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"I look inside myself and see my heart is black." The small boy sung in a whisper.
"What?" Ward looked at his companion.
"It's something my father used to sing when we were walking. That's the only part I remember."
"Maybe that's where he got your name."
"Probably..." The younger boy, looked down at the road, trying to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. Ward pretended not to notice, though there was little that escaped his observation.
"It's nearly dawn." Ward said, trying to change the subject. "We should put up the shelter soon." Ward needed something to get his friend's mind off his past.
"Ok." The boy felt a little better now that he had something to do aside from walk.
The two walked off the side of the road and into a small forest that was just beginning to regrow green pines. Ward found a good spot behind a small clump of trees so their shelter would be invisible from the road. "Black, over here!" he called to his companion, who was wandering away. Ward took short wooden polls with a desert-camo poncho attached from Black and pounded them into the ground with a large rock he'd found. He then pulled the poncho taut and secured it with two metal tent stakes. Black spread a thin wool blanket on the ground and lay down under the small tent just as the sun hit it.
Ward hated summer; it was too damned hot and he didn't get enough traveling done because the nights were shorter. He sighed and took his utility belt off, falling into his routine of checking to make sure everything was there. His guns, the Baretta 9mm he'd taken from the first man he killed, and his Walther PPK were both in place. His canteens were secure, one full and the other nearing empty. Everything else; ammunition, jerky, flares, lighter and knife were all in their places too. Satisfied, he sat down under the shelter, watching for anything dangerous.
He sat on his guard for almost three hours, then it was time to change. He woke Black up and then lay down to sleep for a while.
The day passed uneventfully, and night started to come with agonizing slowness. When the sun fell behind the Rocky Mountains, they packed up their shelter and started down the road again.
The two boys traveled for weeks, losing any track of time that they'd previously had. They walked only at night, always in silence, except for small talk about their surroundings. At one point they passed a road sign, Black asked what it said. "Curt Gowdy National Forest 14 miles." Ward read aloud. Whoever the hell Curt Gowdy was, he sure wouldn't be pleased at the condition of his forest, Ward thought.
A mile down the road, they found a standard highway bridge over a completely clean river. The water was clear and inviting and Black nearly jumped in to have a long needed bath before Ward stopped him. There was no plant life near the banks. "It's radiated, you can tell by the lack of life on the banks. Also stay away from pools with no algae." Ward warned. Black heeded his advice and walked warily across the bridge.
Later that night, they came across two cars on the road. Both were smashed beyond repair; apparently they had crashed into each other. When Ward told Black that the cars had collided, he laughed about it for miles. There was nothing along the barren highway as far as the eye could see. Black was aptly named for his dark sense of humor, uncommon in a nine-year-old.
Once Black asked Ward how old he was. Ward was dumbfounded. He had no idea, he estimated about 11, but he wasn't sure because his parents died in the desert when he was little. He was lucky that he'd been picked up by a caravan, otherwise he would have died as well.
Their nocturnal routine changed when they came to Cheyanne. The city had suffered little damage, which was suprising since a former missile base was located right across the highway. The area had little value; aside from a few ranches on the outside, the city was largely deserted.
The settled area didn't have much. There was a general store and a few little casinos. It was an oasis to any adult traveling in the desert, but to a child drinking and gambling held no interest. Surviving was all Ward cared about, and he assumed it was at the top of Black's list of priorities as well. The two went into the store around dawn and were greeted by a dark skinned bald man wearing tattered jeans, a flannel shirt, and a frown. He apparently wasn't used to seeing children like these two. They were dirty and skinny, but looked healthy enough. The older one looked like he knew the wastes better than most adults. He was also armed, which made the man uneasy. He tried to hide his apprehension behind a large smile. "Hello there, youngsters. Haven't seen you in these parts before."
Ward did the talking as usual, "We're looking for some supplies."
"Do you think your parents gave you enough money, son?"
