Hopebreaker, page 7
The first barrier was an unmanned checkpoint, which he knew for certain should have a full contingent of guards. It seemed that the Baroness had paid for a lot of naps this watchless night.
The second barrier had one guard on duty, who simply motioned him through without a second glance. In fact, it seemed that he was not looking at the truck at all, but at a newspaper that bore the headline: The Regime quashes terrorist menace. Rommond killed. Jacob had seen such headlines before, even one about Taberah’s supposed assassination. None of it was true. Yet he hoped it was not a kind of premonition. He hoped even more that tomorrow’s paper would not speak of how a precious cargo meant for the Resistance had been stopped, and the driver killed.
He felt the steam truck begin to pick up a little speed, and he had to slow it down, to avoid waking any napping guards. These vehicles could be temperamental beasts. Steady, girl, he thought. He patted the dashboard, as if to calm her down.
His heart sank when he saw the third checkpoint. A figure stood there facing him, blocking the way. He had a second of internal debate: Stop or full throttle? He knew he could easily run over the guard, but there were several more checkpoints to go, and he did not think the blood of the Regime was a good colour for a truck he hoped to keep unsearched. He decided to stop, to play this one tactfully. Sometimes tact was the deadliest weapon.
The truck ground to a halt, and the coil-filled crates slid across the back noisily, as if they were prisoners calling out for help to the nearby guard. The furnace begged for more of its own precious cargo, but Jacob refused to feed it. He clutched the handle of the shovel tightly as he watched the silhouette outside move around to the side of the vehicle. Sometimes a real weapon was better. One strike and he’s out, he thought. Another demon down. No one will miss him.
The door opened suddenly, and Jacob flinched, but he flinched even more when he saw who got in: a familiar face from a long time ago.
“Long time, no see,” the woman said, and she spat a piece of gum onto the windscreen. “If you can still see where you’re going, that is,” she added, and she giggled, but the hoarseness of her voice made it anything but endearing.
“Cala,” Jacob said, mostly from amazement.
“That’s my name,” she replied. “Better if you don’t use it here though.” She paused and turned to him. “Well? Are you going to drive or what?”
“Oh, right.” Jacob shovelled some coal into the furnace and cranked the engine lever. Though it was noisy, he could still hear Cala chewing gum beside him, and could still hear her voice cranking levers in his brain. Not quite a demon, he thought. Not quite.
He glanced at her as the steam truck jerked forward. She wore tight leather trousers and a matching coat, both browner from oil stains than they were when she got them first. The buttons were oversized, and she wore two belts, more for show than anything else. A pair of goggles perched in her dishevelled hair, but Jacob knew that they were not for show; she liked to get her hands dirty, but she liked to keep her eyes clean. Her eyes were her strongest feature, with a deep and mesmerising blue, surrounded by thick black eyeliner. Perhaps they would have been brown too were it not for those goggles.
“How long’s it been?” she asked, stretching her legs out until her black boots rested against the windscreen.
“Do you have to do that?” Jacob asked her.
“Do what? This?” She pressed her feet against the window harder, until Jacob thought that it might crack at any moment. “Hell, Jake. Lighten up. It’s not even yours.”
“All the more reason not to wreck it,” he said.
She placed her feet back on the ground and clambered over to him, where she whispered in his ear, “I remember that you liked to wreck a lot of things.”
“Yeah, well that was years ago,” he said, pushing her away.
“You were a smuggler than, and you’re a smuggler now. Doesn’t look like much has changed.”
“Well, it has.”
“If you say so,” Cala said. “So, how’s life been keeping you?”
“Fine,” Jacob said irritably. There was an awkward pause as Jacob concentrated on the road ahead, despite Cala regularly ruining his concentration by crossing and uncrossing her legs. The leather purred as she moved.
Cala turned to him with a pout. “Aren’t you going to ask how I’ve been doing?”
“No,” Jacob said.
“I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve been doing better since we split, or since you split. Got in with a new crowd. Much better than our old lot. Big plans. Lots to do.”
“Good,” Jacob said. “Keep you busy. Keep you out of trouble.”
“Busy, yes,” Cala said. “But out of trouble? Nah. If trouble was a city, I’d go there. That’s where all the fun is.”
Jacob could not entirely deny it, but he would not admit that to Cala, not after everything he had been through with her. Too much trouble sapped the fun out of it, and she was always too much trouble. Even now.
“How did you find me?” Jacob asked.
“Oh, you know me,” Cala said. “I’m good at finding things. ‘Specially people.”
Jacob wished it was not true. He had smuggled people in and out of many cities with Cala’s help. Yet he could not quite smuggle himself out of her all-pervading view.
“So, Jacob, what are you smuggling this time?” she asked. She stretched back and banged her fist on one of the crates.
“Don’t go near them,” Jacob reprimanded.
“What, is it dangerous? Will we explode if I open one of them?” She seemed like she might just try, for the fun of it.
“Cala, can you just do what I say? Just leave them alone and let me do my job.”
“I’ll leave ‘em alone if you tell me what your job is.”
“Why are you so curious?”
