1 JJ
1 JJ.
JJ had no idea how to stop them; all he could do was hope Max would find a way.
It was a miracle how they survived. This new enemy should have killed them and could easily take Eden Valley. JJ knew Max had been hit. They, them, whoever they were, were not slavers, a bunch of cutthroats that would just as easily turn their knife on each other for enough profit. Their last firefight had been against organized military, Chain Guns, APC, and they even had drones. His eyes flicked to Max’s drop shoulder, and he was slightly wobbling with fever.
B stood on the rise, holding Max up, and pretended to look out; that was JJ’s queue. Normally, they would stand there and soak up the wonder. Let their eyes marvel at the valley. Against the baron grey of the Badlands, the Valley’s patchwork of green looked like a giant quilt over a bed of life. Also, as opposed to the endless nothingness of radiation-soaked wastelands, wisps of smoke rose from chimneys. This was the mark of people, something to be feared in the Badlands, but here in the Valley, it meant breakfast and the start of a new day.
JJ had seen it all before, the many wisps of smoke marking the presence of grass-roofed cabins. The Torvaks were well disguised, just another green patch in the network of Life. People would be invisible from this height, a secret force keeping the Badlands at bay. JJ sighed; also, what he had heard many times before was Max banging on about how the valley would die. Bearing this, copper winding that, how the biogas generator would pack up? Or the deep well bore was about to fail. He had been a scavenger for seven seasons; each time he returned, the valley was still here, still green, still full of the people he loved - Still Home.
JJ stopped and looked up; he liked this view. It would be perfect if B didn’t have a backpack and lost her armament and combat gear. Losing the samurai sword would also be good; it always made him uneasy. He had seen her use it. Still, a stripped-down version of B in a wet T-shirt and hot pants was more desirable. Like coming out of the hot spring in the Oasis. Her long blond hair and water dripping off curves he could never touch.
He wanted to be in the Oases when he was in the Badlands. When in the Badlands, he wanted to be in the Valley. He could never have what he desired wherever he was. JJ Huffed. In the Badland, it was B, the Warrior Princess; touch it and lose it. In the valley, it was B with her lover, happy, a guardian, and mother to everything good. The Oases were theirs, and he still felt like a spear wheel, B and Max with, quite literally, their hair down, brother and sister in arms, and JJ the... He didn’t know what.
He groaned. The thought of a wet B was better than the images of the firefight they had just fled. This time, the ritual would mean more. It was essential to wash out all the bad stuff, no longer be a scavenger, and become a Valliere. Cleanse the mind. Max would no longer be the leader of Ranger One and became Max the sheep, always doing what he was told. B would become soft when they stepped over the threshold; butter wouldn’t melt. That said, JJ never really knew what he should be - other than a lesser asshole.
When Max looked over his shoulder, JJ felt it. He couldn’t explain it; it was like he just knew—one of Max’s ‘Guns Up’ moments just before they got attacked. JJ moved as fast as his exhausted legs and a loaded backpack would allow. “O shit,” he said when he gained the ridge. “Why everything yellow?” He asked, letting his breath out between his teeth.
“Nothing Good,” B replied, in Warrior Princess mode.
Max stood shaking his head. “What a difference a moon makes.”
“Two, actually.” B huffed. “We were away for two Moons.”
“Hurrah for the Oasis.” JJ half-joked.
Max looked at him; this time, things were different. Max, leader of Ranger One, was still here. “That bad.” JJ Mumbled. He only knew Max had nodded because a pair of sunglasses slightly dropped and came back up. “Shieet.” He said, letting his drawl drop.
Under a dust-laden mall, wrapped around his head and over his mouth and nose several times. Max looked like a mummy in one of JJ’s comic books. Being covered in Gray Badland dust added to the effect. According to the first part of the ritual, B started to unwind the long piece of tight woven hemp that kept the sun off and the dirt out. Max was taller than most, chiseled to a fine art sculpture, his skin as white as polished marble, and as his muscles flexed, mottling ripped down his arms. He looked like he could lump a forty-pound backpack plus guns and ammo for hundreds of miles, which he could.
