cyberpunkdreams
Well-Known Member
I've just knocked this out in the last hour or so (although I've been mulling it over for a few days). Most of the rest of the story is written in my head. It's intended to be part of a collecting, all set in the same world (here's a link to the other piece I put up here, set in the same universe: Opening of an SF short story (998 words)). Feedback appreciated!
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Micky had the eight-wheeler jacked up again. These things are built to last, but we’d been running ours for a good, long while. One of the axls was acting up. You could run it like that for a while, but it wasn’t going to do you any good, long term. Besides, we weren’t in a hurry, and we could all do with a break after cruising the broken down blacktop for a day.
We’d just skirted the remains of Louisville and hit the I64. Going was slow; we’d had to cross and recross the Ohio. The sun was just about hitting the horizon. If it hadn’t been, Sugar might not have see the curl of black smoke standing out against all that heavenly glory.
She was sitting on the hood, bins glued to her face. She was wearing that look – intense focus. We called her “Sugar” because she had just about the vilest temper you could possibly imagine. Even in a good mood, she wasn’t exactly good company. But you run with what you’ve got.
The last member of our team was Salt. She was everything that Honey wasn’t – short, stumpy, but the sweetest girl you’ve ever met. So yeah, we had to call her Salt. Only trouble with her was that she’d have been butt ugly even without the birthmark. But like I say, you run with what you got. We weren’t exactly the hottest crew cruising the badlands, but I’d trust all three of them with my live. Had done in the past. Would do again.
So yeah, when Sugar fixed her bins on one spot on the horizon and kept them there, I figured something was up. Incoming, maybe? Dust cloud? She wasn’t the type just to say something. So I pulled my own out and tracked where she was looking. It took me a little while to find, but yeah, there it was. A fine column of black smoke, drifting on the wind. It looked fine from here, but it was a way distant. It’d be big, close up. It definitely wasn’t a brush fire, or just a vehicle. It could only really be a compound on fire.
I heard Salt walking up. I glanced over at her. She had a shovel over her shoulder; she always said he hated using the toilet in the truck when she didn’t have to. She asked what was up and I just handed her my binoculars. I didn’t really need to see how her expression changed to know what we were thinking. Same as what I was thinking.
The thing about being a scavenger crew is that you live basically on the edge. The pickings are thin this far east of the badlands, so you need to head deep. It starts to seem like a good idea to haul goods out to private compounds, corporate compounds, on your way out. Then those hauls start to be more than just a little extra cash. They’re what keeps you alive until your next big score. And the thing about those next big scores is that they hardly ever come. Not these days.
We had a crate strapped to our flatbed. About the shape and size of a coffin, but much heavier. It was the usual deal. None of us had a clue what was in there. None of us wanted to. It could be anything from the most seriously illegal genetic samples to ration packs – a decoy, in other words. It would pay the same, either way.
Micky had joined us now. Crawled out from under the truck, sensing that something was up. What we were all looking at was our easy money gone up in smoke. We were all good with directions and distances. We didn’t need to look at a map to know that all that black smoke was coming from our destination.
“So…” said Micky.
“We carry on,” said Sugar. Snapped more than said. That was her – cutting to the chase. We’d carry on, but we’d need to argue about it for a while first. She’d hate that, but that was how it was.
“You’re insane,” said Salt. “We don’t know what’s out there.”
“No, we don’t.” Sugar again. “That’s the point. We don’t know the place is blown. If they got raided, doesn’t mean they lost. Want to get hunted down by corporate mercs for not making a delivery?”
“Not really, but I don’t want to get ambushed by whoever did this either. Maybe this box we’re hauling the whole reason they’re out there?
“Yeah, maybe, in which case we’re dead anyway… but more likely it’s a coincidence. Even if the place is blown, we’ll be missing out on rich pickings.”
Back and forth like this for a while, but I don’t know why we bothered. Sugar always gets her way. Usually because she’s always right. The one concession that Salt got out of her was that we’d wait til morning.
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Micky had the eight-wheeler jacked up again. These things are built to last, but we’d been running ours for a good, long while. One of the axls was acting up. You could run it like that for a while, but it wasn’t going to do you any good, long term. Besides, we weren’t in a hurry, and we could all do with a break after cruising the broken down blacktop for a day.
We’d just skirted the remains of Louisville and hit the I64. Going was slow; we’d had to cross and recross the Ohio. The sun was just about hitting the horizon. If it hadn’t been, Sugar might not have see the curl of black smoke standing out against all that heavenly glory.
She was sitting on the hood, bins glued to her face. She was wearing that look – intense focus. We called her “Sugar” because she had just about the vilest temper you could possibly imagine. Even in a good mood, she wasn’t exactly good company. But you run with what you’ve got.
The last member of our team was Salt. She was everything that Honey wasn’t – short, stumpy, but the sweetest girl you’ve ever met. So yeah, we had to call her Salt. Only trouble with her was that she’d have been butt ugly even without the birthmark. But like I say, you run with what you got. We weren’t exactly the hottest crew cruising the badlands, but I’d trust all three of them with my live. Had done in the past. Would do again.
So yeah, when Sugar fixed her bins on one spot on the horizon and kept them there, I figured something was up. Incoming, maybe? Dust cloud? She wasn’t the type just to say something. So I pulled my own out and tracked where she was looking. It took me a little while to find, but yeah, there it was. A fine column of black smoke, drifting on the wind. It looked fine from here, but it was a way distant. It’d be big, close up. It definitely wasn’t a brush fire, or just a vehicle. It could only really be a compound on fire.
I heard Salt walking up. I glanced over at her. She had a shovel over her shoulder; she always said he hated using the toilet in the truck when she didn’t have to. She asked what was up and I just handed her my binoculars. I didn’t really need to see how her expression changed to know what we were thinking. Same as what I was thinking.
The thing about being a scavenger crew is that you live basically on the edge. The pickings are thin this far east of the badlands, so you need to head deep. It starts to seem like a good idea to haul goods out to private compounds, corporate compounds, on your way out. Then those hauls start to be more than just a little extra cash. They’re what keeps you alive until your next big score. And the thing about those next big scores is that they hardly ever come. Not these days.
We had a crate strapped to our flatbed. About the shape and size of a coffin, but much heavier. It was the usual deal. None of us had a clue what was in there. None of us wanted to. It could be anything from the most seriously illegal genetic samples to ration packs – a decoy, in other words. It would pay the same, either way.
Micky had joined us now. Crawled out from under the truck, sensing that something was up. What we were all looking at was our easy money gone up in smoke. We were all good with directions and distances. We didn’t need to look at a map to know that all that black smoke was coming from our destination.
“So…” said Micky.
“We carry on,” said Sugar. Snapped more than said. That was her – cutting to the chase. We’d carry on, but we’d need to argue about it for a while first. She’d hate that, but that was how it was.
“You’re insane,” said Salt. “We don’t know what’s out there.”
“No, we don’t.” Sugar again. “That’s the point. We don’t know the place is blown. If they got raided, doesn’t mean they lost. Want to get hunted down by corporate mercs for not making a delivery?”
“Not really, but I don’t want to get ambushed by whoever did this either. Maybe this box we’re hauling the whole reason they’re out there?
“Yeah, maybe, in which case we’re dead anyway… but more likely it’s a coincidence. Even if the place is blown, we’ll be missing out on rich pickings.”
Back and forth like this for a while, but I don’t know why we bothered. Sugar always gets her way. Usually because she’s always right. The one concession that Salt got out of her was that we’d wait til morning.
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