I left Sarah under the bridge with an awkward parting hug. Something had changed between us. You don’t psychically connect with someone, merge with them, and not feel something afterwards. My thoughts returned to her occasionally as I moved towards town, vague memories and emotions of that mental contact distracting me.

The concrete highway cut through the middle of Plainview along with a railroad that separated one side of the town from the other. Running five miles across town, the highway dropped into a small swamp sustained by the Pearl river and a mile later turned back into pocked asphalt and climbed a steep hill. Two more small villages lie in the 20 miles between Plainview and Covington and the surrounding woods were thick with rural housing. All I needed to do was get past the urban areas without trouble.

There was a smokey haze in the air and a chemical stink that stung the nose. A large paper mill sat in the middle of the town next to the national guard armoury, the two anchors that kept the town from drying up and blowing away. I was riding through the “bad side” of Plainview, which I learned at an early age was another way of saying “poor people like us, but we don’t like them because they’re a different colour”. That ideology never sat well with me as a child, or as an adult.

As I crossed the railroad tracks, [1] I used my psychic tentacles to prise out some railroad stakes. Guns were useless and unlike my middle child Thomas, I had no experience shooting a bow — not that I had one. I gathered a dozen spikes, using twine to hang them awkwardly from the saddle pommel. My psychic arms were stronger and more reactive as my natural arms, so stabbing someone with a spike was an option but not exactly what I was looking for. I have zero desire to get involved in physical altercations. I wanted a ranged weapon, and a half pound piece of sharp, rusty iron fit the bill perfectly.

Remembering how I yeeted the frozen meat from my dead freezer into the field behind the farmstead, I compressed my aura like a spring and launched a spike at a nearby brick building. The resulting damage was both loud and impressive, with the spike smashing through the walls like an anti-material round. I pity the Porcuweiler that crosses my path.

The highway dipped and turned onto a bridge that crossed Plainview creek. I could see a team of soldiers at the other end of the bridge manning a sand bag emplacement where old Mill road joined the highway. Three were resting behind the bags, another two were standing on either side. They scrambled like a kicked ant nest as I approached their position, levelling their guns at me. I crossed the bridge slowly, the steel shod hooves of the horses echoing discordantly around me.

“Unless you have magic bullets, and I’m betting you don’t, I’ll be riding through.” I called out as I approached, laying a finger on the brim of my hat.

“This area is under martial law,” one of the men, yelled. “Get down from the horse.”

There’s a lifetime of subconscious training that goes into every American. Obey the police, support the military, comply with orders… or else. But I’m pretty sure at this point that I’m the most bad-ass thing in these parts now. There’s a new sheriff in town; he’s got some anger issues, and he don’t take shit from anyone anymore.

“Get down from the horse,” the camouflaged solider yelled again, his companions moving out to surround me.

Holding up my hands, I waited until they got into range. Compressing my two psychic arms into whip-thin tentacles, I lashed out at the knees of the soldiers, knocking them down as they hustled towards me. I quickly latched on to their weapons and jerked, sending them sailing to clatter against the concrete road behind me, saving the last two for use as floating intimidation.

“I can pass peacefully,” I said. “Or one of you can report back and explain why you didn’t let me pass. Your choice. Who’s in charge here?” My auric arms swung the two weapons around, threatening with the shooty ends as the guardsmen froze in place.

One of the men raised a hand, “Staff sergeant Haynes,” he said, introducing himself.

The young black man was still in his mid 20s, probably nothing more than a weekend warrior who joined for the benefits and college tuition. Chances are that I would have done the same in another life. He was clean shaven and his uniform seemed in order, not that I know a damn thing about the military, but he looked well dressed and wide eyed to me. I had his full attention and that’s all I wanted.

I waved at the other men with the floating rifles. “You guys go take a break in front of the sandbags. Just walk over and sit down while the staff sergeant and I talk.”

“Staff sergeant Haynes,” I said, giving some thought to mitigating any future trouble. “Who’s your superior?”

“Sergeant Cox.”

“That’s a hell of a name for a superior officer,” I remarked.

One of his men tried going around the emplacement and I swung the rifle around in front of him. “Just have a seat on this side where I can see you,” I said, pitching my voice to carry the distance between us.

The four soldiers took a reluctant seat in front of the sandbags, watching the two rifles hover in front of them.

“I just came from the Village,” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Everything is burned out and the people are gathering at the Pentecostal church.” I waved at the paper mill visible in the distance behind the staff sergeant. It looked like modern art; a twisted, melted mass of ruin. “And I’m willing to bet things are the same here. Everything electronic is fried, cars don’t work, half the town is burned down, lots of casualties, and no communications with the outside world. Am I right?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“I’m on a mission, staff sergeant,” I said, leaning forward in the saddle. “I’m heading towards Baton Rouge and I’ll be back in a week. As you can see, I have some abilities that will allow me accomplish that mission and return.”

