Outside, they found all the lights off. The regular background hum of machine tools and the thundering of the tire furnace had been replaced with silence. Turning to the power plant, she saw the last gust of smoke floating away like a black wraith, slowly rising and dissipating into a sky that was once again turning blue.

  “His name is Terry Archer,” Behan said, moving fast across the square and heading for the power plant. Some of Behan’s men fell in beside him. “Chief engineer at the power plant. He’s built himself up a union. Protesting wages and the treatment of civilians. Never had trouble with him until Crazy Joe started stirring things up.”

  “Does this happen often?”

  “About once a week he flexes his muscles by cutting off the power for a few hours. Usually has some complaint or other.”

  The power plant and tire dump were set a little aside from the rest of the town. A narrow-gauge track ran from the edge of the dump to a large door in the plant. A string of mining carts, half full of tires, stood idle by the dump. Behan led them to the tracks and they followed it to where the doorway led to the furnace. Even with it on idle, it still let off enough smoke to make them cough.

  “I don’t know how they stand it,” Behan said.

  A line of men and women, blackened head to toe, stood blocking the entrance, gripping shovels and wrenches.

  Behan and his men stopped a few meters from them and formed a line. The k-slinger moved to the side as she noted the power station workers’ eyes on her.

  “Got a new killer, Behan?” one of the workers snapped.

  “Nope,” the k-slinger replied.

  “Potential employee,” Behan said. “Now what is it this time, Archer?”

  “Hansen, one of my assistant engineers, was at Wild Sally’s Saloon last night when one of Crazy Joe’s people started slugging him for no reason. Broke all his teeth.”

  Behan raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Now Archer, you know Crazy Joe is—”

  The mayor’s words got cut off by the rev of an engine. A Jeep careened around the mountain of tires, skidding on two wheels before righting itself and speeding up in their direction. Half a dozen men sat inside. On the back was mounted a heavy machine gun manned by a one-eyed young man in all camo who was screeching at the top of his lungs.

  The Jeep ground to a stop, kicking up sooty dust into everyone’s faces. The machine gunner grabbed an AK-47 and jumped off the back. His position at the gun was immediately replaced by one of the others, who pointed the muzzle at the dirt halfway between the two lines facing off.

  The one-eyed man slung his AK in the Ready position and sauntered over.

  “You must be Crazy Joe,” the k-slinger said, easing her own gun into the Ready position.

  Crazy Joe eyed her, turning slightly to get a better angle if he needed to draw. For a moment everyone fell silent.

  “And who might you be?” he asked.

  “Just in town for trading.”

  “You’re a hot little filly. It’s too filthy around here for the likes of you. How about you come back to my place and I’ll run you a bath? I have a bathtub built for two. Soap and rubber duckies and everything.”

  The k-slinger smiled. He wasn’t bad looking. No style, though.

  “Nice Jeep. You get ethanol from the farmers?”

  “Yeah. The sod busters are good for some things.”

  “Their daughters are good for a lot of things!” the man at the machine gun guffawed.

  Crazy Joe gave the k-slinger another long look before turning to Archer.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be working or something?”

  Archer pointed with his wrench at the man sitting at the wheel of the Jeep.

  “He beat up one of my people last night for no reason.”

  Crazy Joe put on a show of surprise. “Is that a fact. Bob, is this true?”

  “He was sitting where I wanted to sit,” Bob said.

  Crazy Joe spread out his hands. “Well, there you go. Bob had a perfectly good reason.”

  “He needs to pay blood money,” Archer said.

  All the men in the Jeep laughed. Crazy Joe’s one eye narrowed. He began to shift his stance to face Archer.

  The k-slinger moved her left hand a fraction of an inch toward the muzzle of her AK. Her right hand moved an inch up, fingers opening.

  It was a tiny movement, and with all eyes on Crazy Joe or Archer, no one saw it.

  No one, that is, except Crazy Joe.

  He turned back to her. Their eyes met.

  “You working for Behan?”

  “I told you. I’m just passing through. Looking for a nice, peaceful town to do my trade.”

  Crazy Joe grinned. “This place ain’t so nice and peaceful no more.”

  “Well, that’s a shame,” the k-slinger said in a level voice.

