Chapter Nine

 

 

 

Ryan's first, instinctive reaction was to think that the teenager was dead.

 

"Michael?" he said very quietly, so that none of the others in the adjacent room heard him.

 

There was no reply. But now, with his good eye adjusting to the sepulchral gloom, Ryan was able to see that the young man was alive, his broad shoulders moving in time with the slow, regular breathing.

 

"Michael?"

 

From the dining room he heard Jak's voice, whose own hearing was unnaturally sharp. "Ryan? Who you talking to?"

 

The figure on the floor by the bed still hadn't stirred or made a sound, causing Ryan to wonder if he was asleep.

 

Jak walked softly into the room, and Ryan turned to look at him, the yellowish light illuminating the narrow, lean face.

 

"That Michael?"

 

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, it is. He must've come in through the door at the back."

 

"He all right?"

 

"Can't tell. He hasn't said a thing. Just kneeling there."

 

Ryan turned back toward the bed. "Michael, where've you been?"

 

Finally the shadowy figure stirred, the white face angling toward them. The eyes were black pits in the ivory mask.

 

"Been in the barn."

 

"The barn. Which one?"

 

"Big one."

 

"Hayloft?" Jak asked, moving a couple of steps closer to Michael.

 

"Yeah. Under the hay."

 

"You injured?" Ryan also walked nearer to the teenager. "Shot or anything?"

 

"No." The voice was so muffled that Ryan and Jak couldn't even be sure of what he'd said.

 

"What?"

 

"No," he said, louder.

 

Loud enough to attract the attention of the others, who suddenly filled the doorway to the bedroom.

 

"Is that young Michael that I see there?" Doc asked, as a rectangle of brighter light spilled across the carpet from the dining room.

 

"Yeah," Ryan replied. "Michael. Get up and come in the other room, so we can talk properly."

 

"No."

 

"What?"

 

"No."

 

"Why?"

 

"Stay here."

 

Ryan laid a hand on the young man's shoulder, making him flinch as though he'd been touched by a white-hot branding iron. "You can't stay in here, Michael."

 

"It's all I want, Ryan."

 

His voice sounded like it was made from tempered steel, stretched thin and taut.

 

Mildred joined Ryan by the side of the teenager. "Be better if you come out. Have something to eat and drink. You must be hungry and thirsty, Michael."

 

"No."

 

"Not thirsty? Got some well water in a crystal pitcher on the table there. Frosted and cold. That sound good to you? Must be an age since you had something to drink. How long is it, Michael, since you drank?"

 

"Morning. No, it was lunch. Had some apple juice then. Bread and cheese."

 

"You'd been working in the barn, hadn't you? That's what you said when we left."

 

"Yeah. Went back after a meal."

 

"And you were there when it all happened?"

 

Michael nodded. Suddenly he levered himself upright by his hands on the bed, standing and looking straight at the friends with something that lay halfway between fear and defiance.

 

Jak moved too fast for anyone to stop him, grabbing Michael by the throat, like a terrier with a rat. It crossed Ryan's mind that Michael, normally, would have had the heightened combat reflexes to stop anyone, even someone as lightning-quick as Jak Lauren. But it was all too obvious that things weren't normal.

 

"What fuck happened?" Jak demanded.

 

His fingers were tightening, and Michael's face was suffused with blood, his eyes wide, his mouth sagging open. But he never even lifted a hand to try to protect himself from the albino's murderous attack.

 

"Let him go, Jak," Ryan said. "Let him go right now, or I'll have to make you."

 

"He knows it all." Jak relaxed his grip a fraction, allowing the other young man to draw in a shuddering breath. "Knows it all and'll tell it all."

 

"Not if you throttle him, Jak." Mildred spoke briskly, as though she were addressing a stubborn child. "Just let him go and we can all go into the parlor. Michael can have a good long drink of cool water, then we can sit down and let him quietly tell us what went down here." Jak let go so suddenly that Michael stumbled and would have fallen if it hadn't been for Mildred's steadying hand.

 

"Good, Mildred," J.B. said quietly. He'd drawn a knife ready to stop Jak from chilling Michael, but now he was able to sheathe it again.

 

Ryan was last out of the bedroom. He slowly eased the door shut, glancing behind him at the two figures lying motionless on the bed.

 

"Not all way, Ryan," Jak said. "Leave bit open."

