Ain't Talkin'

Roche left the saloon somewhere near the midpoint of the night. Halogen lamps flicked and hummed where they hung. The sound of bootheels on metal gangways was intermittent and soft. The wind whispered and the drifts of dust between low buildings shifted and rolled, slowly changing position over the night and washing away any trace of footprints. The whole Resistance mob that was here could up and leave tonight and the wasteland would see to it that there was no evidence they had ever been.

The troop transport and the sedan had been moved. Lucky has presumably been taken to the stables with the synthetics. The central square of the compound was a vague shape of dusky brown earth. Markus was standing in the middle of it all, staring up at nothing.

“Kid?” Roche was feeling the whiskey a little, his footsteps seemed a hair off.

Alex Markus whipped around. “Oh, hey.”

Roche lit a cigarette and handed his poke to Markus.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Markus said around a lipful of cigarette.

“Did I ask?”

“No. What’ve you been up to?”

“Talked with that Miner fellow for a bit. Stayed at the saloon after he left. Came out to find my horse, really.”

“Lucky’s fine. She’s stabled with the synthetics. They fed her and gave her water. She looked kinda pissy, actually.”

“She usually is. She’s a good girl.” Roche smiled a little in spite of it all. “Miner said we’re gearing up for tomorrow. Headed to New San Fran, taking it as we go.”

“You’re going to head off the Corp.” It wasn’t a question.

“As best we can. Suppose a lot of it remains to be seen, but that’s where they’re based and we’ve got to get there by the thirteenth. We’re cutting down to the line. We’ve got a day, maybe a little more.”

“I see. And that’s where you meet the other walkers?”

“The others that have come to the cause, yeah. They’re few and far between. From there, we unleash hell. And do our best not to get killed.” Roche puffed on his smoke.

“Don’t think I won’t be coming along.”

“Oh, no?”

“Yeah. They need me along with the soldiers for whatever help I can give in how to destroy the constructs. Which may not be much, but I owe it to them for getting me out of the Corp’s grip.”

“Suppose you do.”

“Suppose I do.”

“Night then.” Roche turned abruptly and stepped on his cigarette on the way to the stables, still reeling slightly from the drink. Markus started to protest but stopped, and returned to gazing upwards at the stars, cigarette cocked strangely in the corner of his mouth, ribbons of smoke curling over the lenses of his glasses.