Gamma World: Tempus Fugitive: Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

It wasn’t easy saying farewell to New Portage. The town was a haven in the wild plains of Gamma Terra, filled with friendly, hospitable people. But after a fortnight of sitting around relaxing, it was time to get back on the road. They had breakfast at the Double Bison Inn, said goodbye to Emmett and their other new friends (promising to return someday) and slowly drove the motorhome through the town’s main gate, waving to the guards. A few minutes later they reached the highway that ran through the middle of the old ruins, and turned west.
    It wasn’t long before they were in the outskirts, and about three kilometres further on they stopped at a fork in the road. Planted in the ground was a big sign, a close copy of the one posted on the eastern turnoff. But of course this one was facing west to be read by people coming from that direction. The message was the same:

                                                                           NEW PORTAGE
                                                                          PEACEFUL TRAVELLERS WELCOME
                                                                             FOOD WATER LODGING SAFETY

    Ahead stretched the vast open prairies, dotted here and there with patches of light forest and covered with herds of bison, cattle and dinosaurs. The road was a band of hard packed dirt and gravel, partly overgrown with grass and running straight and level to the horizon. The sky was hugely blue with a hint of radioactive green.
    Garadun looked at his friends. “So we ready for this?”
    “I’m ready,” said Cera, binoculars in her lap. “Symphony?”
    The kittens were all over the back of the sofa, looking out the portside windows. They miaowed cheerfully.
    “We’re ready,” the weasel girl told him.
    “Right, here we go.”
    Garadun got them underway, and a couple minutes later they came to a bridge that spanned another old, manmade spillway. There was just a shallow stream at the bottom; bison were drinking along the banks. Yet unlike all the other bridges they’d encountered on their journey, this one had been refurbished. The ancient concrete and steel was still there, but the supports and undersides had been reinforced with heavy timbers, and its surface covered in wooden planks. The land yacht rolled across the bridge without the slightest bit of trouble.
    The highway still consisted of two wide roads: one for westbound traffic and the other for those heading east. Even though it now meant nothing in this postapocalyptic era, Garadun stayed on the westbound road out of pure habit. It wasn’t easy to shake a lifetime of driving routine. Cera sat beside him, studying the vista now and then with her binoculars. It was the height of the grazing season and the prairies were filled with thousands of animals, bison being the most plentiful. The weasel girl watched the skies as well. The flying dinosaurs, the pterosaurs as her friend called them, were of no threat. But there were other creatures that were.
    It was a fine morning and they were managing an average speed of about 70 kph, slowing whenever they encountered rough patches in the road. The day was warm, the windows were open, and they had music playing on the sound system. A little over an hour after leaving New Portage, Cera spotted something with her binoculars. She alerted her companions and Garadun slowed down.
    “There, on the road up ahead,” she said, pointing. He stared forward and could see a white figure in the distance. He slowed the RV to a crawl and she handed him the binoculars. Focussing on his target, he saw it was a horse and rider galloping along the same road they were on and closing the distance at good speed. He passed the binoculars back and took a look around: there were no predatory dinosaurs that he could see.
    “Feel like saying hello?” he asked.
    “All right, I’m game,” she said agreeably.
    Garadun stopped the motorhome, switching off the engine, and Symphony came up to sit along the dash while they waited. Less than ten minutes later the other traveller came cantering up the road towards them, then slowed to a walk. They all waved, including the kittens, and Garadun leaned out his window.
    “Morning!”
    The horse was a white and grey dappled stallion with a long white tail and mane, and a very intelligent face. He was also quite large, almost two meters at the shoulder with a muscular frame. The saddle he wore was half the usual size, shaped more like a seat and fitted with handles on the front. There was no bit or bridle, and draped over his flanks was a large set of saddlebags; carved into the leather was MAIL. Sitting in the saddle was a dabber, the same mutant raccoon species as Cera’s friend Melissa. This one was male and garbed in cowboy-style clothing that was well-worn, though of high quality. Only a meter in height, he was tiny when compared to his mount.
