Bounty Hunter: Bounty Hunter, #1

By Rachel Aukes

Being a bounty hunter in the wastelands isn't easy, and it's about to get a whole lot harder. 

 

The world went down the crapper a long time ago. Then the revolution came. Things stink even worse now as the corrupt Sloan brothers stake their claim over the lawless wastelands. With no one to stand against them, the people are left to the mercy of the corrupt tyrants. 

 

We need a gunfighter who isn't afraid to stand against impossible odds. 

 

The problem is that all the heroes died in the revolution… which means we'll have to settle for "Havoc" Joe Ballast. Ballast is no stranger to bad luck, but when the Sloan brothers corner him, they'll soon learn that you should never, ever underestimate the Bounty Hunter. 

 

The Mandalorian meets Fallout in this fresh adventure sure to be enjoyed by all ages. Read the first book in the ongoing story of "Havoc" Joe Ballast, lone gunfighter of Earth's wastelands. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Waypoint Books
• Release date: Mar 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215636589

Rachel Aukes

Rachel Aukes (@RachelAukes on Wattpad) is the author of 100 Days in Deadland, which made Suspense Magazine’s Best of 2013 list. Rachel lives near Des Moines with her husband and an incredibly spoiled sixty-pound lap dog. When not writing, she can be found flying old airplanes and planning for the zombie apocalypse. For more information, visit RachelAukes.com or find her on Twitter as @RachelAukes.

Book preview

Chapter One

The world went down the crapper a long time ago. It all happened before Joe Ballast’s time, and he only cared about things that impacted him now, like who was going to try to shoot him next…

Joe crossed the crusty dirt road, and a couple passing nearby hastened to put distance between them. He paid this no heed—he was used to drawing such attention when he was working. After all, a bounty hunter in a helmet and full body armor stood out when most could barely afford a pair of shoes. However, common folk tended to overestimate their sins; they feared Joe was there for them, when the truth was that they had nothing to worry about unless they found themselves on the wrong side of someone rich enough to buy the services of a hunter.

Today’s target, though, had managed to do just that.

Narrow Pass looked identical to every other one-tavern town he’d been through. The saloon was the place to go for information, and Joe was always in need of information. Fortunately, in the wastelands, there was no such thing as a no-tavern town.

He stopped in front of the dome-shaped tavern. Old pictures of Earth showed vibrant greens and blues; they must’ve been altered because Earth was now just three shades: rusty, dirty, and filthy.

He stepped inside and headed straight for the bar. Three men playing poker watched him, though he was careful not to look at them directly. He’d learned it was always better to ignore locals.

The bartender didn’t look up from pulling a draught. What’ll ya have, buddy?

A beer, Joe replied.

The bartender grabbed another glass and slid it under the tap as soon as the first was full. The hunter waited, casually keeping his eye on the poker table in the mirror behind the bar. The cards were laid flat on the table—the three players’ expressions said they most definitely weren’t going to ask him to join in for a hand.

He was used to being on the receiving end of acidic glares. For most, the bounty hunter guilds were the closest thing to law enforcement in the wastelands, but the hunters were often barely a step above—and just as often a step below—the criminals they captured. He’d met more than a few hunters who used their licenses as an excuse to kill. But he’d met plenty of semi-decent bounty hunters as well. He placed himself somewhere in the middle, though he had to admit to himself that was being generous.

The bartender set the beer down and gave Joe a once over. He scowled and pulled the beer away. Sorry, we’re all out of beer.

Oh really? Joe eyed the one he’d just set behind him.

The bartender nodded toward the poker table. That’s for one of them.

Then I’ll take a whiskey, Joe said.

We’re out of that, too.

Then I’ll take whatever you’ve got.

We’re all out of everything. You might want to check the next town over… The bartender crossed his arms over his chest. He squinted his gaze on the nameplate emblazoned on the front of Joe’s armor. Havoc.

Joe heard the chairs slide away from the poker table. He dropped one hand to his holster. With the other, he pulled out a picture of his target and slid it across the bar with a coin. I’m looking for someone.

You guys always are, the bartender said with ice hanging from each word.

