He said nothing, reeling at this twist of events, and simply sat there in shock. He was wondering about a great many things—such as what would happen to Lampert and the others, what would happen to him, what would happen to humanity without a vaccine for the Plague, and so on—and all but oblivious when he felt her nimble hands on him, none too gently undoing his belt and pants. Surprised, shocked, and suddenly incredibly aroused despite it all, he looked up at her.
“Time ‘nough for this, though,” she grinned, rubbing her bare breasts on his arm and chest. “Now c’mon. I gotta gets you in me while I can.”
And then he didn’t think about much of anything but making love to the ravishing, nubile young woman in his arms.
Chapter Ten
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Two days later, stumping along on a very dusty road in the middle of the night, having spent the intervening time stewing and growing more angry and resentful as they went, it occurred to Justin that he might at least try to escape. He’d weighed the pros and cons of the idea carefully through the last 48 hours’ worth of walking, eating, and sleeping on the hard, rocky ground, and, all things considered, had finally decided that anything Teresa might do to him if he did try to escape couldn’t be a whole lot worse than a life in slavery, and so it was worth a shot. The only trouble was that he simply couldn’t work up the nerve to try it.
They’d walked during the night and had slept most of the day. Teresa explained that this was because it avoided both the day’s heat and the attentions of other bangers and survies. She also had told him that Baron Zero’s place, whatever that was, was located on the outskirts of what had once been the city of Vinita, Oklahoma and that it would take them at least three night’s trekking to get there.
“Gotta be wareful, hey?” she’d said. “Lots’a bangers’d wanna get they claws on you.”
“Yes,” he’d said glumly. “You must protect your investment, I guess.”
And now, after two long nights and restless days, he’d had about enough; they’d gone precious miles from Lampert and the others, he was tired, in deep-down way he’d never experienced, sore of muscle in his feet and legs, thirsty, hungry, and just plain bored. Yes, it was time to try to make a break for it.
He’d been looking for the right place and time all night—or morning, if one wanted to be technical—trying not to seem obvious or nervous, and it was probably about three AM when he thought he had just the place. Cursing to himself, he was going to try it, just bolt off into the underbrush and hope for the best, when suddenly Teresa called a halt.
“Hold up, hey,” she said.
He did, and turned back to find her in what had become a fairly common stance during their trip, that of intense listening, with her head cocked at an angle. Try as he might when they stopped like this, Justin never heard anything other than ambient sounds of wildlife and nature, but he’d learned to trust her hearing; more than once they’d avoided unknown potential trouble by virtue of its acuity.
“What is it?” he whispered. “What do you hear?”
“Quiet!” she whispered back. “Jus’ shuddup, hey?”
Justin shrugged and waited, scanning the landscape ahead of them for some sign of life, but to him there was just the barren ground and the sounds of wind and a far-off coyote. He waited for a good five minutes and then turned back to see what Teresa was up to, only to discover that she was gone. Without so much as a rustle of the underbrush, she’d vanished as completely as if she’d never been there at all.
Mouth abruptly agape, utterly mystified at this amazing disappearing act, he cast about, here, there, and everywhere, but the girl was simply not there. Scratching his head, he turned in a full circle, peering into the bushes and dark spots, but she was nowhere to be seen. What the hell? Where had she gone? And why?
“Teresa?” he hissed at the darkness. “Are you there? Teresa?”
Nothing. Not so much as a peep. He tried again, louder this time, but still nothing. What in the world? He was still standing there, wondering whether he should go on or go back or maybe just wait, when he heard the sound of motorcycle engines. Coming up on their trail, they were approaching quickly, judging from the sound, and in no small number. In a matter of moments, the noise went from a faint whine to a loud, angry clamor like a swarm of vary large bees.
Frantically, torn as to what to do, he looked around quickly and then, choosing a particularly large bush that looked like a good spot, began to run for cover. Maybe he could simply hide and whoever was coming would just pass by.
He’d gone about ten steps, about a third of the way to the bush, when suddenly the night erupted in noise and light as the gang of cycles—at least a dozen, of various size and shape—burst over a nearby hill. For a split second, he froze in the harsh lights and then the dusty horde of shrieking machines was all around him, a blur of light and motion and noise, and he recognized that he was trapped and gave up, hands in the air in the universal symbol of surrender.
Around him, the motorcycles slowed, wound down, and then, one by one, came to a halt, all facing into a circle with him at the center. Justin was tempted to shield his eyes in the glare of the headlights, but kept his hands up; no sense in provoking these people, whoever they were. And what had become of Teresa?
At some signal, presumably, the bikers now all shut off their engines (but not the lights) and the ensuing relative silence, broken only by the pinging noises from the cooling machines, was, in its way, more imposing than the din. Then one of bikers detached himself from his mount and came forward from the shadows.
Expecting someone like one of the Bloodclaws, festooned in tattoos and leather and weapons, he was surprised to see a man in a uniform, a brown suit of clothes not unlike those once worn by State Patrolmen, with a matching brown helmet coated in fine pale dust, a thick black leather belt and smart knee-high jackboots. Justin couldn’t see a badge anywhere, but other than that, the man was the very image of latter-day civil authority. In short, a cop.
But how? There were no functioning police forces these days, were there? He’d never heard of any survie cult that went for that sort of thing. So who—and, more importantly, what—was this man? He was going to do something inane like wave or hold out his hand to shake, but instead simply stood and waited as the man approached.
He walked up to Justin, stopped a few feet away, and tipped up the plasteel facemask on his helmet. A pale, mustached, Caucasian, non-descript sort of face that seemed to be not so much expressionless as incapable of expression looked out.
“Hello, brother,” said the man, his voice bland, unaccented, and as emotionless as his face.
“Er… hello,” said Justin tentatively, lowering his hands a bit and trying out a thin smile. “Brother?”
“May I ask your business here, brother?” asked the man sternly.
“My what?” said Justin, blinking. “My business? As in, why am I here?”
“I’ll ask the questions, brother,” said the man, blandly but not un-menacingly. “Please state your business.”
“Well, to be honest,” said Justin, confused and not a little intimidated, “I don’t even know where “here” is. Somewhere in Oklahoma, I think, but then…” he shrugged. “And as to why I’m here, well, that’s something of a long story, I’m afraid.”