The Dry Earth (Book 1): The Phone

by Orion, W. J.

  “What do you have them doing?” Shant’s leader in the moment asked.

  “I make ‘em pee in jugs,” the Baron said, and laughed. After seeing Brent still awaiting a straight answer, he continued, “They clear rubble. Plant some crops. Shovel the animal crap. Useful stuff. The post-invasion version of breaking rocks, except what they do for me helps everyone have a better life.”

  “You don’t abuse them?” Trader Joe asked.

  “Not as a rule, but what if we do, now and then? These are terrible people. Lawless people in a lawless land being held to task. I’ll tell you this; we won’t do to them what I know some of them did to others. They get what they deserve.”

  There was an uneasy silence.

  This is the guy that has Trey locked up? He doesn’t seem…unreasonable, or even that bad? Did Trey do something terrible? Is he lying to me about that? Ugh.

  The Baron smiled, and God help her… but she smiled back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  And Sometimes the Guy You Trust, You Might not Want To

  The Baron finished his detailed proposal to the people of Shant, and took his enormous tattooed arms, his worn cape, his machinegun, his halligan and his convoy of well-behaved marauders out the gates of Shantytown after a series of blustery handshakes and in the case of Yasmine; a tight, sweaty hug that pushed all the air out of her chest. She ran back to her tiny apartment on the top floor of the brick buildings and used her jug. Her bladder ached.

  While she was gone, the giant instructed his column of raiding vehicles (Could they even be called raiding vehicles, now that she’d met him, and gotten a feel for him?) to park a half mile away outside the walls. They were waiting for Shant’s answer.

  The feverish, frightened town called a mass council meeting. A gathering of the entire town in fact. Names were drawn for the job of peacekeeping during the meeting as well as names to make the decision on the potential agreement, and the gathering was convened under the hot sun. Yasmine arrived late, and regretted coming as soon as she arrived.

  Yasmine covered her ears to protect them from the yelling as she withdrew further, and further back from the crowd gathered at the uneven, cracked basketball court near the bombed-out middle school of old Shant. When she’d had enough of the shouting , and name-calling, she turned to leave the chaos, but a tiny hand grabbed hers. She looked down.

  “Please don’t leave,” Liam begged of her. “I don’t want to be here with just my brother.”

  “Oh… okay,” she said without thinking. “You can’t be with your mom and dad?”

  “Mom is one of the people in charge, and Owen is being a jerk, so Dad is busy with him. I don’t…”

  “I’ll stay,” she said to him.

  “What say you, picker?” a voice in the quieted crowd called out.

  She looked up from Owen’s sad face and saw the black circles of Trader Joe’s goggles. He stood at the center of the broken-down basketball court, standing front and center to the whole town. Familiar faces were on all sides in the crowd, and they too looked at her.

  She withered. Her legs felt weak. Too. Many. Faces. Too. Much. Attention.

  “Be strong,” Trader Joe said. “Your name was selected to be a speaker in this council. A decider. You should be here, debating the merits of the Baron’s offer. Come forward.”

  “No. I can’t. I just got here. It wouldn’t be right for me to make a decision like that.” She shook her head in the negative.

  “Such responsibility is to be shared amongst all, new and old alike. A fresh opinion might offer the people of Shantytown insight we otherwise might’ve looked over. We have asked for your help. Please give it.”

  Yasmine felt Owen squeeze her hand, and the gesture gave her strength. She held his little fist tight, and walked forward. The citizens of Shant that had already parted for Trader Joe to look at her stepped aside further to make way. She reached the middle of the group, and closed her eyes. She focused on Owen’s tiny hand in hers.

  “What say you, picker?” the man with no face asked again.

  “I didn’t hear the original question.”

  “Should Shantytown enter into an agreement with the Monoliths?”

  “I don’t know. He has a bad reputation.”

  “He does,” Joe agreed. “But he has offered fair trade, protection, and will open up our settlement to new goods, new faces, and perhaps news.”

