The Outrider; Volume One: Chapter 7

 

Cooker heard the sounds of the firefight and twisted against the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. He rolled around on the ground, kicked his legs and shook his shoulders in an effort to free himself. His, exertions he accompanied with loud, strident curses. He was lying prone on the ground in the middle of a circle formed by the vehicles that the Stormers had left in the broken forecourt of an old motel. A smashed neon sign stood out on the old pitched roof of the office. Shady Rest Motel—Cooker could just make out the faded lettering, and he cursed that too, just for the hell of it.

The Stormers had left him there with their vehicles when they went on foot into the traffic alley to set up the routine ambush.

Cooker listened to the gunfire and he knew exactly what was going on. The Stormers were probably getting pasted—although Drexy was generally held to be no easy bring down—and if they got sliced, they wouldn't be coming back. And that left Cooker trussed up on the dirty cement in the middle of the motel's parking lot.

He lay there and scared himself. Who knew what the hell came out at night? And besides, if he didn't get free he could starve to death or die of thirst or 'something equally nasty. A horrible thought hit him and he shuddered: rats. There were always rats in ruins. How long after dark would they pick up his scent then come sniffing around?

Sure, Cooker had spent nights on the road before, plenty of them, but sleeping in your truck with your thrower at your side, well that had a way of making you feel secure . . . But now, tied up—he was a sitting duck.

Abruptly the shooting stopped. Cooker lay still. He didn't know what to hope for. Had a raiding party taken down the Stormers? Maybe. That was good, but that was bad too. At least he wasn't a prisoner anymore. If the Stormers won then they would come back and at least he wouldn't get eaten alive out here in the border lands.

But they would take him to the Cap and that meant Leather and Leather meant trouble. But, Cooker reassured himself, they were a good six days from the Cap and anything could happen in six days. He decided to hope that his captors had brought down the raiders. That was what Leather paid the fucks to do anyway.

"I never thought I'd see the day I'd be rooting for a bunch of scaly fuckin' Stormers," Cooker bellowed at the silent ruin of the Shady Rest Motel.

In a funny kind of way, Cooker wanted to go to the Cap. There was something there he always wanted to see, he had heard about it, but he couldn't quite believe it actually existed. Maybe he would go all the way with these Stormers . . .

Once he got to the Cap he could square Leather. Leather could be reasonable, right? Cooker shook his head in answer to his own question. No, Leather could never be reasonable. Cooker thought about this a moment and then figured he was probably losing his mind. Forget the Cap. If he went before Leather there would be no deal-making. Sure, Cooker had information that Leather wanted, but if Leather wanted it he would just torture it out of him. Cooker had heard that sometimes Leather made his prisoners eat their own . . . forget it. Cooker thought.

He cursed again when, far off, he heard two engines burst into life. Those goddamn fucking Stormers! Taken down. He listened to the sounds of the engines in the still air. Taken down and a couple of raiders or smugglers or some other pieces of shit were heading on in search of slaver women or ammunition or food or gas. But they would never find what Cooker had found . . .

Cooker cursed even louder when, just about dusk, it started to rain. Water poured from the sky in great sheets as if the clouds were dumping rain onto the dirty land in a desperate effort to cleanse it. Cooker was soaked instantly and with the water pouring onto his face he screamed and yelled and damned everyone from the Fates to the Stormers for bringing him to this sorry state.

He rolled over onto his belly and started to crawl toward the minimal cover of one of the Stonner cars. As he made his way across the wet asphalt he suddenly found himself caught in the powerful beam of Bonner's light.

In that second Cooker had two thoughts: I'm saved . . .I'm done for.

Cooker twisted his head and looked over his shoulder. Through the pounding rain he could see the white shaft of light making the area around him as bright as day.

"Hey! Who the fuck are you?"

Bonner and Starling killed their engines. The light died a slow death. The only sound now was the thrumming of the rain on the concrete and the odd metallic ping it made when it hit the steel bodies of the dead Stormer's vehicles.