This particular someone goes by the name of Edward Sikes. He’s been seen at this establishment more than once in the past week.

The bartender glanced down at the picture. Recognition flickered in his eyes, but he shut it down fast. Sorry, I can’t help ya. I’ve never seen that fella before in my life. 

Joe set another coin on top of the first and tapped them. You sure about that? Sometimes folks don’t recognize someone until they recognize someone.

The man’s eyes returned to the picture.

A hand grabbed the hunter’s shoulder.

Joe didn’t turn around. I just polished that, and sure dislike getting fingerprints on it, so I’d remove that hand if you want to keep it, friend.

The hand stayed. A hunter with a red cape who went by the name of Havoc took my brother four months back. You remember Nate Gillett?

Nope. Can’t say I do. Should I?

Joe did remember: Gillett was an alcoholic and a wife-beater. It was one of those tickets the hunter would’ve preferred to bring in dead, except that the dead only brought half-price.

Nate’s innocent, yet he’s still stuck in that stink hole called a prison camp down in Cavil.

Joe chuckled. Every person I have a ticket for has said they’re innocent. Most are liars. Like your brother.

He heard the sounds of blasters being pulled from their holsters. Being a bounty hunter was like being a rabbit caught in a den of wolves, only this rabbit had armor and a blaster.

The grip on his shoulder tightened and swung him around. As Joe spun, he brought up his own blaster and fired the instant he faced the Gillett brother. The energy beam shot right through the center of the man’s chest; he was dead before his brain even registered that he’d been shot. The other two men seemed surprised, and Joe burned holes through their chests before either man could reclaim his senses and fire.

Some folks would call Joe a murderer for killing men who hadn’t fired and maybe never would’ve. As his war buddies used to say, a shot in time saves nine…or at least one in this case, with that one being Joe. He’d much rather have people think poorly of him than be dead.

He turned and set his blaster on the bar, barrel pointing at the bartender, whose eyes had gone wide with fear.

Let’s try this again. Where is he? Joe tapped the picture.

The bartender’s arm seemed like it weighed a hundred pounds considering how he struggled to raise it. He pointed a shaky finger to the back hallway. K-kitchen.

There. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Joe pocketed the picture. He could’ve taken the coins back, the bartender wouldn’t have stopped him, but Joe left the credits, considering the business he’d just lost. People didn’t like to socialize around dead bodies unless they were at a funeral, though Joe never understood the rationale behind that. Dead was dead in his book.

He took cautious, deliberate steps down the hallway. Chances were, his target had heard the commotion—it hadn’t been much of a fight—and taken off running. But, approaching the kitchen brought music, a folksy dance tune with heavy drums to help keep the beat. A man was singing along to the words, though it was more like he was punishing the air with his vocal cords.

Joe grimaced. What was it about the worst singers being the loudest? His target deserved to be arrested if for no other reason than assault to public ears.

Joe slowed to a stop before the open doorway. He listened but could only make out the sounds of one person working. Holding his blaster at the ready, he rushed through the doorway and into the kitchen. The lone man had his back to him and continued to sing/yodel/rap as he peeled potatoes.

Joe took several steps closer before he spoke, keeping his blaster leveled on his target. Edward Sikes, I have a ticket for your arrest.

The man turned, saw Joe, and let out an Eep!

He launched a potato at Joe. Joe ducked. Stop that!

Sikes didn’t.

Chapter Two

Sikes sprang through the kitchen’s back door into the alley outside. Sikes was tall and wiry and surprisingly fast, and he turned a corner before Joe could take a shot.

Dry lightning flashed in the distance. Joe grimaced. The winds would be kicking up every speck of dust in the next hour or two, making it impossible to find anyone or anything.

I should’ve shot him in the leg, Joe muttered to himself as he gave chase. The ticket paid the full amount for targets as long as they were alive, and this one should’ve been easy. Sikes was a simple bail skip; the guy made the poor decision to leave town rather than stand up in front of the local MRC administrator for stealing a measly fifty bucks from a general store.

