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Party Poison scanned the town as he cruised down the road. Dead powerlines were strung over stiff wooden shacks, dry grasses and weeds, empty lots surrounded by chicken wire. Gusts of wind swept sand across the road in rippling waves. Grey clouds shadowed the mountains in the distance, rumbling like a purring engine.
“They must’ve taken over a ghost town,” Poison said. They passed a battered mailbox with an address that hadn’t been used in decades.
“Yeah, I thought there was one up here,” Kobra said. He reached over and switched on the radio. “Wonder if Val’s still broadcasting.” He flipped through snatches of music, talk, and static until the now-familiar voice rang clearly through the speakers.
“--I don’t care where you got it, don’t bring it here,” Val Velocity said. “And just a reminder, we’ve got Damien’s Kill rooming in 3C at the All Saints Motel. If you want to check them out, pay them a little visit, they’ll be staying there all day before they hit the bar tonight--”
Kobra switched it off, then sighed and slumped back in his seat. “I can’t believe we’re listening to this shit instead of Dr. D,” he said. “This guy’s going to get his ass kicked, man.”
“Easy, Kid,” Poison said.
“No, I didn’t mean me,” Kobra said. “I’m just saying, if somebody else tracks the broadcast, they’re going to be breaking down his door to get to him.”
“Might’ve happened already,” Poison said. “Maybe we’re listening to a recording.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Kobra said. As he watched the town unfold through the window, another burst of thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning flashed over the mountains like a strobe light.
Finally, Poison pulled up to what looked like the supply shack. The brothers ducked under saddles and horse riding gear that hung from the ceiling. A cast-iron stove stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by rocking chairs. Two Killjoys looked up from their game of checkers. Their eyes followed Poison and Kobra as if they had never seen anything like them.
“Good morning,” said the woman behind the desk. Poison noticed that her nails were clipped and polished. She delicately turned the magazine pages like a rich lady from Battery City.
“Hey,” Poison said. “We’re looking for Val Velocity.”
She took a sip from her drink. “Yeah? What for?”
“We need to talk to him,” he said. “He’s been jamming Dr. Death Defying’s signal and broadcasting over it. One of our friends tracked down his signal. We’re not here to threaten him,” he added quickly. “We just need to talk to this guy. See what his deal is.”
She didn’t look surprised. “Well, you’ll have to wait until his show is over,” she said. “Take a seat. I’ll call him when he’s finished.”
Poison sighed. “All right,” he said. “Thanks.”
He sank into one of the rocking chairs, then wiped his face with his bandana. Thick humidity hung in the air. A fan whirred from a shelf in the corner near the ceiling. Kobra sat down next to him, the chair creaking as he rocked. The girls continued to stare at them. Their checkerboard hadn’t moved since the brothers had walked in.
“Hey,” one of the girls said. “You’re Party Poison, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Poison said, a note of impatience in his voice. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“And you’re Kobra Kid?”
“Yes, I am,” Kobra said.
“Wow,” she said. She exchanged excited looks with the other girl. “Hey,” she said. “I just want you guys to know that Val didn’t mean nothing. He’s just trying to get the word out.”
“The word out about what?” Poison said.
“This place.” She chewed on the straw that poked out of her drink. “He just wants everyone to know about it, so they can come and live here if they want.”
“Then put out some ads or something,” Poison said wearily. He rubbed his forehead. “Look, I’m sorry, but new settlements show up every month. They can’t start pulling this shit every time they want to get the word out.”
Suddenly the other girl patted the checkerboard to get her attention. The girls signed back and forth for a few moments. Then the first girl’s face lit up with realization, and she jumped out of her seat.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re going to give you the tour.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Poison said. “What? What tour?”
“We’re going to show you around,” she said. “Come on, let’s get it done before the rain comes.”
“We can’t go, we’ve gotta wait for Val.”
“You’ll see him at lunch. I promise. He comes there every day.”
Poison was about to protest when Kobra turned to him. “Maybe we should check things out,” he said. “Might be important to know.”
Poison hesitated, then climbed out of his chair. The girls led the brothers outside, where grey clouds were approaching the town. They walked over to an empty lot surrounded by wire fence. The shrubs and grasses had been cleared away, replaced with neat furrows like small, bumpy hills. The girl stepped on a concrete block and balanced on it.