Cooker was aware, even in that darkness, of the eyes of the drivers. He stared into the dark till his eyes hurt. He half expected each rumble of thunder to bring with it the crackle of gunfire.

"Why don't you fucking say something?"

"Well I'll be damned if it ain't the gas-man." Starling's laconic drawl sounded faintly amused.

"Who's that? Who?"

"You know," said Bonner, "I think it is the gas-man."

"Who?" Then Cooker realized. "Bonner? Bonner? Is that you?"

From the darkness came a chuckle. "You bet, gasman, it's me."

There is a fucking God! thought Cooker. And joyful tears began to mix with the rain on his face.

"Hey, Bonner. Untie me. Who are you with? Did you bring down that fuck Drexy? Son of a bitch!"

Bonner spoke, as if he was meeting Cooker at a table at Dorca's instead of in that smoky and wet patch of borderlands.

"Hey, Cooker, you seen Seth?"

"Seth? Seth! Are you out of your fucking mind? Untie me, then we'll talk about that crazy nigger."

"That's the gas-man all right," said Starling.

"Who is that?" bellowed Cooker.

"Starling," said Starling.

"Starling? You fuck. You owe me."

"So maybe I'll untie you."

They untied Cooker and while he danced and capered, trying to get circulation back into his stiff limbs, Bonner and Starling methodically went through the Stormer's cars. Starling pocketed a huge old .45 automatic and was pleased when he located two spare clips of ammunition. Stowed in one vehicle was the patrol's rations and Starling and Cooker started a fire in the ruins of the motel and started preparing a meal.

Bonner backed his own and Starling's vehicles over next to the Stormers' and started to drain their fuel tanks. That done, he joined his companions.

"Look," said Starling, his mouth full. "Bread."

Bonner accepted a piece of the gray, clayish substance and took a bite. "Great," he said disgustedly.

"Come on, Bonner," said Cooker, "when was the last time you had a piece of bread?"

"You know he doesn't give a shit about food."

"Where's your tanker. Cooker?" Bonner asked.

"Down the road a ways. Other side of the big ruins."

"So what happened."

Cooker slurped some of the rations into his face. It was some kind of meat and it tasted great to him "Man," he said, "I seen the promised land ..."

Starling stopped eating. "What's that supposed to mean?"

In the firelight. Cooker's mean, dirty face seemed to soften, as if he was suddenly thinking about a beautiful girl, clean sheets and a secure place. "Man, I found it. I found what I been looking for all these years."

"Don't tell me you found the tanks?"

"Fucked if I didn't."

Cooker had been talking about this for years. Somewhere, he was sure there was a huge, undiscovered stockpile of gas. A reservoir so vast that he could sell and sell until he was the richest man on the continent. Cooker, by profession, was a tanker, a gas-man, a gas-hound—there were a lot of names for his type although there weren't too many men that followed his particular calling. Sure, raiders and smugglers were always on the look out for the stuff but they didn't seek it out the way guys like Cooker did.

The tankers worked with the single-mindedness of the old prospectors looking for gold.

There was something about being a gas-hound that made you crazy, thought Bonner as he looked into Cooker's lunatic eyes. It was probably because if you were a gas-man you drove around by yourself with a big tank mounted on the frame of your car, a huge drum that carried maybe three hundred, perhaps four hundred gallons. You were a sitting duck pushing that big rig all over the continent. You could be spotted from miles away, you had no speed with all that weight and everybody, but everybody, wanted what you were carrying. They always worked alone, the gas-men, and they trusted no one. They were always sure that they were a target—and that was usually true.

"So?" said Starling, "where is it?"

Cooker sat back on his heels and turned his face toward the dripping ceiling, opened his mouth and laughed, braying like a donkey. He laughed so hard he fell sideways and kicked his feet and squirmed and pounded the floor with his fists.

After the fit passed he wiped his eyes. "That was a good one, Starling . . . Where is it," he said, as if to himself, and laughed a little again.

"You think I'm going to tell you? You must be fucking crazy."

"Just asking," said Starling.

