“I’m certain that everyone who’s watching me now is aware of the latest tragic event that has shocked and stunned Mega-City—the ambush and slaughter of five, possibly six Judges—we can’t say exactly how many at this moment—an ambush that took place in the notorious downtown district, Black Quad Nine.
“There are few facts available at this time. What we do know is that the Judges were burned beyond recognition, along with several vagrants. Sources report that an illegal weapon was used in this brutal killing, but that information is not confirmed…
“Sorry, I’m still here, my friends. This is—difficult, as I said. This part of the story has not been on the news. Another person lost his life in that chaotic event in the Black Quad. A colleague, a friend, and a fine journalist. A man you, the viewers, have come to know and respect as a commentator on this station.
“Duncan Harrow died in that same alley tonight. Duncan’s car was found parked several blocks from the alley in question. But Duncan’s remains, along with his blackened video camera, were found several feet within the alley itself, near the scene of the disaster.
“It was like Duncan Harrow to put himself in harm’s way in order to bring you the news. That’s the kind of man—the kind of reporter—Duncan Harrow was. A man very like another journalist we sorely miss, Vardis Hammond.
“Maybe I’m going out on a limb now. Maybe it’s no longer safe for a journalist to speak to you in this manner, but here it is. Vardis Hammond felt that much of the lawlessness in Mega-City could be laid at the feet of those very persons responsible for upholding the Law. I’m speaking of the High Council of Judges itself. If you’re listening, members of this respected body, what’s your answer? Is Mega-City out of control, at the mercy of criminal terrorists? As Citizens, we need to know where we stand in these dangerous times. As the self-appointed guardians of our Society, you have an obligation to let us know. You have an obligation to the living. And you have an obligation to those who have died for the cause of Law and Order. Citizen and Judge alike.
“This is Tommy Waco with the news. Back to you, Katie Chloe, for an on-the-scene report from the site of the tragic Black Quad massacre…”
THIRTY-TWO
The only trouble with the Judge Hunters’ sand cruiser was the sand. Fergie wondered how technology could build a Mega-City, and still make an air valve that ground a fine engine into mush.
“We’re finished,” Fergie said, pulling himself from under the machine. “Finished. Done. Dead.”
“We’re walking,” Dredd said.
“We’re what?”
Dredd didn’t answer. He picked up Fargo’s shotgun from the hood, turned away, and started east. Fergie squinted at the sun and gently touched his cracked and swollen lips.
“You’re crazy, Dredd. It’s about two million miles to Mega-City. We don’t have any food. We don’t have any water. I can’t even spit anymore.”
“It’s seventeen miles, you moron. You can take a droid apart, you can’t add? Those Hunters punched a trip-dial before they left home. It’s a regulation.”
“Might as well be a million miles,” Fergie muttered to himself. “We’re not going anywhere without water.”
“Have a nice day,” Dredd said.
He kept on walking. He didn’t stop or turn around. Fergie watched him go. In a moment, he seemed to be walking on glass. His body wavered as the heat rose up from the earth. The horizon rippled like a cheap video.
He’s nuts, Fergie told himself. He’s a Judge and he’s nuts. Judges don’t think like normal people, and Dredd’s about seven times crazier than the rest of that bunch.
Fergie couldn’t see him anymore. All he could see was a quivering silver lake. The lake turned upside down and shimmered in the sky.
He’s crazy, but he’s not that crazy. He didn’t walk out there to die. He left me here to die is what he did. He’s got water… the bastard’s got water and he’s left old Fergie to die!
Fergie ran. He ran for a minute and a half. Then he dropped on his face and ate sand. Then he got up and ran again.
When Dredd came back and found him, he was on his hands and knees, chasing a centipede. He said the centipede had a canteen and wouldn’t tell him where.
“You’re a groon,” Dredd said. “You want water, pick that thing up and eat it. Insects have moisture inside.”
Fergie looked at him with red and hollow eyes. “Forget it. I’m not really thirsty. I’ll wait until we find a nice bar.”
“Good.”
“You want my bug? You can have my bug.”
“I don’t want your bug.”
“Maybe I’ll keep it.”
“Fine.”
“Just in case, you know?” Fergie squashed the bug and put it in his pocket. Dredd would be sorry. Dredd would get thirsty and want his bug. Fergie would tell him, “Forget it, find your own bug, man.” Fergie grinned. It made him feel good to think about that.
“I knew you were out of your mind. I didn’t know how far, is all.”
“You can stay here. Nobody says you have to go.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s what you want to do?”
“Absolutely. That is exactly what I want to do.”
Dredd shook his head. “Just the answer I’d expect from the criminal mind. The habitual offender has no initiative, no will to survive.”
“Hey, nix on that. I got a will to survive.”
“Only if it’s not any trouble. If you don’t have to get off your butt you’ll maybe give it a try.”
Fergie mumbled to himself. He huddled on the parched ground, his knees folded under his chin. What the hell kind of world was this anyway? Five minutes before, the sun had been frying his head. Now, there was only a glow in the west and he was freezing to death.
Craning his neck, looking nearly straight up, he could see the broad stripe of gold, the dying sun’s reflection on the great Mega-City wall. The band of light was climbing fast; the sun was already far below the curve of the Cursed Earth.
In a moment, the stripe narrowed and disappeared at the top of the wall, half a mile high. Now, as the darkness began to gather in, he could clearly see the glare of flame low on the wall, not twenty yards ahead. A brief puff of smoke appeared, then vanished in the air.
“It’s a vent from one of the city’s incinerators,” Dredd had explained. “There’s a burst twice a minute. That means we’ve got a thirty-second interval to get through the tube before it flames again.”
“That means you are out of your mucking mind,” Fergie said.
“You thirsty?”
“Yes.”
“You got any water?”
“No.”
Fergie thought a minute. “The guys that went through, they made it okay. They got in, right?”
“Wrong.” Dredd shook his head. “They were droogs. Cursed Earthers. About as bright as Junior Head-Dead.”
“You’re saying, you’re saying they didn’t get in.”
“They got fried. But that’s because they didn’t figure it right. There is no reason it can’t be done.”
Fergie looked at him. “I’m stupid, remember? I’m a habitual offender.”
“Right. But you’re smarter than Junior Head-Dead anytime. Come on, get up. Let’s go.”
“No way, man.”
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Fergie stared. “Are you kidding? Wearing that pot on your head all these years has baked your brains, Dredd. You’re going to get me killed. You’re—oh, God, look at that!”