I kept telling myself the pay was good as I strapped the canvas bags
onto the muttering, slobbery lipped camel. The sun was coming up over
the dunes, whipping the cold black night back with it’s early pink rays
as I loaded up the post. I kept playing the pitch over and over in my head to keep me going. The pay for a postal run across the dunes from
the Midway Sand to the major cities was high. Hazard pay they called it,
ten thousand cube for three months of work. Young men and women only,
those over thirty summers need not apply. No one I knew up in the high
rocks had ever seen that that much. Not even those blessed to be grey.
Without warning the camel lowed and twisted its elastic neck around.
It bared sand brown teeth, exhaling a rank steam of air that
smelled of stomach acid and fermenting grains in my face. Dropping the
straps I leapt back, no longer thinking of the pay and the pitch, but my
overwhelming desire to keep myself intact.
“You be careful with that one, Lan.” Marguile said as he limped out
onto the deck with a sack clutched in his shoe leather hands. He was
built like every other tawny thing; tough enough to live out in the sand,
but carried a hitch from the last Water War. His gaunt, pockmarked face
was unperturbed by my ride’s temper. “He’s the stubbornest fucker I’ve
ever seen.”
“Ain’t that reassuring.” With a huff I grabbed the reins of my mount and gave the
beast some slack to settle down. “Makes me wonder how much you like me.”
“Well enough.” Marguile let out a wheezy cough. He swirled his tongue
around in his mouth and spat out a viscus wad of mucus and lung tissue
out onto the sand. “You were last draw for the season is all. Last draw
before the ice gets last camel. Last camel’s always the meanest piece of
shit out of the entire lot we get.”
“Good to know.” I muttered. The camel had settled down enough for me to
rein the beast in a little and tidy up the straps for the bags. As I
glanced over my shoulder to ask a question I caught a look at the
delapidated Midway Sands Outpost that made me lose my train of thought.
The submarine jutted out like a grey rock formation that had been
partially swallowed by the salt crusted sand. A homemade balcony at the
top hosted a an umbrella and a place to barbecue sand rats we picked off
from the lookout point. The rusting structure loomed over the lifeblood
of Midway Sands; the water tank. It also provided shade from the
hottest turn of the day for Marguile’s hastily assembled crate wood
office. It had been there where my post had been taken off of the spent
camel that arrived from the Oregon Wastes but an hour ago. I couldn’t
help but think of that rider; feral eyed and so spare his clothes hung
off of him like an unstuffed crowman. He was in the sub, hooked to some
fluids Marguile said would help him along.
“Don’t start second guessing this.” The old man growled at me. He
tossed the provision sack at my chest, forcing me to catch it. “I don’t
got anyone else here, and I sure as hell ain’t going to do it again.”
“Who said anything about second guessing.” I said, rummaging through
the supply bag to make sure my de-sal caps and ammo clips were in there
with everything else. Nothing else was as important than those two
provisions. “I’m not gonna let you take my ride.” I said. “Been on a
list for over a year to get to this point and I’m sure as hell not going
to let some old desert goat take over. Young man’s game.”
“I’d take that personally if it weren’t for the fact you left me booze.” He said, narrow eyed and purse lipped.
“Drink it sparingly, not like I’m going to come back and hand you some
more when you run out.” I smirked as I pulled and tucked it in a front
pocket before slinging the bag over my shoulders. I began thinking about
the trail, the time I’d have to make to get to the Hong Kong gate as
the sun began to lurch further out. I was suddenly more anxious as I
went over the times. “I got land to see, tales to be forged.” I quipped
to hide how shaky was was. However as I reached to grab my gun that was
lying on the deck, my hand trembled. I looked up and caught Marguile’s
pale green eyes watching me scrabble around like a jittery hare.
“Despite what you hear, there’s actually salt lakes.” He sniffed,
ignoring my jumpiness. “Might be smaller than when I was last out there,
but if you follow them and act smart you’ll be safe. Don’t try eating
anything in them though.”
“Sounds alright.” I picked up my gun deliberately, taking the clip out and loading it. “What about the predators?”
“Sand cats and bandits. Bandits are tastier by the way.” He shrugged,
shifting his weight and tugging his keffiyeh down to cover his forehead
as the suns beams lapped across our faces.
“That’s good to know.” I racked a bullet in the chamber and slipped the
gun on, slinging it back behind me with my provisions sack. Tilting my
face up to the sky, I could feel the heat coming as the sky was
settling on the day’s grey. Pale clouds lurched above, teasing with
their hidden moisture.
“You’ll be long gone by the time they open up.” He said while squinting
up at the clouds with me. “Either dead or waist deep in liquor and
girls.”
“Really hope it’s the latter.” I sighed, tilting my head down and
reaching my hand out towards Marguile. “Any words of wisdom?”
“Don’t be stupid.” His handshake was firm, tight. “And when you get your pay, pace yourself.”
“I'll do my best.” I said. Taking a deep breath I dug my boot into the
sand, half hoping it would sink in so far I’d be swallowed up. “Nice
meeting you Marguile.”
“Same.” He said in a way that gave away a twinge that came from saying goodbye for good far too many times. “Now git.”
I nodded, tugged on the reins of my camel and turned out towards the
dunes. As I headed out I took a deep breath of the encrusted air and
forced myself not to look back.
The camel lowed, chewing on it’s cud.
“You and I,” I huffed “we gotta get along.”
fin
This prompt comes via io9.com. As it's a warm up it's rough, but hopefully entertaining.
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