"Don't forget you owe for a tank. I gave it to you on credit ..."

"The hell you did."

"Hey, Cooker, how come you're still alive," Bon-ner asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Stormers aren't famous for taking prisoners."

Cooker scowled. "Yeah, I know. When they caught me I told 'em. I told 'em I had found the tanks . . . Man I am glad you took 'em down ..."

"You told them where they were?"

"Nawww, I just told them I had found out where they were and I'd only tell Leather. If they killed me, they would never find out."

Bonner's face darkened. "But you were going to tell Leather."

"Don't be an asshole, Bonner. I was stalling. I figure I had a few days before I had to worry about Leather, but right at that moment I just didn't want those Stormers to slice my ass. You know that Drexy ... He likes entertainment of a certain variety."

"Very smart. Cooker," growled Starling. "If we hadn't come along and taken those guys down the whole fucking Stormer battalion would have been out looking for your find."

"And don't think I'm not obliged to you gents," said Cooker. "Tomorrow we go to my truck and I'll give you a free fill up."

"Then what are you going to do?"

Cooker laughed. "I'm outbound for Chi. I'm going back and I'm going to have your friend Lucky make me the biggest tank the continent has seen since the bomb. Then I'm inbound for the promised land. And I'm going to keep going back until . . . until ..." Cooker's eyes glazed over. "Shit, you should see it, Bonner. Hundreds of 'em, tanks as big as ... fuck I don't know . . , big. Worth a fortune, and all mine ..."

Bonner and Starling exchanged glances. "How long till some raider follows you. Cooker?" asked Starling.

Cooker suddenly looked very mean. "Some fucking raider follows me and I'll fry the skin off his bones. I'll bum him so bad he'll wish he hadn't left home. No one is going to take this away from me. Not a raider, not Leather and not you either ..." Cooker's eyes glowed and he looked as if he was sure that Starling and Bonner were just about to jump him.

"Settle down. Cooker. It's your stash. All we want to be is customers."

"Maybe," said Cooker.

"Some fucking thanks," said Starling, a note of disgust in his voice.

Cooker heard the sounds of the firefight and twisted against the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. He rolled around on the ground, kicked his legs and shook his shoulders in an effort to free himself. His, exertions he accompanied with loud, strident curses. He was lying prone on the ground in the middle of a circle formed by the vehicles that the Stormers had left in the broken forecourt of an old motel. A smashed neon sign stood out on the old pitched roof of the office. Shady Rest Motel—Cooker could just make out the faded lettering, and he cursed that too, just for the hell of it.

The Stormers had left him there with their vehicles when they went on foot into the traffic alley to set up the routine ambush.

Cooker listened to the gunfire and he knew exactly what was going on. The Stormers were probably getting pasted—although Drexy was generally held to be no easy bring down—and if they got sliced, they wouldn't be coming back. And that left Cooker trussed up on the dirty cement in the middle of the motel's parking lot.

He lay there and scared himself. Who knew what the hell came out at night? And besides, if he didn't get free he could starve to death or die of thirst or 'something equally nasty. A horrible thought hit him and he shuddered: rats. There were always rats in ruins. How long after dark would they pick up his scent then come sniffing around?

Sure, Cooker had spent nights on the road before, plenty of them, but sleeping in your truck with your thrower at your side, well that had a way of making you feel secure . . . But now, tied up—he was a sitting duck.

Abruptly the shooting stopped. Cooker lay still. He didn't know what to hope for. Had a raiding party taken down the Stormers? Maybe. That was good, but that was bad too. At least he wasn't a prisoner anymore. If the Stormers won then they would come back and at least he wouldn't get eaten alive out here in the border lands.

But they would take him to the Cap and that meant Leather and Leather meant trouble. But, Cooker reassured himself, they were a good six days from the Cap and anything could happen in six days. He decided to hope that his captors had brought down the raiders. That was what Leather paid the fucks to do anyway.

"I never thought I'd see the day I'd be rooting for a bunch of scaly fuckin' Stormers," Cooker bellowed at the silent ruin of the Shady Rest Motel.