 

Michael drained the glass of water in a single gulp, wordlessly holding it out for a refill, finishing that one off nearly as quickly.

 

"Want another."

 

J.B. shook his head. "Make you puke. Shock of cold water on an empty stomach. Wait a few minutes and let that settle."

 

"Sure."

 

The room fell silent.

 

Jak was sitting by a small side table, with Mildred between J.B. and Doc on the faded brocade sofa. Dean was on the floor, his back against the wall, to the right of the long window. Krysty had one of the deep, comfortable armchairs, her legs crossed. Ryan was next to her, leaning forward, his chin in his hands.

 

Michael was in the last of the big chairs, sitting slumped, head down, staring at the pattern on the rug.

 

Jak broke the quiet. "Come on. We know some what happened. Don't know who or why or when. Don't know lots, Michael. You can tell."

 

"Yeah. I can tell, all right."

 

"Then let's hear it, Michael." Ryan steepled his fingers. "From the start."

 

"Jenny was a bit feverish around the middle of the day. Christina gave her a bath out back in the tub. She loved that. Played with her wooden duck and the carved piglet. Cheered her up. Then, I went back to working in the hayloft and Christina put Jenny to bed in her room."

 

"What did Chris do then?"

 

"Don't know, Jak. I was hot and sweaty and covered in bits of chaff. Got everywhere. Stuck to my skin and made it itch. In my eyes and nose and mouth."

 

He stopped and looked at the empty glass on the floor. Dean saw the movement and scooted across to pick it up. He left the room and returned with it filled once more to the brim with the cool well water.

 

"Thanks." He swallowed slowly.

 

Ryan watched him closely. Whatever had happened during the afternoon, it had left deep scars in Michael's soul, a soul that was already spiritually challenged by all the experiences of the past few months.

 

The hands holding the glass were trembling, and the deep-set brown eyes skittered all around the room, looking everywhere, but studiously avoiding anyone else's face. The teenager looked thinner, with a strained, dark intensity that revealed more of his quarter-Crow background.

 

"Go on." Jak was like a statue, his head and body motionless, his red eyes not moving from Michael's face.

 

"Saw the bath of water still there in the yard. Tormented me. Like Our Savior in the wilderness for forty days and nights, when Satan came to tempt him. Tempt him away from what was right and leave him to wallow in the mire of sloth and cowardice and self-preservation."

 

"But Jesus resisted the temptations, didn't he, Michael?" Mildred asked.

 

He ignored her, sipping more of the water, some of it dribbling over his stubbled chin and down onto his black denim shirt. He sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

 

"I left the barn and stripped off this shirt. Washed the dust and stuff off of me. Christina saw me from the kitchen window and came out with some lemonade. It was real good. She was baking some cherry pies."

 

Krysty glanced at Ryan. "They took them, as well," she said quietly.

 

"Gave me a pie, fresh out of the oven. It burned my fingers, but it was good. Sweet, hot and good." He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. "Feel weary to the bone."

 

"Keep going." Jak opened his mouth as if he were going to say more, then caught Ryan's eye and closed it again.

 

"Must rest soon."

 

"Be able to go to bed after you've finished telling us the story."

 

"Sure, Ryan. It's not truly sleep that I want. Just to rest for a while. Did I say the cherry pie burned my fingers? It did. Dipped them in the tub to cool them. I was just walking back toward the barn when I saw"

 

"Saw what?" J.B. asked, leaning toward the young man.

 

"Dust. Two lots. One was north. A long, long way off. It was the Navaho." He looked up, seeing bewilderment on everyone's face. "Oh, I didn't know then it was them. Saw them later. Yeah. Later."

 

"Who else did you see?" Ryan was becoming more and more concerned for Michael's mental well-being. His mind seemed to be somehow slipping sideways, making it difficult for him to focus on things, hard to stick to a coherent, chronological account of the facts.

 

"More dust. Closer. Lots closer. Could just about hear the engines."

 

"More than one engine?"

 

"Sure, J.B., there were two of them. Painted like in camouflage colors. Sort of small tanks."

 

"Big blasters? Like cannon?"

 

Michael shook his head. "No. Machine guns."

 

"Tracks or wheels?"

 

"They had wheels."

 

"How many?"

 

"Three, I think. Orno, they had four wheels. I mean, each side. Big wheels."

 

"Sounds like LAV-25s," J.B. said to Ryan. "Like we thought."

