***
He had climbed almost up to the road level when a large, white van pulled to a halt in front of him. The chief acolyte cursed his poor hearing and preoccupied thoughts – he hadn’t even detected the vehicle’s approach.
A man with long, shaggy hair and a beard poked his head out the driver’s side window.
It’s the Messiah, come back to life!
But then the man spoke in a harsh, mocking tone, revealing himself as just another mortal.
“Hey, grandpa, want a ride?” he said.
Coarse laughter came from other males inside the van. It did not sound friendly ... something was wrong here!
The chief acolyte considered opening fire with his assault rifle, but the sight of two gun barrels pointing at him from the windows dissuaded him. The driver also held a gun in the hand draped outside the vehicle.
“What’s the matter, hard of hearing?” the driver said.
“Uh ... yes, a little,” the chief acolyte said.
“Hey, check out the old dude’s outfit,” said another man inside the vehicle. “I really dig that bull’s eye!”
The chief acolyte’s mind raced. No, he couldn’t fight these infidels out here in the open. They had him outgunned, and they were taunting him, like he was an idiot.
So, that was the best available course right now – act like an idiot.
“Sure, I’d like a ride, thank you kindly,” the chief acolyte said. “Where you headed, sonny?”
“Sonny, I like that!” somebody howled.
“Do you care?” the driver said.
More ugly laughter echoed inside the van.
“I’m just a little curious is all,” the chief acolyte said.
“Go ahead, tell him, Brad,” someone said.
“We’re headed to the west coast,” the driver, said. “We’re gonna open a beach resort.”
More hyena-like guffaws.
“Thank you ... thank you very much!” the chief acolyte said, feigning extreme gratitude. “I’d love to go with you ... I’ve never been to the west coast.”
“Hop in, then,” Brad said.
Under the lethal, black eyes of gun barrels, the chief acolyte climbed the final meters to road level.
Not my will, but thine, he prayed silently to the Heavenly Father. Show me the way to deal with these heathen.
The vehicle’s side door slid open, revealing another unkempt, bearded man. He aimed his rifle at the chief acolyte.
“Better hand over your little friend, mister,” he said.
“My little friend?”
“Yeah.” The man pointed to the assault rifle slung over the chief acolyte’s shoulder.
“Oh, of course.” The chief acolyte removed the gun and presented it two-handed. “I’m glad to get rid of it. Just carry it around for show.”
“Right.”
The bearded man snatched away.
“Thank you, that’s much better,” the chief acolyte said, “before I shoot myself by accident.”
“Wouldn’t want that to happen, would we, grandpa?” the driver said.
“Gimme the pack, too,” the second man said.
The chief acolyte removed his backpack and tucked it under the seat where the heathen pointed.
“Much obliged,” he said. “I was getting mighty tired carrying that.”
He climbed into the van and took the indicated place in the far back seat, beside two girls with bruised, puffy faces. The girls might be late teens or early 20s, but it was hard to tell with their beat-up condition. Their eyes were wide with fear. They clung together, moving as far away from the chief acolyte as possible.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, “lovely day, isn’t it?”
The girls cringed.
Across from them sat two men with guns.
“What’s the matter, ‘ladies?’” one of them said. “Don’t you like our new passenger?”
The girls did not reply.
Recognition dawned on the chief acolyte. These men had been among the infidels who’d attacked the Holy Temple! They had the same general appearance, the same skull-motif tattoos on their arms.
Did they recognize him?
Apparently not – his dodge as a harmless old fool seemed to be holding up. During the battle, he’d fought from concealment. The only infidel who’d got a good look at him was the wounded one abandoned by his comrades. And since the blood sacrifice, that one wasn’t saying anything.
“My name’s Charlie,” the chief acolyte said to the man across from him.
“That’s nice,” the man replied. “I’m Tom.”
He jerked a thumb toward the man beside him who responded with a disgusted expression.
“That’s my pal, Bill,” Tom said. “He don’t talk much.”
“Fuck you, man,” Bill replied.
“See what I mean?” Tom said.
The chief acolyte grinned and nodded, maximum friendly, like a puppy dog seeking approval.
“All set back there?” Brad called from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah,” Tom replied.
“Let’s get the hell out of here then,” Brad said.
He started driving, much faster than was wise for such hilly terrain. Air roared in through the open windows. The chief acolyte sat beside the young women grinning like a fool – outwardly clueless, but straining his ears to catch any fragment of dialogue.