“I can see that.” He acknowledged, glancing back to where the rifles hovered over his men.

“So, here’s a deal for you. I’m going to gather intelligence to see if how bad things are and bring back help if possible. That’s pretty valuable stuff right now, innit?” I pulled down my mask and smiled at him. “When I come back in a week, I’ll have a meeting with Sergeant Cox, or whoever his superior is, and tell them what I’ve learned.”

“So, what’s the deal?” Haynes said.

“The deal is that we’re going to forget about this misunderstanding, I’m going to ride through freely, and I assume your superior will have enough sense to let his men know not to irritate me when I come back through to talk to him. It’s a good deal. Everyone is happy. Everyone gets to go home.”

“Seeing as you have me at a disadvantage,” Haynes said, motioning at the rifles.

I floated the weapons back over and presented them to him, letting him grab one in each hand. Then I wrapped him up in a tentacle and strained, lifting him a foot off the ground before dropping him.

“You were always at a disadvantage, staff sergeant.” I deadpanned. “Has anyone fired their weapons yet? Go ahead and take a shot.”

He dropped one weapon and had the other pointed at me in a flash. “Get off the horse.”

“Pull the trigger.” I smiled, reaching slowly for the useless sidearm in my shoulder holster.

Click. Puff. Clink.

He cleared the jam and tried again. Then tried with the one he dropped, each time aiming at me. I fetched back the other weapons and dropped them at his feet, motioning with my had that he should try them too.

“You’re doing this,” he accused, half-believing his statement.

“Nope,” I said with a small chuckle. “I damn near had my face chewed off because my guns wouldn’t work. Trust me, if I thought your guns worked, we wouldn’t be talking right now. I’d be riding past five dead men.”

Haynes looked back at his men, then at me. I could see the questions in his eyes.

“If I were you, I’d request some bayonets or something. The guns may be useless, but poking holes in things still works. And bicycles. You’d probably be wanting to commandeer as many good bicycles as you can.”

He chewed on that while I herded him back towards the sand bags with a psychic arm and eased around the check point with the horses.

“I’ll be back in a week. Maybe a little longer if things don’t work out like I plan, but,” I chuckled, accenting my voice like a certain character. “I’ll be back.”

“Nerd,” Haynes said.

I gave a genuine laugh at his casual insult. “We’re on the same team, staff sergeant. I just don’t have the time to stick around right now. I promise I’ll have that talk when I return.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said.

“And I’m holding you responsible for keeping this place together until I get back. Old Man Pigott will probably be along soon with a wagon of people seeking medical treatment. Make sure they are cared for and don’t steal his horses. Horse thievery is punishable by death.”

I spotted what the other guardsman was probably going for behind the saddlebags, and reached out a psychic arm to snatch it up and float it over to Haynes. “It probably doesn’t work, but feel free to try it after I’m gone.”

He gripped the plastic flare gun in his hands and watched as we trotted off.

I kept the horses at a trot as we passed through the burned ruins of the town. This area wasn’t the most prosperous at the best of times and now it was nothing more than miles of burned out houses and buildings. A Baptist church stood at the corner of 21 and Sullivan, with obvious smoke stains running along its eves. A handful of people were clustered in the parking lot but I swore I wouldn’t stop, not after what happened last time.

We trotted past the survivors, elderly Black folk who had probably lost everything they had worked for and had no other place to go. Gloomy blue auras hung over every one of them. I wondered if there were any injured, then shoved the thought aside. No distractions. Get Astrid and get home. The monkey brain cheered and whipped me onwards.

Hopefully, the boys would return home too. They were old enough to take care of themselves, but I still worried. A bit. Mostly about Doug, because he was a gentle, naive soul who never saw the bad in anyone. I blame it on too much Mr. Roger’s Neighbourhood.

I tied off a strip of to the last signpost at the end of town, knotted it twice, then guided the horses down the highway onto the bridge that crossed the swamp. The swamp was alive with noise, the singing of cicadas, the buzzing of grasshoppers, and a low rumble that I’m sure was an alligator somewhere in the murky mess of bald cypress trees.

* * *

Footnotes

1. Because the Aurora fundamentally changed physics, many chemicals and materials which were once stable were altered, including asphalt and concrete treated with additives. This meant that existing roads vanished over time and iron railroads became a primary means of transport. While current railroads use beast or golem drawn carts, something called a ‘locomotive’ was used to haul thousands of tons of cargo between pre-apocalypse cities.

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