4

Top speed was an easy thing to achieve, it was harder to keep that speed when it came to being chased by bandits. The gauges on the dashboard were alight with movement. Oil pressure, voltage, speedometer, backup battery power, it was all on display for Brigg’s own edification. He panned his eyes toward the horizon, hoping that he could see Horizon Visions. All he did see was a small sliver of glinting metal in the distance, just at the extreme end of his vision. He reached up towards his impressive CB radio. After clipping the receiver from its latch, he pressed the talk button a few times, to alert the radio operators of the City-State, it was all just basic procedures for haulers. He put the receiver in his lap as he dialed in the frequency for Horizon Visions. The static from the speakers near the roof started to turn into an odd oscillation, then it panned out to a series of beeps. Brigg’s brow furrowed in consternation before his eyes lit up.

“Oh…. that can’t be good, they are transmitting Morse code. That means…”

The beeping started in earnest, but just his luck the message was already in the middle of the transmission, he would have to wait till he restarted from the beginning. He moved his eyes towards the small bank of small monitors to his left. There were four in all, each one displaying a certain part of the Long Haul, from most of the left side of the rig to the right side, to the very back, to the undercarriage. It was not a perfect system by any means, but it was a good system to keep him alert to the surroundings of his Rig. The screen showing the back of the third car lit up with a small blinking red light, the pulsing LEDs pulled his eyes toward it. He did not see much at first, then after a few heartbeats he saw what he was dreading, several shapes moving fast towards him. Given that the back of his Rig was kicking up small amounts of dust and road debris. He could not get a full count, a ballpark estimate totaled the incoming attackers at maybe five, at most ten. He swore to himself, knowing that this was going to be a close one. Whereas the attackers had speed, his Rig had one of the unspoken rules of the road, ‘The vehicle with the most lug nuts, always has the right of way.’ Grinning at that small little joke in his mind, Briggs pushed a little harder on the accelerator.

“If you want this cargo. You pieces of filth are going to have to work at it. I will not go down without a fight.” He thought with a little glee.

Most people hated this part of the job, the risk of being overtaken, your cargo being stolen, and in some cases, even your life. It was all part of the job, the risks that were hand in hand with being a long hauler. Brigg’s ears perked up as soon as he heard the Morse code signal stop suddenly, finally, it had reached the end of its loop. He panned back to his monitors, seeing the small shapes slowly getting closer to his Rig. At this rate, they would be on him in about five minutes, maybe less. He was lucky that his Rig was able to get enough speed that they did not overtake him at the ‘trap’. It was a small miracle, but a miracle, nonetheless. His ears started to decode the beeps coming through the speakers.

“D-O-N-T-A-P-P-R-O-A-C-H-U-N-D-E-R-A-T-T-A-C-K.”

Briggs scowled as he put it all together, the rat man he spared was not kidding. Some groups thought they had the gumption to attack a City-State. It looked like it was for real, and this was the City-State, he hoped it might be a trial run. Just go in, attack the city, see what the fortifications were like, then get out before the casualty’s mount. He shook his head, never expecting to see the day. His monitors pulled his attention once more, the small blobs of metal had gotten close enough that he could now make out individual vehicles. He did a quick count, scanning the different silhouettes, the number he came up with was a big issue.

“So, we have three crawlers, two chasers, two boarding trucks, one tire shredder, and one refueling barge. There is no way I can outrun them, if those barges weren’t there, then yes. They have all the fuel they need to keep up the chase for days.” Brigg thought, scratching his chin, trying to think. He reached up to the CB again, hitting a small toggle switch, under it there was a faded label. The label itself was made from old duct tape, and written on it, in black marker was the word ‘Weather’. In a few moments, the toggle light went from red to green, the speakers cut away from the Morse code, and a metallic male voice started to speak.

“Weather warnings for the following districts, o-five, o-six, o-ten, o-eleven, and o-13. These areas are under a strict weather warning. If you see any of the following signs, please take cover in the nearest safe zone. Repeat, and take cover in the nearest safe zone. Sudden winds, earth tremors, sudden pressure changes, heavy fog cover. Message to repeat.”

