The Woman They Kept Read Free Page B

he felt these days, he reached a curious state of
nirvana when he was gunning along the dirt trails and dodging piles
of trash. He couldn't let his mind think about any one thing for
more than a few seconds or he would make a wrong mistake and be left
for dead out here between bubbles. The time between cities was his
vacation, dodging puddles of acid or oil and rusted hunks of metal.
    After a day of riding his back
was sore and his forearm was cramping. He knew he would never get
to Elsinore in one day. He parked at the top of a hill and set up
his grey tent against an outcropping of rocks, making it appear as
though his tent were just another misshapen rock amongst the
landscape. A tin from his bag provided the meal for him that night,
a little bunson burner heated the brown slush up and made it
slightly more appetizing. From the outcropping he could see the
road stretching out jaggedly below him on the horizon, a thin brown
line against a sea of grey and black.
    The stars came out overhead,
shining brilliantly. A breeze blew along his neck, sending a chill
down his spine. He rubbed at his arms and pulled his biometric suit
close. Though he knew it was stupid, he packed the used tin back
into his bag. With piles of trash all around him, no one would ever
notice him adding to it, but he found he just couldn't.
    The thoughts came to him then,
strongly. All the things he had been able to let slide right over
him while he was navigating through the hills and valleys away from
Kitswitch. His breath caught in his chest as he thought of the girl
waving to him, the woman who he had paid, the old man with his
wedding ring. He thought that he was desensitized to this by now,
but he wasn't. Every night he tried to get as close as he could to
exhaustion, it made it easier, but some nights he had more energy
than he liked. A solution lay hidden in the bottom of a compartment
mounted to the side of his motorcycle. He tried to save it for
nights like these. He fished out a small flask and took a tentative
sip.
    This was no regular drink. It
was alcohol mixed with powerful sedatives. A single drink from the
flask was usually more than enough to quiet things down enough to
fall asleep. He closed the flask back up as the liquid burned his
throat. After a while his vision softened around the edges, his
thoughts quieted, and he was able to crawl into the tent and fall
asleep.

    ...

    The low rumble of an engine
startled him awake. It was still dark and a chill was in the air as
he stuck his head out. Below him on the road a set of headlights
plodded along while the whine of several small motorcycles
accompanied it, swarming around a large transport caravan like flies
buzzing a pack animal. Riders.
    Gideon had heard rumors that
transport caravans were starting to hire riders for protection along
the roads, but it was possible that whatever clan of riders this was
simply owned the bigger vehicle as well. He kept low and pulled his
revolver from his pack and checked to make sure that it was loaded.
    As the caravan edged closer and
closer to the outcropping where Gideon hid he held his breath,
knowing it was ridiculous but not being able to help himself. The
fear he felt was very primal, sitting low and heavy in his gut,
making his legs tremble and sweat break out in beads on his
forehead. If they continued on the road they would pass under
Gideon in a few moments and then he would be safe. They were close
enough that if they were to look up at the outcropping above them
they would see him.
    The low rumble of the caravan
was cut and Gideon's heart fell. They were camping down below him.
The motorcycles all lined up to one side of the caravan and people
filed out.
    Floodlights were set up around
the perimeter of the encampment, giving Gideon a little more shadow
to hide in and allowing him to see their group better. There were
seven riders who had lined up their motorcycles around the edge of
the caravan and one great fat driver who stepped out from