    “Good morning,” said the dabber, touching the brim of his hat. He looked at the RV with interest. “You must be the travellers I’ve heard about.”
    “That’s right. I’m Garadun,” said the human, smiling, “and these are my friends: Cera and Symphony. Pleased to meet you.”
    “Likewise. I’m Bert and this is my best friend and partner, Windhoof.”
    Hello there. The words came to their minds as the horse nodded.
    Good morning, Cera projected happily. It’s always nice to meet another telepath.
    The big percheron seemed pleased with that. I couldn’t agree more, Miss.
    “So you guys deliver the mail, eh?” said Garadun, pointing to the saddlebags.
    “Best mail team in the land,” said Bert proudly. “Brutorz and dabber. We always get through, no matter what, and we do it quickly. And not just between Brandon and New Portage, y’know. We deliver to all the prairie towns.”
    We heard you folks were traders, said Windhoof. Is that true?
    Well, we did do a lot of trading in New Portage, Cera told him. We sold off most of what we had, but we still have a few odds and ends. What do you need?
    “You wouldn’t happen to have any canteens would you, Miss?” Bert asked hopefully. “Mine have almost had it.”
    “Do we?” Cera asked Garadun, and he closed his eyes in thought, resting his head on his hand for a moment. Then he opened his eyes and snapped his fingers.
    “It’s not a canteen per se, but it should do the job.” He got up from his seat, took the keys from the ignition, and stepped out of the motorhome. Cera and Symphony followed. The big horse trotted around to meet them, and saw the human had opened a storage compartment on the side of the vehicle and was rummaging around inside. Bert dropped a rope ladder attached to the saddle and climbed down.
    “Ah, here we go,” said Garadun affably. In his hands was a large polyethylene jug. It was bright red with a white top, lid and handle. He unscrewed the lid. “See? This opens very easily. Inside, it’s insulated so your water will stay cold a long time. And here on the lid: a spigot that pops out so you can easily pour water into a cup.”
    Garadun whacked the jug on the edge of the compartment. “The plastic is practically indestructible, and it holds about four litres of water. You like it?”
    “Do I ever,” said the dabber, examining it in wonder. “It’s so light!”
    Cera chuckled. “Not so much when it’s full.”
    Bert looked up uncertainly. “What do you want for it? Me and Windhoof don’t really carry anything more than the mail and our supplies.”
    “Do you have any money?” the weasel girl asked.
    “Not much,” the dabber said, looking forlornly at the jug in his hands. “Not enough to pay for such a fine item as this.”
    Garadun glanced at Cera and she gave him a warm smile. “Have you got say, oh, five domars?” he asked, and the dabber nodded. “Okay, five.”
    “That’s all you want? For this?”
    “We don’t cheat people or take advantage of them,” the weasel girl told him, and the kittens miaowed in agreement. “Five domars and it’s yours.”
    Garadun took the jug and went inside the motorhome while Bert fished around in his belt pouch for five nickel coins. He paid Cera and then waited for the human to return. It took a couple of minutes, and when he emerged from the vehicle he was carrying the jug by the handle with a bit of effort.
    “Hold on,” said Bert in surprise. “Did you just fill that up?”
    “No point having a water jug without water,” the human replied cheerfully.
    “But I only paid for the jug.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said dismissively. He turned to the enormous horse. “Uh, we’re gonna need to tie this to the saddle, but you’re, uh–”
    I understand, said Windhoof and carefully knelt down on all four legs. Bert climbed up on his back and helped Garadun secured the jug to the end of the saddle with sturdy rope. The bright red and white container really stood out against the equine’s dappled hide. The brutorz stood and regarded the human thoughtfully.
    You are remarkably generous, especially for a human, he noted.
    Garadun shrugged. “Well, we’re not all bastards.”
    “Gar’s a good man,” said Cera defensively. “Honest and kind.”
    “You’re all very kind,” said Bert, touching the brim of his hat. “And don’t think we’ll forget your kindness. You have a safe journey now.”
    “You too, Bert,” said Garadun. “And you, Windhoof.”