The voice started to return to the beginning of the message. These things were usually boring to the average listener, however in times like this, it was usually a godsend. Most bandits, raiders, pirates, or any other form of highway robbery normally did not have access to the high-powered radios that rigs could run. For one thing, the space requirement was often too large for small vehicles to deploy without slowing them down. Secondly, the power requirement was well beyond what standard car batteries could hold for a charge. Briggs looked over towards the left side mirror again to check on his pursuers. The war party had almost closed the gap to the back of his Rig. If they could board the rearmost trailer, they would have a field day with the rest of his home. Luckily there were plenty of precautions along the way to reduce the chances of boarding actions. He could almost hear the lead car yelling back to his fellows, the frustration of trying to clear the large car-sized wheels to get to any kind of handhold. The rear-mounted camera caught his attention as the lead car started to back off from his bumper.

“They are going to try to either launch themselves onto my Rig, or they might try to slow me down. The first option is the easiest for them, but they don’t know all the defenses of my ‘Long Haul’. I don’t think they have enough horsepower to slow me down, I can pull almost four hundred and fifty tons of cargo, and I know I am not hauling near the extreme end of my weight.” Briggs contemplated.

He looked farther down the road, seeing where the city was built into a large-looking cratered area. It was the only topography that broke up the otherwise flat landscape he had been traveling on. He upshifted again, putting his Rig into its lowest gear, his speed dropped just a little, but then the needle started to rise past eighty miles per hour. His fists tightened on the steering wheel, his eyes panning on the skyline. If there was anything that could save him right now, it was either going to be the security forces from the City-State. Since they were under attack now, it was a no-go option. Then there was the weather option, which was always a terrible idea. Strong winds and low visibility were always a shoo-in for a pulse-pounding, aggravating time. Looking toward the east, he could see that the setting sun was highlighting a dark smudge. He grinned like a madman; it looks like the weather gods were on his side this day. His ears picked up the sound of gunfire, it seemed that the raiders were going to pick a third option. Damage his Rig enough for either an engine failure or to pressure Brigg to pull over.

The smudge of brownish color looked like a mere discolored cloud was getting closer to Horizon Visions, Brigg knew how fast that cloud was going, and it was going to hit this area hard. He saw the signage for the highway loop that anyone could take to bypass the City-State entirely. Some haulers tended to have extremely fuel-efficient engines, so passing cities was an option. Not many of them did that, if you passed every city, you could miss out on trade goods, prime contracts, passenger requests, or just basic news from the other districts. Briggs had skipped his fair share of cities, which is how he fell into his Rig’s name. It baffled some of these poor people that lived their entire lives in the safety of the City-States walls. Comfort and Safety, lead to a life of ‘surviving till the next sunrise’. Briggs pulled down his radio receiver, his Rig shuttering as several of the chase vehicles fired a few dummy fire rockets. The explosion would have been massive by any means, but to his Rig, it just dented a few armor plates and scorched off the heat-resistant paint. He flipped on the City-State frequency and then pressed his transmit button.

“City-State Horizon Vision, this is Briggs, Rig number one-o-four, BAV. Please respond.”

There was a short hiss of static, then the static faded. The voice on the other end of the transmission sounded like a woman. Though to be fair, the radio system made people sound almost tinny, but a good ear could pick out the fairer sex.

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“Long Haul, this is HV yard control, what is your status over?”

“I seemed to have picked up a fair case of ticks on my trail. They aren’t giving up and they have, shall we say…escalated things. Please advise on the eastern gate over.”

The line went dead for way longer than Briggs was comfortable with. He looked again to his rear-view mirror; he saw that the smudge at his back was gaining even faster than the raiders. He could almost get the scope of the dust storm, coming for both him and the city. He only had fifteen miles to go till he hit the gates. It was just his luck, an army in front of him, raiders behind him, and a storm behind all of that. Well, at least life was interesting. The radio came back shaking him out of his stupor.

