Snippet #2557404

“Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Southern Reach - Sacramento

To say that Sacramento ruled the eastern half of California was a bit of a pipe dream, as Aves was soon to discover. Riding north from Bakersfield was to enter a land of virtual desolation and vast emptiness, the remnants of cars and the bones of millions hinting at the death and violence this region had seen less than a decade ago.

There were signs of life here and there, scattered and heavily fortified homesteads and villages. The villages themselves huddled up against the walls of small strongholds which clung themselves to the remains of pre-change cities, always near a water source. Patrols were heavy here, always a minimum of four mounted men who moved swiftly on excellent horses. At least once or twice a day the small party would be challenged by one of these groups of mounted men who would thunder close for an inspection. They would speak to her escorts, inspect her token, and then politely wave them on their way.

Her journey followed the old Highway 99 and she familiar names appeared from the ruins of civilization, now shadows of them former selves, tiny outposts in a vast expanse of nothing that gave Sacramento legitimacy and right to rule within a bowshot of the fortress walls and perhaps a half days ride beyond. There were few people, and those who did live in the region looked hard and watched the three riders pass with suspicion. One of her escorts quietly informed her that many of them had been virtual savages and even cannibal bands up until a few years ago when Sacramento had begun moving troops in. No questions had been asked and most had gladly returned to some semblance of order, those who didn't, well, the evidence of what happened to them was plain for all to see.

Outside of every small settlement there was a gibbet or two that hung from old telephone poles. Inside were the bodies, some still barely alive, of people who had committed a serious offence to warrant a death sentence. There were crude signs hung below them stating their crimes. Rape, murder, cannibalism, theft. All serious offences anywhere, one of the soldiers informing Aves that they had very rare occurrences of any of it, rape was the most common problem still remaining in this virtually lawless region.

Miles passed and each night they would stop at one of the small towns and the local lord would grumble as he was forced to provide them shelter and food for the night. Her token assured her the very best treatment while her escorts were regulated to the soldiers quarters. Tulare, Fresno, Merced, all names she knew from before the Change, all now the only signs of human life on the once bustling Highway 99.

Many times on her journey she had glanced west and on more than one occasion she had spotted other horsemen shadowing them. They never came close though once a group of them did swerve close and her escorts urged her to a gallop, taking up positions behind her and drawing their short recurve bows. They swiftly outran their pursuers and the soldiers explained that they were Mormons from the West. Aves soon discovered that a sort of "no-mans" land existed between Highway 99 and the old Interstate 5 further west. The territory there, excellent farmland rich with nutrients, existed in a strange state of truce as both sides worked the land with the occasional raid on isolated homesteads. A vast difference from the north where armies heaved against each other and men died daily in a welter of blood and screams.

One their fourth day of riding Aves saw signs of the power that had made Sacramento a force to be reckoned with. The Town of Manteca, once a small town along the banks of the San Joaquin River, was now the frontline of a war that had ravaged the landscape around it. There town itself had shifted west slightly to where Interstate 5 crossed the river and upon the eastern side, astride the roadway itself, sat an imposing castle. By any reckoning it was a massive structure, the highest tower well over a hundred feet into the air, the outer walls boasting square towers that seemed to be brooding over the countryside around it. The entire town itself had been walled in a channel dug so that a moat hemmed the whole area in. Her escort told her they would not be going into the city but they handed her a pair of binoculars so she could study the building. Shifting her gaze westward she could see an opposing fortress a few kilometres away, the Mormon stronghold of Tracey. It seemed that the region had been fairly quiet for the last several months after the Mormons had failed to force the river.

Less than half days ride north they passed the walls of Stockton. Here another fortress guarded the main roadway and bridges that allowed access to the east. The west side of the river boasted a secondary fortress that made the bridge an imposing task to take. It was this design that had actually diverted most of the Mormons efforts further south since they viewed Manteca as easier prey.

The land this far north was changing as well. The desolation of the central state was gone, replaced with well tended fields and wealthy looking villages. It was clear that this region had been doing well in the past several years and she saw many new, white plastered houses built in the fashion of Spanish haciendas scattered amongst rich fields of grapes, corn, barley and many other numerous varieties she was sure would be delicious. Herds of fat cows and proud looking horses were under careful watch and she noticed that every family owned at least a pair of horses. Sacramento was certainly returning to the Spanish roots of its founder.

They passed beyond Stockton and her escort relaxed at last. This region, as they drew near to the capital, had not seen fighting in almost eight years. It had been pacified early on and when Sacramento had pushed it's borders west it had driven to the sea and then south until they stood upon the shores of San Francisco Bay and there they had stayed, unable to shift the Mormons who called it home.

At length a city began to appear on the horizon, a proper city, not a large town like Manteca or Stockton. As they drew closer she could see that walls surrounded the city here as well, a huge curtain wall studded every fifty yards with great square towers. Of those, every third was double in size and she was told that they held siege weapons capable of out ranging anything their enemies had dreamed up so far. It was an impressive sight, made even more so by the knowledge that the walls contained almost 12,000 people, possibly the single largest city left in the southern united states.

Road traffic was heavy here though the centre of the roadway was left open for military use and of that there was plenty. Columns of infantry and horsemen were passing southwards and she had an opportunity to study their weaponry and armour. Much like those who had taken Bakersfield these men were well armed and armoured in old Moorish fashion. The uniformity of their look and their military bearing was well in keeping with the stories that had been told abroad about them. One of her escorts explained that the majority of the original core had been soldiers, or fought in the tournament that been taking place when the changed happened. When asked how many Sacramento had under arms the escort shrugged and simply replied "thousands".

The vast quantities of goods that were moving on the roadway was impressive though she was informed that it was but one of four major roadways that led into the capital. One from each point on the compass. "The Industry of Empire" stated one of her escorts. It certainly looked to be true as they came closer and closer to the walls. Nothing was built beyond the walls, the ground had been razed and fields grew where she knew there had once been acres of suburban housing. The amount of work and man power it must have taken to remove the buildings and any remnants of their existence was staggering. One of the soldiers told her that all the houses had been carefully taken down if they were in good condition and been recycled. All new buildings were required to be done in the old Spanish style with adobe brick and white wash. It was cheaper, safer, fire proof and highly functional.

Their pace slowed to a walk as they drew closer to the moat that encircled the city and the twin towers that guarded the approach to the drawbridge. Here her token was like a magic charm and they passed swiftly through the long line that waited to enter the city. Soldiers inspected every cart or load that was arriving into the city. Apparently the Mormons had been sneaking agents into the city and so the Lord-Marshal had ordered a crack down on those entering the city.

They passed beneath the first gate and Aves could look up to see the murder holes above her head and smell the distinct aroma of pitch bubbling on a fire. Then their horses hooves clattered on the drawbridge and she was able to look down into the moat that curled slowly beneath her, the river had been channeled in so that the water did not remain stagnant.

The second gateway, this one a block of four towers with two sets of metal clad doors, heavy portcullis and once again the faint hint of bubbling pitch from above. Sacramento took it's situation very seriously. The gatehouse turned once, then twice, forcing an enemy to navigate the cobblestoned passage, and each time faced with narrow slits through which a defender could ambush them with arrows.

Grey stone and concrete wall suddenly gave way to open air again and Aves found herself in the crush of the Sacramento.