Ward frowned and turn slightly to the side so the man could see his gun. "I have no parents, and if you're gonna just ask questions, we'll take our business elsewhere." Black nodded in agreement.
The man paused for a moment, then thought how easy it would be to cheat the children. "Ok then, son. Just pick out whatever you wanna buy."
The two walked around the store, looking at the various bits of supplies. Ward picked out two boxes of 9mm bullets, an IV pouch of Rad-Away and a water filter. The boy definately knew how to survive, the clerk thought. Ward set the items in front of the clerk while Black seemed to still be looking around the store.
"OK there, son. What do ya have to trade?" Ward set a .22 caliber pistol and a box of bullets on the counter.
"That's not enough." The clerk said, not noticing a few small items "fall" into Black's backpack.
Ward set a small pouch full of money on the counter next to the pistol as a few stimpacks made their way into Black's pocket.
Ward knew what offered was more than enough, but the store owner didn't think so. "Sorry, son. I need a little more than that."
"Bullshit." Ward spat with contempt. Obviously being young made you stupid, at least that's what most people thought. "I could get the same thing for half that in Cody." The store owner's eyes widened for a moment. He knew of heavily armed caravans that seldom made a journey that far without being attacked. There were advantages to being small.
"Alright, son. It's a deal." He examined the finely crafted revolver that he'd just traded for as Ward and Black left the store, disgusted that people actually try to cheat children.
"What now?" Black asked.
"We find a place to stay." Ward wasn't really sure he wanted to stay in the city, he was so used to the highway. But it would be a welcome rest after months of hard travel.
Finding a building was easy enough. The two boys found shelter in a small house further into the city than most people went. It was out of the way and no one would bother them for a while. It was a good place to teach Black some of the survival techniques Ward had learned from lots of experience.
They spent several days shooting cans with their PPK. Ward was a natural when it come to shooting, and Black was pretty good as well, but didn't have Ward's experience with killing.
They both put on a little weight since they didn't walk for miles every day. Ward ran around the deserted block every evening when he woke up. The two were so used to traveling at night, they didn't bother breaking their routine of sleeping during the day. For a while, life their lives were pretty good.
After a week, they discovered why most didn't venture into the inner city. Black woke Ward up quietly. Ward got off the floor slowly and saw the concern on his companion's thin face. "What is it?" He asked.
"Shhh. There's some people coming this way. They're armed and look mean." Black whispered.
"How many?"
"Five, I think. I can't count very well."
"Alright. Take this and go to the front window. Stay out of sight. I'll signal if I need you. Remember the drill. BRASS. Say it." Ward gave Black the small PPK and two clips with seven bullets each.
"Breathe Relax Aim Stop Squeeze." For the first time, Black remembered.
Ward smiled. "Good." He walked out the front door, buckling his belt on. There were four men. The one in front looked like the leader. He looked like he was in his 20's and carried a pump-action shotgun. They all wore leather jackets and were all armed with either rifles or shotguns. The leader saw Ward, stopped and smiled unpleasantly.
His voice was scratchy and sounded just as nasty as he looked. "So, the Ratz are recruiting kids now, eh?" His cronies seemed to be laughing at Ward.
"Who are you?" Ward asked, trying not to sound demanding.
"Who am I!? Who the hell are you, you little fuck!?" The leader sounded very angry.
"I'm Michael... and I'm not a Rat, whatever that is."
"'Michael', eh? What the hell are you doing on our turf!? Huh!?" He took a few steps forward, obviously to get Ward in range of his 12-gauge. Ward started to edge towards the other side of the street.
"Uh... I didn't know it was your turf... sorry, I'll leave." Ward sounded scared on purpose, hoping to outsmart this guy and avoid a confrontation.
"Oh yeah, you'll leave, right after we fill you with buckshot." He started to raise his shotgun.
Ward sprinted for the other side of the street as the four men opened fire. Bullets hit the ground behind him, they didn't know how to lead off, a testament to their lack of skill. "BLACK!!" Ward shouted as he dove into the house across the street which luckily had no door. The unusual name didn't register with the gang, they didn't know what he was talking about, but they were gonna get this little punk.