    Farewell, said the brutorz and broke into a trot. In moments the trot became a canter and then he was rapidly galloping away east towards New Portage.
    “Interesting pair,” Garadun remarked.
    “Good friends,” said Cera, smiling. “Come on: let’s get back on the road.”

                                                                          *****

When they reached Brandon they got to see just what it took to keep huge dinosaurs out of the fields where farmers grew their crops. Starting about five kilometres out from the town proper was an enormous fence. Entire trees had been used to create a latticework of fenceposts five meters high that were shaped like an endless wall of giant double Xs. Rows of horizontal crossbeams, each a meter apart, were nailed and roped to the Xs to lend further reinforcement as well as an additional barrier. To all these beams were attached long spikes of wood, facing outward. As a final touch, huge amounts of barbed wire were woven through the beams from top to bottom.
    From its starting point, the fence ran west to the horizon along the southern edge of the eastbound highway, and south along the edge of an old road as far as they could see. They followed it for about five kilometres before reaching what had once been a large intersection. At the entrance to the southern turnoff was an enormous gate, above which was a sign engraved with the words WELCOME TO BRANDON. The gate doors were four meters high and one of them was open. The fence continued west out of sight. Just beyond the gateway was a sturdy log cabin and a shed housing an ancient pickup truck; a few centisteeds were tethered nearby. There were also six guards.
    Garadun whistled and shook his head. “Man, not even a sauropod would have an easy time getting through this fence.”
    “Which one’s a sauropod?” Cera asked curiously.
    “The really huge dinosaurs,” he explained. “The ones with the long, long necks and tails, and are like two or three times bigger than all the others.”
    The weasel girl nodded. “Oh, those. Yes, I don’t see any animal getting through that. Those stakes are very sharp, to say nothing of the size of the fence itself.”
    Symphony mewed and pointed several of her paws.
    “Yeah, I see them, sweetie,” said Garadun. Two of the guards had started walking over to where they had stopped on the road. Garadun waved to them as they got closer. “Hey there, guys, how’s it going?”
    “Well enough,” said a mutant human with three arms. “What’s your business?”
    “Just stopped to admire your fence. We left New Portage this morning.”
    “You come to trade?” asked the other guard, a humanoid coyote. When he got a good look at Cera through the windscreen, he leered. “Hey there, pretty girl.”
    “No, we’re all traded out,” Garadun told him, not liking the coyote’s attitude. “Just wanted a look at the fence, and now we’ve done that. See ya.”
    “Hey, you don’t have to go.”
    “Yeah, we do.” Garadun pressed down on the accelerator. The two guards yelled something, but he let them eat dust and hurried off. “What an asshole.”
    Kittens looked back through the windows and growled.
    Cera rolled her eyes. “Too many men are like that, unfortunately.”
    “Yeah.”
    “It is an impressive fence, though,” she said, trying to switch topics.
    “With all these dinosaurs and giant bison roaming around, I guess it has to be,” he said. “Man, the work that must be involved in its upkeep.”
    Cera chuckled. “Count me out.”
    “Me too,” he said and they bumped fists.
    The huge fence continued west along the edge of the highway for perhaps another ten kilometres before it stopped and turned south, disappearing into the distance. It must have been an incredible undertaking when it was first constructed, and had to require a lot of time and manpower and resources to maintain. But people can achieve great things when they put their minds to it. When you have to protect crops from dinosaurs those efforts are a necessity, vital to the survival of entire communities.

                                                                          *****

The Assiniboine River seemed to go on forever, wiggling and winding its way through all of southern Manitoba and beyond. There was yet another crossing a few kilometres from where the fence ended. The bridge on the westbound road was in very bad shape: not quite collapsed, but after an inspection Garadun was betting the next big animal that tried to walk across it would break through and fall in the river. As for the eastbound bridge, the middle of the span was gone: huge chunks of broken concrete could been seen in the water below. An improvised wooden bridge had been laid down between the old supporting columns: it was less than three meters wide, had no guardrails, and he highly doubted it would support the weight of their vehicle. A car or pickup truck might make it across if they were careful, but not an eight-tonne motorhome.