“Long Haul, this is HV yard control again, the gate is under siege by the largest force we have seen in a long time. It’s not going to be opening any time soon. Your best bet is to hunker down that storm that is riding your exhaust. Hopefully, it will scare off the raiders and the attacking army, then we can let you in, over.”

Briggs almost slammed his head into his steering wheel. He was a dead man if he stopped, the raiders might survive the storm, but most likely they too were going to hunker down as well. Another loud rumble shook his Rig, not enough to jerk the steering wheel from his hands, but enough that it echoed past him. Briggs’s eyes went wide as he looked again at the chasing dust storm, purple lightning flashed in some of the clouds of dust. It’s a shifting sandstorm, one of the more deadly weather events on the flatlands. He pressed down the accelerator, maxing out his speed to almost one hundred miles an hour.

“Horizon Vision, I can’t wait out this storm, it’s a shifting sandstorm. I can see the lightning from here. It’s going to catch me before I make it to the gate. You need to open the damned gate. I am not going to stop, I am either going to die out here, or slam into your yard going max speed. It’s your choice, over.”

“There is no…you wouldn’t…that’s madness, you're mad,” there was a long pregnant pause, “Over”.

“I am hauling medical supplies, computer components, as well as foodstuffs. It’s priority two in the Transport Conglomerate manifest list. I am not stopping, if you don’t want to open the gate all the way you can at least open it part-way. The width of my Rig is eighteen and a half feet. If I remember correctly, the gear ratio on your city’s walls is one groove per four feet. So just open it up to five grooves. It should be just enough to allow me entry, over.”

“There is no way the governor will approve that Long Haul, we are not opening the gate, that is final. Over.”

Briggs gritted his teeth, he saw the storm, it was almost upon him, it had gotten close enough to swallow the slower chase trucks, the refiner and one of the boarding trucks were already swallowed by the storm. He could feel the vibration in the wheel from the wind alone. The gunfire had all but stopped, but a few brave souls were still not stopping the barrage. The bullets still just pinged off his armored tires as well as his trailers. The boarding truck not swallowed by the twenty-story tall storm tried to launch a few raiders, he saw on one of his cameras that they were using a steam-powered springboard. It could launch a man-sized object at least forty feet into the air. Two of the launch platforms hissed into action, launching two men toward the top of his rear trailer. He never saw them land, he flipped a few switches next to his bank of monitors, and he had a clear view of the top of his rearmost trailer. No one was in the camera’s vision or had landed on it, he could see two shapes being pulled up and away from his Rig.

“The storm giveth and the storm taketh away.”

Briggs pressed his radio one more time, he could see the walls in better relief. At least several dozens of vehicles were assaulting the walls, shooting everything from rockets to large caliber shells, to even a few vehicles attempting to do something to the eastern gate.

“Look Horizon, I am getting close here, I don’t want to die out here. You don’t want a huge hole in the side of your sizable walls, so cut me some freaking slack out here. Over!”

“We can’t open…. the…ga…don…. atte.,” the voice was all but static as the storm started to overtake his Rig.

Briggs growled under his breath. A few deft presses and flips of some toggle switches on his dash were all he needed to do. He pulled his scarf over his mouth and made sure that his goggles were nice and tight. The wind was already pushing over his front windscreen, visibility was about to go straight down to nothing. He pulled up on a large red button towards the front of his shifter. Clangs and groans rattled down the entire length of his Rig, and a small text display lit up. It read ‘Dust filters active, engine at seventy-five percent capacity’.

It’s now or never, either I am going to get killed by a direct lightning strike, hit the wall going roughly too dang fast, or one of these raiders is going to get lucky in the low visibility. Time to spin the wheel of fate.

Briggs downshifted, bringing the vehicle into a more easy-to-manage gear, it was going to be tight, and terrifying. Then the storm completely swallowed his Rig whole, blocking out even the sunlight.