It was like watching a full-size action man being unwrapped. Muscles and an armored vest with a long gun clipped on the front. B continued to unwind Max with the concentration, radiation-soaked dust deserved, flicking away the excess as she went. They stepped sideways to let the dust cloud drift down the valley. It was like a dance, practiced over the years to perfection. Finally, when B had finished, Max stood smiling, a man again. His long silver hair looked rough like wire but was soft as silk to the touch. Back in the day, before they were conscripted into the Rangers, Max let JJ plait his hair before entering the Valley; now, that was B’s job.
Back then, they didn’t know about the radiation and were two boys escaping the Matriarch. Their first find was a bunker full of bullets and armaments, ‘Eureka,’ JJ said when they found it, so it became known as Eureka, and Max marked it on a map he found and put his star navigation coordinates next to it. With an endless supply of bullets, they were the equivalent of millionaires until they turned seventeen and were conscripted into the Rangers. Then, to their dismay, they were put under the control of a lieutenant called Bulls Eye, B, for short. The only advantage was the Rangers gave them a buggy each.
JJ always found this part voyeuristic. B touching Max’s hair; it was erotic, almost orgasmic to the point of sickening. The way she mewed as she braided it and applied the silver ring to make a ponytail. Then, there was a moment’s pause, like B didn’t want to let go of a lover’s hands. And, after a quick shimmy, she returned to business, checking that armaments, long guns, and sidearms were safe. All knives were sheathed and clipped into place. Finally, B turned Max slowly around, patting him down to remove any excess dust. A set of sunglasses finished the process. Max the Valliere stood before them. He could have been a hiker with a mull around his neck, covering his hard-were.
Then Max did the same procedure to B. She ended with a silver ring forming a ponytail through a moth-eaten peaked cap. When it was JJ’s turn, B was extra rough, even slapping his head, pretending to remove dust. “Badlands,” JJ exclaimed, putting up an arm to stop her. “What’s your problem?” B continued eliminating dust. “Stop.” He objected, taking a step back.
Max put a hand on B’s arm. “Not your fault.” He said softly.
B looked at him and then brushed a tear away. “They were kids,” She whispered. “Kids.” Her voice cracked in regret.
“We didn’t kill them.” Max huffed. “At least the ones not shooting at us.” Max studied B, then his voice tightened with worry, “They made the choice.”
B shifted. “Who used kids anyways.” Her imitation of JJ’s drawl didn’t go unnoticed.
Max didn’t respond. “Idiots,” he finally replied, “The same idiots that parked a tanker load of ethanol behind a defensive position. Thirty-seven children broiled alive. Not our fault.”
B looked down and moved some dirt with her worn boot. “Us being there was.” She stated, then looked Max straight in the eyes. “My fault... Mine.” She said, thumping her body amour.
“Two white flags. Them wanted to trade.” JJ butted in.
Max looked at B. “Not your fault. We were there in good faith; they turned it into an ambush.” B kept moving dirt with her boot and wouldn’t make eye contact, not even with JJ. He felt it; his vote was the reason they were there. Max was right. They should have left well alone, not stopped to help.
When Max looked at him, JJ knew what to do but didn’t want to. ‘For B’s sake.’ Entered his head. “I voted to go.” JJ admitted, “My fault. As well.” This time, B looked at him, and then she sprang. The hug was genuine and pure and, unfortunately, not the least erotic. “Not on you.” JJ whispered into B’s ear. B kissed him on the cheek—worst luck.
“So,” Max said knowingly. “We ready to do this.” B nodded, and JJ joined her on the ridge. “I give praise,” Max announced, doing the movements. The other two followed him. “For the Valley, for life, for us.”
“What is mine is ours. What is ours is plentiful.”
Max repeated the movement: “What happens in the Badlands stays in the Badlands.” He looked at JJ, then B. Their acknowledgment allowed him to continue. “What happens in the Badlands stays in the Badlands.”
“Our Men.” They all said in unison.
With that, Max smiled and stepped over the ridge. He then waited for the other two. Within one footfall, JJ was home, and after a couple more paces, it was like they had entered another world. Tall pine trees seemed to reach the sky, and the scorching sun turned soft and sensual.
B pushed past. “Life’s a bitch.” She hissed. The contact wasn’t soft or kind but brutal like the Badlands. JJ shook his head and shrugged it off.
