The Wasteland Saga: The Old Man and the Wasteland, Savage Boy and The Road is a River. Nick Cole

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СКАЧАТЬ turned right and pulled more weeds behind him as he crawled forward, bursting into the open. He had maybe a moment or two before the savage would be free of the weed pile.

      The Old Man looked around. He was near the great highway that bent itself toward Tucson. He crossed the road and dropped to the ground on the far side. There was little cover.

      Above him, on the road, the savage screamed in pain.

      If he makes the right choice in the next moment, I’m going to know what it feels like when that club comes crashing down on my head. If not, then maybe I have a chance.

      Himbradda screamed again but farther away, on the opposite side of the road.

      He must be circling the pile looking for me.

      The Old Man slithered backward down the dirt embankment and headed south alongside the road. Himbradda yelled raggedly, almost crying. The Old Man took off his huaraches to lessen the sound of his steps.

      He had not gone ten steps before the thing he had hoped would not happen, happened.

      The scorpion stung him on his instep. It happened a second after he felt his foot crush its peanut-shell carcass. White-hot pain shot up his leg, and the Old Man stuck one dusty huarache in his mouth and bit down on the scream. His vision went red as his eyes fought a black tunnel that seemed to crush the world about him.

      He looked down, praying it was not one of the baby white scorpions.

      They are the most poisonous.

      Instead he was rewarded with a frightening-looking scorpion. Large, black, and crushed in the dirt.

      These old ones have less poison.

      They are cursed like you.

      Quiet.

      He hobbled along the ravine hoping the savage man wouldn’t check this side of the road. If he did, there would be no way he could outrun him now.

      The pistol has no bullets.

      I know. But he doesn’t know that.

      The pain is blinding.

      He may not even know what a gun is. I think if he finds me he won’t give me the time to explain it to him. It won’t make a difference.

      The Old Man limped farther down the descending embankment below the ruined highway.

      The first drops of rain began to splatter in the red dust as the Old Man looked at his foot. Large glistening drops settled on the thick dust, remaining globes of water for a moment, then dissipating. His foot, though not swollen, tingled. It felt foreign to him.

      He worked his way down the side of a broken bridge that once ran over a ravine. The rock-littered embankment descended into a dry streambed and then rose to meet the other side.

      Above him, he could still hear the wild man screaming hoarsely in the desert air.

      There’s no time to treat the foot.

      But you must. You must clean the wound and elevate it.

      The Old Man had seen many stings and been stung many times. This one was not bad. It wasn’t timely, also. He reached the riverbed as the rain began to fall with hard wet thumps against the dry ground.

      This place will be dangerous soon.

      Hurry.

      He began to climb the rocky embankment, dragging the foot.

      You rest for a while, foot. I’ll give you that.

      The wild savage screamed, having come to the end of the broken bridge and seeing the Old Man dragging himself up the far embankment. Near the dark range of hills to the east, thunder cracked and a moment later a flash of lightning lit the darkening sky. Toward the west, hot blue sunshine ground away at the sandy desert beyond Picacho Peak.

      The savage looked down, considered jumping, then disappeared. A moment later he returned, running and grunting as he scrambled down the embankment on the side of the bridge. Halfway down he caught his foot on a jagged volcanic rock and yelped painfully.

      The rain was coming down hard when the Old Man reached the summit of the broken highway. On the far side, the screaming savage raced down the embankment, kicking up dust in his wake.

      If the rain had come earlier, I could have lost him in the ravines.

      It’s still your only chance.

      It will be dangerous. The water will come fast, pushing everything. I could get caught.

      Better than getting caught in the open by the savage and his club.

      The Old Man ran, dragging the tingling leg. The fire was gone but the foot was tender.

      Forget it.

      Farther down he could see a crack in the highway. When he reached it he lowered himself into it. The Old Man raised his head above the lip and spotted the savage. It had taken the savage longer than the Old Man would have expected for a young man to ascend the embankment. But now the Old Man could see why. Dragging the club with the one arm while the withered left arm remained tucked into the dirty overalls must have slowed him down.

      The Old Man dropped into the dark crack in the highway and inched along the wall toward the ravine it opened into.

      He could hear the slap of feet coming closer and then saw the figure of the savage above him. Screaming gibberish, the savage smashed the parking meter club into the pavement, sending bits of stone and sand down on the Old Man.

      Years after the bombs, an earthquake had shaken the village. This crack must have been caused by the quake.

      Mud began to sluice down upon him from above. The rain came down heavily on the dry desert floor. Wet hair hanging in his face, the savage raved in gibberish at the Old Man below.

      You will need to come down here to get me.

      The Old Man squeezed farther along the crevice. Then it opened into a jagged ravine that jogged off toward the south. The Old Man, who had felt a touch of closeness in the tight spaces of the crack, breathed deeply and coughed.

      I said you will have to come get me, boy.

      It’s the only way I can get rid of you.

      The Old Man limped off along the ravine in the opposite direction from where Himbradda stood at the cliff’s edge.

      Maybe he won’t come. That would be for the best. For both of us.

      Another flash of lightning lit the afternoon as Himbradda stood silent. Tension and worry contorted the snarl of his lips as he worked at crooked teeth with his tongue, thinking what to do.

      The Old Man was just disappearing around the far bend of the ravine to the south, when Himbradda threw himself down the cliff at a run. His legs worked hard to keep ahead of the fall. His torso fell forward, ahead of his running feet. Then the muddy walls became too thick, catching at his struggling feet. He tumbled forward smashing into the floor СКАЧАТЬ