Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 54

At its widest point the Murray river is one hundred and sixty four feet wide, and it is some one thousand, five hundred and fifty eight miles long.

The Bridge

Aran was furious with himself, for many days he had languished in a stupor that opium had provided. Unable to refuse anything Keith did to him or made him take. While his wounds may have healed somewhat, his situation seemed to have become even more dire.

The warrior had missed numerous chances at escape being too drugged to even try. Even now he fought to push the tendrils of the poppies aside, and the gnawing hunger that was fast growing in his belly. He thrashed and struggled, but he was securely chained to the sturdy wooden cart.

He cried out in his anger and frustration, feeling the tormenting pain in his leg that made him shout all the more. He felt the sting of a whip on his shoulder in attempt to silence him. Aran turned as best he might screaming at Keith in betrayal only to be greeted with another hard slap that broke skin.

"Save your energy." Came the cruel taunt of a faceless caravan guard, yet the object of his ire said nothing merely watching on.

*****

The days had run into the next like watercolors in the rain, the passage of time unclear. Aran fought hard the fog that enveloped his mind robbing him of reason. Trying to assess the number of days they had traveled southward. Yes, it was south, wasn't it? His head spun. He could find no pinpoint of sun in the thick cloud cover to take his bearings.

This afternoon the passage of the caravan had been different, cautious. Even in his drugged state Aran sensed the palpable danger. The horizon remained clear but sometime after midday Keith halted the horses and the men stood down. Cloth was wrapped about the animals hooves to quiet the echo of their tread on the rocky terrain.

Aran's green eyes cast over the lands beyond searching in that predatory way of his for any signs of life. There seemed to be nothing alarming in sight. Just a few scattered and twisted trees devoid of leaves, and stray outcrops of rocks crowned with dead spinifex grass. No huts, no wreckage, nothing that bespoke of human intrusion here. It seemed the weather here had been similarly unkind to all that lived.

Aran was the only living cargo the caravan bore on its southward path. Though it did carry other goods of considerable value, namely the dark waxy blocks of the opium resin.

Keith offered him water during this cautious stop. Aran had learned to take what was provided at each moment and not let stubborn pride rule him. One never knew when such comforts would be offered again. He drank deeply, longing to be freed from the confining chains, though he had given up hope of that unless he was too drugged to fight his enslavers.

Keith was behind him, and Aran was not all together ready for the cloth Keith forcibly pushed into his mouth, negating altogether his most recent and welcome sating of thirst. He tried to bite down on the man's thick fingers, clipping fingertips with his strong teeth, however he could not evade his fate as the cloth was fastened tightly in place tearing at the corners of Aran's mouth painfully. A hessian cloth sack was then placed over his head and pulled tight about his throat. Grain dust showered into his eyes stinging painfully, emotionless tears ran. The warrior hung his head defeated fighting the reflex to sneeze.

Each of the escort inspected his weapons. The clear sound of steel been drawn forth from leather, accompanied by the even rarer music of an ammunition clip being withdrawn and loaded. The show of force initiated and the captive silenced, the column resumed the march south.

*****

The next two days were a personal hell for Aran, silenced, blinded, and bound for the duration. During this ordeal he dwelt on how Bennett would choose to break a man's spirit in such a manner as this, noting it was very effective indeed.

Though he was fairly sure this was not Keith's reasoning for this terrible caution. The men were tense and more than once weapons were drawn and a rare shot fired. Aran had no clue of the nature of the threat as he strained in his fetters, only desiring this personal hell done with.

*****

'The Bridge' they all termed it, and it was easy to see why. Though this town had been named something other once, however Aran's muddy mind could not recall it. The cart horses bay flanks wearily strained down the steep incline, shod hooves slipping on the broken road surface beneath them striking sparks. Aran was just relieved he was free to again gaze about and breathe of the muddy river air deeply. It smelled of mystery and life. Something that the desert did not evoke.

The curve in the road was a sweeping one and the cart finally came to a level footing at the cutaway entrance to a broad metal bridge that spanned a steep sided river. There seemed no other way of approach to the civilization that stood beyond on the far bank. The orange cliffs full of fossils plunged into the brown waters many feet below. Though it was cold the majority of this mighty river was still unfrozen, as the waters drifted sluggishly by.

Strong memories came to Aran at this sight, for he had been this way before. Long ago in his sixteenth year, lead on a wild exodus from the worst of the war zone by his brother. Just a band of desperate young men finding their way in the desert beyond to either prosper or die.

It seemed so long ago, and now by fate he had returned to this site, a place they had chosen to flee, this land of the south they had all spoken of and some had longed to return to. Green eyes took all in on the far bank avariciously. Perhaps a real civilization was not a daydream after all? Aran's curiosity longed to see more though his own situation was dire.

There was a guard station at the bridge much like a border way point. Though there were very few travelers about on the road on this cold and bleak afternoon. Rough men swathed in furs, leather, and metal stood about firearms in hand, it was impossible to know if the guns were loaded or just a mute display of force.

Aran eyed them from the cart and they returned his stares in ferocious kind. Keith was at the head of the procession, he was talking to one of the men and presenting papers. The gruff man gave a small nod and the cart lurched forward through the now raised ribbon wire gate. Across the iron shod bridge they went, toward civilization.

The roads were rough and pot holed, not as they had once been in such a busy satellite city. Disused and rusted railroad tracks were embedded in the road, the cart trundled over them bumping roughly. Grain silos constructed of steel and of concrete peppered with the tell tale craft of violence, pock holes of a hundred bullet and mortar scars.

Aran cast about him unused to high structures, save the Wolf Lord's fort he had sighted very few in recent times. There were people, normal looking souls and carts drawn by broad oxen, donkeys, mules, or tired looking horses. He even spied the rare glance at a woman. Though it would appear they were heavily veiled and guarded from a passing males stare.

The caravan traveled for a time winding ever southwest skirting away from the centre of the township. Aran was somewhat disappointed at this, he had longed to glimpse fabled civilization after all.

He did not have long to rue his disappointment, the onward and steady pace of the cart changed pulling him from his reverie. He looked up to see they were now stationary before a high walled gate, copious amounts of ribbon wire were tangled at its apex. The pitted and scratched signage bore the words still very visible. Mobilong Prison.

He remembered this, stark images of his childhood came flooding to his mind's eye, the news on television, the background music to his childhood. The monotone drone of the suited news announcer always the backdrop to the evening dinner. Informing this man or that one was sentenced to serve in Mobilong Prison for whatever felony they had committed.

It mattered not for it was long ago when order reigned in this country. When there were still ideals to protect and care about. Yes, Aran remembered the name well. Not that he had ever been here or known personally any who had. As the gates opened and the cart bore him into the facility Aran found he wished he had never heard that name.