He couldn’t make out specific words coming from the front seats, but he had a general idea of the conversational drift.
“Why’d we pick the old bastard up?” the man in the front passenger seat asked. “It would have been fun to blast him – watch him roll down the hill.”
“Don’t be so impatient, Andy,” Brad said. “We can have our fun with him tonight.”
“Oh?” Andy said. “That sounds interesting.”
Brad nodded.
“I’m getting bored with those two bitches back there.”
“Me, too,” Andy said. “Especially Susie, it’s like fucking a dead fish.”
Brad nodded again and spat out the window.
“Tell me about it,” he said. “The other one’s not much better.”
They drove silently for a while, each occupied with his benevolent thoughts. Outside, the barren terrain passed monotonously.
“So, can I finish off the old dude after we’ve had our ‘fun?’” Andy said.
“Sure, Andy, that’ll be my birthday present to you.”
“But, it ain’t my birthday.”
“Why not?” Brad said. “It just might be your last one, may as well enjoy it.”
33. Scooter Time Again
The landscape was very flat now, and progress was good. Star scootered rapidly in the lead position while Winston brought up the rear, admiring Star’s rear as well as the rest of her glorious anatomy. Ripper loped fifty meters back. The mech wolf could have easily overtaken them, but – like Iridium – he’d been programmed for stealth, preferring to remain aloof and as inconspicuous as possible.
Things were going so well that Winston was tempted to skip their customary break, but experience had proved the value of taking an afternoon rest period. He pulled alongside Star. As always, he felt a bit uneasy doing this because he no longer presented a barrier between her and the mech wolf.
“Time for a break?” he said.
“Sure.”
They came to a halt and set their backpacks down on the road shoulder.
“I’m glad we found new scooters so quickly,” Winston said. “This trip would take forever, otherwise.”
Star blew him a kiss. “On a beautiful day like this, forever doesn’t seem so bad.”
“If we push really hard, we can make the outskirts of the major urban area by dusk tomorrow,” Winston said. “But I think it’s better to enter the city limits in daylight.”
He looked off into the flat desert landscape. As yet, there was no sign of major urban development.
“So, we can take our time, if you
like,” he said.
“Sure, I want to look my best when we get there,” Star said.
“Naturally,” Winston said.
She withdrew her little hand mirror and studied her hair critically.
“I hate this windblown look,” she said.
Winston loved the slightly disheveled appearance of her hair. It made her look dynamic – like someone who could handle whatever the world dished out. He knew it was useless to say anything, though. To Star, even the tiniest imperfection was cause for alarm.
He glanced toward his scooter. The thing looked fast just standing still with its jet black paint job and flame motif. It even had ‘zoom-o assist,’ an apparatus that stored up energy from braking and from downhill rushes which could be released for climbs or straightaway speed.
Winston had feared that their programmed restrictions against operating powered machinery might inhibit them from using these new scooters, but they’d had little problem. Could it be that they were evolving new capabilities, as Star claimed?
Was he himself evolving, in more ways than just an improved facility for operating machines? Did the increasing attraction he was experiencing for Star spring from alterations in his basic programming? Lately, he’d been having distinctly human-type sexual fantasies about her, about joining with her into ‘one flesh.’
But how could that be? They were not flesh and blood, but circuits and high-strength alloy ... Maybe Dr. Che could straighten things out.
But they’d never find Dr. Che. He’d died with all the other mech heads – except for Dr. Rackenfauz. And Rackenfauz had already stated that any kind of sexual enhancement for robotic life forms was far beyond his competency.
It was best to put such notions as far out of mind as possible. Winston sighed, electronically speaking, and patted his trusty scooter.
“Who would have thought there’d be a Cycho World sporting goods store in that little two-bit town back there,” he said.
“What do you mean by a ‘two-bit’ town?” Star asked. “I’ve never heard that expression before.”
Winston took a moment to consult his vast internal library.
“It refers to the peso de ocho,” he said, “a silver coin of the old Spanish empire.”
“Huh?”
“The coin, also known as a ‘piece of eight’ or ‘Spanish dollar,’ was divided into eight equal parts, or bits,” Winston explained. “This was before coinage was denominated using the decimal system.”
“Of course,” Star said.
“So, by extrapolation, a ‘two-bit’ town would be worth only one fourth of a silver dollar. A thing of small value, one might say, not highly regarded.”