The MRC—Monuments Republic Command—started off as loosely connected rebel groups who united and won the Revolution against the Zenith State. After the war, the murcs—the term used for anyone and anything associated with the MRC—ended up as the new government across the wastelands. Though, the term government was a loose one, as the murcs did little more than charge taxes and install administrators (the politically correct term for their tax collectors, judges, and juries) in each town.

Funny thing—it took fewer than five years for the rebels to become the corrupt government they’d replaced, without changing a single philosophy.

Guys like Edward Sikes weren’t fighters—they’d turn tail and run any time the cards weren’t in their favor. It was stupid of Joe to think the guy wouldn’t have run, and he scolded himself for not being better prepared.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to see Sikes make his way through the town’s general store. Sikes could’ve gotten away if he’d stayed hidden. Moving made him dumber than a cow. Joe sprinted to the store and swung open the door. Sikes saw him and turned to run again.

If you run, I will kill you, Joe growled.

Sikes cringed like he hadn’t considered that possibility. Please don’t shoot me. 

Joe walked toward the other man, keeping his shocker leveled. He glanced at the store owner, who held up her hands.

Just take him and go, she chattered.

That’s my plan, he stated firmly, turning back to his bounty. Edward Sikes, like I said before, I have a ticket for your arrest.

I didn’t do it. You have the wrong guy, Sikes pleaded.

"So you didn’t skip out on your judgment date for robbing a store?"

Sikes gulped. No? His response sounded more like a question than an answer. As he found his courage, he added, It was all just a misunderstanding; you have to believe me. I tried to tell the clerk that, but he wouldn’t listen.

That’s for the murc to decide. Joe pulled out a pair of restraints. Hold out your hands. 

Sikes did as instructed, but he continued to talk. I have four kids at home. I’m all they’ve got. If you take me, they’ll starve.

Oh yeah? Joe asked in a conversational tone. Your sheet says you’ve got no kids. He grabbed one of the man’s wrists and wrapped the restraint around it.

"That’s because they’re my brother’s kids. My late brother’s kids."

Your sheet also says you’re the only kid of Edward and Jane Sikes. Joe pulled the other wrist behind the target’s back and cuffed it.

"They’re my illegitimate late brother’s kids," Sikes added.

Sure they are. What are their names?

Their names? Sikes paused. Annie, Brady, Katie, and Tommy. 

Joe smirked. He gave the skip credit for ingenuity, but he’d heard better stories while on the job. He pushed Sikes. Walk.

As they passed the counter, Joe stopped. Hold on. He then reached over and grabbed a teddy bear wearing a big hat. He held it up to the store owner. How much?

Just take it, she said.

Joe shook his head and motioned to Sikes. He’s the thief, not me.

She swallowed. Th-three credits.

He pulled out three small coins and dropped them on the counter. He slid the doll into his belt and pressed Sikes forward.

Who’s the bear for? Sikes asked. Is it for your kid? What’s their name?

Joe didn’t answer. 

What’s it like having kids and being a bounty hunter? I bet it’s tough when you’re never home. I bet it’s even tougher on the missus. Or mister, whatever works for you.

Joe scowled. Nervous talkers were nearly as annoying as the ones who were constantly trying to escape.

Sikes looked over his shoulder. Havoc? That’s your bounty hunter name, right? Did you get to pick it, or did it come with the suit?

They exited the general store, and Joe led them to his cutter, which he called Monster. A few townsfolk had come outside to see who was being taken. In a town the size of Narrow Pass, he suspected gossip traveled at roughly twice the speed of sound.

Why do you bounty hunters cover yourselves from head to toe? Is it because you’re scarred or something? A moment later, Sikes perked up. Oh, I get it. It’s protection for your families. I could see some bad fellas out there who might not be too keen on you all. Not that I’m one of them. I’d never think of hurting your family.

It’s armor, plain and simple, Joe stated shortly. Too bad his helmet didn’t include a feature to mute everything around him. He herded his catch to the back of his vehicle.

Armor? Yeah, that makes sense. Is your armor blaster proof?

Joe opened the back of his rig.

Sikes saw the cage, cringed, and turned to face Joe. How about I ride up front with you? I promise I won’t try anything. You have my word.