    Symphony looked over the side and mewed despondently.
    “Now what do we do?” Cera asked, kicking a pebble into the river.
    “Go around it.” Garadun heaved a sigh, trying not to feel too frustrated. Given that fifteen decades had passed since the Great Disaster, it was incredible that so many of the bridges they’d found had actually survived. The water was too deep for the motorhome to ford. There were many rivers that were no more than a foot deep in places, but this wasn’t one of them. He sighed again.
    “Better check our maps,” he said and they returned to the RV. Cera brought out the one of Manitoba and they gathered round the dinette table, looking for a detour. The two nearest bridges, assuming they still existed, were within the fenced-off area that made up the fields and town of Brandon. The next bridge after that was part of the road that ran south along the eastern fence line. If that didn’t prove viable, the next choice was another ten or twelve kilometres further east, the 340. It went south from the Trans-Canada for almost thirty kilometres before meeting the 453, and there was a bridge crossing to be made in any case. Everywhere they looked, there were rivers wiggling all over the place. Not great tributaries, but with banks just steep enough and water just deep enough to make crossing without a bridge impossible.
    And that was going south of the Trans-Canada. Using an alternate northern route was equally bad. No matter which detour they took, there were bridges that had to be crossed and no way of knowing which were intact and which weren’t. But they didn’t have a choice. If they wanted to keep going west, then they had rivers to cross.
    “What do you think?” Cera asked.
    “This road here is the closest.” Garadun traced his finger along the map. “It follows the fence. If the bridge over the river here is still intact, then we can go as far south as we have to before heading west again. The road eventually hooks up with the 10 here. We go north towards Brandon, and if we can get in, there’s a road here that goes through the old town all the way west until it meets the Trans-Canada. If the area’s all fenced off, then we’ll just go cross-country till we get to the highway.”
    Cera frowned. “Can the RV drive over the fields?”
    “On flat open ground like this?” he said, smirking. “You better believe it. That’s what four-wheel drive is for. Off-road terrain doesn’t get much easier than this. I mean, you could drive a regular car over fields like this without a problem.”
    “So we just have to hope the bridge is intact.”
    “Yeah.”
    What a pain in the ass. But with nothing for it, he got behind the wheel and turned them around, heading back towards Brandon. Cera was able to get a better look at the imposing fence now that her side of the RV was facing it, and they passed the entrance without slowing. They returned to where the fence started, and turned south on the road that went along the eastern perimeter. It was in good condition; the people of Brandon obviously used it regularly. It made Garadun feel slightly more optimistic because if the road was maintained, then the bridge was likely intact as well.
    Four kilometres down the road they reached the Assiniboine River, which was a lot wider here than they’d seen before. To their great relief the bridge was intact: it had been refurbished in the same manner as the one outside New Portage. The fence actually went down the bank, across the water and continued on the other side. It was integrated into the bridge, switching from huge Xs to a series of poles stuck in the riverbed up to the top of the bridge. The fence’s normal configuration resumed beyond the river.
    About a kilometre past the bridge, the fence came to a stop and turned west, following the edge of an east-west road which, according to their old roadmap, would take them right through ancient Brandon all the way to the Trans-Canada. Garadun made the turn, and five kilometres later they reached another gate. It was shut, with only one door and no welcoming sign. There was a small hut inside the fence and a couple of guards. Cera gave them a wave as they drove past.
    On the south side of the road were the ruins of the abandoned part of town. It had once been a mix of suburban housing and commercial property. Now there was very little left of the houses, if anything, and the larger commercial structures were in extremely bad shape. There were virtually no large trees in area, only stumps. The gigantic fence required an enormous amount of wood. Inside the fence line, the ruins appeared to have been completely removed. All they could see were acres of crops, with corn and wheat being the most common. A few barns and houses sat among the fields; the main town was out of view. The fence followed the road for many kilometres until it finally met the western perimeter and turned north. Cera had been sketching it on her map, and now that she’d completed it, she saw that present-day Brandon, fields included, covered an area of roughly forty-five square kilometres; all of it walled in by the anti-dinosaur fence. When they reached the junction where the road met up with the Trans-Canada, she let out a shout of victory. The detour was over.