They ran towards the house where Ward was, exposing their backs to the window where Black was. Black took careful aim and shakily raised his weapon. He'd never had to fire at a human before, so why would it be any different than shooting a wild dog? He took comfort in the thought that he was "putting these dogs down" and rapidly pulled the trigger of the small pistol. Two of the men took shots in their backs and the leader was hit in the thigh twice, falling to the ground in agony. The hollow-point bullets mushroomed upon impact, tearing holes three times the size of the entrance wounds.
Suprised at the sudden back attack, the last standing ganger turned around quickly to try to find the hidden shooter. Ward took initiative, drew his Baretta and fired a single bullet. The ganger was hit right in the spine, paralyzing but not killing him. Ward stepped out of the house and mercilessly finished off the leader with a double shot to the head.
The "battle" must have lasted all of ten seconds, but it seemed a lifetime to Black. He sighed with relief and slumped to the ground, leaning against the wall when he saw his companion step into the house unharmed. Now it was time for the best part of combat; the victory ritual. The two looted the corpses and found nothing of any particular value except the weapons. Ward took the leader's leather jacket which was ridiculously large. That was easily fixed with a little knife work. The jacket looked more like a trench coat on Ward, but at least the sleeves were short enough now. The jacket stank, so Ward washed it with some water from the town's well. They sold a shotgun and a 30-30 rifle for some more provisions and kept one of the shotguns, a sawed off pump, and an M-14 that the gangers had "provided." There was no reason for them to hang around Cheyanne any longer so they set off down the highway again. According to some of the townsfolk, Colorado lay to the south. It seemed a good place to go, since there was really no where else for the two young men to go.
As they set off, Black began to sing the single line from his father's song again.
"I look inside myself and see my heart is black."
He finally understood what it meant, at least to him. He was a killer now, and he had the same calm casualness about it that Ward had. If someone had asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he wouldn't have known what they meant.
"What?" Ward looked at his companion.
"It's something my father used to sing when we were walking. That's the only part I remember."
"Maybe that's where he got your name."
"Probably..." The younger boy, looked down at the road, trying to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. Ward pretended not to notice, though there was little that escaped his observation.
"It's nearly dawn." Ward said, trying to change the subject. "We should put up the shelter soon." Ward needed something to get his friend's mind off his past.
"Ok." The boy felt a little better now that he had something to do aside from walk.
The two walked off the side of the road and into a small forest that was just beginning to regrow green pines. Ward found a good spot behind a small clump of trees so their shelter would be invisible from the road. "Black, over here!" he called to his companion, who was wandering away. Ward took short wooden polls with a desert-camo poncho attached from Black and pounded them into the ground with a large rock he'd found. He then pulled the poncho taut and secured it with two metal tent stakes. Black spread a thin wool blanket on the ground and lay down under the small tent just as the sun hit it.
Ward hated summer; it was too damned hot and he didn't get enough traveling done because the nights were shorter. He sighed and took his utility belt off, falling into his routine of checking to make sure everything was there. His guns, the Baretta 9mm he'd taken from the first man he killed, and his Walther PPK were both in place. His canteens were secure, one full and the other nearing empty. Everything else; ammunition, jerky, flares, lighter and knife were all in their places too. Satisfied, he sat down under the shelter, watching for anything dangerous.
He sat on his guard for almost three hours, then it was time to change. He woke Black up and then lay down to sleep for a while.
The day passed uneventfully, and night started to come with agonizing slowness. When the sun fell behind the Rocky Mountains, they packed up their shelter and started down the road again.
The two boys traveled for weeks, losing any track of time that they'd previously had. They walked only at night, always in silence, except for small talk about their surroundings. At one point they passed a road sign, Black asked what it said. "Curt Gowdy National Forest 14 miles." Ward read aloud. Whoever the hell Curt Gowdy was, he sure wouldn't be pleased at the condition of his forest, Ward thought.
