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His companion scanned the scene once more, biting her lip. “Up to you.” She said in her usual whisper. Her cloak shifted ever so slightly as she kept her balance.
Just over the dune sat three wagons, circled haphazardly around a long dead camp fire, even that was nothing but wisps in the wind. There wasn’t any movement from what either of them could tell but it was hard to say one way or the other from the road.
It wasn’t quite midday but a spare glance had halted their much needed progress. Of all people, Edward’s comment of smoke could have been left as just a hallucination from the sun. The trader looked back at the shaky rust machine as puffs of smoke burst from the hole in its body. The gears still rattled and wined but only slightly. It was a miracle he could rig it as well as he had. The fact it lasted this long was anything short then pure luck and he knew it. Edward stood at the back of wagon tied to the wheel after complaining half the day of the sun being in his eyes. His lack of travel wear and a hat left him burnt crimson. Letting him stand was the least they could do. Course after hours of insults the funny looking straw hat the trader could never seem to sell was suddenly paying off as Edward, while shaded, could now be considered a palm tree with a bad hair day. “What.” Edward spat. It was still funny.
The trader laughed to himself as he turned his attention back to the deserted campsite. His partner held her hands close, either to her body or guns the trader wasn’t sure but she kept her eyes to the scene. “A quick look couldn’t hurt.” The trader left it at that as he slide back down the dune to the cart. It was his call and it was her job to follow after all.
Edward eyed him as he approached. “Anything to worry about?” adjusting as best he could in his bonds to face the old man.
“It’s good.” The Trader replied, reaching into the back. While some of the Trader’s more noteworthy and more desired items were kept at the front, he had a few essentials set in the back for emergencies, such as rope and his spare tool kit. It was better to be safe and one step ahead out here, that was one of the more important lessons he’d learned over the years.
Edward wiggled around, making the hat bob its limp leafs. “Well, are we in danger or not?” he asked more forcefully, though any sense of authority was lost due to his predicament. The Trader chuckled a little to himself. It was good to laugh every once in a while.
When his hired gun had brought Edward in, some of his personal items came with him. Nothing of particular value other than the stacks of cash but using marked money only got one dead and fast out here. Though one item in particular he had was an old sword. It wasn’t in the best condition but it could still fetch a pretty penny if sold to the right person. “It’s good.” He responded, pushing the blade aside, dawning one of his satchels.
“That doesn’t tell me anything! You can’t just say it’s good when you don’t give specific details about the situation or whether we should be worried based on what you saw. You sayin it’s good could be interpreted so many number of ways I can’t possibly name them all. So just tell me what’s going on over there and we’ll leave it at that.”
“We’ll be back.” The trader stated nonchalantly, checking his guns one more time.
“For the love of…OKAY fine. Maybe I’ll just cut myself loose and steal your dysfunctional mule for all you care. Would you like that?”
The trader added the last bullet to the six-shooter’s chamber before snapping it shut right in front of Edward. “Or get shot. You don’t need to be in one piece, just alive.” He left it at that as he pushed his way back up the dune again.
The trek toward the camp was little more the hollow silence and an eerily calm whistle of wind that brushed their skin. Even as they grew closer not a thing moved or faltered. Yet, as they approached a few details became apparent. For one the wagons weren’t hitched, bullet holes littered the exterior panels, and, of course, bodies lay half covered with sand all along the circle.
The trader was getting on in years, having been on his route for some time he’d seen some things. None of which would come up in usual conversation or remembered in the same way that it happened. Exaggeration, like most things, needed to be used in order to convey the importance of the situations he’d gone through and therefore having his companion understand. Though most of what he’d seen he’d rather forget and most times kept him up at night. Sleeping with one eye open was necessary, especially when traveling with others, but he was getting on in years. His body was weaker, his reactions slower, and even his mind wandered from time to time. But he couldn’t stop. Even if he wanted to. This was his living and ain’t nothing that could keep him from this path he’d chosen for himself.
The trader raised his rifle as they silently entered the camp. The ground was drier here, the dirt cracked and the sand barely scratched it the closer it was to the rock. He nudged the nearest body, it was half buried in sand and nibbles along it’s skin but still had a bit of meat to it. He shared a glance with his partner who noted his observation. She slowly moved along the opposite side of the circle keeping the trader well in sight.
He took a glance in one of the wagons, inside was a few shovels, a barrel sat at the far back full of holes, and a small lock box. Taking a quick glance at his surroundings once more, he pulled the box toward him and examined the lock. It seemed simple enough, nothing a screwdriver and bobby pin couldn’t crack. Luckily, he didn’t have to go that far as the box lid popped open a little as he lifted it. Unluckily, inside was a screw driver and a few bobby pins. The Trader snorted, shoving it aside.
As he moved further in he counted at least eight more bodies lying around. On the left side where a few tents had been half pitched, a man clad in black clenched a tank in his left hand. A hose extended from it but what its purpose was could have been anyone’s guess. Both it and the man were full of holes. “That’s the nature of it, I guess.” He spit, not giving the body much thought as he quickly riffled through its pockets but only turned up a worn pocket knife and a few bills. Across from him a series of bodies lay facing him and the burnt out camp fire.
The charred pit still crackled but whatever life the blaze had was long gone. A few cans littered the outside of the charred earth along with a few metal rods still dipped in the remains. One of the bodies stood out to him as he inched his way to one of the wagons. This was sharp and cleanly dressed. Searching his pockets revealed a small pocket watch still ticking away. This body was not shot up like some of the others but his throat was slight and a frozen cry of pain on his face. His left hand clenched some brass device that was slightly bigger than a lighter and had a bulb at its end.
