leave, miss,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘An’ they’ll ’spect us to leave at first light tomorrow. So we’re gettin’ eight hours steal on ’em.’
‘Steal on them? Who’s
them
?’ She looked at his dark hunched form walking in front of her. ‘You make it sound like someone’s going to be chasing us.’
‘Groups of migrants, people who’ve had enough of toughing it out here, settin’ off to cross the wilderness an’ try their luck gettin’ into the FSA. People like us? We’re gonna be alone out there in the badlands … alone an’ vulnerable. There used to be parties settin’ off all the time. Not so much recently, though. Many of them parties didn’t make it across.’
Heywood left that hanging as they trudged quietly along the highway, clearly waiting for one of them to ask why.
‘OK, I’ll do it,’ muttered Maddy to Rashim. ‘So …
why
didn’t they make it across?’
‘Many of ’em weren’t gettin’ to the Median Line, that much’s for sure.’ He hacked up some phlegm then snorted it back down again. ‘No … most of them people weren’t even gettin’ halfway across.’
‘Why?’
‘Truth is, miss, between the Flood Line in the east and the Median Line in the west, it’s pretty much all abandoned. Nowadays, between the two, it’s dangerous wilderness populated by crazies and shoot-happy hermits. Worse than that, though, you got gangs of jackers.’
Rashim nodded. He turned to Maddy and spoke softly. ‘I recall digi-news stories about jackers. Gangs of armed militia. Mostly out in the wilderness, but some groups beyond the border. We had to lock down security around Project Exodus. We lost some of our technical team to them when they breached the perimeter once, looking for loot.’
‘
Jackers
,’ repeated Heywood. He stopped walking and turned round. ‘Not armed
militia
. Makes ’em sound like they got some kinda
boner-fiddy
guddamn cause. They’re no better than pack animals! Predators. Preyin’ off groups of people headin’ for the line. Rob ’em, kill ’em and far worse than that.’
‘What’s worse than being killed?’ asked Maddy.
Heywood snorted in the dark. ‘Use your imagination.’
That hung in the dark for a while too. Maddy heard the soft rustle of Heywood’s fingers playing with crinkly cigarette paper. A moment later, a match flared up in front of his face. His sunken eyes glistened amber as he lit the sorry end of his roll-up. Then once more he was lost in the dark again, except for the soft glowing pinprick of an ember.
‘Point is, to answer your question of earlier, miss, the reasonwe left tonight instead of waitin’ till first light is because there’s people in that township we just left who radio ahead. Let them jackers know there’s
fresh meat
comin’ their way.’
He turned back round. ‘Come on … we got about eight hours’ steal time to make good on.’
CHAPTER 14
2070, Interstate 80
84 days to Kosong-ni
They stopped as the clouds began to lighten; a pre-dawn sky that looked discoloured and sickly to Maddy.
‘Is the sky always that sort of yellow-brown colour?’ she asked.
Heywood looked up as he led them off the empty interstate, over paint-flecked side railings and into a muddy field. ‘When I was a young man, I remember it being kinda blue still.’
‘The discoloration is caused by chemicals in the air,’ said Rashim. ‘I remember it being this yellow-brown tinge, more or less, all of my childhood.’ He looked at Maddy and spoke softly. ‘The first proper blue sky I ever saw with my own eyes was back in Rome.’ He laughed. ‘That looked very strange to me.’
They made their way across the field. Patches of stunted grass grew in isolated hardy islands; the rest of the ground was a dark and clumpy soil that looked like oil spill. Heywood was leading them towards a cluster of abandoned farm buildings on the far side.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Maddy.
He pointed. ‘That
‘Steal on them? Who’s
them
?’ She looked at his dark hunched form walking in front of her. ‘You make it sound like someone’s going to be chasing us.’
‘Groups of migrants, people who’ve had enough of toughing it out here, settin’ off to cross the wilderness an’ try their luck gettin’ into the FSA. People like us? We’re gonna be alone out there in the badlands … alone an’ vulnerable. There used to be parties settin’ off all the time. Not so much recently, though. Many of them parties didn’t make it across.’
Heywood left that hanging as they trudged quietly along the highway, clearly waiting for one of them to ask why.
‘OK, I’ll do it,’ muttered Maddy to Rashim. ‘So …
why
didn’t they make it across?’
‘Many of ’em weren’t gettin’ to the Median Line, that much’s for sure.’ He hacked up some phlegm then snorted it back down again. ‘No … most of them people weren’t even gettin’ halfway across.’
‘Why?’
‘Truth is, miss, between the Flood Line in the east and the Median Line in the west, it’s pretty much all abandoned. Nowadays, between the two, it’s dangerous wilderness populated by crazies and shoot-happy hermits. Worse than that, though, you got gangs of jackers.’
Rashim nodded. He turned to Maddy and spoke softly. ‘I recall digi-news stories about jackers. Gangs of armed militia. Mostly out in the wilderness, but some groups beyond the border. We had to lock down security around Project Exodus. We lost some of our technical team to them when they breached the perimeter once, looking for loot.’
‘
Jackers
,’ repeated Heywood. He stopped walking and turned round. ‘Not armed
militia
. Makes ’em sound like they got some kinda
boner-fiddy
guddamn cause. They’re no better than pack animals! Predators. Preyin’ off groups of people headin’ for the line. Rob ’em, kill ’em and far worse than that.’
‘What’s worse than being killed?’ asked Maddy.
Heywood snorted in the dark. ‘Use your imagination.’
That hung in the dark for a while too. Maddy heard the soft rustle of Heywood’s fingers playing with crinkly cigarette paper. A moment later, a match flared up in front of his face. His sunken eyes glistened amber as he lit the sorry end of his roll-up. Then once more he was lost in the dark again, except for the soft glowing pinprick of an ember.
‘Point is, to answer your question of earlier, miss, the reasonwe left tonight instead of waitin’ till first light is because there’s people in that township we just left who radio ahead. Let them jackers know there’s
fresh meat
comin’ their way.’
He turned back round. ‘Come on … we got about eight hours’ steal time to make good on.’
CHAPTER 14
2070, Interstate 80
84 days to Kosong-ni
They stopped as the clouds began to lighten; a pre-dawn sky that looked discoloured and sickly to Maddy.
‘Is the sky always that sort of yellow-brown colour?’ she asked.
Heywood looked up as he led them off the empty interstate, over paint-flecked side railings and into a muddy field. ‘When I was a young man, I remember it being kinda blue still.’
‘The discoloration is caused by chemicals in the air,’ said Rashim. ‘I remember it being this yellow-brown tinge, more or less, all of my childhood.’ He looked at Maddy and spoke softly. ‘The first proper blue sky I ever saw with my own eyes was back in Rome.’ He laughed. ‘That looked very strange to me.’
They made their way across the field. Patches of stunted grass grew in isolated hardy islands; the rest of the ground was a dark and clumpy soil that looked like oil spill. Heywood was leading them towards a cluster of abandoned farm buildings on the far side.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Maddy.
He pointed. ‘That
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