Joe holstered his blaster, swung, and knocked Sikes out cold. That’s for making me run after you.

Chapter Three

Cat leaned back onto her desk, arms crossed over her chest. The old gunshot scar in her knee had been throbbing for the past three hours, which meant a storm would be coming through soon. She didn’t acknowledge the pain—she knew better than to show any hint of weakness in front of bounty hunters, especially ones from another guild.

She gave a nod to the pair of hunters who worked for her. Both wore full exoshields—the armored suit worn by hunters for protection—though she’d seen their faces before. The smaller man’s armor was polished to a golden sheen, while his partner’s armor was as rough as his personality, and their callsigns were boldly printed on their chest plates. Their armor bore the Haft Agency logo on their biceps, but everyone in that room knew they really worked for her.

She turned her gaze on the recruit standing between the two men. That hunter’s exoshield was scuffed and dirty after having put up what Cat had heard had been a decent fight against Cat’s collectors. The hunter wore no helmet, and she had a cracked, bloody lip.

Cat wore no exoshield. As owner of the Iron Guild, she let her pale skin be on display as a sign of confidence while she was on Iron Guild property. No one would dare attack her on her own turf.

You’re younger than I expected, Wilco, she began.

The hunter who went by the call sign of Wilco jutted out her chin. What do you want, Cat?

Ah, I see you’re familiar with me.

There aren’t a lot of people walking around the Midlands with bad tattoos of whiskers on their cheeks.

Cat ran a finger over the three horizontal black bars on her left cheek. These are markings from my silo tribe. You don’t see them around here because my tribe is from the far north in the Freelands. But you’re not the first to have that misperception. After all, that’s how I came to be called Cat.

So that’s not your real name, I take it? Wilco asked.

Cat wagged her finger. Tut-tut, my secrets aren’t yours to learn, and certainly aren’t the reason you’ve been invited today.

Invited? The young woman spat on the floor. Your goons here totaled my cutter and held a blaster to my head. She turned and glared at the man to her right. You should’ve pulled the trigger. You got lucky once. It won’t happen a second time.

He laughed. You talk tough, little girl. Maybe if you had a partner, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself caught.

Wilco’s lip curled. Partners have to split the bounty. Only weak hunters like you partner up.

Believe that if it makes you feel better, the man to her right scoffed.

We’re good enough to take you down, the one to her left snapped.

Wilco gave a sinister grin. I may not be walking out of here, but at least I’ll go to my grave knowing that Reuben’s going to kill both of you.

Reuben’s weak. You really think he’s going to be around much longer? the first man sneered.

Wilco snickered. Long enough to put you down like the rabid mongrels you are.

The man on her left twisted her wrist behind her back, and she cried out.

Cat pushed off her desk to stand before the trio. That’s enough. Release her. She took a long breath before continuing. Wilco, I brought you here to make you an offer. I want you to work for the Iron Guild.

Work for you? Wilco guffawed, then pointed to the logo of a clenched fist on her bicep. In case you hadn’t noticed, I already have a job at the Haft Agency, and I still have over nine years on my contract.

I’ll pay off your exoshield as a signing bonus. You’ll be free of your contract. Besides, when did Reuben Tally last give you a bounty ticket? A week ago? More? His guild is failing, and his clients see it. More and more are coming to me with their needs because I’m not afraid to take any job.

That’s because you’re a bunch of bottom feeders who are nothing more than guns for hire, the younger woman retorted.

Not true, Cat said calmly, even though her temper was simmering. The guilds are the only form of recognized law to most citizens. Sure, there are the local administrators and their so-called cavalries, but we both know that they’re the real bottom feeders. We may have to take tickets that cross into gray areas every now and then to put food on the table, but all in all, what we do is pluck the bad apples out of the barrel before they rot the rest.

If you say so, Wilco said.

I do, and if you want to continue to make a difference, you’ll work for me in the Iron Guild. You’re young. The Haft Agency doesn’t have the longevity to offer you a career. That guild will be gone in under a month, I can promise you that. The Iron Guild will soon be the only bounty hunters’ guild in the territories, before long.

And if I don’t accept your offer?