The Trader contemplated what it might mean as he gazed across from where the body lay. Across from them was the camp fire and then the open desert. The other bodies around him had their guns out but none of them were littered with bullet holes but deep cuts and stabs along the torsos and necks. This scavenge wasn’t turning up much of anything and the longer he stood there the more he felt uneasy.
On the far side stood his companion, waiting. She was starring a something just off behind the last wagon. She didn’t seem alarmed or in any amazement. She may have kept to herself but her expressions often gave away more information then she intended. So, seeing her just starring like that left a pit in his stomach.
As he turned the corner of the wagon he saw why. There lay six bodies, all in rags and near skeletal. Each of them lay with a frozen moment of shock in their eyes. “Damn, Sleepwalkers.” The Trader shook his head. “Of all the horse shit to survive.” He spat.
His companion tensed for a moment at the comment, her shoulders slouched as she sighed. She leaned down, placing a hand on one of the poor souls. She closed her eyes. The Trader bowed his head in respect as well. He wasn’t very religious man but even he wouldn’t wish this on anyone. When she opened her eyes again she didn’t move away but instead the head aside revealing a small spider like device hugging the back of its skull. She carefully twisted the pin, something cracked, and the device slipped off. She frowned, “Someone activated the kill switch.” She announced, dropping both it and the corpse.
The Trader nudged one of the bodies, the stiff budged revealing a burnt scar on it’s shoulder blade. Dropping it back in the sand he began rubbing his breaded chin, messing with the tiny whiskers. “A rebranding gone bad I think.” He recalled the iron rods still in the fire, “From the looks of everything that yahoo with the tank thought he could waltz into the camp. Though, I’m thinking he got more then he bargained for.” He pondered that for a moment. “Still doesn’t explain why they’d hit the kill switch though. Sleepwalkers are rare. Heck, some say better than a hundred slaves. Without a command they’d stand there and starve to death. No use or point in killing them.”
His companion raised one of her guns, the silver body it shined in the sunlight. The Trader gazed upon it with both a sudden fear and awe as she pointed it in his direction. “Unless one of them woke up.” Her gun passed over him and toward the rock formation. She cautiously moved along it as she rounded it, the Trader close behind, with his rifle now a very useful tool at the moment, gripping it tightly. He had never heard of any Sleepwalker waking up while the device was active and very few would ever truly wake one up. There were some sympathizers out there that he heard had turned them off but paid for it with their lives. The Sleepwalkers had to stay asleep, they were nothing more than crazed savages of the distant past. Of course that’s what many had claimed. He had never owned one nor would he ever deal in trade with one.
Around the bend, that’s all they had to do, to check around the wall of chipped rock and stones. The ground was slightly harder here and the sand less flowing. Small holes littered the wall of stone, possibly footprints. How she had noticed them he would never know but seeing them now he couldn’t believe he hadn’t. They were obvious and mostly untouched by the shifting sands. They were spread apart like someone had been running, with a long line traveling in its wake. Then there was the second pair of footprints.
At a blind corner they stopped, she inched a peek, and slipped around without a sound. The Trader followed as silent as he could muster but his tools on his belt clanked together every other step leaving his sneaking next to impossible. The wall was steeper here and a long cast shadow covered a shallow cave embedded in the wall. Something coughed or gasped loudly from it. The Trader stumbled a bit as he latched onto the stone wall with a hand. His companion kept moving, undisturbed by the sound. He paused, perhaps it was imagination or quite possibly an animal. He switched the safety off his rifle. If that were true, especially after yesterday, he’d be ready.
But the battle he was prepared for never came. Inside the cave lay the remains of a body ripped to shreds as it clenched a case in its hand. The Trader stopped at the entrance and let her continue in on her own. “That’s enough. This here is a bad sign and I ain’t sticking my nose in any further than it already has.” She didn’t listen and moved toward the body.
The Trader made a grab for her but she was already too far in. The gasp he heard was now more of a wheeze and continuous. Something was in there. He focused on her, his gun raised, as the shadows started taking away her form. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark and caught something on the back wall. Several numbers across the wall, rough, barbaric and painted franticly; 01100101 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110010.
“Wha-?” before he could ask a second form popped up in a dried shriek. The Trader lined it up, his finger pressing on the trigger.
The form was skeletal and bug eyed, his rags battered and covered in dried blood. The face was scarred and burnt as something metallic fused into its skin. “Red, follows. Yes. He follows.” Red, as he called himself, began twirling in circles clumsily.
The moment was short lived as the Trader’s hired gun walked out of the shadows. Red froze. She waved at him with a weak smile.
Red hopped back over to the body, a makeshift knife shaking in his hand. “No. Take flight! Hammer the chain. Hammer the CHAIN.” The light from outside shined on the metal on his head, one of the spider devices hugged his skull, melted to the bone.
She did not reach and stepped closer, her arms raised. “Shhhhh. You’re alright.” She cooed, her gun limp in her hand. “You made it to the other side.”
Red gripped the saber’s hilt. “THICK and LIES. Red sees above you!” Red charged the woman, the knife swinging wildly.
BANG. Red stopped mid-stride, stumbling over himself. His body wiggled around in shock and he reached out but nothing was behind those eyes. Red was gone.
The Trader ejected the empty case from his rifle as he left the cave. He was mildly aware he was being watched. But whatever question she had for him he was not there to answer her. There was still some wagons to search before they left and he’d already wasted enough time.