    “About time,” said Garadun, turning onto the old highway. Cera glanced over and saw all of Symphony’s little selves were asleep on the sofa. Adorable.
    “From this point on it’s pretty much unknown territory,” she said, settling into her seat and putting her feet on the dash. “Joseph said Brandon was the furthest town west of New Portage that they traded with.”
    “I guess we’ll just have to keep going and see for ourselves.”
    Cera stared out over the open plains. “I guess so.”

                                                                          *****

The prairies were unimaginably vast, and seemed to go on without end. No matter which direction one looked, all there was to see was grassland stretching to horizon, flat and nearly featureless. Small clumps of trees broke up the monotony here and there, as did occasional roaming herds of animals, but otherwise it was incredibly empty. The ancient two-lane highway was now nothing but a very wide dirt path which ran straight and level through the open plains. It was a lot more overgrown, with wild grass and ferns scattered across its surface, along with small patches of weathered asphalt.
    Garadun did the majority of the driving; Cera relieved him for a two-hour spell so he could relax both his body and mind. There were no more bridges to contend with, but the road still required their full attention to keep the motorhome on track. Boredom was the enemy: the land was so flat and tedious that if you weren’t careful, your mind would start to wander, and next thing you knew you’d be off the road. Garadun told his friends of the last time he’d driven across the prairies. He’d been all alone with no-one to talk to, and it’d been a struggle to deal with the boredom. He’d also done some night driving, which had been even worse: you couldn’t see beyond the range of your headlights.
    This time was much easier, in its way. He had Cera and Symphony to talk to (when the kittens weren’t napping) and not only did he have to give the road extra attention because of its condition, he had to stay alert for animals. They could go for long stretches without seeing a single bison or dinosaur; then come across a herd and have to watch them to make sure none were on the road. Hour after hour after hour passed, and to Cera it seemed like they were getting nowhere because it all looked the same. Only rarely did they see the ruins of a building, and that was most often an ancient gas station alongside the highway, long collapsed. There were no more towns, large or small, and no more people. Just empty grasslands.
    Symphony was especially bored. She normally loved travelling in the motorhome, watching everything go by out the windows. But after an hour there was nothing new to see. What trees there were, were all the same and usually way off in the distance. The novelty of dinosaurs had long since worn off, and to her they were no more exciting than cows. So she napped and watched videos on the TV and got Cera to play dominoes with her. She couldn’t imagine how Garadun had done this all alone, back in the time of the Ancients. She had newfound respect for his willpower.
    According to their antique roadmap of Canada, it was roughly three hundred and fifty kilometres from Brandon to Regina; which in the old days would’ve taken between three and four hours to drive, depending on your speed (averaging 100 kph) and how many rest stops you took. Because of the condition of the road, and the wildlife and the need to be alert for whatever dangers Gamma Terra might throw at them, not to mention the stops they took to simply get out of the RV and walk around and stretch their legs, that same trip took them almost eight hours to complete.
    Then when they got there, Regina was gone. Not just in ruins as to be expected, but simply gone. There were no rusting streetlights, no old road signs, no dilapidated brick and concrete buildings, no overgrown houses, no broken-down shopping malls, no rusting shells of cars in the streets, no nothing. All that remained were the streets themselves, their asphalt cracked and badly weathered. Where buildings had stood were either bare patches of dirt or concrete, or empty basements: square and rectangular holes in the ground lined with concrete. Even the trees that had stood in parks and lawns and pieces of municipal greenery were gone; only stumps and a few saplings remained. The entire city had been stripped down to the foundations.
    As Garadun slowly and carefully drove through what had been the outskirts and followed what remained of the Trans-Canada, he came to where an overpass had once stood. There were still hills of grass-covered earth on either side of the road, but the overpass itself was missing: the concrete bridge, the support struts, the asphalt road, the lampposts; everything was gone.