“This is the garden,” the girl said over the wind. “We just got started, but the first crop’s coming in in about a few months.”
“Where do you guys get supplies?” Kobra said.
“We’ve got connections,” the girl said.
“Where? To the neutrals?”
“Oh, here and there,” she said. She hopped off the block and led them to the next building down the road, a dark wooden shack with a crumbling porch. “This is going to be the library when it’s all finished,” she said. “They just need to get the porch fixed up.”
The sweet smell of rotting wood wafted from the porch undergrowth. The brothers exchanged glances, but didn’t say anything.
The girls showed them the various shacks that served as housing, a chapel, storerooms, the All Saints Motel, a medical clinic, and a print shop. As they walked away from the library--a shed that contained a stack of magazines and a dozen books--the wind started to pick up, whistling through the grasses and tossing a loose can across the road. Poison shielded his eyes and looked up at the sky. Dark clouds blanketed the town, dimming everything with a greyish tint.
“We better get back,” the girl said. “C’mon. What did you guys think?”
“It’s pretty nice,” Kobra said. He scooped up the can and slipped it in his jacket pocket. “We’re going to recycle it,” he said in response to the girls’ questioning looks. “Do you guys recycle out here?”
The girl shook her head as if such a thing had never occurred to her before.
A light rain had started when they stepped into the bar. A small crowd had already gathered, talking and laughing around the tables. Several people looked up when they approached. Poison raised a hand in greeting, then headed to the counter, where the bartender was serving up plates of food. His stomach growled when a man hurried past him with a plate. Crusty bread, a piece of pie, cheese, and sliced pickle. Like a picture from a recipe magazine in the pre-war days.
“Excuse me,” Poison said to the bartender, leaning his arms on the counter. “Hey. We’re looking for Val Velocity. When he comes in, will you let him know we’re here?”
“Val?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You two don’t look familiar. Are you another group that’s pissed off because he’s screwing up your signal?”
“He’s been blocking Dr. D’s signal for a week,” Poison said. “We just want to talk to him. Get this straightened out.”
“Well, he should be in here shortly,” she said. “But I don’t know why you all are so upset. Sounds to me like he gives the same news that everyone else does.”
Poison started to respond, but thought better of it. The brothers paid for their food and carried it to a table in the back. Despite the creaky floor slats and grimy plastic chairs, the bar had a newness to it--no old fliers, pictures, or cluttered decorations that accrued on the walls as they aged. Poison sat with his back to the wall, watching the door as he ate.
“Do we even know what this guy looks like?” Kobra said. “What are we looking for?”
“I have no idea,” Poison said.
“He sounds young,” Kobra said. “Probably another kid in his twenties who thinks he’s going to rule the Zones.”
Poison nodded over his glass. He was about to speak when the bar suddenly fell silent. Then an excited chatter buzzed around the tables. Poison looked up at the doorway, then stopped. His heart started to race. In an instant, he knew it was him.
“Hey,” the bartender said. “There’s a couple of outsiders looking for you.”
“Are they?” Val said. His voice was flat as hammered steel.
“Yeah. They’re back there. Said you’ve been blocking Dr. D’s station for a week.”
She nodded toward the table in the back. For a moment, Val and Poison’s eyes met. The air seemed to go still. Then Val said something to the bartender, turned back to the brothers, and jerked his head toward the door. Poison stuffed the last piece of pie in his mouth and followed him outside, his stomach churning with a flutter of excitement and apprehension.
Sheets of rain drizzled outside, running down the sides of the porch roof in rivulets and droplets. Val stood near the stairs with his arms folded. Up close, Poison could see dark roots extending into his bleached white hair. Unlike most Killjoys, he was strangely clean-shaven. Attached to a chain around his neck was the top row from a set of plastic vampire fangs.
“All right, we need to talk to you,” Poison said. “You’ve been jamming Dr. D’s waves for a week.”
“Did I?” Val said. “I’m sorry about that.” He leaned against the railing, his expression not changing. “I was planning to stop in another week or so.”
“A week?” Kobra said. “We don’t have another week. He does job offers, storm reports, radiation readings--”
“Drac alerts,” Poison said.
“Yeah. Drac alerts. He doesn’t just play music, man, he keeps people alive. We’ve all been in the dark this past week because of you.”
“Oh, I think I’ve given plenty of information,” Val said.