Cat’s lips thinned. If you don’t accept, then you’re free to walk out of here.

Wilco’s eyes narrowed. I have no cutter, and I’m in the middle of a desert seven hundred miles from Cavil. How am I supposed to get back home?

I wouldn’t worry about the desert killing you, Cat said coldly. I compensate my hunters for eliminating any competition encountered in the Salt Flats zone.

The man on Wilco’s left chuckled. Payday.

Wilco’s body became as rigid as an icicle. I’m dead as soon as I walk through that door.

Not if you wear the mark of the Iron Guild. Cat tapped the logo of two crossed spears on her bicep.

Neither of these guys are wearing the mark, Wilco noted.

They’re exceptions, Cat said.

Wilco gulped before stepping forward and turning her bicep toward Cat. Fine. Sign me up.

Cat grabbed a small torch and burned off the Haft Agency logo from Wilco’s armor. Then, Cat switched tools, this time using a handheld paint printer, and stamped the Iron Guild’s mark where the Haft logo had been. A small thrill went through her. Stealing hunters from the Haft Agency was a joy that never got old.

She stepped back and smiled. Welcome to the Iron Guild.

Chapter Four

The drive from Narrow Pass to Cavil took six hours on a good day. The problem was, this wasn’t a good day. What had started as a decent evening had given in to a dusk so crappy that a dark and stormy night sounded downright cozy.

Monster’s headlights reflected the blowing silica sand rather than cut through it, and Joe had to rely on the cutter’s auto-drive feature—sensors that picked up the geo-trackers implanted along the route—to stay on the road. Even using the enhanced visual sensors in his helmet, Joe couldn’t see more than a few feet.

The dust storms always came from the west, the winds carrying sands from the deserts of the Salt Flats. And that was the best possible scenario since the winds that came from the east brought death.

He could hear the thunder from regular bursts of dry lightning, but the dust storm swallowed even the wildest of lights. The thunder rattled the vehicle, but Joe didn’t mind since it helped drown out Sikes’s angry tirade. The man hadn’t been in a good mood since he’d awakened. He pounded on the cab and yelled enthusiastic strings of insults, evidently unimpressed with his travel accommodations. The small bed was fully enclosed, so he wouldn’t die from exposure, and given how Sikes was able to continue spouting obscenities at the top of his lungs, the air must be decent enough back there.

Joe glanced at the screen. At least another four hours on the road, assuming the storm lifted soon. He considered taking off his helmet to get more comfortable, but the idea was fleeting. He’d known too many hunters who’d been caught with their pants down—some, literally—and he had no intention of adding his name to the Killed in Action list. As long as he was on the job, he stayed suited up.

He closed his eyes and let the howling of the wind lull him to sleep. As he entered his dreamworld, he also heard thunder, but in that place, he knew the sound meant something far more sinister. There, most thunderclaps were echoed by screams. An explosion took out the foxhole next to his.

Down! he yelled and covered his head. Chunks of dirt and things he didn’t want to think about pelted him. Pain erupted in his forearm, and he looked to see a burning fragment melting through his jacket. He knocked away the bit and then noticed the soldier who’d taken cover in the hole with him. Shrapnel had sliced through her helmet. He lunged over and tugged off her helmet, and soon came to know how swift death had been for her.

He leaned back on his heels, head lowered. She was a new recruit, just arrived that morning. He hadn’t even learned her name. With how the Shiprock War was going, he wouldn’t be far behind her. He tugged the red cape off her armor and tucked it into his pack. He remained there, trying to ignore her lifeless stare while the barrage continued around him.

Something barreled into his side, his head erupted into a bright light, and he was yanked instantly out of his old battles.

He grabbed at the wheel, but the cutter was rammed again. Sikes was screaming like a madman in the back. Joe’s head hit the window a second time, and the glass cracked. Without his helmet, he would’ve had whiplash or even a nasty concussion. He’d had both before, and wasn’t a fan of having another one. Monster was being pushed sideways, its drag-reducing fenders now the only things preventing the vehicle from rolling over.

Joe blinked his eyes into focus as he pulled out his blaster. He looked through