As the Fires Burn

[Present Day - I-9 Interchange, Red Peaks, the Badlands]

The crew stood in awe of the sight before them... a raging inferno had all but ruined the town of Rocky Ridge to the northeast, the fires blazing against the horizon as they looked on at an even more horrifying sight. DaKota's Garage had been blown to shit, the remaining walls barely standing on their own as the smoke billowed up into the sky, polluting and occluding the stars shining overhead. This far out from the City, the air was considerably clearer, permitting anyone traveling the I-9 to look up and capture the twinkle of the cosmos... but not tonight.

Bison pulled away from the crew, stumbling through the sand in the general direction of the destroyed Militech encampment. His feet dragged along shiftlessly before he fell to his knees. He didn't know what he felt, but the churning pit in his gut wouldn't let up as he fought a losing battle to catch his breath. There was a righteous anger in his eyes as Jackson walked up behind him, taking a chance in placing a gentle hand on his younger choom's shoulder as he asked, "What don't I know, son...?"

"S-Serena... was...", Bison forced the words, "...s-she was... p-pregnant..."

While he couldn't say he was surprised, Jackson was nonetheless taken aback at that bit of information as he dropped to a knee with a deep sigh, moving his hand across Bison's back and wrapping the larger man in his arms. He held the big beefcake in a fatherly embrace as he wondered just what the fuck he could say in this moment...

A small miracle of no words needing to be said, Panam finally took notice of the crew standing to the side as she marched a straight line. Addie was ready, her arms open as they embraced one another while Panam cried quietly, "T-Thank Christ you're here..."

"It's okay... I got ya, babe...", Addie whispered softly as she held their nomad friend close and rubbed up and down her back. In the distance, two other nomads were carrying a stretcher between them, a body covered by a blanket, as two others stood on either side with iron at the ready. While it was expected that folks would be on edge, this particular procession carried an air of respect as everyone they passed removed hats and held their hands over their hearts...

It had to be Dakota Smith's body, Jackson mused to himself, and he silently affirmed that Bison was okay before he stood and walked over to meet them. The armed nomads were hesitant at first before they recognized his face, lowering their weapons as they stepped to the side and made a path. Jackson nodded to both of them out of respect as they answered in kind. As he approached the last few steps, each soft crash of his boots in the sand sounded more like a bell ringing between his ears. With a light tremble in his hand, he grabbed the blanket by its edge and inched it down, his eyes clouding over and his breath shuddering. The head was completely gone, the body stripped naked, and were it not for a very telling tattoo about a missing kidney on what remained of her blood-smattered stomach, Jackson might have never known.

He turned away with a sharp exhale, shutting his eyes and clenching his jaw as he swore at himself. No matter the circumstances, he brought this evil upon her when he showed up with the Bishops in-hand. He was to blame for all of it, were it not for the Old Lady's voice in his head telling him to 'cut the shit'.

He returned the blanket to its proper place, covering the body and giving her due respect as he nodded again and stepped back. The nomads continued their march as he looked out across the dunes to the fires raging against the dark. From the inferno, he could just barely make out an approaching dust cloud, his hand instinctively reaching for his holstered iron as he kept a careful eye. Silhouettes of several SUVs in matte black appeared, clearing the sand onto the main stretch of road. They pushed with a furious vexation, their tires screeching to a stop as multiple bodies poured out from each.

To nobody's apparent surprise, they were company operators, sporting Militech-branded gear from head to toe with rifles at the ready as they formed a perimeter. From the passenger seat of the middle vehicle, a familiar face stepped down, planting his feet firmly as he locked eyes with Jackson, a sudden panic befalling him as the latter cowboy curled his fists and approached. Before the rest of the man's team knew what was happening, Jackson had breached their line as he reached out with both hands, grabbing none other than Grady by the webbing of his vest as he pushed him back against the body of the SUV and exploded, "I ASKED FOR ONE THING! YOU GAVE ME YOUR WORD!!!"

The operators all spun around, training their rifles on Jackson and moving in before both of Grady's hands shot forward. He held them straight out, signaling his men to stand down as he locked eyes with his fellow veteran, pain and regret written all over his face. He had no words for Jackson, because the man was right. He was given a job to watch over two high-value targets, and he failed.

