He growled from deep in his throat and pushed with every ounce of strength in his body. Harder.
He felt that he could hear the strain of his muscles squeaking in the wood on his shoulder. Harder.
CRACK!
The limb in his hands broke and he stumbled forward, tripping over the object that was seemingly unmovable.
He had lost track of time – digging, pausing to let his mind wander, and digging again, often repeating those steps – and he felt that he might need to gather as much information as possible and simply return later.
Schultz would be a strong ally – he knew more about what he called machinery than anyone else in town, and it looked like this could be some of that.
Loading everything into his cart, he straddled his bicycle and slowly moved away from the object. He checked each flag as he passed them, confirming that they were deep enough to keep their position in wind or rain.
After he crossed the threshold of the Deathlands, he hid his satchel in a knot in his tree.
.- .-- .- -.- .
Jonah finished his breakfast before his father even reached the kitchen table.
“Hold your horses, bud! This food isn't going anywhere,” Thomas smirked.
Jonah wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “I know – I... I'd like to get to Schultz's early to see what kind of materials I could use to make some new traps.” He cleared his throat a bit.
“You know, you just brought home enough meat to last us at least a month – you could take a break for a day or two,” his mother said softly.
“I will,” he quickly responded, obviously not registering what the words actually meant. “I'll just rest a bit easier if all the traps are covered. Besides – if I have to go back for only the satchel, I'll feel like I've wasted a trip out there.”
Helen shook her head. “It just isn't like you to leave your things out there like that. You're usually so careful.”
His family had hesitantly bought his story about being so preoccupied with getting the buck prepared for the trip back that he 'must have left the satchel on the ground.' They weren't quite so convinced, however, when he tried to explain why his shirt sleeves were missing.
He hadn't quite prepared himself for that question, so he stumbled through it a bit. He finally arrived at telling them that he ripped off the sleeves to use them as rags to clean himself up after field dressing the deer. “Why didn't you bring them back to wash?” his mother had asked with curious eyes. “You didn't just throw them on the ground, did you?”
He played the part of absent minded – which wasn't completely untrue in regards to that question. Nothing went to waste in the Whitfield house or the entire town. Table scraps went to the animals, old wood went in the stove, worn out clothing became patches for other clothing that was nearing the same fate. Anything else ended up at Schultz’s, to eventually be used by someone else.
Once leaving his house, after an awkward breakfast and a quick bicycle ride, he pedaled between the junkyard piles looking for anything similar to what he had seen in the Deathlands. His eyes traced the outlines of mangled pipes and rusted edges jutting out from the mounds of metal, imagining his father’s body underneath one of the piles.
When the farm and wild game weren't quite keeping the family fed, Schultz had offered to pay Thomas a decent wage for organizing and taking inventory of the collection of rusted treasures. The piles were keeping visitors from knowing what was at the bottom, Schultz said, which meant that most mounds of scrap only grew larger.
They all knew that it wasn't really a necessary job, but Schultz was a friend – just as everyone in the town were friends – and he simply wanted to help Thomas out. Knowing that he would never accept a handout, Schultz just gave Thomas the first thing on the to-do list that he'd made for himself.
Thomas made progress much faster than Schultz expected. The speed and efficiency was mostly because Thomas wanted to prove his worth; that the payment to him was merited. Schultz had, on more than one occasion, mentioned that it was not a job that was under any sort of time constraints, and that he should save some of his energy for the never-ending work of a farm homestead. Thomas was much too proud, and refused to slow his efforts.
About a week into the side job, Thomas had realized that by pulling junk out of the bottom of the piles, he could avoid the time spent climbing to the top, bringing the materials down. He instead would cautiously remove items from the bottom, trying to create controlled avalanches of scrap. When all of the pieces scattered themselves on the ground, he could sort them quickly, tossing like-parts into a wheelbarrow to haul to their new respective areas. He had continued in this manner another week before the accident.
While tugging on a large object at the bottom of a pile, an avalanche erupted that he could not control. Letting go and jumping back to avoid collision, as was his usual reaction to unexpected results, he tripped. In the time that it took for his back to reach the dry grass, metal rained down on his body. When he looked back, the part of the event that he shuddered most when retelling – but at the same time felt most compelled to tell – was the vivid sound of rusty metal scraping against rusty metal.
Jonah had overheard his father say that in those moments he had not prayed for safety, but that his demise would be quick, and his family taken care of. Soon after, however, the chaos ceased.
Pinned under the weight of the solid material, he called out for help, his voice straining from the pain. The junkyard was large – Schultz's home more than a hundred and fifty paces away. It was at least an hour before Schultz came upon the scene. He had not heard the weak screams, but had only noticed that it was unlike Thomas to take so long between hauling loads.
He pulled him out, removed some of the jagged metal embedded in the muscles in his legs and arms, and carried him to the center of town to the doctor. Doc Thorton did everything he could, but his right leg never recovered completely. His family constantly tried to help him see the bright side – they were all surprised that he had any use of it at all – but it was something that caused as much emotional pain as it did the physical pain of that day.
Jonah stared at the metal, imagining what it was like for his father. He shook his head, remembering why he was there today.
Surely I'll find some answers here, he reasoned with himself, refocused.
He hopped off his bicycle and bent down to pick up a few pieces of wire fencing. He grabbed a nearby chain, considering if it would be a good replacement for the one on his bike – one that wouldn't squeak as badly. He held it up to the rusted gears on his two wheeled vehicle in comparison, and heard footsteps behind him.
“Jonah! I don’t think it's a new chain you need – bring your bike over to my shop and we'll oil ‘er up.” Schultz smiled at him, wiping his hands on his shirt, leaving dirt on both the cloth and his skin.