 

"They each had about a dozen men."

 

Jak snapped his fingers. "No. Go back some. Before they arrived. What did you do? What did Christina do?"

 

"Confused now." The young man buried his face in his hands. Everyone waited.

 

Jak half rose from his chair, but Ryan waved a warning finger at him and he sat down again.

 

"Take your time," Krysty said.

 

"Two lots of dust. Right. Remember that all right. Wondered if one of them might be you coming back from a different direction. Called out and told Christina."

 

"What did she do?" Ryan got no answer to his question. "What did she do, Michael?"

 

"Came out. Wiped her hands on a towel. There was that white mark on her cheek from the morning baking. Or, it might have been a different one. How could you tell? Nobody to ask. I think it was likely the same one."

 

"Doesn't fucking matter! Get on with fucking story!"

 

"Sorry, Jak. God, you just can't believe how sorry I am about all this. Sorry for you most of all." With a visible effort, Michael pulled himself together. "Christina saw the dust. Not sure she saw the distant one. The Navaho. It didn't worry her. She wasn't frightened or anything." His voice rose. "If she'd been scared, then it would all I wouldn't have been But she didn't seem at all worried. Said it was probably packmen or just travelers. Said you got folk moving west every now and again. Said it was like the old settlers."

 

"What did you do after you both saw the columns of dust, Michael? Did Christina tell you to do anything at all? Get blasters or anything like that?"

 

"No, Ryan. Nothing like that. Been different if Spilled milk. There was milk spilled in the kitchen, I saw it. Big pool of spilled milk. I didn't cry over it."

 

J.B. was close to losing his struggle for self-control. The anger bit into his words. "She said not to worry. So, what did you do then?"

 

"I went back to the barn. I'd had a wash and the lemonade. Went back to work in the big barn."

 

Michael cleared his throat. "I heard trucks coming. Sounded like quite big rigs. Sometimes I saw them going past the highway below Nil-Vanity when I lived there. I didn't take much notice. That was because of what Christina said to me." He looked for the first time directly into Jak's set face. "If she hadn't said about not worrying, then"

 

"Go on, Michael," Ryan urged.

 

"They stopped and the engines cut out. That was the first time I actually looked through the hayloft door. And I saw that something was wrong."

 

Now the teenager was coming to it, getting to the very core of it.

 

"There were men with guns."

 

"What kind of blaster?"

 

"I don't fucking know, do I, J.B.? What they call assault rifles, I think. All the same. I counted eighteen men and a couple of women. All in uniform."

 

"Uniform?" Mildred queried. "You mean like regular soldiers?"

 

"Yeah. They were real well disciplined. Oh, their uniforms were black or very dark blue. With a red stripe down the pants. Berets. Black combat boots. They fanned out immediately in a What's the word I want?"

 

"Defensive perimeter," J.B. stated.

 

Michael nodded. "That's it. Like everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing. I thought a lot of them looked kind of like Mexicans. Mustaches and black hair. I'm sure the General was Mexican."

 

"The General?" Jak stood. "You telling me this was done by General?"

 

Ryan interrupted. "Jak, you know something we don't. Tell us about the General. Short and quick."

 

"Didn't believe in him. Stories. Raids on small villes. Mainly Navaho, Apache and Hopi. Came in after pueblos and took food and women. What he wanted. Like soldiers."

 

"Go on, Michael."

 

"Sure, Ryan. Not really much more to tell you. This General got out last. Loads of gold braid. Peaked cap. Tall, burly man. Looked very much in command. Christina had come out on the porch, and there was some talk. Couldn't hear it. I was too far away. She went in the house with the General and about five of the men. Rest spread out and started a search. And some of them butchered some animals. I heard the noise, but I didn't see it. I was hiding in the hay. Didn't see much else."

 

Ryan could visualize the scene. The disabled woman had been taken by surprise, faced with an armed military gang of renegades. She must have hoped to talk her way clear.

 

But it hadn't been enough.

 

Dean coughed. "Michael?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"How do you know he was called the General?"

 

"Heard his men talking about him when they came in the barn. They weren't bothering to search too hard, like they already knew there was nothing to worry about."

 

Krysty was sitting forward, on the edge of the seat. "You reckon that Christina didn't tell them that you were around the place?"

 

"Don't think she did, or they'd have been searching properly. They didn't even come into the hayloft."