“When have I never been? There’s no box I wouldn’t open.”
Jacob knew that well enough. He still had a large burn upon his upper right arm from some of her careless explorations. He was not exactly extra careful back then either, and he was lucky he did not have many more scars.
Cala cocked her head as she waited for Jacob’s response.
“It’s coils, just coils,” Jacob explained.
“How much?”
“10k.”
“Nice.”
“It’d be nicer if they were all mine.”
“How much is your cut?”
“1k.”
“Not bad,” she said, and she paused. “Why don’t you make off with the lot?”
The thought had crossed Jacob’s mind. He had the getaway vehicle. If he could escape from the clutches of the Regime, perhaps he could escape from the clutches of the Resistance too, and live out a very comfortable life in a remote town. Hell, he could build his own town with that kind of money. Jacobville had a certain ring to it.
“I don’t go back on my word,” Jacob stated. “I said I’d smuggle this out.”
“Who’s it for?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Now that just makes me have to know.”
Jacob shook his head in despair. He knew she would keep prodding. “The Resistance.”
“You always did go in for them, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it was all about the amulets at one stage. Always trying to topple the Regime.”
“I don’t care about the Regime.”
“Sure you do. We all do. Especially if we’re on the outside.”
“I’m just doing it for the money.”
“Whatever you say, Jake.”
“What are you doing here anyway?” Jacob asked her. “I thought you headed up north.”
“I did. I just came back for a little … top-up.” She pulled a large bag of white powder out of her coat and dangled it before him. It bore the familiar symbol of a swallow perched upon a large letter H, the emblem of the powerful drug Hope.
“Bloody hell, Cala, we’re supposed to be destroying this stuff, not keeping it.”
She grinned. “Where are we going again?”
“Hell,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Never been there. Is that a place?”
“I shouldn’t have let you in,” Jacob said, shaking his head.
“You didn’t. I let myself in.”
“I should have stopped you.”
Cala laughed. “When have you ever been able to do that?”
He rolled his eyes again. “Just stop distracting me and let me do my job.”
“Look, Jake, we’re all just trying to scratch out a living here. You do your amulet crap and I do my bit. People want what I’ve got, Jacob.” She took a bit on her finger and rubbed it on her tongue.
“Hell, Cala, you’re taking it as well?”
“It’s just a little taste,” she replied, and she sniffed a line of the powder up and blinked rapidly, as if somehow her eyes were processing too much visual information. “Gotta know how good it is. It’s part and parcel of business.” She paused and turned to him. “You want some?”
“Of course I don’t want some!” he snapped.
“We used to be like that,” she said, crossing her fingers as if to remind him of their intertwined limbs. She banged her boots on the dashboard in frustration. The truck groaned in response.
“Well, that’s over,” Jacob replied. “And if it wasn’t over then, it would be now that I know you’re dealing Hope.”
“Lighten up, Jake. The world could do with a little Hope.”
They ignored each other for a little while, Cala looking out the side window as a rain began to fall, Jacob glaring out the front window at the dim road ahead. From here he could see the final two checkpoints for leaving Blackout.
The first was another abandoned checkpoint. Cala pulled one of the brake levers, and the steam truck stuttered forward until Jacob pulled the others. It slowly creaked to a halt.
“This is me,” she said.
About time, Jacob thought. Yet he did not like stopping here. He glanced at the clock dial, with all its taunting seconds passing by. Then suddenly Cala grabbed him by the collar and kissed him intensely. He was so taken aback he did not think to push her away.
“Give me a shout, Jake,” she said, handing him a card with her number on it. The back had the symbol of a yellow fist upon a mushroom cloud. Jacob has never seen this symbol before, but it seemed very appropriate for Cala.
“You know they monitor all calls now,” he said.
“I know,” she said, and she grinned at him. “But maybe you’re not worth monitoring.”
“You seem to think otherwise.”
“Maybe we’re more interesting together.”
She kicked the door open and hopped outside. “Thanks for the ride,” she said with a smile. “Let me know if I can return the favour.” She placed her goggles on as the rain splattered on her head. “Gotta keep the eyes clean,” she said, as if she knew that this might annoy him.
“Goodbye,” Jacob said.
“See you around,” she replied. Jacob hoped not.
He sighed deeply when she slammed the door and sauntered away, stumbling a little as she went. She patted her coat pocket where she had stuffed the bag of Hope, and she nodded to herself in reassurance. Jacob glanced at her seat and the floor below it to make sure she had not left anything behind. He did not want to give her any excuse to return.
He looked back to the road and got the truck moving again. It was even more sluggish than before. He shovelled more coal into the furnace. There was only one more checkpoint to go. He was so close. This was what hope really was. He fed the furnace another meal. The smoke and steam almost began to thicken, fogging up the windscreen. Through the dimness he could see the final checkpoint up ahead. It was so close now. He was on the edge of freedom. He threw more coal in, until the flames lapped at his legs, hungry for more. He could feel the truck speeding up, but his view was growing more and more obscured. He stretched forward to wipe the windscreen, and then he felt a sudden jerk, and heard a loud crash, and he began to see bits of a broken barrier upon the bonnet.