A mile down the road, they found a standard highway bridge over a completely clean river. The water was clear and inviting and Black nearly jumped in to have a long needed bath before Ward stopped him. There was no plant life near the banks. "It's radiated, you can tell by the lack of life on the banks. Also stay away from pools with no algae." Ward warned. Black heeded his advice and walked warily across the bridge.
Later that night, they came across two cars on the road. Both were smashed beyond repair; apparently they had crashed into each other. When Ward told Black that the cars had collided, he laughed about it for miles. There was nothing along the barren highway as far as the eye could see. Black was aptly named for his dark sense of humor, uncommon in a nine-year-old.
Once Black asked Ward how old he was. Ward was dumbfounded. He had no idea, he estimated about 11, but he wasn't sure because his parents died in the desert when he was little. He was lucky that he'd been picked up by a caravan, otherwise he would have died as well.
Their nocturnal routine changed when they came to Cheyanne. The city had suffered little damage, which was suprising since a former missile base was located right across the highway. The area had little value; aside from a few ranches on the outside, the city was largely deserted.
The settled area didn't have much. There was a general store and a few little casinos. It was an oasis to any adult traveling in the desert, but to a child drinking and gambling held no interest. Surviving was all Ward cared about, and he assumed it was at the top of Black's list of priorities as well. The two went into the store around dawn and were greeted by a dark skinned bald man wearing tattered jeans, a flannel shirt, and a frown. He apparently wasn't used to seeing children like these two. They were dirty and skinny, but looked healthy enough. The older one looked like he knew the wastes better than most adults. He was also armed, which made the man uneasy. He tried to hide his apprehension behind a large smile. "Hello there, youngsters. Haven't seen you in these parts before."
Ward did the talking as usual, "We're looking for some supplies."
"Do you think your parents gave you enough money, son?"
Ward frowned and turn slightly to the side so the man could see his gun. "I have no parents, and if you're gonna just ask questions, we'll take our business elsewhere." Black nodded in agreement.
The man paused for a moment, then thought how easy it would be to cheat the children. "Ok then, son. Just pick out whatever you wanna buy."
The two walked around the store, looking at the various bits of supplies. Ward picked out two boxes of 9mm bullets, an IV pouch of Rad-Away and a water filter. The boy definately knew how to survive, the clerk thought. Ward set the items in front of the clerk while Black seemed to still be looking around the store.
"OK there, son. What do ya have to trade?" Ward set a .22 caliber pistol and a box of bullets on the counter.
"That's not enough." The clerk said, not noticing a few small items "fall" into Black's backpack.
Ward set a small pouch full of money on the counter next to the pistol as a few stimpacks made their way into Black's pocket.
Ward knew what offered was more than enough, but the store owner didn't think so. "Sorry, son. I need a little more than that."
"Bullshit." Ward spat with contempt. Obviously being young made you stupid, at least that's what most people thought. "I could get the same thing for half that in Cody." The store owner's eyes widened for a moment. He knew of heavily armed caravans that seldom made a journey that far without being attacked. There were advantages to being small.
"Alright, son. It's a deal." He examined the finely crafted revolver that he'd just traded for as Ward and Black left the store, disgusted that people actually try to cheat children.
"What now?" Black asked.
"We find a place to stay." Ward wasn't really sure he wanted to stay in the city, he was so used to the highway. But it would be a welcome rest after months of hard travel.
Finding a building was easy enough. The two boys found shelter in a small house further into the city than most people went. It was out of the way and no one would bother them for a while. It was a good place to teach Black some of the survival techniques Ward had learned from lots of experience.
They spent several days shooting cans with their PPK. Ward was a natural when it come to shooting, and Black was pretty good as well, but didn't have Ward's experience with killing.
They both put on a little weight since they didn't walk for miles every day. Ward ran around the deserted block every evening when he woke up. The two were so used to traveling at night, they didn't bother breaking their routine of sleeping during the day. For a while, life their lives were pretty good.