In a funny kind of way, Cooker wanted to go to the Cap. There was something there he always wanted to see, he had heard about it, but he couldn't quite believe it actually existed. Maybe he would go all the way with these Stormers . . .

Once he got to the Cap he could square Leather. Leather could be reasonable, right? Cooker shook his head in answer to his own question. No, Leather could never be reasonable. Cooker thought about this a moment and then figured he was probably losing his mind. Forget the Cap. If he went before Leather there would be no deal-making. Sure, Cooker had information that Leather wanted, but if Leather wanted it he would just torture it out of him. Cooker had heard that sometimes Leather made his prisoners eat their own . . . forget it. Cooker thought.

He cursed again when, far off, he heard two engines burst into life. Those goddamn fucking Stormers! Taken down. He listened to the sounds of the engines in the still air. Taken down and a couple of raiders or smugglers or some other pieces of shit were heading on in search of slaver women or ammunition or food or gas. But they would never find what Cooker had found . . .

Cooker cursed even louder when, just about dusk, it started to rain. Water poured from the sky in great sheets as if the clouds were dumping rain onto the dirty land in a desperate effort to cleanse it. Cooker was soaked instantly and with the water pouring onto his face he screamed and yelled and damned everyone from the Fates to the Stormers for bringing him to this sorry state.

He rolled over onto his belly and started to crawl toward the minimal cover of one of the Stonner cars. As he made his way across the wet asphalt he suddenly found himself caught in the powerful beam of Bonner's light.

In that second Cooker had two thoughts: I'm saved . . .I'm done for.

Cooker twisted his head and looked over his shoulder. Through the pounding rain he could see the white shaft of light making the area around him as bright as day.

"Hey! Who the fuck are you?"

Bonner and Starling killed their engines. The light died a slow death. The only sound now was the thrumming of the rain on the concrete and the odd metallic ping it made when it hit the steel bodies of the dead Stormer's vehicles.

Cooker was aware, even in that darkness, of the eyes of the drivers. He stared into the dark till his eyes hurt. He half expected each rumble of thunder to bring with it the crackle of gunfire.

"Why don't you fucking say something?"

"Well I'll be damned if it ain't the gas-man." Starling's laconic drawl sounded faintly amused.

"Who's that? Who?"

"You know," said Bonner, "I think it is the gas-man."

"Who?" Then Cooker realized. "Bonner? Bonner? Is that you?"

From the darkness came a chuckle. "You bet, gasman, it's me."

There is a fucking God! thought Cooker. And joyful tears began to mix with the rain on his face.

"Hey, Bonner. Untie me. Who are you with? Did you bring down that fuck Drexy? Son of a bitch!"

Bonner spoke, as if he was meeting Cooker at a table at Dorca's instead of in that smoky and wet patch of borderlands.

"Hey, Cooker, you seen Seth?"

"Seth? Seth! Are you out of your fucking mind? Untie me, then we'll talk about that crazy nigger."

"That's the gas-man all right," said Starling.

"Who is that?" bellowed Cooker.

"Starling," said Starling.

"Starling? You fuck. You owe me."

"So maybe I'll untie you."

They untied Cooker and while he danced and capered, trying to get circulation back into his stiff limbs, Bonner and Starling methodically went through the Stormer's cars. Starling pocketed a huge old .45 automatic and was pleased when he located two spare clips of ammunition. Stowed in one vehicle was the patrol's rations and Starling and Cooker started a fire in the ruins of the motel and started preparing a meal.

Bonner backed his own and Starling's vehicles over next to the Stormers' and started to drain their fuel tanks. That done, he joined his companions.

"Look," said Starling, his mouth full. "Bread."

Bonner accepted a piece of the gray, clayish substance and took a bite. "Great," he said disgustedly.

"Come on, Bonner," said Cooker, "when was the last time you had a piece of bread?"

"You know he doesn't give a shit about food."

"Where's your tanker. Cooker?" Bonner asked.

"Down the road a ways. Other side of the big ruins."

