Heywood, by the way. The “T” and the “S” stand for Technical Sergeant Heywood. But you just call me Heywood seeing as how I ain’t been in the army for near on twenty years.’
She gripped his hand. ‘Maddy.’
‘An’ since as I’m the one doin’ the guidin’ … that makes me the one in charge, OK? What I say goes, right up until your science friend talks us through the golden gates into the land of milk ’n’ honey … I’m the boss.’
‘Fine.’ She shook his hand. ‘Deal,
Heywood
.’
‘Now … if you got any decent barter on you, then you can go buy me a long glass of GoGo Juice, cos I’m all dry an’ thirsty from this negotiatin’ thing.’
It took Heywood a couple of days to gather what supplies he could lay his hands on in the shanty town. Not a great deal in the way of food; there seemed to be little spare of that going around. However, in almost every direction Maddy looked as she and the others accompanied Heywood, she noted lines of squirrel carcasses dangling by their tied feet from swinging loops of rope, often strung beneath the shelter of a rustling canvas awning. In many cases they hung above oil-drum fires being smoked and dried. Squirrel. She’d never actually eaten squirrel before. Heywood assured her it waslike rabbit, except that there was less meat. He also assured her it wasn’t that dissimilar to rat. She drew the line right there.
‘I’m not eating rats!’
‘Dried rat is just as good as squirrel, an’ a damn sight cheaper to barter.’
‘We’re NOT eating rats!’
He shrugged. ‘Fair enough. But we’ll have less on us to eat.’
‘Surely we can find more food along the way?’
‘Millions have already traipsed west, miss. You ain’t gonna find some abandoned Walmart stuffed with untouched tinnies, you understand? It’s what we carry and what wildlife there is left out there to hunt is the food we’re gonna be livin’ on for the next coupla weeks.’
She shook her head, resolute. ‘I’m not eating a rat.’
The old man traded away all their luxury barter – the chocolate, the soap, several packets of sugar – for twenty dried squirrel carcasses and four old and battered but perfectly functional water-filtration flasks, which were stamped with an old UN Disaster Relief logo. He also managed to procure three antique assault rifles. ‘Rack-’em-’n’-fire bangers,’ he called them. ‘We don’t want to be packin’ any of them stupid modern firearms that need to have a power cell charged up or run a nightly systems diagnostic. Just good ol’ honest-to-God mechanics and ballistics.’
Rashim studied the battered weapon cradled in Heywood’s arms, army-green paint flaking off.
‘What yer lookin’ at there, my friend, is an ex-US army M17A1 assault rifle. Army stopped issuin’ these beauties back in the thirties when they switched to energy-assisted weapons.’ Heywood nodded his head and clucked approvingly at the old gun. ‘Beauty like this don’t need a software engineer and atechnical team to keep it firin’. Just keep her oiled and she’ll do you just fine.’
Heywood was keen they set off as soon as possible. Now they each had a gun and between them enough drinking water and dried meat to last them a week, he considered they were good to go. When Rashim asked why the big rush, he replied, ‘Word spreads fast, sir.’
They set off at dusk, just three days after they’d been dropped off by the cab driver. They trudged from the thinning outskirts of the shanty town into the abandoned edges of Orange City in setting darkness. Becks was up front, taking point, then Heywood and, behind him, Maddy and Rashim side by side.
Half an hour after leaving the shanty town behind, Maddy piped up. ‘Heywood, why the hell are we walking out in the dark? Surely it’d be less dangerous to go in the day –’
‘Back where we just set off from, everyone knows everyone else’s business.
Everyone
knows we’ve been kittin’ up to
She gripped his hand. ‘Maddy.’
‘An’ since as I’m the one doin’ the guidin’ … that makes me the one in charge, OK? What I say goes, right up until your science friend talks us through the golden gates into the land of milk ’n’ honey … I’m the boss.’
‘Fine.’ She shook his hand. ‘Deal,
Heywood
.’
‘Now … if you got any decent barter on you, then you can go buy me a long glass of GoGo Juice, cos I’m all dry an’ thirsty from this negotiatin’ thing.’
It took Heywood a couple of days to gather what supplies he could lay his hands on in the shanty town. Not a great deal in the way of food; there seemed to be little spare of that going around. However, in almost every direction Maddy looked as she and the others accompanied Heywood, she noted lines of squirrel carcasses dangling by their tied feet from swinging loops of rope, often strung beneath the shelter of a rustling canvas awning. In many cases they hung above oil-drum fires being smoked and dried. Squirrel. She’d never actually eaten squirrel before. Heywood assured her it waslike rabbit, except that there was less meat. He also assured her it wasn’t that dissimilar to rat. She drew the line right there.
‘I’m not eating rats!’
‘Dried rat is just as good as squirrel, an’ a damn sight cheaper to barter.’
‘We’re NOT eating rats!’
He shrugged. ‘Fair enough. But we’ll have less on us to eat.’
‘Surely we can find more food along the way?’
‘Millions have already traipsed west, miss. You ain’t gonna find some abandoned Walmart stuffed with untouched tinnies, you understand? It’s what we carry and what wildlife there is left out there to hunt is the food we’re gonna be livin’ on for the next coupla weeks.’
She shook her head, resolute. ‘I’m not eating a rat.’
The old man traded away all their luxury barter – the chocolate, the soap, several packets of sugar – for twenty dried squirrel carcasses and four old and battered but perfectly functional water-filtration flasks, which were stamped with an old UN Disaster Relief logo. He also managed to procure three antique assault rifles. ‘Rack-’em-’n’-fire bangers,’ he called them. ‘We don’t want to be packin’ any of them stupid modern firearms that need to have a power cell charged up or run a nightly systems diagnostic. Just good ol’ honest-to-God mechanics and ballistics.’
Rashim studied the battered weapon cradled in Heywood’s arms, army-green paint flaking off.
‘What yer lookin’ at there, my friend, is an ex-US army M17A1 assault rifle. Army stopped issuin’ these beauties back in the thirties when they switched to energy-assisted weapons.’ Heywood nodded his head and clucked approvingly at the old gun. ‘Beauty like this don’t need a software engineer and atechnical team to keep it firin’. Just keep her oiled and she’ll do you just fine.’
Heywood was keen they set off as soon as possible. Now they each had a gun and between them enough drinking water and dried meat to last them a week, he considered they were good to go. When Rashim asked why the big rush, he replied, ‘Word spreads fast, sir.’
They set off at dusk, just three days after they’d been dropped off by the cab driver. They trudged from the thinning outskirts of the shanty town into the abandoned edges of Orange City in setting darkness. Becks was up front, taking point, then Heywood and, behind him, Maddy and Rashim side by side.
Half an hour after leaving the shanty town behind, Maddy piped up. ‘Heywood, why the hell are we walking out in the dark? Surely it’d be less dangerous to go in the day –’
‘Back where we just set off from, everyone knows everyone else’s business.
Everyone
knows we’ve been kittin’ up to
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