Men of Truth (The Wasteland Soldier #4)
Chapter 32

THIRTY TWO

Sunlight winked through a tree-covered hillside, lighting up a half-empty Main Street lined with single-storey buildings.

Stone walked at a casual speed, neither hurrying nor dragging his heels. His eyes roamed, scoping out storefronts and rooftops and doorways. He was aware of every individual ahead and behind. His only weapons were his fists, his machete and knife, and they were more than enough for a town like this. He’d seen nothing to fear. But he was no fool.

There was an absence of gates and fences but the town was no less a prison. He’d busted out of a few of those in his time. Getting out of Silver Road would require cunning or a blunt cone of violence. He hadn’t decided on which option. A robbery the week they arrive might be one coincidence too many, despite Jeremiah’s plan. It was important they dug out a patsy to take the fall. They would have to work fast on that. Stone thought on what the weapon might be, concealed down in the vault, and who in the town knew of its existence.

He passed a liquor store. An older man and a much younger girl were cleaning the inside of the window. They wore brown aprons. The girl had pale skinny arms. The man squeezed out his cloth and they both stopped and stared. There was a store filled with salvaged goods, arranged on rows of wooden shelves. Stone saw two Junk Men inside, inked faces and hooded clothing. Junk Men were not settlers, planting roots was an extremely rare thing for them to do. He guessed the town had a unique charm if it was able to lure their kind from the wastelands in exchange for this. A large door ahead was flung open and a bleary-eyed couple emerged. Arm in arm, they stumbled off down the street, weaving. Stone glimpsed a smoky, lamp lit interior. He heard voices and laughter, and then the door eased slowly shut, muffling the noise.

Rawles was waiting outside for him, steam rising from a cup of coffee.

The barracks was plain brick with razor-wire coiled on the roof. The windows were barred. There was a driveway of loose chippings and no vehicle. Stone had not seen a single automobile since arriving.

A hand-carved wooden sign was thrust into the ground.

It read: SILVER ROAD BARRACKS. Law Enforcement Office.

Rawles held open the door, motioned for him to come inside.

The room beyond was box-shaped and heated by a wrought-iron stove. The walls were plain brick and there were several closed doors with large aluminium handles. There was a waiting area with a bench and a wooden rail with a swing-gate. There were scattered wooden desks, metal chairs, a notice board, a blackboard and a locked weapons cabinet with a couple of rifles, a shotgun and a flare pistol.

“I saw you talking with Carlton. He can be a bit edgy. Pay him no mind. He’s a good man. He’s trying to keep a brave face on his feelings. Poor fella is hurting bad inside.”

Stone nodded, said nothing.

“Did you settle in at the motel?”

“Yeah.”

“You eaten?”

“No.”

“I’m having a late lunch. My wife sends me off with too much food. This belt won’t fit if she keeps it up.”

He tugged at it. It didn’t budge.

“You drink?”

Stone nodded and pulled out a chair. Rawles poured whiskey and took a plastic tub from his desk, prising off the lid. There was meat, sauce, crackers, and fruit. The two men got stuck in.

“How long have you been here?” asked Stone.

“More than fifty years. Left once. I was young, thought I knew everything. Ran away with a travelling circus.”

“A what?”

“A circus.” He paused. “Do you know what a circus is?”

Stone shook his head. Rawles laughed.

“Nor did I. Not really. I figured it would be drink, women and fun. But once you break it down it was just hard work. We had entertainers who did tricks, and a few animals who did better tricks. Travelled north beyond Kiven city and saw the land they call the red zone. We got raided. Not many of us lived.”

He reflected, and then raised his cup.

“Here’s to running away with the circus. And then coming home and getting married.”

“How old is the town?”

Rawles thought. “I’m not sure. A century or two. Give or take. A lot older than me and that’s saying something. Mayor Jefferson is the history buff.”

He nudged the food box. Stone shook his head. His stomach was full.

“Do you trade with any settlements?”

“Redwater, Walnut Grove, Starkville and a few others. But not with Kiven. Where are you from, Stone?”

“Gallen.”

“I thought as much. You look and sound a little different. Only to an observant old man.”

“You’re defiantly that.”

“Ah,” said Rawles, filling both cups again. “Carlton told you about the votes. No good praising me, I’m not a man easily corrupted by compliments. Circuses are my downfall.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“I know that.” He grinned. “Do you know what they used to call Gallen in the old days?”

“No.”

Rawles lifted his cup but didn’t drink. “Central America. Gallen was once different countries, different cultures and lots of borders. We don’t get many from across the sea. Do you know what part you’re from?”

He shook his head. “My father said we came from the coast but I only remember sand and rock.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No.”

“I lost my old man when I was young. He was a builder. A floor collapsed on him. He never got to see me wear the armband. I’ve been at this job for more than thirty years, Stone. After all that time, watching hundreds, maybe even thousands of people cross that bridge, I tend to know which way I’m planning to vote before they even reach me and open their mouth.”

“I won’t ask.”

“You can. But I won’t tell you. Jodie will be a hard one to convince.”

