Over the next day or so, watching and listening, hidden in deep foliage with his bike, he had a lot of time to think about what to do next. They were getting close to New America, now; just a quick shot up I-35 into Kansas. By rights, he should probably act soon, before they got any further away from New America. Yes, give them a day or two to get away from the aegis of Baron Zero, then swoop down on them, take the Old Man, and be gone. Of course, this plan might need some fine tuning, depending on the situation, but the basics seemed sound. And then all he’d have to do is deliver Lampert to the Governor. Easy as could be.
But, unbidden, the Hunter’s upper lip curled in disgust at the thought of his employer and, what was more, at the idea of handing Lampert over to him. Normally, the prospect of a job finished and well done gave him a sense of satisfaction and a certain pride, but not this one. This job would bring only regret because, despite his ruthlessness and general lack of empathy, the Hunter still held on to some shreds of ethics and morals. Right was right and wrong was wrong, no matter how chaotic and violent society became, and what the Governor was up to—the abduction and ransom of a human being—was just plain wrong, on all counts. Wrong in the moral sense that no one had the right to own, let alone sell, another human being, wrong in that it would delay or even derail the efforts of the CDC people to formulate a vaccine, and wrong in that it was being ordered and carried out by a pompous, tin-plated dictator like the Governor. Wrong any way he looked at it.
But then again, there were things that were very right about it, too. The pay, for one thing, was more than he’d ever dreamed of. With what he made on this job, he could probably finally quit this lousy occupation and settle down like he’d always wanted, somewhere on the beach in Mexico, and just sip tequila, eat, sleep, and watch the waves roll in.
Beyond that, there was his reputation to consider. If he was to fail to bring in Lampert, he would be marked; every other hunter and scumbag in the entire Southwest would be on his ass and, even worse, word of his failure would spread and no one would want to hire him. And that meant bye, bye Mexico.
So what to do? In the end, as he watched Case and the others prepare to leave the House, he still wasn’t sure. But then, he was certain he’d think of something when the time came. He always did.
Chapter Twenty-Five
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Next day, having seen to his patients (all doing as well as could be hoped) Justin set off to see Baron Zero. After a few wrong turns, he finally found the man’s office, where a receptionist, a middle-aged woman with striking red hair and round, pale features, looked up at his approach and smiled.
“Dr. Case, isn’t it?” she said charmingly.
“Kaes, actually,” said Justin. “Like a group of small islands. But yes, that’s me. I was wondering if I might speak with Baron Zero.”
“Well of course!” she beamed. “Just go right in!”
Thanking her, Justin did just that and found himself again in the capacious, cluttered office.
“Hey, Doctor Kaes!” Zero said, as soon as Justin was in view. “I was wondering when you were gonna show up.”
“Yes?” said Justin, noting a small nano-gauze bandage on the man’s cheek from the scrape incurred at the Farm. “And why were you wondering that?”
“Just a feeling,” said Zero, taking his seat behind the desk. “So what’s on your mind, Doc? Something I can do for you or your people?”
Justin frowned slightly. “Well,” he said, “for one thing, the individuals with whom I’m traveling are not “my people”, although I can see where one might get that impression.”
“No?” said Zero, smiling. “Then what are they, exactly?”
“Hmm, well,” Justin said slowly, “they’re something of a mixed bag, really. Mr. Lampert, of course, is my patient. Barbara Cass and Erin Swails are colleagues. Bowler is what I can only describe as a hanger-on, and Teresa? Well, when it comes to her, I can’t honestly say.”
“Not a girlfriend?” asked Zero. “If that’s not too personal to answer, of course.”
Justin frowned again and shrugged. “No,” he said, after a pensive pause. “I wouldn’t say that. I explained all this earlier, didn’t I?”
“Oh, I know,” Zero nodded. “And I didn’t mean any harm by the “your people” thing. Just seems like you’re the leader is all.”
“Completely and utterly by default, I assure you. But that’s not really what I wanted to talk about.”
“No? And what did you wanna talk about?”
“Our departure,” said Justin. “I don’t want to be rude or impertinent, but every day that goes by means that Mr. Lampert is that much older. And, as I said before, we absolutely need to get him to California alive. So, as you can see, any delay might be, well, disastrous.”
“Yeah,” said Zero laconically, “that whole one foot in the grave thing, I know. Here’s the deal, Doc; I sent some scouts out yesterday to have a look around and see what it looks like to the West. They should get back, oh, probably by tomorrow night, and then we’ll know what’s goin’ on out there.”
“Going on? What would be going on?”
“Hopefully, not much,” said Zero. “But who knows, right? With any luck, it’ll just be the usual bangers and survies, but you can never tell what’s gonna, like, develop out there, you know? One gang is always shovin’ another gang off of their turf, which causes turf wars, and there’s always the Muties, further west, always something. I just figured that we’d better have a look. Didn’t wanna send you off straight into some nasty survie shitstorm, right?”
“Indeed,” said Justin, nodding. “That does seem prudent.”
“And,” Zero said, holding up an index finger, “I think I found just the vehicle for you and your peop—uh, group. Wanna see it?”
“A vehicle? Really?”
“Yeah, it’s right down in the garage. C’mon, I’ll show ya.”
Intrigued, Justin followed Zero down some stairs and through some doors, into the massive ground floor garage and into one corner where a pair of oil-streaked mechanics, one male, one female, were toiling away on the oddest-looking car Justin had ever seen. It had a great big panel mounted on the roof, for one thing, there were all kinds of wires running along its flanks, the tires seemed to be solid and made of metal, and the passenger compartment, while spacious enough, looked to be a collection of mismatched car seats. It had once been an autocar, he could see that much, but as to what brand or model, the modifications made it impossible to tell. All in all, especially compared to the other vehicles in the garage, all big, truck-like monsters, to Justin this thing looked like a diminutive, cobbled-together piece of junk.
“Well, whataya think?” asked Zero, pacing around the car. Noticing Justin’s somewhat crestfallen mien, he hastily added, “Oh, I know it doesn’t look like much, but this little baby’s your best shot at making the coast, believe me.”