  Yasmine laughed.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, the question you really want to ask, isn’t the one you asked me.”

  “What do you mean?” a lady no more than five years older than her asked. Her dirty face and torn clothes told Yasmine she had seen a tough road (and recently), and worked hard to better her lot. Yaz felt she deserved an honest answer.

  “Does Shantytown think they can tell him no?”

  Silence. She’d silenced the crowd. That felt… powerful.

  “If you say no to him, what are the consequences?” she asked. “Will he retaliate?”

  “The Baron was unclear if there would be any,” Joe answered. “He seemed more civil and more predictable than we’d heard, so perhaps he is a man of reason and can accept no for an answer. What would we gain from saying no?”

  “Nothing changes,” an old man said. “Things stay the way they are, the way we know works. No new faces to police. No new problems to deal with.”

  “Change can be good,” Yasmine said out loud, and wasn’t sure why she’d said it. She hated change.

  “Change nowadays is a scary thing,” the same old man replied to her. “I’ve seen more than enough change in my life. What do you know, anyway? How old are you? All of thirteen?”

  “I’m almost seventeen.”

  “Yeah, my beard is almost seventeen. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “Malcolm, please. Yasmine is a worldly young lady who has proven herself time and again. She sits on this council, you must show her respect,” Joe chided. The old man shrugged and waved a hand, dismissing the whole exchange. “Yasmine, what can be gained by saying yes?”

  “I mean, you’ve already said it. Well, most of it,” she said, realizing something new.

  “Speak your mind,” Joe prodded. He’d caught scent of her idea.

  “Well, we know they’ll bring in new things from the city. That’s good.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we know they’ll trade for what we have spare, and that’s good.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we’re of course afraid that they’ll retaliate against us if we say no.”

  “Yes,” Joe agreed. The entire town listened to her, in the heat of the day, in total silence.

  “But what you haven’t said, is that we’ll be able to keep an eye on him,” she said.

  “Huh?” the grumpy old man huffed.

  “Look, right now we don’t know where his people are moving, where they’re going or what they’re coming for. We don’t know anything about them. But if we let them in—just a little—we’ll learn about them. Maybe make real friends. Maybe forge a real alliance,” she said, letting some hope out in the sound of her words. “That or we’ll be in the know when they try something that we don’t like.”

  “You mean spy on them?” the young woman asked.

  “Sort of,” Yasmine said. “It can’t hurt us to learn as much as we can about them, and this is our chance. I don’t think we want to send them away, when we know they’re going to come back anyway.”

  “She’s right about that,” Trader Joe said to the crowd. “They’ll be out here for good whether we like it or not. First impressions being what they are, we might want to ‘saddle up’ early, and solidify ourselves as willing allies.”

  And, I’ll have a safe way into that damn tower to find Trey.

  If Trey’s telling me truth.

  Minutes later the council agreed, the terms were set, and the Baron was sent for.

  Message me as soon as you can. Big day here in the wastes.

&n
bsp; Does now work?

  She was shocked. Yaz had only just gotten back to the coolness of her new apartment. There was half a day to go before they got to 3:33 in the morning. Her heart pounded. She was excited… and scared.

  Is it safe to talk?

  Yeah. The Baron is gone, like I said. What’s up?

  Guess where the Baron is?

  Please tell me he’s not where you are.

  He was, earlier today.

  Are you safe? Is everyone ok?

  We don’t cavort with crabs. Everyone is fine.

  Oh, good. What did you think of him?

  He’s big. Charismatic. Lots of guns.

  Yeah, lots of guns. He is pretty likable, huh?

  Yeah. Sort of begs the question about how you’ve framed him to be a bad guy.

  Framed is a strong word.

  I never he said he was a bad guy.

  You literally called him a villain.

  Did I?

  Yeah, take a minute, and scroll up. You’ll find it.