  Silence. The moment drew out.

  The k-slinger kept her body relaxed, poised. It never did any good to tense up before a draw. That only slowed you down. You had to be like a rattlesnake, coiled and ready to burst into action. She could kill Crazy Joe, swivel to get the man at the machine gun if Behan or one of his men didn’t ice him first, then work on the rest. Besides the machine gunner, the other four were seated and didn’t have their guns at the ready. Too cocky. Used to bullying their way to what they wanted.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Still, it was bad odds.

  Behan cleared his throat. The k-slinger and Crazy Joe did not take their eyes off each other. She kept her ears perked. No sound of movement from Behan or the guys in the Jeep. She’d noticed that the machine gun mount needed oiling. If the gunner shifted his aim to her, she’d hear it. Right now he wasn’t trying that. Right now he was being smart.

  “Archer,” Behan said. “I’m sorry about your man. Since he got hurt by a municipal employee, the city will pay his blood money. Tell him he’ll get it this afternoon.”

  Crazy Joe’s face cracked into a smile. “Well now, everyone’s happy. I think I’ll go to the saloon and get myself a tomato juice. Wanna come, girlie? I’m buying.”

  “Tempting but no.”

  Crazy Joe glanced at Behan, chuckled, and moved back to the Jeep. She noticed he moved warily, and never turned away from her. She wondered who would have won on that draw.

  With a whoop, Crazy Joe hopped into the Jeep. The driver revved the engine and took a sharp turn, kicking sooty soil into everyone’s faces a second time before speeding off around the corner of the tire heap.

  Behan cleared his throat. “Now that that’s settled, I expect you to all get back to work.”

  The line of workers paused for a moment, then began to move back into the factory.

  Archer stepped over to the k-slinger.

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  Archer nodded. “Yeah, you did.” His eyes shifted in Behan’s direction and he lowered his voice. “More than that scarecrow.”

  She turned and walked away. Behan and the others did not try to join her. By the time she made it back to the hotel, the lights were back on and the power station was belching greasy smoke.

  That evening she ate at a restaurant she remembered from her last visit. Unlike a lot of businesses she remembered from the year before, The Roadkill Grill was still open. Housed in the carriage of an old bus, it had a long counter running down the center with stools for the customers, and a row of small tables and chairs to one side. The other side was for cooking. A big grill with sizzling meat made the interior sweltering even though all the windows were open to the cool night air. An electric fan in the corner did little to help.

  Despite this, the place was packed. The name was a joke. The owner only cooked up farm-raised chicken, goat, and pig. There were places in town that actually did serve carrion. She wasn’t that hungry. Not in recent years, anyway.

  And with the trade tokens she’d gotten from exchanging some .45 ammo she didn’t have a gun for, she could afford seasoned goat with greens on the side, plus a large glass of homebrewed beer.

  The crowd was a mix of market traders, farmers in town to sell their produce, power station workers, even a couple of families. She could tell the power station workers by the black crescents under their fingernails and the lines of soot they had missed in the shower. If the man at the stool next to her threw the soot from his ears into the furnace, he could probably supply Tire Town with another kilowatt.

  But the k-slinger wasn’t paying attention to him. She was paying attention to the girl staring at her from the other end of the bus.

  She was about ten, dressed in homespun canvas shorts, sandals, and a pink Old Times t-shirt that was way too big for her. Her eyes were big too, and they didn’t leave the k-slinger as the woman ordered her food.

  The k-slinger gave the girl a wink, getting a shy smile in return. The girl turned and spoke to someone hidden behind a tangle of customers.

  A moment later, Archer stepped into view carrying two plates. The girl pointed and Archer turned. He set the plates down and walked over. The k-slinger noticed he was much better looking without all that crap covering his face.

  “Care to join us?” he asked.

  “I’m comfortable right here.”

  “I’d like to talk with you. No strings attached. I’m buying.”

  “I didn’t let Crazy Joe buy me a tomato juice. I shouldn’t let you buy me dinner. I don’t want to take sides, mister.”

  Archer’s face darkened. “You already did when you squared up to him. He won’t forget that.”

  “Then maybe I should have accepted that tomato juice.”

