Devil Riders

“That going to work?” Dean asked. “Doesn’t sound very strong.”

“It isn’t,” Ryan said, grabbing four cans and striding to the back of the wag. “So we have to go bastard slow and be a hell of a lot more careful. But it got us running again.”

Placing the cans roughly on the floor, Ryan went for more as Mildred pulled them away from the edge and started lashing them to the ribs with some spare rope.

“Can we do that again with another belt if one of these breaks?” Dean asked, panting from the effort of carrying two cans. They weighed a ton, but the boy was determined to always do his full share of the work.

“Nothing left to split,” Ryan stated, slowing his pace so the boy could keep abreast. “If these snap, we start walking.”

Once the wag was loaded again, the companions piled into the rear, with Ryan behind the wheel and J.B. riding shotgun in the passenger seat. Ryan gently tried the ignition and the diesel easily started. Slipping the transmission into a low gear, he drove away slowly, babying the overheated engine.

AS THE STRUGGLING wag headed for the horizon, swaddled figures rose from the ground like masked ghosts. They watched the vehicle for a brief while, then slipped back down into the earth as nothing truly human could, and were gone from sight.

KEEPING A CAREFUL watch on the dashboard gauges, Ryan drove the wag onward through the stifling heat. With the temperature rising every hour, even shielded by the roof of the vehicle, the companions had to apply more of the grease to their lips. But the heat was becoming oppressive, and the conversations lagged, everybody simply concentrating on breathing and trying not to exert themselves too much. There were a few scattered clouds in the blazing sky, small and darkly colored, but any shade they cast was nowhere near the companions and their tantalizing presence only seemed to make their sweating more unbearable.

Over the long miles, the hard packed salt became mixed with golden sand, more and more windswept dunes rising as they departed the dead zone and the land became a simple desert. Finding a stand of cactus, Ryan slowed the wag to a mere crawl and Krysty got out of the back to use Doc’s sword to safely hack off chunks of the plant, spearing the pieces and bringing them back to the wag. Eagerly, the companions used their knives to cut off the thick barbed thorns and cut the cactus open to munch on the moist pulp inside.

“Kind of bitter,” Dean said unhappily, his face smeared with the sticky juice.

“Indeed, yet ambrosia compared to some of the things we have eaten to stay alive, lad,” Doc rumbled, chewing each mouthful slowly before forcing a swallow. “Actually, it is rather similar to pickled turnip, albeit a tad more spongy.”

“That’s from being so close to the salt lands,” Mildred said, wiping her mouth, but then added, “Turnip?”

Lowering his pale green slice, Doc smiled, flashing his oddly perfect teeth. “Most assuredly, dear lady. My mother considered it a necessary tonic for good health.”

“Ate a lot of it as a kid?”

“Not willing, no.”

It was noon when the dropping fuel gauge forced the companions to stop in the delicious shade of a large dune. Ryan took advantage of the break to get out of the broiling vehicle to refuel the wag even though it wasn’t his turn to do the job. J.B. did the same, taking on the disagreeable task of pouring a few pints of saved urine into the boiling radiator. As much as the friends would have liked to stop there and sleep through the remainder of the day, the threat of the bugs was too pressing and they had no choice but to keep going.

Driving back into the harsh sunlight, Ryan saw the break didn’t really help reduce the temp of the engine and could only assume there had to be something wrong with the thermostat. When he got the chance that night, he would open the cooling system and remove the bloody valve completely. The bastard thing was designed to keep the heat in on cold wintry days and channel it off during a hot summer. But since there was only heat in the desert, they had no need for the other function and it could be safely removed. But not abandoned. While they kept the wag, they would save any spare parts. Only a fool threw away a blaster just because nobody was attacking at the moment.

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