“What? What information do you have? Because all we’ve heard is a bunch of shit about a small town up north.”
Val drummed his fingertips against the porch railing. He gave a faint, unfriendly smile. Poison shot Kobra a glance that read Step back.
“Have you ever thought about who runs the Zones?” Val said, stepping forward. There was a gleam in his eye, as if he were preparing to launch into a speech.
“Nobody,” Poison said. “Nobody, man, that’s the whole point--”
“No. That’s not true. Who controls the airwaves?”
“Nobody,” Poison said, waving a hand impatiently. “I mean, the techies keep it running, but--”
“No. You’re not getting it. Who runs the show? Who does everybody turn to?”
Poison threw his hands up. “Dr. D, I guess, but--”
“That’s right. And who’s his partner? Who’s been running the tech side for years?”
“Hot Chimp, but--”
“And who controls the markets? Who’s got connections to everyone in the Zones?”
“I guess--Chow Mein, but--”
“Yes. That’s right. The Zones are controlled by old men and women who keep their positions just because they’ve been here the longest.”
“That’s not true!” Poison burst out. “Hot Chimp knows everything about tech, she’s the reason we have any kind of working tech in the first place--”
“Not lately,” Val said. “When’s the last time you saw her tech on the market? She can’t keep up.”
“That’s bullshit,” Poison said.
“Is it?” Val said. “Didn’t everyone start phasing out her old equipment a year ago?”
“Well--yes, but--just some of the minor parts, not all of it--”
“Didn’t the Wirebugs say that most of her radio tech was obsolete?”
“Yes, but--”
“And what about Chow Mein?” Val said, turning on him.
“Oh, no,” Kobra interrupted. “I know where you’re going with this.”
“Then you know what he does,” Val said. “He abuses us, he curses at us, he gets violent--”
“Look, Chow Mein’s a dick,” Kobra said. “Okay? I’m the first to admit it. But I’ve worked there, I’ve volunteered on and off there for years. People get violent. They attack him when he won’t give them supplies, and then they turn around and tell their friends that he started it.”
“He looks down on us,” Val said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, he curses working for us, he curses us every time we enter his store!”
“Okay, yes, he’s a condescending prick--”
“He’s violent,” Val said. He gripped the back of a chair. “I’ve seen it, don’t you dare tell me he doesn’t get violent!”
“Yes, he does, when people threaten him--Jesus Christ, man, what is wrong with you?”
“Dr. Death Defying!” Val said. “When’s the last time you saw him leave his shack?”
“He’s in a fucking wheelchair!” Kobra said.
“He can walk, I’ve seen it! He’s got those braces! But he stays in his shack every day and tells Show Pony to go out and run his shit for him, and you know why? Because he’s scared! He’s scared of us! He’s scared of me, and he’s scared of you! Because he knows that one day we’re going to knock them all out of power and take back the desert!”
Poison stared at him, too shocked to speak. Unconsciously he raised his arm, making Kobra step back. Val’s nostrils flared. He took deep breaths, his shoulders heaving, then turned back to the porch steps. He bent over and rubbed his face with his hand. The rain hammered against the pavement, making a rushing sound on the roof above them.
“You’re wrong,” Poison said. “Jesus. I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong you are. When my brother and I first came out here, Dr. D was the only one that would give us shelter. To everyone else, we were just a couple of dumb kids, but he took us in.” Poison rubbed his face with his hands, his voice wavering. “He takes care of everyone. Whenever someone new comes out here, they go straight to him, because he knows what they need. Every time. He’s been through the wars, he’s seen it all, and he still--”
His voice broke and he placed a hand to his mouth. Kobra reached out and rubbed his back. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about it, man. Come on.”
They pushed past Val, walked off the porch, and stepped into the sheet of rain. The rain beat against Poison’s hair and shoulders, soaking his hair and beading off his jacket. As they walked to the supply shop, Poison turned and glanced back through the watery curtain. Val stood at the porch steps. His white hair was clearly visible through the rain. When their eyes met, a twitch of a smile played at Val’s lips.
Poison shook his head, then turned back to the road. A fresh scent filled the air. The rain hammered the pavement and dotted their boots like pellets. It ran in rivulets through cracks in the road and beat down against the grass, the blades bending under the force, water dripping from the tips like tiny jewels.