The Highwayman (© George D. LaCroix )
Page 1 Milo had the whole highway to himself tonight. Which
was fine with Milo; to him, it was his trinket, all that beautiful but lonely
paint and asphalt, rolling out before him like a red carpet to freedom. Milo had always had a motto he lived by; You merely decide it's yours, and it IS. Another
one he lived by was; What you see, is what you GET. He never
deviated from these beliefs, either. Adrenaline
pumping through his veins like runaway hell's fire, he leaned on the
accelerator. The landscape sped past like a blur. He looked up at the moon,
thinking about a time long ago............. He swerved
over into the wrong lane and picked up speed: 50...60....70....80. I'm my own
man, he thought, as the remains of a derelict world sped past his windows. I
can drive on the wrong side of the highway if I damn well please. It's MY
highway. He teased
the speed up again, until the ancient Chevy Nova wobbled on it's shocks. The
signs, nothing but green and white blurs, were facing the wrong way, but he
knew where he was going. Nobody, he thought, I mean NOBODY, knows the wasteland
like I do. Besides; I'M the MESSENGER. You never kill
the messenger. Maybe chop off a finger or a toe if he brings bad news, yes, but
never, ever, kill the messenger. He drove on
toward Purgatory. The small town
of Purgatory, Texas, used to be a thriving town, until the bomb dropped back in
2013. Now it was a human cesspool of fallout fever induced mutants, and sexual
deviants, the latter prone to daily and nightly sessions of necrophiliac sex
with the freshest corpses they could find. Death was a way
of life, meat was abundant and cheap, and the world kept turning. Besides,
folks out here had to make a buck, didn't they? And so it
goes. He pulled
into Purgatory around midnight, the dim lights of the dead town barely
flickering as he pulled into the parking lot of the city hall. The new 10
o'clock curfew, which was strictly enforced by Sheriff Marshal Wilson, and
ex-marine drill instructor, had so far been relatively successful, except for the
ocassional drunken deviant who'd lost track of time while pounding away at the
newest victim of the fever. Prostitution
was only legal with the dead, and only if they weren't more than twelve hours
dead. After that, rigor would start to set in, and Wilson considered it rude to
be pounding away at someone who was as stiff as a dimestore mannequin. Even the
dead had rights, he thought, under those circumstances. As Milo shut
off the engine, Wilson came strolling out of the front door, carrying a bottle
of bootleg hooch and two glasses. He and Milo always had a drink or two when Milo came to town. Small town courtesy between two businessmen. And so it
goes. ''Milo, old buddy!'' Wilson said, plopping his big ass down on the steps. ''How's it
hangin'?'' Milo cracked a dry grin. ''Same old, same old,'' he said, twirling a finger in the air.
''Just different day.'' ''I hear you,''
Wilson agreed, pouring them both a generous shot of Red Rocket bourbon.
''It's been....dead, around here lately. Get it?'' Yeah, I got it,
Milo thought, disgustingly. Very funny, Marshal. Ha-ha-ha. You're a regular
barrel of laughs, you sick puke fuck of a redneck shitkicker. You're a real
riot. I've seen train wrecks funnier than you. Wilson had always fancied himself a comedian, so Milo just went along with it out of
common respect. An asshole, Wilson was, but, he had managed to hold the town
together through it all. ''Yeah, I get it,'' Milo said, cracking a crocodile
smile. ''That's a good one.'' ''Thought you'd
like it,'' Wilson said. ''Now, how's business?'' ''Kinda
slow,'' Milo said, shaking his head, as Wilson handed him his glass. ''It's the
heat.'' He sipped his drink, grimaced. Red Rocket was bottom of the barrel
booze, but it was free. You didn't turn free drinks or eats down in the
wasteland. It was taboo. ''When it's a hundred and twenty in the shade, even
the freshest meat starts going bad fast. Those ancient refridgeration trucks
they haul them in...they're just too damned old to do the job anymore. That's
why I don't make long hauls now.'' [ Continue to page 2 ] |