After a week, they discovered why most didn't venture into the inner city. Black woke Ward up quietly. Ward got off the floor slowly and saw the concern on his companion's thin face. "What is it?" He asked.
"Shhh. There's some people coming this way. They're armed and look mean." Black whispered.
"How many?"
"Five, I think. I can't count very well."
"Alright. Take this and go to the front window. Stay out of sight. I'll signal if I need you. Remember the drill. BRASS. Say it." Ward gave Black the small PPK and two clips with seven bullets each.
"Breathe Relax Aim Stop Squeeze." For the first time, Black remembered.
Ward smiled. "Good." He walked out the front door, buckling his belt on. There were four men. The one in front looked like the leader. He looked like he was in his 20's and carried a pump-action shotgun. They all wore leather jackets and were all armed with either rifles or shotguns. The leader saw Ward, stopped and smiled unpleasantly.
His voice was scratchy and sounded just as nasty as he looked. "So, the Ratz are recruiting kids now, eh?" His cronies seemed to be laughing at Ward.
"Who are you?" Ward asked, trying not to sound demanding.
"Who am I!? Who the hell are you, you little fuck!?" The leader sounded very angry.
"I'm Michael... and I'm not a Rat, whatever that is."
"'Michael', eh? What the hell are you doing on our turf!? Huh!?" He took a few steps forward, obviously to get Ward in range of his 12-gauge. Ward started to edge towards the other side of the street.
"Uh... I didn't know it was your turf... sorry, I'll leave." Ward sounded scared on purpose, hoping to outsmart this guy and avoid a confrontation.
"Oh yeah, you'll leave, right after we fill you with buckshot." He started to raise his shotgun.
Ward sprinted for the other side of the street as the four men opened fire. Bullets hit the ground behind him, they didn't know how to lead off, a testament to their lack of skill. "BLACK!!" Ward shouted as he dove into the house across the street which luckily had no door. The unusual name didn't register with the gang, they didn't know what he was talking about, but they were gonna get this little punk.
They ran towards the house where Ward was, exposing their backs to the window where Black was. Black took careful aim and shakily raised his weapon. He'd never had to fire at a human before, so why would it be any different than shooting a wild dog? He took comfort in the thought that he was "putting these dogs down" and rapidly pulled the trigger of the small pistol. Two of the men took shots in their backs and the leader was hit in the thigh twice, falling to the ground in agony. The hollow-point bullets mushroomed upon impact, tearing holes three times the size of the entrance wounds.
Suprised at the sudden back attack, the last standing ganger turned around quickly to try to find the hidden shooter. Ward took initiative, drew his Baretta and fired a single bullet. The ganger was hit right in the spine, paralyzing but not killing him. Ward stepped out of the house and mercilessly finished off the leader with a double shot to the head.
The "battle" must have lasted all of ten seconds, but it seemed a lifetime to Black. He sighed with relief and slumped to the ground, leaning against the wall when he saw his companion step into the house unharmed. Now it was time for the best part of combat; the victory ritual. The two looted the corpses and found nothing of any particular value except the weapons. Ward took the leader's leather jacket which was ridiculously large. That was easily fixed with a little knife work. The jacket looked more like a trench coat on Ward, but at least the sleeves were short enough now. The jacket stank, so Ward washed it with some water from the town's well. They sold a shotgun and a 30-30 rifle for some more provisions and kept one of the shotguns, a sawed off pump, and an M-14 that the gangers had "provided." There was no reason for them to hang around Cheyanne any longer so they set off down the highway again. According to some of the townsfolk, Colorado lay to the south. It seemed a good place to go, since there was really no where else for the two young men to go.
As they set off, Black began to sing the single line from his father's song again.
"I look inside myself and see my heart is black."
He finally understood what it meant, at least to him. He was a killer now, and he had the same calm casualness about it that Ward had. If someone had asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he wouldn't have known what they meant.
</injoke>