Bounty Hunter

Chapter 16

After sunset, Joe and Val drove around the edge of Clearwater Lake while she filled him in on details of Roderick Sloan and her plan for killing him. He gave her credit—she'd thought through every aspect and knew every inch of the mansion, but if she'd gone in on her own, she would've failed. Her plan didn't take surprises into account, and every plan went off track within minutes of initiation.

He drove, leaning slightly forward in his seat out of concern of setting off the PED, even though he knew they were designed to take some abuse. He didn't want to see exactly how much stress a PED would take before it cut him in two.

Val sniffed. "Your cutter stinks."

"That'd be Champ." With his helmet on, the air filters masked the odor. He made a mental note to clean his rig when he returned to Cavil.

After a moment, she motioned to the lake. "This used to be wild rice fields, going on for as far as the eyes could see. Then Sloan bought up the lake and converted it to hemp fields for his family's clothing factories on the Tule Coast. A lot of people starved in that first year. Even more in the second year. By the third, anyone who remained was working for Sloan."

"I heard about the starvation. I assumed it was due to a drought," Joe said. The truth was, he remembered not thinking much about the fact people were starving. People were starving everywhere. And if they weren't starving, something else bad was happening. The continent wasn't called the wastelands for nothing.

"Drought had nothing to do with it. It was due to a rich man's greed."

In Joe's experience, rich men were almost always bad men. If the size of his fields were any indication, Roderick Sloan looked to be as rich as opossum gravy, which meant that he was likely a very bad man.

"Any ideas on how you'll take him out once you're inside?" she asked.

"It depends on what I find when I'm in there."

Val pointed at a rocky outcropping. "Park there. We'll have to go in on foot."

Joe parked Monster in between two rocks that cloaked the cutter, except for one of its fender fins. He grabbed his rifle, locked down the vehicle, and followed Val. She led him through the rocky terrain, seemingly unafraid that he'd change his mind and shoot her in the back. She was putting a lot of faith in that PED, or at least in Joe's sanity.

They walked for the better part of an hour over rocks and around sludge pools. Rumor was that, at one time, the entire Midlands had been covered in lush green fields, though Joe didn't see anything resembling that now. Clouds attempted to smother the moon, and Joe had to rely upon his helmet's night vision to make his way; he had no idea how Val was managing without stumbling.

Val slowed before him as they climbed a hill, then turned and held her forefinger to her lips. "We're almost to the farm."

He followed silently, and when she went down on her hands and knees, he did the same. She crawled to the crest of the hill; he came up next to her and peered over. Beyond them sprawled acres of green land on which stood a grouping of buildings that resembled an industrial complex more than a farm. Long buildings lined one side of the farm, while on the other side stood hog confinement lots and what looked to be staff quarters.

Joe wrinkled his nose. The wind was at his back tonight, so he didn't smell the hogs, but there were hundreds. They had to stink something awful; he couldn't imagine why anyone would even think of building quarters in such close proximity to livestock.

Movement at one of the lots caught his eye, and he zoomed in with his night vision. Two soldiers, both wearing blue MRC uniforms, dragged an old man in tattered, filthy clothes. The man was unmoving, and had the gray pallor of death; he'd likely died earlier that day. The soldiers grabbed the body and swung it into the lot, where skinny hogs instantly convened on the body.

Joe grimaced. Food was in short supply for everyone and everything throughout the wastelands, but the sight still made bile rise in his throat. He wasn't sure he could ever eat pork again. The soldiers walked away while the pigs dined.

An arm moved in the fray, and a brutal cry rent the air. Joe's eyes went wide.

The old man was still alive. They'd thrown him in the pit while he was still alive!

Joe lowered his head to the ground so he wouldn't watch.

"Anyone who isn't useful, disappears," Val whispered.

He glanced over at her.

She eyed him. "Now you see why Sloan has to be stopped."

He gave her a small tilt of his head.

"The way I figure, a hero or two could make a big difference in the lives of these poor people," she said.

Joe chortled. "You've a small problem with that plan. All the heroes died in the Revolution."

"Then they'll have to settle for us." She motioned to her left. "Come. Sloan's house is on the other side of the processing plants."

He followed her back down the slope, thankful to be leaving the nightmare behind, but chilled with dread as to what lay ahead. From there, they weaved around the farm, giving it a full mile berth to not be seen, though the darkness provided good coverage. Val guided him through a culvert, which opened up near the gate to the complex. Beyond the gate stood a huge stone mansion, alongside another nondescript building that looked to be living quarters.

She flattened herself on the ground and pointed to the long building. "Sloan's farm boys are all housed in there."

Joe zoomed his vision through a window. He could make out dozens of soldiers, all wearing the standard blue MRC uniforms, lounging throughout. A good number were sitting around drinking, others were cleaning weapons, and a few were lying on bunkbeds that covered half the open space.

He frowned and turned to Val. "Farm boys?" He gestured to the building. "There's an army of murcs in there."

"Murcs are thugs; they're not really professional soldiers," she countered.

"That's subjective since murcs are the only legitimate army in the wastelands, which makes them seem pretty dang professional to me."

"Fine, then. They're soldiers," she griped.

"How'd he get so many soldiers to begin with? No, that doesn't matter. What I want to know is why he has so many soldiers?"

She pursed her lips. "I haven't been able to figure that out yet. The brothers started increasing their numbers about five months back, and Roderick takes a fair number with him every time he travels. They're up to something. Whatever it is, it can't be good for the people of Clearwater."

"Who cares about Clearwater; it's not good for us. There's no way we can take on an army."

"We won't have to. I've heard the murcs complain about Roderick. They'll disperse once they lose the source of their paycheck." She pointed to the mansion. "He just returned from another of his trips today, which means he'll be tired. It's a good night to take him out."

Joe scanned the yard, then looked up at the cloudy night. "The moon's with us tonight. It's a decent night for killing."

He heard her sharp intake of air. "Good. Tonight it is. Are you ready to run with my plan?"

"Not your plan," he said.

"Okay, then tell me your plan," she said.

"'Plan' isn't the word I'd use. I prefer to go with 'reckless optimism.' Tell me, how well do you know this farm? Not just the house, but the entire farm?"

"I've spent months watching it. I know it like I know the back of my hand."

Joe nodded. "Good. Then I have an idea that may just work."