Wasteland Blues by Scott Christian Carr, Andrew Conry-Murray Page A

off.”
    John fled.
    They bedded down next to the fireplace, which was fading to embers. Teddy, far too large for the cot offered him, surrendered it to Derek. Corrin had disappeared, but Silas sat with them a bit.
    “Nicodemus says you’re going over the mountains and into the Wasteland. Can’t say I’m thrilled with the idea, but it’s your necks,” said Silas. “We, that is the Paladins, don’t operate on the other side of the mountains. The trails are too rough on the bikes, and we got enough to do running the roads around here. The Bedouins carry on some trade, but they don’t send caravans up that way too often. You’re gonna be on your own.”
    “I prefer it that way,” said Derek.
    “What’s it like in the mountains?” asked John.
    Silas shrugged. “There’s a few settlements up there, a ranch or two, but they don’t take to strangers. Plenty of bandits, some hermits and loners. And wildlife, bears and mountain cats. Sometimes they come down to Moses Springs to hunt. A mountain cat killed three cattle and an old herdsman two weeks ago. I saw its paw tracks myself.” He held his hands apart to show the size of the creature’s print. “One swipe would take your face off.”
    Silas cracked his knuckles and frowned at his old running-mate. “You’re heading into rough terrain, Nicodemus. I ain’t sure about that chair of yours. You might want to think about trading in your wheels for a good pack donkey. That’s what the Bedouins use to haul goods over to the other side. You can trade for one at the bazaar in town.”
    Leggy scratched his chin. “I don’t know if I’m too keen on riding a donkey.”
    “Well then, how about a proposal?” asked Silas, leaning forward. “Don’t cross the mountains. Stay here and join up with us.”
    “Join up?” asked Leggy. “You mean be a Paladin again?”
    “That’s right,” said Silas.
    Leggy looked down at his wheelchair. “I can’t see how that’s gonna happen.”
    “Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Silas. “We could fix up a sidecar to one of the bikes. Think about it, Nick. Back on the road, running with the Paladins, fighting bugs and bandits. It’d be beautiful.”
    “Silas, I’m just a broken down old man. What help could I possibly be to you?”
    “You were my best teacher,” said Silas, “and that’s no lie. You still got a lot of knowledge to pass on. I’m sure of it. You could train a whole new generation of Paladins.”
    Leggy stared into the fire. His days of running with the Paladins had been some of the best of his life. Could he recapture them? Just maybe he could. It’d be nice to be respected again, to be a man that other men looked up to.
    Then he looked over at his traveling companions. He could see the worry in John’s eyes, and the coldness in Derek’s. Would those boys go on without him? Probably. And they’d end up dead in the Wasteland, too. But was that his concern? Derek had forced him on this crazy march at knifepoint. Kidnapped him. He didn’t owe these boys a thing.
    Or did he?
    “I think,” said Leggy quietly, “I better sleep on it.”
    “Fair enough,” said Silas. He rose, shook Leggy’s hand, and asked the others if there was anything else they needed.
    No one spoke.
    Silas bid them goodnight, blew out the oil lamps that lit the room, and tromped upstairs to his own quarters.
    ***
    Derek lay on the hard cot, staring into the darkness of the rafters above. Though the bunkhouse was quiet, he couldn’t sleep. His mind was clenched like a fist. That asshole Silas wanted to steal one of his band away, and he tried to do it right out in the open.
    And so what if Leggy did choose to stay with his old companions? He was an ornery cuss, and harder to boss around than John or Teddy. After their encounter with the Paladins, he’d be harder still. If Leggy left, Derek wouldn’t have to put up with the old man’s back-talk. So why not let him stay? Good riddance!
    But Leggy had proven his value. He had a