There it is again, that noise. Joe’s Town has always been
dead silent past dusk but midnight disturbances are becoming more and more
common and I don’t like it at all. Pulling a rough shirt over my head, I walk
to the door of my parent's shack. They lie snoring a few feet away, their
ability to sleep through such a tumultuous sound is pitiful, they’re just like
the rest. I step out of the doors made of mismatched scrap set in dilapidated
walls made out of even more junk. The gabled roof of corrugated iron shelters
the raised wooden porch, the whole structure supported by greyed timbers that
have clearly been in place for some time, the few steps leading from the porch
are warped and chipped. Its dark out but the moon provides enough light for me
to see the looming black shape, barely a hundred feet from where I stand, an
obscene groan sounds as it carves it’s way through the night.
Joe’s Town is my home, it always has been, and it was dull
as dirt. Everyone had a way to occupy their brain, some used hooch but I used
music. The town hall was the central hub, centuries of sand had
stained the outside of the building yellow. The corrugated iron canopy was
brown from rust, tiles from the roof gathered in the gutter under fissures of
crossed timbers. At ground level hardened mud was laid out in every direction,
thick black cracks scarred the earth giving the impression of scales on the
back of some enormous, slumbering dragon. Tufts of vegetation fought to reach
the orange sun but the sandstorms killed them before they could flower, leaving
brittle hair like clumps dotted around the landscape. The flat of the desert
spanned for a frighteningly long time, loneliness was a part of everyday life.
Far off stout mountains grew up, reaching for the thick layer of glowing
clouds, rays of sunlight radiated so bright they hurt your eyes.
I dreamt of what lay beyond those mountains, the deep, dried
out rivers that had cut canyons punctuated by needles of rock a hundred feet
tall. Clouds there are thinner, the glowing sky tinged with blue, the bright
sun creates long shadows of the needles and illuminated impressive skylines as
it set. Little vegetation grows there, but what does is dull green and flowers
in pale lilacs and blues. The maze of dead rivers seems endless and the
terracotta walls so high that even if you got down you could scarcely get up,
but whenever I visited the canyons the thought struck me, what if I made it
across?
Life strolled along, dull and repetitive, a never ending
adventure in monotony. It wasn’t until about a year ago when a series of
strange events began to unfold that something outside my music and dreams
piqued my interest. I was sat outside my parent’s hut tuning my banjo and
watching Janie when the first of the oddities came. Janie was the only girl
around my age that lived in Joe’s Town and we didn’t get an awful lot of
visitors so it felt inevitable that we were going to be together, she seemed to
know it as much as I did but still she appeared resistant to the idea and I
hated her for it. I didn’t love her, I didn’t even like her but her rejection
made me sick.
It was about midday when the Rangers came, the orange sun
was seated high in the sky. I had just started to play a song, something I had
written about a rat searching for somewhere that plants grew lush and bright, he
found his haven but a gate keeper told him rats weren’t allowed to enter. The
rat waited until the gatekeeper slept then ate out his eyes, the next morning
he approached again and the blind gatekeeper, assuming he was a man, let him
through. Barely a verse into my song I was interrupted by the distant rumbling
of techbikes.
The Rangers of Rayle, the Technocrat Lord, didn’t often
visit Joes Town but when they did they made an impact. Usually all they wanted
were warm beds and warmer hospitality. Now and then a woman would be in the
band and if they weren’t some battle hardened elder I’d half hope they’d expect
such ‘hospitality’ of me, but it never happened. The Rangers would stay for one
night then ride off again, a huge cloud of dust settling as they got closer to
their next rest stop. First they were far off specs but eventually their bikes
came into focus, their steeds had always fascinated me, the main body was like
the limbless, headless torso of some great metal beast. It sat on two heavy,
black tyres, as thick as the rest of the bike. All together the vehicle was as
long as a man on his back. A leather seat, with a high back, and a pair of
shelves for the feet allowed the rider to sit upright. As they rode their
chainswords rattled against their thick plate armour, seeing them I couldn’t
help but smile.
This time, however, something was different, more men than
I’d ever seen before rode forth, the front rider with a steel chariot secured
to the back of his techbike painted in a faded rainbow of colours, a
signature of the Rangers, it was rusted and covered
in dust from decades of use. The platoon came to a halt, their mounts coughing
as they did so and the heavy rubber wheels scarring the earth under the
overhang of the town hall. They stood around, joking amongst themselves as a
crowd gathered. The chariot rider and a few others walked to the door of the
town hall where they began to talk with Joe III.
Soon the chariot rider accompanied Joe III in to the hall his
guard of men stood around at the doorway, their eyes surveying the crowd with
suspicion. Light faded and the Rangers made their sleeping arrangements whilst Joe
III stayed in the town hall with his guest. As morning broke the bulk of the
Rangers stepped out of various shacks, reassembling their armour as they
walked, some trailed by giggling girls who shared looks of glee as they
accompanied there new friend to his techbike. The chariot rider left the hall,
Joe III waited at the doorway, a look of concern across his face. With a cloud
of dust the bikes began to roar and the Rangers left Joe’s Town.
It was obvious something was wrong but no one seemed to
notice, more than likely the idiots didn’t want to. My mind raced, what had Joe
III and the man spoken about? Why was he so concerned? Joe III started acting
differently after that day, like some burden had been added to his shoulders.
The Rangers started to visit more and more often, always with the guarded chariot
in tow. The girls were happy about it, Janie had become romantically involved with a Ranger.
Everyone seemed too preoccupied to notice but I knew something wasn’t quite
right. When the night sounds began I became truly scared, but underneath that fear,
in the pit of my stomach, was excitement.