The front of his Rig burst into life as all his high-powered LED lights kicked in, there wasn't much visibility, but it was better than nothing. He could see the sand and grit around him start to lighten, and motes of purple danced all around his dark cab’s interior. He was in the thick of it now. His cameras were all but useless in this weather, all the screens showing dancing dust particles. He felt like he was inside of a tornado, just on a massive, unthinkable scale. He saw the lighting dance across huge columns of dirt, too many columns to count, it was beyond nerve-wracking. He could feel a shuttering in the pedals, and a light tugging on the steering wheel. This storm was trying to lift his Rig clear off the ground. He peered over to the right-side mirror, seeing that one of the boarding trucks was almost halfway up his trailer train. Briggs smiled a devilish grin under his scarf, pulling the wheel to the right he felt his tires pull his vehicle into the boarding truck. The pitted rust of the raider vehicle buckled under to force of the impact, throwing it toward one of the columns of dust. The g-forces of the mini tornado picked up the truck like it was a child’s toy, flinging in farther up the winding cone. The vehicle came apart at the seams in the blink of an eye, its fuel igniting as it did. For a heartbeat, the entire tornado was awash in bright red flames, the sounds of people screaming just faint on the shuttering wind.

“They better pay me overtime and hazard pay for this,” Briggs mumbled to himself. He let off the throttle for just a moment, letting the rumble of his machine slow. He was getting close to the wall, close to safety. Then, against all relative safety guidelines for traveling on the road, Briggs closed his eyes. His awareness pushed out past his eyes and ears. They encompassed his feet, his hands, his entire being. The lights outside were no use to him, the inside of this storm had all but blinded him to the outside world. This was his great edge to most people who used Rigs, he could think of different ways to overcome a problem. This was his solution to the storm.

******

He could not see the tough material of asphalt, but the entire world now ran on it, city-states built them, and everyone had their part to maintain them. New and larger roads were built almost everywhere, and those kinds of construction took time, and they took men and women, of all races. The one thing that you got used to was the feel of the road, every pothole, every crack, every reflector, they all tell a story about where you are. Briggs moved his wheel left and then right, each time he made a new direction on the wheel he elongated the turning arc. Then he felt it, the third time he went to the left, the vibration in the pedals, it was different than when he was on the sand. He pulled the veering Rig onto the vibrating area, the storm only seeming to double on its efforts to blind him. He saw the small glint of the road reflectors, he knew he was on the right track, then fate seemed to throw yet another roadblock in his path. He saw the shapes in the dust before he ran into them, the screams echoed into his cab, and he saw the torso of a bandit smack into his windshield. Briggs screamed, it was the scream of the desperate, the dire, the momentarily insane. He could feel his grin under his mask, it stretched from ear to ear. This was the reason for living in this insane world, struggling to even figure out what you were going to eat, or if you would live. He started to cackle, the fear evolving into the base drive to live, a few more shocks rocked through his Rig. Bits of vehicles flew left and right in front of him, scattering into the storm. Then in a blink of an eye, he felt the air around the Rig shift, the dust becoming more of a pressured tunnel. He was here, he had made it to the gate, its massive bulk was funneling the storm into an improvised air tunnel. He let go of the wheel, letting the bulk of his Rig get dragged toward the gate. He had won, the City-State opened the blasted thing to save him.

Briggs centered his Rig as best as he could, with the storm around, the wind at his back, and the multiple collisions he had, he wasn’t sure if he would be lined up properly. Sparks flew from the left side of his Rig, his monitors winking out from the turbulence. The wheel started to push against him, throwing it away from the sparking nightmare. He fought to keep it on course, to keep away from the wall, he knew it was a deep wall, the doors thicker than anyone could imagine. He wanted to say that it was as thick as a football field was long, but no one would ever understand that reference. The dust around him gave out again, becoming less concentrated, that was his cue. He turned the wheel hard to the right, letting off the gas and pressing hard on the clutch and brake. The engine popped into neutral, and the thunderous disc brakes slid into place. He could feel the squeal, the shake, the upheaval of his machine, it hated being treated this roughly. He could feel the middle and back trailer start to jackknife on him, the speed becoming a weakness in this instance. The couplings were holding though, he could see the few monitors that had not gone out showed that they were still supplying power to his trailers, as well as the air brakes. The shuttering slowed, the squealing stopped, and finally, after what felt like an eternity. His Rig came to a stop.