"So what happened."

Cooker slurped some of the rations into his face. It was some kind of meat and it tasted great to him "Man," he said, "I seen the promised land ..."

Starling stopped eating. "What's that supposed to mean?"

In the firelight. Cooker's mean, dirty face seemed to soften, as if he was suddenly thinking about a beautiful girl, clean sheets and a secure place. "Man, I found it. I found what I been looking for all these years."

"Don't tell me you found the tanks?"

"Fucked if I didn't."

Cooker had been talking about this for years. Somewhere, he was sure there was a huge, undiscovered stockpile of gas. A reservoir so vast that he could sell and sell until he was the richest man on the continent. Cooker, by profession, was a tanker, a gas-man, a gas-hound—there were a lot of names for his type although there weren't too many men that followed his particular calling. Sure, raiders and smugglers were always on the look out for the stuff but they didn't seek it out the way guys like Cooker did.

The tankers worked with the single-mindedness of the old prospectors looking for gold.

There was something about being a gas-hound that made you crazy, thought Bonner as he looked into Cooker's lunatic eyes. It was probably because if you were a gas-man you drove around by yourself with a big tank mounted on the frame of your car, a huge drum that carried maybe three hundred, perhaps four hundred gallons. You were a sitting duck pushing that big rig all over the continent. You could be spotted from miles away, you had no speed with all that weight and everybody, but everybody, wanted what you were carrying. They always worked alone, the gas-men, and they trusted no one. They were always sure that they were a target—and that was usually true.

"So?" said Starling, "where is it?"

Cooker sat back on his heels and turned his face toward the dripping ceiling, opened his mouth and laughed, braying like a donkey. He laughed so hard he fell sideways and kicked his feet and squirmed and pounded the floor with his fists.

After the fit passed he wiped his eyes. "That was a good one, Starling . . . Where is it," he said, as if to himself, and laughed a little again.

"You think I'm going to tell you? You must be fucking crazy."

"Just asking," said Starling.

"Don't forget you owe for a tank. I gave it to you on credit ..."

"The hell you did."

"Hey, Cooker, how come you're still alive," Bon-ner asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Stormers aren't famous for taking prisoners."

Cooker scowled. "Yeah, I know. When they caught me I told 'em. I told 'em I had found the tanks . . . Man I am glad you took 'em down ..."

"You told them where they were?"

"Nawww, I just told them I had found out where they were and I'd only tell Leather. If they killed me, they would never find out."

Bonner's face darkened. "But you were going to tell Leather."

"Don't be an asshole, Bonner. I was stalling. I figure I had a few days before I had to worry about Leather, but right at that moment I just didn't want those Stormers to slice my ass. You know that Drexy ... He likes entertainment of a certain variety."

"Very smart. Cooker," growled Starling. "If we hadn't come along and taken those guys down the whole fucking Stormer battalion would have been out looking for your find."

"And don't think I'm not obliged to you gents," said Cooker. "Tomorrow we go to my truck and I'll give you a free fill up."

"Then what are you going to do?"

Cooker laughed. "I'm outbound for Chi. I'm going back and I'm going to have your friend Lucky make me the biggest tank the continent has seen since the bomb. Then I'm inbound for the promised land. And I'm going to keep going back until . . . until ..." Cooker's eyes glazed over. "Shit, you should see it, Bonner. Hundreds of 'em, tanks as big as ... fuck I don't know . . , big. Worth a fortune, and all mine ..."

Bonner and Starling exchanged glances. "How long till some raider follows you. Cooker?" asked Starling.

Cooker suddenly looked very mean. "Some fucking raider follows me and I'll fry the skin off his bones. I'll bum him so bad he'll wish he hadn't left home. No one is going to take this away from me. Not a raider, not Leather and not you either ..." Cooker's eyes glowed and he looked as if he was sure that Starling and Bonner were just about to jump him.

"Settle down. Cooker. It's your stash. All we want to be is customers."

"Maybe," said Cooker.

"Some fucking thanks," said Starling, a note of disgust in his voice.

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