James Axler – Trader Redux

“What are we going to do about that place?” Ryan pointed beyond the trees toward where they could still see the column of gray smoke climbing from one of the chimneys of the building at the edge of the canyon.

Trader slung the Armalite across his shoulder. “Take a recce for starters. Then, if they look like they got some serious power, we might ask them for food and stuff. If they look like they don’t have no power, then we can go in and take some food and stuff. How’s that sound, John Dix? Fuck! I mean, Ryan?”

“Sounds good.”

A SMALL SIGN was set by the side of the narrow, overgrown path that had led them within fifty yards of the side of the building. Even after a century of weathering, the words were still very legible Open to Residents of Hightower Only.

“What’s that mean?” Trader asked.

Despite all the long years that they’d known each other, Ryan had never been entirely convinced by Trader’s claim not to be able to read or write. Yet he’d never quite managed to catch him out.

“Place must’ve been called Hightower. Mebbe some kind of rooming house. Hotel. Motel. Something like that. Sign means only people living there can go on this trail.”

“Predark, isn’t it?”

“Sure looks like it.”

“I don’t see guards. Doesn’t seem much like a strong ville to me.”

Ryan looked around. “I don’t see anything except the big house, and a part of that’s in ruins. Could be nothing for a hundred miles in any direction.”

“One way to find out. Get in closer and keep our eyes open and our asses shut.”

There was a row of neglected yews that had probably once been a neatly trimmed hedge. Now they were over six feet high, ragged and yellowed.

From behind them, it was possible to see that the ruins had once been a resort hotel. It must have been a marvelous location, close to the edge of the high canyon, with a wonderful view across its own grounds.

But the nukes and the quakes had combined to change all of that.

There had been major subsidence and the long, two-story building was now a lot closer to the brink of the chasm than it had originally been. In fact, the whole of its south wing had fallen in, decades ago. The rest seemed to be teetering drunkenly on the brink, and it looked as though a single sparrow fart could push it into oblivion.

The roof had gone from most of the hotel, as had many of the elegant wooden balconies that had decorated the canyon side of Hightower.

But there was clearly life.

As Trader and Ryan crouched under cover of the line of yews, they saw several men and women, coming and going. And a gas truck, its exhaust belching blue fumes, drove away from the front of the building.

“Could use that,” Trader commented.

“And it figures they’ve got supplies of gas as well,” Ryan agreed.

“Not many weapons on show. Just some rebuilt handblasters and one sawn-down.”

“We going for friendly first?”

Trader nodded. “Sure. Got your honest, steadfast and true smile ready in place?”

“Here it is.”

“That it? Then we should forget friendly. Go for terrifying, Ryan. For fuck’s sake, bro, you can do better than that teeth-bared leer.”

“Let’s go, okay? And forget jokes. Travelers south from Seattle. Lost our horses and supplies in the quake last night. Could use a meal and mebbe a bed for the night.”

“Sure,” Trader said.

A YOUNG MAN in high-cut shorts left the front entrance and walked past them, waving a casual hand. “Hi, there. You come to see Baron Torrance?”

Trader answered. “Sure have. Hear that Baron Torrance is a good man to help someone with troubles.”

“No, I wouldn’t have said that. We hardly ever see any outlanders, in trouble or not.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, smiling a broad smile. “Fact is, I wouldn’t mention being in trouble to the baron. Best just kind of be passing by. Still, got to be going. I look after the gardens here.” He grinned. “Only part of the ville that’s in good shape. If you don’t look too close at the hedges.”