  If you say I did, then I did.

  So what do you say now? Is he a villain or not?

  He attacked my people and has me locked in a room like an animal.

  From where I am, he’s a villain. That being said…

  He has done a lot of good for some people. The people who follow him and his rules.

  And you don’t follow his rules? You can’t tell him that you’ll join with his program?

  He’s made up his mind about me. I am a known commodity.

  What does that mean?

  He has assessed my value. I can’t change his mind about me, or my worth to him.

  At least not by pretending to join his society. There are… other things, maybe.

  Boo.

  What if I ask him about you?

  What if I pitch the idea that you should get a second chance?

  NO.

  WHATEVER YOU DO, NEVER SPEAK OF ME TO HIM.

  Sit down, Jesus. You don’t have to yell.

  I’m serious, Yaz. He’ll lock you up like me in a heartbeat if he knows we’ve talked.

  He might kill you, then come kill me. He can’t afford me being helped.

  Why?

  I am his enemy.

  Because I scare him, Yaz. Someone who works with crabs, calling for help?

  He’ll immediately think you work with crabs too. Done deal. Game over.

  Ah. Well. Maybe I’ll just make this decision on my own.

  What does that mean?

  Shantytown has decided to start trade, and allow the Monoliths to stay here when passing through on their patrols.

  I think the Baron likes me.

  That’s a good thing. To a point.

  Yeah well, I’ll take it.

  And when I feel ready, I’m going to hitch a ride, and come check out that tower you’re locked up at the top of.

  You’ll have to prove yourself to him. His people might give you a ride to the city…

  But they won’t bring you into the tower. And you don’t want to get left in the city alone.

  Ever heard the expression, ‘swimming with sharks?’

  I understand the meaning…

  I’ll prove myself to him. I’ve proven myself to everyone I needed to.

  And then, I’ll decide if he’s the good guy, or you are.

  I… I am impressed.

  I don’t want to sound cocky, but I can be damn impressive.

  I am also very scared.

  And I’m not, so let’s not let that go to waste, eh?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Trade You a Toaster for a Hot Plate

  *terms and conditions apply

  The Baron’s men were notably less charismatic than he had been. There was a single, abandoned home near the western gate (the gate that faced the city most directly) that needed some work, and that house was lent to them. If they wanted to fix it up, that was on them. No different than any other Shant resident.

  They were allowed three vehicles inside the gate at any given time (no more) and twelve men (no more). The first few days of their occupancy went well, though the men and women who came were… bristly. When they interacted with the townsfolk at all, that is.

  Her work for Dr. Sonneborn completed, and modest supplies of food and water acquired indefinitely (due to her retrieval of the medicines Trey led her to) meant Yaz didn’t feel the pressure to deliver. Picking seemed… less important than keeping an eye on the Monoliths, staying present with the people of Shant.

  Yaz found herself helping at the solar stills an hour or two every day, learning how to better yield drinking water from waste water using the sun, and as often as not, she went to Brent’s stall to help him, or went to Kim to help with the boys. Once, she helped Liam as he made a pair of pants with the sewing machine she’d picked.

  As impressive as she could be, her ability to make clothing was not. She gained a tremendous appreciation for Liam’s skills as she watched him. Even at his young age, his dark, lithe fingers moved with precision and confidence as he stitched together shirts, pants, and more.

  All the while, everywhere she moved, every time she was outside, she remained innocuous, and remained vigilant of the Monoliths when they were present. She saw Trader Joe doing the same, and felt a kinship grow with him. Like her, the goggled man lived on the fringe.

  At night, she kept in awkward touch with a worried Trey on her mom’s phone, and she fact-checked everything she could against his knowledge of the Monoliths.

