t think about trying to run – these are all The Five’s followers. You wouldn’t get five yards.”

  Lynx led them between the tightly packed vehicles, down a gravel slope towards the tree-lined creek. There were lights up ahead now, search beams weaving in the darkling air, and the hum of voices was low and expectant. Kara remembered the time an African circus had come to the Shanties, sailing through the Cut in a painted boat laden with tents and elephants and mystics. She and Joe couldn’t afford to see the show but they’d wandered through the Pavilion all night just soaking up the carnival atmosphere, the sense that anything could happen and probably would. This was the same, but with a hint of aggression just below the surface.

  They passed a last line of vehicles and found themselves in a dusty field bustling with people. On a metal grille over a firepit, a man in a hat with HAIL TO THE CHEF printed on it was turning haunches of roasted dog. Kara’s stomach growled and she realised she’d had nothing but protein tablets for the past four days. Still, this might not be the time to bring it up.

  At the far end of the field Kara could see a truck the size of a house, a massive twenty-four-wheeler with an old advertising board on the side depicting a clown holding a meaty sandwich. The searchlights were rigged to the roof, painting the clouds in shafts and circles of white.

  “It’s about to start,” Lynx said. “Listen.”

  Beneath the chatter was a new sound, a persistent drone rising in volume until Kara felt her ears tingle. Voices trailed off, expectant faces lit by the swooping lights. The sound built and built, a steady electronic pulse cutting through the still air. The anticipation became unbearable.

  Then with a clunk and a crash the side of the huge truck dropped open, heavy chains slamming taut. A stage was formed, lights blazing from within, forcing Kara to shield her eyes. The drone reached a crescendo then a pounding beat kicked in, thumping so hard that dust rose from the ground. Steam hissed from silver pipes, shapes moved in the gloom and the crowd shrieked with excitement.

  Five figures stepped forward, silhouetted in white. They stood with their legs together and their arms outstretched, like a row of crucifixes. Joe reached for Kara and she squeezed his fingers, her heart hammering in time with the music. Then a voice spoke, so loud that she almost bit her tongue.

  “America,” it said as a spotlight engulfed the central figure, throwing him into sharp relief.

  “Are,” said the next man, as light surrounded him too.

  “You,” intoned the third, the word landing like a stone.

  “Ready,” said the fourth, as light blazed.

  “To RISE?” cried the last man, and the crowd went berserk, throwing their arms in the air and screaming. Kara saw a woman climbing on her boyfriend’s shoulders, pulling off her shirt and waving it in the air. A soldier fell to his knees, clasping his hands together and weeping.

  “Are you ready to rise?” the first man repeated as the audience bellowed their approval.

  “Are you ready to win?” the next added, flashing white teeth.

  “Are you ready to take back everything that was taken from you?” the third asked.

  “We’re ready,” said the fourth.

  “We were born ready,” said the fifth.

  Cool blue lights rose from the front of the stage and now Kara could see the men’s faces, their immaculately trimmed hair and perfect smiles. But what she saw made no sense. The Five weren’t just dressed the same, they were identical in every respect: the same gleaming green eyes and burnished skin, the same alert, active features. Even their movements were in flawless lockstep as they moved to the edge of the stage, striding with absolute confidence.

  “It’s time for every American to come together,” they said, their voices overlapping.

  “We’ve torn each other down for far too long.”

  “Every state at war with its neighbours.”

  “Every man at war with himself.”

  “A pattern of self-destruction that has ripped this great country to pieces.”

  “We need to rediscover the strength our forefathers had.”

  “The men who conquered the plains.”

  “Who drilled the oil.”

  “Who fought the wars and conquered the world.”

  One came forward, holding up his hands. “Now, we know what you’re thinking.”

  “The past is gone.”

  “The world is different now.”

  “Different rules apply.”

  “And that’s true.” On the last word all five spoke, adding weight and emphasis.

  “Things can never go back to the way they were.”

  “But they don’t have to.”

  “We can make a better world.”

  “All of us.”

  “Together.”

  Joe’s hand clenched and Kara felt her blood freeze. She knew those words. They were hers. The Five had taken lines from her speech.

  “There’s only one thing standing in our way,” they went on as the lights dimmed and that brooding electronic tone sounded again.

  “One black spot on our bright horizon.”

  “A group of outsiders living right
on our doorstep.”

  “They could’ve helped us, but they chose not to.”

  “They could’ve shared their technology.”

  “Offered a guiding light as we struggled in the dark.”

  “But they didn’t.”

  “They just sealed their borders.”

  “As the world fell into chaos.”

  Kara was reminded of Cortez, of the words he’d used to accuse the people of London, safe behind their wall. Then she realised who The Five were talking about and her stomach rolled over.

  “The Mariners don’t respect anything,” they said, facing the crowd with grim faces.

  “They sail round this world like they own it.”

  “They launch attacks against helpless cities, killing thousands.”

  “Threatening innocent children.”

  “And if they get wind of what’s happening here, if they find out that a new power is rising to challenge their dominance, they’ll cut us down, make no mistake.”

  They leaned together, their voices hushed. The field was absolutely silent, absolutely still.

  “We’re left with one option.”

  “One chance for survival.”

  “We have to take the fight to them.”

  “We have to strike first, and we have to strike hard.”

  “Before they know we’re coming, our army will be at their gates.”

  “Ready to seize their technology and use it to benefit everyone.”

  “We’ll smash their city to smithereens.”

  “And with the pieces we will build a new nation, proud and strong!”

  They raised their heads, jaws thrust forward, teeth glistening in the swooping light. The crowd waved and hollered, punching the air, a great churning mass of wild enthusiasm. And Kara stood in silence, half horrified and half thrilled to the core, unable to fully comprehend what she’d just heard.

  7

  The Hunt

  Lynx yanked on the chain, pulling the prisoner towards the edge of the field. Kara and Nate followed and Joe hurried along behind, his thoughts tumbling.