Max trudged along slower than usual. Even B noticed it in her raised eyebrows and peak cap to the side. JJ stopped in the middle of the path and looked at him. “What.!” Max exclaimed and pushed past.
“Should leave some. Lighten up,” JJ added, slapping Max’s backpack as he passed. Max continued to shuffle on, regardless.
“Only essentials in here.” Max squorked as JJ tried to settle his backpack.
JJ shot Max a grin, making it a joke, or maybe not. “Antibiotics and medicine for the sick, also but not only parts for the gas generator.”
“Water stops if they don’t get bearings for the biogas generator.” Max retorted, staggering on.
JJ had to roll his eyes; he knew all about the baring for the gas-powered engine; how could he forget? Production of electricity for the deep bore pump. The end of the world if it stopped, or the valley at least. How many times has Max gone on about it: no water, no fish, no plants, no food, we all die? JJ shook his head. According to Max, on every moon, the valley was about to end; every moon, it got fixed. He was not worried. Human ingenuity ruled.
It wasn’t like Max went on about design life: one hundred-plus-year-old wind turbines, which should have stopped decades ago but were still turning. Water was still pumped around the valley, irrigation worked, and plants grew. Fruit trees fruited, and bees pollinated everything regardless of Max’s obstinacy. ‘World already ended a hundred years ago.’ JJ thought as he pushed a branch out of his face—a rather green branch.
Max huffed in response.
JJ coughed. “Yep, no moors water, no moors valley.” He hacked defiantly. “Hant happened yet.”
Max only gave him a dismissive wave; JJ knew something was wrong. Usually, Max would give him the rant about how things happen slowly, then all at once. All that end-of-the-world stuff. Again!
Max hated it when he dropped into the drawl, so JJ decided to test how bad things were. “You knows different shit, same days.” Max didn’t respond. “Backpack of bearings and stuff want fitts, anyways. You all leave it, lighten up,” Max kept staggering forward. “Not our fault Hill Mist takes out the solar panels and buggies….”
Max snorted. “Same shit.” He huffed, then did a Max nod – End of conversation.
One foot in front of the other, and this forest track was so thick, JJ had to duck and bod to get through the scrub. He could not believe it; everything was so green and lush, unlike his side of the valley. Being from the lower West Side, a ‘Westie,’ JJ was one of five brothers, three of whom had been outcasts by the Matriarch and forced to join the Saints of the Devine Leader. “I give praise.” He mumbled to himself and sarcastically did the movement. The Divine Leader bastardizing the ritual that joined the valley in thanksgiving was a travesty or just evil.
“Guys?” B’s voice sounded like an angel coming up to greet him. “You have to see this.”
The path suddenly opened into a clearing, and B was breathing heavily. “Bacon, Smoked,” she said, breathing it in. “And is that fried bread and….”
JJ’s growl was almost as loud as his stomach. “Black pudding.” He had to say, licking his lips.
Like two perverts, they did some heavy breathing. The reason for their shenanigans was the smell coming from an open window of a cabin. As with all dwellings in the Hillands, it was a log cabin with a grass roof. The green turf descended to a point where a wooden barrel caught the moisture from the morning due.
As a boy, JJ remembered what sunrise meant: hill mist rolling down, flowers opening, and a finger of sweet nectar. The west side was now deforested and mostly arid shrubland that could no longer maintain sheep. Never mind wild flowers and honeycomb. That meant mead wine was way more expensive, one red-tipped bullet or five hollow points. JJ did not mind; he always had enough money, but his brothers didn’t. Hence, they had to join the Saints.
The woman in the window stopped cooking and took off her pinny. Then she came out screaming. B took the hug as intended, full-on and without mercy. The woman then kissed B on the cheek three times. JJ looked at Max and winked.
“Welcome. Welcome, is.” The woman yipped. Then kissed JJ and stopped and looked at Max. “You brought pretty boy,” She hung on Max like he didn’t need the extra weight. “You’re too beautiful.” She mused. Rubbing Max’s cheek, then B’s, “Not to have children.” Her smile was cheeky but laced with regret.
B’s smirk meant it wasn’t her. “Meet Aunty Gable.” She mewed.