  The female Monolith was a tiny thing; Yaz wasn’t considered tall by most, but she had the better part of a foot on the stranger. Dark of hair and eyes, dark of skin, the diminutive lady wore a bulletproof vest that was stained and damaged from a decade of heavy use. More than one round puncture hole marred the chest of it. Under that she had a fresh, handmade long sleeved shirt with the now-familiar Monolith patch on the shoulder. Her pants were old jeans, a size too large and torn open at the knees. The bottom of the legs were stained a myriad of colors. Oil and blood seemed most prevalent.

  Across her bulletproof vest a pump-action shotgun hung on a sling, barrel pointed towards the ground. The stains on the weapon weren’t visible, but they were there.

  “I need a hot plate,” she said to Yaz after browsing through Brent’s tables for a few minutes. To Yaz her voice sounded scratchy, like she’d been coughing for a long time before speaking.

  “You have electricity in your house?” Yaz replied, shocked that Shant could have, or would have run a power line out to the home already. The lights were already dim in the homes that had power….

  “Not here. We have power at the tower though. I’d love to be able to cook in my quarters,” she said, errantly examining a wall mounted battery charger. She sat it down, unaware of the value of the device. “I’m sick of going to the market level or the street to cook over a barrel.”

  Many people in Shant cooked over barrels. Communal fires were common.

  “Well as luck would have it, we have one, but not here at the shop right now. I could have it here for you tomorrow morning,” Yaz assured her. She’d grabbed a hot plate from her basement shelter before heading to Shant. Hot plates were a hot commodity in settlements with electricity, like Shant.

  She shook her head. “Naw. I’m rotating back to the tower tonight. Any chance you could get it for me before I leave? I’m willing to barter hard for it.”

  “Well,” Yaz said and sighed.”I could bring it to you, I guess. After we close. What do you have you’re willing to trade?”

  The woman eyed Yaz. She gauged whether or not to drive a hard bargain, or be fair. Yaz had seen it ten times a day in the shop. Most pushed for the lowest price they could get. Being fair didn’t get you what you really wanted.

  “I have some kid’s toys. Good condition.”

  “What kind of toys?

  “Stuff that doesn’t take batteries. The circle-thingy you pull the string on, and it makes animal noises. Some stuffed animals in good s
hape. Clean. Washed recently,” her eyebrows bobbed up and down. “Alphabet blocks. Pens. Crayons.”

  “We’re good. Brent mostly deals with electronics here. Appliances, wiring, gadgets, that kind of stuff,” Yaz shot her down. No sense pursuing that line of barter.

  She huffed. “Okay then. Um… You need a toaster? I have a spare toaster.”

  “Toaster, or toaster oven?”

  “Regular toaster. Slots in the top. Works great.”

  “That’ll get you two thirds of the way there. This hot plate… works great. One burner, several settings. Light and small,” Yaz said.

  “Two thirds? Are you kidding, kid? People in the city would sell their left arm for a good toaster,” the little woman said.

  “Then why do you have a spare toaster and two arms?”

  “Um….”

  “Right. Two thirds. What else can you offer to make it even? I mean, I’m bringing it to you, and I don’t even know your name.”

  She smiled. “You’re right. You don’t. I’m Knox. As in, ‘a hard Knox life’, right?” She stuck her hand out, and Yaz shook it.

  “Yasmine.”

  “The girl the Baron thought was… uh, cool. You do seem cool. I see why he talked about you so much. I like you.”

  “Thanks...”

  “You need medicine? We’ve got some spare stuff. I know it’s not electronics, but it’s got value,” Knox offered.

  “I think we’re okay,” Yaz said, playing unsure. “But I can ask the doctor. Do you have any comics? Or posters from before the war? I need to do some decorating.”

  “Back at the tower I do.”

  “Okay. Do you have any bullets?”

  “A few, but… those are real valuable,” Knox said, taking a step back from the deal.

  “Do you have any 9 millimeter? Any? They trade hot here.” And… I could use some for that pistol I have.

  “No. Monoliths don’t trade 9mm. All our pistols are that caliber. We trade everything else,” Knox said.