Jackson pulled his left hand back, winding up for a strike. He stopped himself short, mere inches from Grady's face, although the latter man never once flinched. Here and now, he welcomed whatever fate would befall him. Jackson physically restrained himself, gritting his teeth as he unleashed all of his pain in a single yell. He again shoved Grady back against the SUV, releasing his grip as his entire body shook from raw adrenaline. Everyone present was on edge, wondering what would come next. To their surprise, Jackson raised his hands in resignation and simply backed away from all of it. He washed his hands of the entire situation, knowing all too well now that it was wrong to trust a company man with anything.

Grady's eyes followed him as he finally turned, meeting Panam halfway with the rest of the crew as they all went to work, pitching in where they could to clean up this fucking mess. Soon, a red sun would rise for the blood spilled this night... there were preparations to make.

--

[Location unknown...]

Howls and cheering voices echoed in the dark tunnels of this hellish place as feral beings clamored their way through, carrying their trophies of the day in the forms of severed heads and limbs. Cries resounded from what few unfortunate souls had survived, dragged kicking and screaming along the ground as they fought and pleaded to be put out of their misery. They knew from legend what gruesome fate awaited, and were they given a choice, they'd just as soon take their own lives.

All of it was just noise to Nel as she stood several feet back from the cell bars... just far enough from anyone brave enough to try and reach in for her. She watched blankly as several of her sisters' cells were breached, the young girls taken by force as the beasts celebrated their overnight victory. More cries and screams invaded her ears, but she was numb to all of it as she stood naked in the middle of her cage... save for the collar and shackles chafing her neck and wrists, long chains running to the earthen wall behind her.

For reasons she had yet to surmise, the elder warriors had declared her off-limits... and those who disobeyed were dealt with swiftly. What made her any more special than all the rest? She perished the thought that these monsters had something infinitely more sinister in mind, her body trembling against the humid cold as a shiver ran down her spine. She tried to shut it all out as she closed her eyes, until a familiar voice stood out from the chaos.

She momentarily took leave of her senses, surging forward until the chains ran taut and jerked her back into her proper place as she lost her balance and collapsed to her knees. She fought against it, trying to lean closer to the bars as she craned her neck to see him...

From the shadows, two 'men' were carrying Charles Bishop by his arms, his feet dragging in the dirt as he berated them for handling him with such disrespect. He was bruised all over and covered in his own dried blood, a look of defeat on his face as he locked eyes with Nel. A fire burned in her eyes as she mustered her strength and spat at him through the bars, his own eyes falling to the ground as he left her sight.

Confident that nobody else was looking, Nel allowed her façade to crumble as she wept, bringing her hands up to cover her face. She didn't know what circumstances had brought the man here in this condition. but she knew in her heart that Jackson had something to do with it, and she prayed that all of them weren't too far behind. She prayed for freedom from this wretched place as she doubled over, curling into a fetal position and holding herself as she rocked back and forth...

--

[Some time later... - Aldecaldos' Camp, north of Rocky Ridge, the Badlands]

Lingering smoke held sway against the mid-morning sky, polluting everything all around in a gray overcast to match the grief felt by everyone present. Jackson stood tall and strong alongside Panam and the rest of the crew, all eyes affixed to the procession before them. A pile had been created in the crude shape of pyramid, built of all the bodies recovered from the wreckage of DaKota's Garage. Out of respect, all the souls lost this night were given a proper send-off by their nomad compatriots, a large bonfire consuming all that remained. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust... and their ashes mixed with the dust carried by the wind as their bodies returned to the Earth and their spirits were carried somewhere far and away.

There wasn't a dry eye among those left behind... nary a single hand not marred by soot and soil. Quiet sniffles echoed against the crackle of timber. The smell was nauseating all on its own, but the embers sifting through the air burned eyes and throats alike. Jackson looked away for a moment, his eyes drifting upward as he looked to the skies and silently asked whoever might be listening to give him a reason for all of it. Even now, he felt alone, like Aiyana herself couldn't bear the torment and had turned her back on him...

The funeral pyre was unceremoniously interrupted as all eyes and ears were drawn to an argument taking place among the tents. A group of bodies were pushing their way through despite the nomads' attempts to keep them at bay. A single man broke free of the scuffle, standing his ground as Jackson's face twisted.