  Archer chuckled. “He was serious about that, you know. He doesn’t drink. It’s the only vice he doesn’t have.”

  “Was he serious about the rubber duckies?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.”

  The girl skipped up to them. Actually skipped.

  “I heard you scared off Crazy Joe,” she chirped.

  Tell the whole world, kid. Well, the news has probably made the rounds anyway.

  “I was just an observer.”

  The girl’s eyes fixed on the AK-47 slung over the woman’s shoulder.

  “You a k-slinger?”

  “The best.”

  “You shouldn’t say that,” the girl said, suddenly worried. “Other k-slingers will want to challenge you.”

  “They can if they want.”

  The girl stuck out her hand. “I’m Cynthia. Cynthia Archer.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Cynthia Archer,” the k-slinger said, shaking her hand. No callouses. The girl didn’t have a job. Lucky kid.

  “What’s your name?” Cynthia asked.

  “It’s not important.”

  Cynthia laughed. “Everybody’s name is important!”

  “Mine isn’t.”

  “Ooo, I know why. Because you’re so fast on the draw with your AK everybody knows you by that!”

  “I prefer nobody knowing me at all.”

  “Come sit with us.” The girl tugged on her hand.

  The k-slinger smiled down at her. “Oh, all right.”

  She moved over to their table. A couple of diners glanced their way.

  “You picked the right place for dinner,” Cynthia said. “It’s healthy eating here.”

  “Well, it’s never given me food poisoning. That’s why I keep coming back,” the k-slinger said.

  “They put real sea salt on the meat. It’s got iodine. You need iodine so you don’t get goiters.”

  “Some of the folks further inland have goiters,” the k-slinger said.

  “They should eat here then.”

  “Most can’t afford to.” Terry Archer told his daughter. “We’re lucky to have what we do.”

  Cynthia wrinkled her nose. “Less and less every month.”

  She sounded like she was repeating something her father had told her. A lot.

  Cynthia went on. “Iodine does more stuff too. Helps you pass out radiation when you pee. I don’t want to get the cancer.”

  The k-slinger smiled at her, “You’re too young to worry about the cancer.” If you’re lucky. She pointed at an old tin sign tacked to the wall showing a large animal divided by dotted lines into cuts of meat. “You know what that is, smart girl?”

  “That’s a cow. They died in the Biowars.”

  “Your dad teaches you well.”

  She had almost said “mom and dad” but it was obvious that mom was gone. Dead, probably.

  “He does when he gets the time, but he’s chief engineer at the plant so everybody needs him for everything.”

  “I’m just part of a team, Cynthia. Every man and woman in the plant is vital.” He turned to the k-slinger. “Cynthia is at the top of her class.”

  “They got a school here now?” That was a surprise.

  “Behan opened it soon after he took over.”

  The k-slinger took another bite of her goat, mulling that over.

  “What else has Behan done?”

  “Not much that hasn’t been undone by Crazy Joe and his gang,” Terry grumbled.

  “Market seemed a bit quiet. I’ve seen some shops boarded up too.”

  “Scavengers don’t stay as long as before,” Terry said. “And the farmers only come in when they have to. They don’t want to get shaken down on the roads into town. They try to mess with you?”

  “I don’t pay road tax.”

  Cynthia grinned. “Cooool.”

  Terry gave his daughter a worried look. “It’s no good looking for trouble. But you got to be able to handle trouble when it comes.”

  “By shutting off the power?” The k-slinger asked. “That can’t be earning you any friends.”

  “Most folks understand. And we never keep it off for long. Yet.” Terry leaned forward. “They can’t replace us. Only we know how to run the power station. But we can’t push them too hard. Crazy Joe’s man roughed up Hansen to make a point. They’ve roughed up some of my other people too. If we go on a real strike, they’re liable to kill one of us and make us work at gunpoint. That’s why we need some muscle. That’s why we need to find someone who can handle a gun.”

  The k-slinger ate her last bit of meat, drained her beer, and stood.

  “I’m not for hire.” She said it loud enough for the tables nearby to hear. Loud enough that the Tire Town gossip mill would carry her words to enough ears that she wouldn’t wake up to trouble tomorrow.

  Trouble found her anyway.