Stone nodded. “What’s her story?”

“Have you tried asking her?”

“No.”

“Figures. I doubt she’ll tell you. She came here a long time ago. During or after the war, I can’t quite remember.”

It was gloomy inside the barracks. Rawles got to his feet, arched his back, and went around lighting lamps.

“You need to stay here for a moment.”

He took a ring of keys of his belt, unlocked one of the doors at the back. He pushed down on the aluminium handle. The door popped outward. He went through, closing it behind him.

Stone set down his whiskey, brushed food crumbs from his coat and began to look around. The blackboard was covered with names and areas in the town. It appeared to be a rota for the deputies. There was no mention of the bank.

He went across to the notice board. There was a town map pinned to it. The roads were replicated as single lines with names. There were plenty of them, grid-like and symmetric. Between the lines were neatly drawn squares and rectangles, hundreds of them, each with a number. The numbers were duplicated for different streets. Stone took a moment, grasping a quick understanding of how the map worked. He noticed that some of the drawn buildings had numbers and names. Hastily, he found the one he wanted.

One word: BANK.

14th Street, Building 7.

He tapped his finger against the coarse paper, allowed his eyes to flick left and right, up and down, memorising as many relevant aspects of the map as possible.

Rawles came through the door. Stone was back in his chair.

“That your jail through there?” he asked.

“Holding cells.”

“What will happen to Nicky’s killer?”

“Same thing as any other criminal we arrest. Stay here until they get shipped out. The truck from Starkville is due in about five days.”

“Starkville?”

“A town with a prison camp. It’s where we send them all. Murderers, rapists, wife beaters, thieves, all those who want to ruin Silver Road.”

Stone nodded.

“Can you set me up with some ammunition?”

“I can, and I will, but I’ve also got a proposition for you.”

He unlocked another door. It was a box-shaped cubicle. Only enough space for one man. There were wooden shelves stacked with boxes of ammunition and crates of handguns. Rawles explained that the town pressed their own bullets in a concealed location and that they were subsequently sold at a very high price. It was an attempt at reducing the number of men running around with loaded guns.

“Has it worked?”

Rawles shrugged, poured another whiskey. “Shootings are down. The use of bottles, knives and bats are up. What can you do?”

Stone loaded his handguns. He was impressed with the workmanship. He took extra bullets for Cali.

“You got any shotgun shells?”

“I sure do.”

“How much for all this?”

“Nothing this time.”

Stone narrowed his eyes. “Nothing is free.”

“This time it is.”

“You’re arming a man you’ve known less than a day. Who do you want me to kill?”

“No one, I hope. Not unless you have to.”

“Then what do you want?”

Rawles nodded at the weapon’s cabinet. “That flare gun was used on the battlefield during the civil war. Signalled retreat from the Place of Bridges when the treaty was signed. Different purpose for it now. Ten years ago a lot of ex-soldiers went back into the city, replaceing work as paid killers. They’d tasted blood. They were wound up like jack-in-the-boxes. But not all of them went back there. Others came south, looking to escape politics and violence. Some made it here. Found faith in our Holy House. The Church of Jacob. They sought the love of the Almighty and tried to start again.”

“What went wrong?”

“Something always does, doesn’t it? More men came. Men who were angry, bitter and damaged. The town became overrun. Feuds were settled on Main Street, in full view of women and children. Can you imagine what that was like?”

He shook his head.

“We have a young deputy named Guzman. He saw his father crippled because he wore the armband. Now Guzman is all grown up, following in his father’s footsteps. The old man is proud of his boy.”

Rawles leaned against his desk.

“Mayor Jefferson struck a deal with Starkville and we began to round up the troublemakers. A life sentence of hard labour. Slowly, it deterred them from coming here. It was a rough time, chaotic, and lasted around two years. That was when the seven-day rule was introduced. We built the watchtowers, employed men as spotters, and snipers, and began to take ourselves more seriously as a town.”

“You cleaned up.”

“I suppose we did.”

Rawles levelled his eyes at Stone.

“You’re a travelling man. I can tell that. I envy you in a way. The freedom of the road and the open land. But I’m a little too old for that now. I’m a family man. I love home cooking and the sound of my children. I love the familiarity of Silver Road and the daily routine of work. The world is changing, Stone. You must see it. There are less of men like you walking around. Generations are staying settled. Past and present are getting to be the same. Why are you here? Why are you really here?”

He spun the lie. “It’s for the girl, Cali. A place for her to settle. Somewhere safe.”

“And the other two?”

“Strays. They seem harmless.”

Rawles picked up a blue armband from his desk.

“But you’re not and that’s OK. I need someone good with a gun to wear one of these. I need a man not afraid and not reckless. I’m guessing you don’t live the life you’ve lived by being any of those things.”

He pressed it into Stone’s palm.

“I’ve taken on non-approved citizens before. It always worked out. Think it over. Get back to me.”

Stone rubbed his lined fingers against the stitched lettering. The old sheriff had surprised him.

“I will,” he said.