Wayward

CHAPTER SEVEN

They made their way down together, and Red pointed the way to his home. Jim had offered to go the whole way, but Red was adamant. They would split up at the edge of the yellow plains and go their separate ways.

They ventured on, alone in their thoughts. The only sound was the occasional roll of thunder and the sound of Tarzan's hooves clopping across the soft dirt. They had crossed several miles before the bluffs were far behind them and the ramshackle outcropping of trailers and rundown houses came into view.

"Red."

"Yeah?"

"Does anyone still do the rites? Like you mentioned before?"

"Not anymore."

Jim stared at the ground. "You said we ran into each other for a reason."

"Hold on a minute." He stopped, but Jim wasn't done with it.

"Do you remember when you said that?"

"Jim, quiet."

Jim looked at him. His attention was elsewhere, eyes squinting to make out something in the distance. Four vague shapes blustered towards them, black tires shredding the soft ground. Jim's mouth was dry. He wished he could have more water.

"What is it?"

Red looked around. They were surrounded by the open, empty valley.

"Too late to run," he said. "Stay close."

"Red? What's wrong?"

They left streaks of martian-red dust behind their rusted, spraypainted bikes. They wore filthy, dirt-smudged jackets and old army boots. Their bikes were ornamented with sharpened pegs and hanging metal skulls. The bottom halves of their faces were obscured with handkerchiefs. They circled like vultures until they finally jammed their brakes, skidding and throwing dirt. Tarzan bucked once, and Jim had to use all his might to pull him back to the ground.

"ENOUGH," Red roared. The native boys stopped in their places. One of them set down his bike. Jim pet Tarzan, trying to calm his frantic breathing. The bikers blocked their way. Red stared, his mouth turned downward into a bitter frown. The boy who set down his bike stepped forward and pulled his handkerchief down around his neck.

He was a teenager, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He pulled a toothpick from his pocket and placed it between his teeth, shifting it back and forth with his tongue. His eyes were beady and malevolent, his hands stained black by the melting grip on his handlebars. He wiped his palms on his unravelling jeans.

He reached toward Red, who clamped a bear-claw sized hand around his wrist and twisted it. The others started towards Red, but he raised a hand in surrender.

"It's okay. Okay."

Red released him. He massaged his arm, wincing. His clothes rippled from the soft wind. He brushed black threadlike strands of hair out of his eyes.

"What do you want?" Red said.

The kid faked a laugh. "I can't stop and say hello?" His smile evaporated. "Who's your friend?"

"Just that. A friend."

Jim said nothing, but wondered if he should.

"Didn't think you had any friends." The boy stared at Jim. "Matter fact, I still don't."

He started for the horse.

"Daniel." Red stepped between them, on hand balled into a wrinkly, white-knuckled fist.

"I wouldn't take another step if I were you," Daniel said. "There's a lot more of us." His voice shook. The others stepped closer. Red backed off. Daniel went to the horse. He grazed his fingernails across Tarzan's cheek with the other. The horse shifted backwards.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Leave him out of this," Red said.

"I'm not talking to you, old man. Another word and my Dad's going to know you tried to hurt me." Red's eyes dropped to the ground.

Daniel stared at Jim. "I didn't hear you."

"My name - name's Jim."

"Your name name's Jim." He nodded and tossed his toothpick into the dirt. "Well let's get something straight. You don't belong here." He grabbed Jim by his mustard yellow data entry tie. "I don't know what this old man is telling you, but he's not one of us and you sure as hell aren't either. You come near anyone from my tribe again - or even the old man - I will cut you open and leave you out here. Then I'll take your horse."

Tarzan neighed. Daniel's eyes darkened.

"You hear me?"

"I hear you."

His rancid breath was hot in Jim's face. He pulled a knife from his belt and and cut Jim's tie in two with one harsh swipe. He threw the pieces in Jim's face and they all laughed. All but Red.

"Clean yourself up old man," Daniel said and they left the same way they came. Jim picked up the scrap of fabric, thought twice and let it fall back to the ground.

"You okay?" Jim said.

Red rambled towards his home, zombie-like.

"I can't help you," he said. "Don't come back here."