 

"So, you had .38 and could've gone down without being seen?"

 

"Sure, Jak. But I didn't have any spare ammo. Just the six rounds in the gun. And I'm not a shootist. There were twenty or more of them, with rifles and machine guns and stuff." His voice rose two octaves. "I couldn't have done a fucking thing to help them! Can't you see that?"

 

Jak stood, fists clenched, staring at Michael. "Can't see that. No, can't see that. See you hiding in hayloft. Christina raped and chilled. Jenny hurled against barn wall, brains everyplace. I see that!"

 

"Let's try and keep calm," Ryan said, also standing up and placing himself between the two teenagers. "What's happened is over and down the pike. We need to know all we can so we can decide what to do and how best to do it."

 

"Sure." Jak's voice was flooded with a bitter anger. "Sure. Any more to tell, Michael?"

 

"I hid and waited."

 

"Waited while"

 

"Jak!" Ryan's voice cut across the room like a lash of a whip. "This isn't the way. You know it and I know it. Michael isn't a born fighter like you and me. Deathlands is a strange and deadly place to him. You know how we all feel for you. For what happened. But taking it out on Michael does nothing to change things."

 

"Yeah, Ryan. You told me Trader said that talk's cheap and action costs."

 

"Right." He sighed. "Michael, let's finish this. You see or hear anything else?"

 

"Nothing for a bit. Not a sound from Christina. She must've kept real quiet while Then they found Jenny. Heard her cry. Just the once. That was when I think Christina knifed one of them. Maybe two of them. Saw a lot of blood, and I squinted through the gap in the door. Saw the soldiers carrying what looked like a body. Thought one more might've been wounded but I couldn't see properly."

 

"After that?" J.B. asked. "No clue about where they were going?"

 

"They headed south." Michael reached for his glass and found that it was empty. He glanced at Dean, who deliberately ignored him. "I saw that. Someone shouted there was horsemen coming. That was the Navaho. I think that the General must've raided an Indian camp, and that this was a revenge party, hunting them down. Couple of the men wanted to stay and fight them. Said they got massive firepower over them. Blaster advantage that would have chilled them. But the General came out of the house buttoning up his his pants. Ordered them to withdraw."

 

"The Indians go into the house at all?" Mildred asked.

 

"No. I watched the soldiers get back in their wags with their butchered meat. Drove off fast. The horsemen came in, past the corral. Sort of rode around a couple of minutes, shouting and arguing with one another. Then they just went off, fast toward the south, after the armored trucks. And I waited and waited."

 

"Scared?" Jak asked with a sneer. "Too scared to come see what happened to wife and baby?"

 

"I figured that they were both dead."

 

"Sure. You figured that out and stayed in hayloft, shitting your pants."

 

Krysty stood. "Gaia! This is enough, Jak. Michael was alone, with a 6-shot handblaster. It doesn't matter how angry and upset you are, you have to believe that there would have been nothing that he could have done. Nobody on earth could have saved Christina and little Jenny. Nobody."

 

"No!" Michael's cry was torn from the deeps of his soul. "That's fucking shit, Krysty! I could have come down and chilled as many as I could of the bastards."

 

"And then died," Ryan said quietly.

 

"Better. Better than this. Better than sitting back while someone you you cared for gets murdered. And a helpless baby! Jak's right in his contempt and his anger." Michael started to cry. "It's against my being a man!"

 

Mildred managed to quiet the despairing teenager, even persuading him to eat a little chicken soup with some barley. But in half an hour or so, he stood and announced he was going to his own room to go to bed.

 

"Get some sleep," Krysty suggested.

 

"Sleep's no good," he replied. "Sleep changes nothing that happened today."

 

"Come on." She put her arm around him, but he pulled away from her. "There isn't a thing that can change what happened today, Michael."

 

"Of course. I might be a useless coward, Krysty, but I'm not a stupe."

 

In the immense stillness of the New Mexico desert, the moon rose and sailed serenely across the diamond-speckled sky. Ryan woke once, a couple of hours before dawn, and listened to the faint sound of Michael weeping.

 

"I can hear it, too," Krysty whispered. "And I can feel his pain and loneliness. He hates himself, you know? Really loathes himself for what happened and what he did. What he didn't do. I pity him, lover."

 

"So do I. But he has to see it through himself. We can help him some, but he has to live with himself."