“Oh, Winston, I love it when you talk like that!”
“Thank you,” Winston said modestly.
He looked back at the mech wolf who was resting on it’s haunches several meters away observing them with its savage yellow eyes. Winston couldn’t suppress a shudder as he adjusted the fragment of Iridium’s coat tied around his shoulders.
“I hope this dodge keeps working,” he said. “If that thing ever takes matters into its own paws we’d be in deep trouble.”
“Rippie might be a lot more loyal than you imagine,” Star said. “Don’t always look on the dark side, Winston.”
“I don’t believe that wolf has anything but a dark side,” Winston said.
“Maybe,” Star said, “but as long as he’s with us, I feel that a part of Iri still lives ...”
They fell silent as recollections of their great lost friend pressed down on them. After a minute, Star removed her makeup kit from her pack and began to freshen her face – as if anything so lovely needed alteration of any kind.
Then Winston spoke, approaching a topic that had bothered him a great deal but which he’d never dared to discuss before.
“I’m curious, Star,” he said, “how did that ‘Father’ character end up taking the long jump?”
Star looked up from her makeup mirror.
“Oh ... something came up while he was standing on the window ledge.” She waved a mascara brush dismissively. “And I sort of forgot to mention the loose stone. Not much to tell, really.”
Winston looked at her, baffled, but he received only an innocent little smile in return.
“What?” Star said.
“Nothing,” Winston said. “Just making conversation, is all.”
So much about Star was mysterious, unknowable – she was on a whole new level of creation from him. Winston felt a desperate desire to plumb her secrets, to envelope himself with her.
Star seemed to sense his frustrations. She dropped her beauty implements into the makeup bag and flung her arms around Winston’s neck. Her extravagant gesture sent the little tube of mascara tumbling out of the bag. It fell, unnoticed, to the pavement.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Big Boy,” she said, kissing him. “Once we get to the west coast, you’ll understand a whole lot of stuff.”
As always, Star’s advances threw Winston into a state of high confusion. He groped for a change of conversation topic.
“Uh ... since the Visionists survived the final plague,” he said, “isn’t it reasonable to assume that other humans, hiding in remote areas, may have also survived?”
Star pulled away, annoyed.
“More crazies?” she said. “That’s all we need! I’m beginning to think that this humanity thing is vastly over rated.”
Winston took Star’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Who’s looking on the dark side now?”
Star smiled and moved closer to him again. Winston glanced over his shoulder at the mech wolf who leered back at him with his frightful eyes.
34. Adventure Spa
The next morning, Winston and Star rolled their scooters up to a highway advertising billboard.
ADVENTURE SPA
Natural Hot Spring and Family Fun!
5 kilometers
“Oh, Winston, Let’s go there!”
“What for?”
Star placed her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow.
“You don’t know the first thing about women, do you?”
“Perhaps not, from a practical standpoint,” Winston said. “My library banks contain all manner of references to female personality traits, however – anatomical details, psychological studies – ”
Star waved her hand impatiently.
“A hot bath is what I need,” she said. “Wash off this road grime – and my clothes are a fright.”
“I was about to conclude that myself,” Winston said. “Maybe if I had been allowed more time ...”
My gosh, Star thought, males have such delicate egos!
She stroked Winston’s cheek. His ruffled dignity began to smooth back out.
“Of course, Big Boy,” she said. “I didn’t mean to underestimate you.”
Winston fumbled his road atlas out of his backpack.
“Yes ... well, let me check the route,” he said.
“It would just be for a little while,” Star said. “We have extra time, don’t we?”
“We do have some flexibility in our schedule,” Winston replied, studying the atlas.
“Where is the spa, exactly?” Star asked.
“Right here.”
Winston placed a finger on the atlas page a few kilometers south of the main highway.
“That’s perfect!” Star cried. “Didn’t you say that we should change to a different route soon?”
“That wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Winston glanced around the wide-open spaces. “This highway is a bit obvious.”
“That settles it, then,” Star said. “First we can visit the spa, then we can pick up this road over here.”
With her left index finger, Star indicated a secondary route heading west from the spa area. Winston noticed that her broken nail had been replaced.
He nodded. “That could be a plan.”
“We can go then?” Star said.
“Okay,” Winston sai
d, “you’re on.”
Star bowed and swept her hand forward. “After you, my – ”
“Oh, no,” Winston interrupted. “After you, my heroine.”
“I love it when you talk like that, Winston!”