Damn, he thought. He dared not speak it, in case someone or something else might hear.
But then he heard other sounds, the noises of machines gearing up. He tried to see out, but the windows were still badly steamed. Suddenly the dimness of the road up ahead lit up, and he realised in horror that a spotlight had been turned on. He swerved to avoid it, but others followed. Then he felt the ground behind him quake, and though he could not see them, he knew that the Regime’s war machines were in pursuit.
10 – THE DEVIL'S MARCH
Jacob cranked levers and adjusted gears, and he fed the fires of the furnace until he began to sweat from heat as well as fear. The steam truck stormed out of Blackout’s reach and into the emptiness of the desert all around, where no spotlights lived, and where no spotlights were needed to see him belting across the sandy expanse.
He was so preoccupied with gaining speed that he did not have time to glance back at what was following, but he knew they followed, because the ground continued to quake behind him. When at last he had reached the peak of the vehicle’s acceleration, he cast an eye on his assailants: two giant walking machines, with four large steel legs supporting a cubical structure with crenellations, like a castle tower that could no longer stand beside its walls. Within this structure were several Regime soldiers, and upon its summit one of them stood and pointed, and aimed his gun at his elusive target. This strange four-legged creature would have sank into the sand were it not for the speed at which those well-oiled legs moved, and though they were not designed for the desert, it seemed that the desert could not stop the roaming fortifications.
They pursued him far into the golden wastes, where every direction taunted its endless rolling dunes, and they pursued him long into the night, until the very night itself began to roll away, replaced by the emerging sun with its many emerging rays.
He began to hear gunfire behind him, and he saw here and there little pockets of leaping sand where the bullets missed his truck. He began to worm his way through the sand, twisting and turning like a snake, and the bullets continued to rattle down periodically. He was glad that the Regime was conservative with its firing, and that these Moving Castles only had so much supplies, but he knew that they really only needed a single well-aimed bullet to bring the whole chase to a close, and his life to an end.
He was concentrating so much on speed and swerving that he began to lose track of his actual bearings. He cast an eye on the compass that was made into the dashboard, but its needle was erratic, flickering between west and north-west. The desert had few signposts, and few had mapped these parts, and fewer still had wandered through the emptiness and the heat and wandered back again.
In time he saw something ahead that was not the natural formations of dunes, and he wondered if it was a mirage, a little haven from the chase summoned by his pleading mind and delivered to his all too eager eyes. He saw a large wooden sign marking the entrance into a more rocky part of the desert, surrounded here and there by little strips of barbed wire, much of which was now buried by the mounting tides of sand. When Jacob was close enough to read the sign, he had a second of debate: it read Warning! The Devil’s March, and he was not sure he had the Devil’s permission to enter this unholy land.
But there was no time to choose, and no time to change his mind. He could only shovel another pile of coal into the fires, like a sacrificial offering, and hope all the while that he would not have to sacrifice himself as well.
Jacob stopped for nothing or no one. Acceleration was his ally, speed his friend. Even though he now drove across the Devil’s territory, the Devil could not stop him now.
A sea of sand was before him, punctuated here and there by large rocky mounds, like the bony ridges of a god’s spine buried deep beneath the sand. These dusty slopes were everywhere, and they were so monstrous in size that Jacob knew it would be impossible to drive up or over any of them.
The land was not the only new enemy. The dawning sun was oppressing, hanging low to blind any who dared enter this land, or perhaps to warn them to turn back. The glare filled the cockpit like a passenger, until every piece of metal, every crag and cog, was illuminated, until the very metal itself glared back, and might have blinded whatever eyes the sun had. Jacob was glad to have his goggles then, for he quickly slipped them on, and they dulled the unbearable light.
The Moving Castles bounded after him, and if he had not glanced in his mirrors to see them, he would have still known that they were there, for the ground shook beneath them, and his truck shook in sympathy—or perhaps in fear.
Jacob saw what looked like a thin wisp of smoke up ahead, and he breathed an audible sigh of relief, for he thought it must be from a nearby town, and so he could soon be out of the Devil’s March. He was wrong.
He drove towards it at great speed, the wheels of the truck kicking up sand that was then kicked even higher by the metal feet of the Moving Castles behind him. He squinted his eyes to see better, and to see farther, and he realised that the wisp of smoke was instead a winding pillar of sand.
He swerved to the right just in time, but even as he did, and the truck drifted from its own momentum, he felt it drift even further, tugged by the great winds that had thrown the sand into such a vertical fury. He revved and changed gears, and he grimaced at the sound of cogs and latches screeching into place. From this vantage point, as he feverishly and fervently grabbed and pulled at all controls in sight, he could see the Moving Castles coming dangerously close, drawing in for their checkmate.
The truck rocked upon the sand, the wheels spun, and the sand sprang away like tiny fleeing citizens. Jacob heard the crates in the back sliding back and forth, and clanging off the sides. Then just as a great iron foot clashed down only metres away, the truck leapt forward, and Jacob was almost thrown from his seat from the force.