    Symphony came forward and her dozens of kitten selves spread themselves over the dash to look at the bizarre scene. Cera looked around with her binoculars and couldn’t see a single building, not one. Garadun went straight for about three or four kilometres into the open expanse of roads and empty lots before stopping at a large intersection.
    “This is just creepy,” Cera remarked. “It’s all gone.”
    Kittens trilled quizzically.
    “I have no idea,” Garadun replied, shaking his head. He was beginning to understand to general impression of some of Symphony’s assorted cat sounds, such as yes and no and when she was asking a question. He turned right and rolled on. After a couple of streets, he came to another not-there-anymore overpass. Something caught his eye, so he stopped the RV and they got out, walking up the hill. At the top was a straight lane of old gravel and rotten, square wooden logs in the ground.
    “There used to be a railway line here,” he said, pointing. “See? Those are the railway ties. But the steel tracks have been removed.”
    “Who or what could have taken everything like this?” said Cera, mystified.
    Garadun shrugged. “Like I told Symphony: no idea.”
    The weasel girl glanced around nervously. “Let’s keep going.”
    They returned to the motorhome and resumed driving along the empty streets. After five or six kilometres, they drove through what Garadun guessed to have once been part of an interchange. The roads were still there, but the elevated sections were missing. They stopped and Cera took a look at their map; then showed it to her friend.
    “I think this is either Highway 6 or Highway 11,” she said, her index finger on the map. “See? They go through the middle of the city.”
    Garadun nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
    “So if we go back to that road over there and go east, it should take us to the road that goes around the city and meets up with the Tee-Can.”
    “Or we can just go back the way we came.”
    “That, too.” Cera looked around in dismay. “In any case, there’s nothing here.”
    Several of the kittens suddenly stood on their hind legs, with their front paws on the windscreen, staring ahead and miaowing. This of course got the attention of her friends immediately. They trusted Symphony’s eyesight implicitly.
    “What is it?” Garadun asked.
    “She says the road up ahead looks funny,” Cera translated.
    “Okay…” Garadun put the RV into gear and drove forward cautiously. After four or five hundred meters, they discovered what Symphony had meant by the road looking funny: it was brand-new. The ancient asphalt, dirt and gravel came to an abrupt end and was replaced with a completely new, resurfaced highway. It even had painted lines on the edges and a dotted line down the middle. Garadun stopped the motorhome and they hurried out to examine the road.
    “This isn’t asphalt,” he observed, running his hand over the level surface.
    “No, it’s… it’s like rock,” said Cera, mystified. “Isn’t it?”
    Garadun rapped his knuckles on the road. “Yeah, you’re right. It feels like sandstone or something. But it’s seamless and perfectly smooth like brand-new asphalt.”
    Kittens sniffed around, then pointed their paws and miaowed.
    “She thinks we should follow the road,” said Cera, raising an eyebrow.
    “What do you think we should do?”
    The weasel girl smiled. “I agree with Symphony. I mean, don’t you? First we have a city of the Ancients that’s been stripped down to nothing, and now a new highway made of some kind of rock we’ve never seen before. How can we not follow it?”
    Garadun grinned. “I agree. Let’s see where it goes.”
    Symphony miaowed excitedly. Finally, something interesting again! They got back in the RV and continued onto the new highway. For Cera and Symphony the change was astonishing. For the first time in their lives, they were driving on a smoothly paved road and not bouncing and vibrating as they went along. Garadun was thrilled and relieved: he finally had a real road to drive on. He pressed down on the accelerator and got them up to a solid 130 kph. The RV zoomed along like a dream.
    “This is amazing!” Cera exclaimed. “I can’t believe how smooth the ride is, especially considering how fast were going.”
    “This is what it was like back in the day,” Garadun told her and Symphony, smiling. “Damn, it feels good to do some proper driving again.”
    “Where do you think this highway goes to?” Cera asked.
    “No idea. But I guess we’re gonna find out.”