The cowboy turned and started his march, swatting away a few hands trying to hold him back. He closed the gap as Grady shakily tried to deter him to no avail. He grabbed the company man with his 'ganic right hand, delivering a swift and powerful cross with his chromed left. They both fell to the ground, Jackson quickly recovering and pressing his knee into Grady's chest as he gave another punch and barked, "You have no right to be here!"

As before on the highway, all of Grady's loyal attack dogs formed a perimeter around the two bodies struggling in the sand, weapons and voices raised. One of the operators stepped forward, brandishing a handgun as he racked the slide and shouted at Jackson to raise his hands... before another slide racked behind him. All eyes cut to Jayce standing behind the operator, her own iron held in her still-braced left hand and leveled at his head. Her eyes narrowed, and even as all the rest of the operators turned their weapons on her, she never once flinched. Her determination was steadfast, her grip steady, and if it came right down to it, she was ready to throw down with all of them to protect her family. Jackson watched his pride and joy owning the situation as she spoke sternly with a growl, "Back. The. Fuck. Up... NOW!"

The operator hesitated, turning his head just long enough for Jackson to intervene. In one swift movement, he reached forward, disarming the man and knocking him flat on his ass. Before anyone knew what had happened, Jackson turned back to Grady jumping to his feet. Before he could retaliate, the older cowboy had the barrel pointed squarely at his head as he cautioned all of them, "Emotions 're runnin' a little hot at the moment... so ya bes' think carefully 'bout how all 'is plays out..."

Amid this Mexican standoff, Grady clenched his jaw before bowing his head as he carefully raised his hands, motioning for his men to calm the fuck down. Nobody wanted to yield, but Grady knew the look on Jackson's face well enough as their eyes met and he finally spoke, "We're not here to fight... we're here to help..."

Jackson pursed his lips as he weighed the man's words for several seconds. He quickly field-stripped the gun before dropping the individual pieces as he called back, "Jayce... let 'im go..."

"Ain't no way, Pa...", Jayce stood her ground and shook her head fervently, "Ain't no way we trust 'ese assholes again..."

He took a chance, turning to look proudly at his daughter with a hint of a smirk. If Aiyana could see her now...

He closed the gap between them as he placed his hand over hers, gently pressing down. Her eyes cut to him defiantly before zeroing back on the operator still sitting in the sand, her lip quivering as she already knew how this would end. She swore at herself as she lowered the gun, taking a step back and deferring to her old man as he stepped between her and all the rest.

Jackson turned to the man, offering a hand to help him to his feet. The operator accepted, but not without a hint of skepticism, looking to Grady first, who only answered with a subtle nod. He then looked to Jackson, offering an olive branch in his own way, "You've taught her well... nobody saw her coming."

The two men locked eyes as Jackson retorted, "She's young... still green... but she's my daughter."

The message between the lines wasn't so subtle, Grady smiling to himself as he looked down. The air was still tense, everyone on edge, until Jackson followed up, "You say you wan'a help... fine job y'already did."

"Respectfully, cowboy...", the grizzled company man fired back, "...the Old Lady wasn't a part of that deal."

"FUCK YOU!", Jayce shouted as she pushed forward, Jackson catching her by the collar of her jacket. She scrapped the whole way, reaching out at nothing as she tried to break free. Jackson pulled her back to his side as he stepped ahead of her; no words needed to be said. She quietly took her place behind him, though her eyes never cut away from Grady as he said his piece, "I know this looks bad... but all Dakota was, was a diversion... and I'm sorry for that."

Jackson wasn't convinced, but he knew there was more to that sentence as he let Grady have his moment. The company man reached up to massage his stiffening jaw before continuing, "Your outlanders... the whole point of this was to cause as much chaos as possible to cover up what really happened last night."

They all had an inkling, but they waited for Grady to confirm as he sighed and shrugged his eyebrows, "...Charles Bishop is still alive..."

Everyone stood in stunned silence as the information digested in their minds, pits forming their guts. After nearly half a minute of nothing but the wind whistling past, Jackson nodded his head toward the tents, "A'ight, G-man... let's talk..."

--

It never ceased to amaze anyone how a simple canvas sheet could provide such reprieve from the brutal heat and sun known far and wide in the Badlands. Grady certainly wasn't complaining as he held a cold pack to one side of his face, a swelling bruise having fully formed as he explained his end of things to Jackson. Despite the cowboy's insistence that they speak alone, Jayce made it known that she wasn't going anywhere as she straddled a backwards chair with her iron secure in her left hand... and pointed straight at their guest as he asked, "...I wonder if you might ask your kid to point that gun... anywhere else...?"

Jackson looked to Jayce with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Her eyes cut to him for a moment, and she feigned a cheeky smile back at Grady as she shifted her loose and casual aim by only a few degrees. The point was made, she didn't trust the company man... and thus far she had good reason. Grady cleared his throat, silently counting his blessings as Jackson pressed him, "You can understand where I'm havin' trouble wit' all 'is, yeah?"

"Something stinks about all of it...", Grady confirmed Jackson's suspicions, "The Bishops were in our custody all of thirty minutes before we got urgent orders to hoof it to the southern reaches."

"And you'd never bite the hand 'at feeds...", the older cowboy smirked and pushed his guest's buttons as the latter tried not to laugh, "It wouldn't surprise me... backwater post like Rocky Ridge... if Biotechnica managed to slip someone among our ranks.

"Matter of fact... it'd make a whole hell of a lot of sense...", Grady kept going, drawing Jackson's curiosity as he filled in the blanks, "Their attacks on our convoys were too precise... like they knew where we were going before we did."

As always, Jackson had more questions than answers, "What'd they 'ave ya doin' in the southern reaches?"

Grady's eyes cut away, an annoyed look on his face as he shook his head, "Some bullshit errand way below our pay grade... doesn't matter, it confirmed my suspicions, and thank God for small miracles."

The man pulled a handheld deck from his back pocket, his other hand held out toward Jayce to ward off any alarm. Jackson's eyes lit up, wondering what the company man was playing at as he leaned in. Grady tapped a few buttons on the screen, pulling up a map of the entire region, over which a bright orange line was overlaid as if a route were being followed. A route that led straight from the now ruined town of Rocky Ridge to Rattlesnake Creek.

Jackson felt the smile creeping in, not even trying to hide it as he commended Grady's efforts, "Well I'll be... how?"

It was Grady's turn to smile as he answered, "We developed a nanite tracking compound... years ago... administered by syringe directly into a vein. Get this shit in your blood, and we can track you anywhere within a fifty-klick radius."

"Can 'ey trace it?", Jackson asked, to which Grady answered, "Oh absolutely... problem is it binds itself directly to the white blood cells in circulation... so unless our host develops some kind of immunocompromising ailment, or they quite literally drain him dry, there ain't much to do about it.

"After our run-in earlier, the boys and I went to check it out for ourselves...", he manipulated the deck further, zeroing in on the final destination. They were right all along... the Outlanders were shacked up in the old detention center on the ragged edge of No Man's Land. Jackson's eyes lit up as he looked to Grady, who nodded, "They've fortified the compound, no doubt... but no way in hell they had the time to gut the interior. Our old schematics should ring true."

Jackson could have kissed the bastard in that moment, but the backdrop for all of this still loomed over all of them as Grady leaned back with a sigh, "I can't offer much for what happened to the Old Lady... I'm sorry, Jackson. I know what Dakota meant to all of you, and she deserved better."

It was a small kindness, but a kindness all the same, and Jackson appreciated the man's forward demeanor as he asked a more personal question, "Your end of it... any survivors...?"

Grady looked down, working through it in his own mind as a bead of sweat ran down the side of his head before he answered, "We finally managed to put the worst of the fires down, but there's still a lot to be sorted... if there were any survivors, looks like they were taken."

"God 'elp 'em...", Jackson mused with a sharp exhale before turning and pulling the tent flap as he called for Panam.

Within a few seconds, she appeared, her eyes cutting through their guest as she stood inside the tent with her arms crossed. Nomads were, by their very nature, entirely lacking of any trust when it came to the corporations. Given Panam's history with Saul Bright seeking more lucrative corpo contracts... once upon a time... this rang doubly true for her. If Grady wanted in her good graces, he had a long road ahead of him.

Still, even someone as stubborn as Jackson had to give credit where it was due... this was a damn good start to putting a plan together, and unless he had horribly misread the situation, all signs pointed to Grady throwing his team's weight behind the rest of them. He already relayed that Militech had all but disavowed the entire outpost and anyone associated with it. As it was, Grady and his ten-man team had no home at the present moment. They were cast aside like a band of ronin. They had nothing to lose... and that boded very well for what Jackson had in mind.

--