Jonah stood up and tossed the chain back into the pile. “Yeah – I know I need to oil it, I just…” He paused, realizing that it was an offer for help, rather than a correction. “Thanks, Mr. Schultz.”
“Stop with that ‘Mister’ stuff, kid – you’re makin’ me feel old,” Schultz laughed. He extended his dirty hand and Jonah stood and shook it. “Good to see you, son. How's the family doin’?”
“They're good,” Jonah replied, knowing the question was just a formality.
Since his father's accident, Schultz had always made sure that the Whitfields were taken care of. He would generally be over at the house before Jonah had even known that there would be reasons for concern.
They wheeled the bike toward the shop, catching up on the week that had occurred since they last saw each other. That is, catching up on everything but the Deathlands.
“…now, I don't figure you came ‘cause of the bike chain, though – you’ve got plenty of grease in your shed. I checked on everything last time I was there,” Schultz commented, then ended with a smirk. “But I did hear you comin’ for a mile.”
Jonah's mind raced, trying to figure out h
ow to approach the subject of what he found in the Deathlands. He didn't know how to bring it up without explaining everything that he had seen, but wanted to keep as much of it a secret as he would be able. “Yes Sir... er...” Schultz raised his brow at the Sir remark. “I mean, yeah. I noticed the bike chain a couple of days ago on the way to hunt and I just haven't had time to fix it.”
“Son, time's all any of us have got!” he snickered as he flipped the bike over onto a table in his wooden building as soon as they entered.
Jonah walked over to the bench and grabbed a small oil can and handed it to Schultz. “Right... I meant that I've had some other stuff on my mind since I got back from the hunt.”
“Oooh,” Schultz said knowingly, then chuckled. “The stuff on your mind wouldn’t happen to have long hair and wear a pretty dress, would it?”
The young man smiled. “Not this time.”
“Good,” Schultz said as he greased the bike chain and gears. “That's out of my expertise. Metal, rust – that's where everything makes sense to me. Women? For some reason they don’t like bein’ treated like junk. But that's all I'm used to workin’ with! If you ever find one that does, you let me know. I ain't livin’ alone cause I like it!” He chuckled again.
Jonah smiled. “Actually, Mr... Er, I mean Schultz. I wanted to ask you a question. Do you know what CHINA is?”
Schultz's eyes darted away from the gears. “China? Where'd you hear that?”
Jonah hesitated, not knowing if it was something only found in the Deathlands, wondering if he gave himself away. He nervously tried to respond, but nothing came out of his mouth.
“Did you see it on one of the pieces in my yard? Cause don't tell nobody, but I try to scratch that off if I see it.”
“Oh?” Jonah finally stuttered. “Why do you try to scratch it off?”
Schultz made a slight frown, then changed the subject by wiping the oil from his hands and spinning the gears. “No squeak – she’s good as new!”
“Thanks,” Jonah said expectantly.
This time, it was Schultz's turn to hesitate. He flipped the bike back over onto the ground.
“Sir?”
Schultz sighed. “Well... You’re not a kid any more. How old are you now?”
“Seventeen, sir.”
“Old enough to stop callin’ me sir, son!”
Jonah smiled, noting that he was still young enough to be referred to as son.
“I don't know how much you know about the history of this town. Or… this whole country, matter of fact.”
“You mean, the ghost stories?” Jonah said as he tilted his head curiously.
“Lord Almighty, what do they teach kids in school these days?” Schultz wondered aloud, shaking his head with a sheepish look on his face. “But, I guess I can't dodge any of the blame either, scratchin’ off words off all the metal in town.”
“I'm confused, Schultz – and I don't know if you're actually trying to answer my question or if you're just avoiding it.”
“Way to be direct, son,” the older man said, nodding once. “It's a long story – one that I might can start, but your dad'll need to finish.
“The reason I scratch 'China' off the metal is ‘cause it brings up questions about the past. And most people don't know a whole lot about the past. Honestly, for years folks tried to explain everything and pass it down.
“But after a while people started getting worried, ‘cause we don't know everything – not that there's any way we could. People just get scared of things they don't know. Maybe that's why I don't have a wife... Most of the girls ‘round here seem scared of all this metal. Think I'm just as rough as it.”
Schultz seemed to daydream for a moment, but jerked his eyes back into focus.
“Anyhow, I can tell you some of what I know. Years and years ago, all this junk was just scattered all over the place. I mean everywhere. People hurt themselves on it. Some of ‘em that got cut real bad would even die.
“My great-great-granddad started this here junkyard. When he was pretty young, he’d just gather up all the metal he could find. People were pretty happy for him to do it – they didn't see any use for it, so they thought he was just doin’ it to clean the place up. They started givin' him wages to get it off their property, so for a while he was able to make a decent livin' doin’ that instead of farmin’, which is what his family had done for generations.
“What he didn't tell anybody is that he wanted to make stuff out of it. He'd clean it up real good, or melt it down, or what have you. He was able to make stuff that people could use, and got pretty good at repairin’ stuff that people were already using. I guess you could say he was this town's first blacksmith. First one in a few days' journey, by all accounts. So – after all that time of people payin’ him to get the junk off their land, later they started buyin’ the same junk through the stuff he made, and payin’ him for fixin’ stuff.”
Jonah noted that this skill had been passed down through ancestors, as Schultz was the man that everyone called when something needed repair. His shop was full of the town's broken plows, doors, and bed frames. Some would end up in the piles outside, destined to someday become something else completely. However, most items inside the building would take a day or two of tinkering and be sent back to the owner in exchange for a bushel of corn or a few large bottles of milk.
The town blacksmith, whom everyone called Brick, was the only other man who had similar skill – but even he would call on Schultz when a job had gotten the better of him. The nature of their work gave them a lot of time together.
Schultz continued speaking as he wiped the body of the bike.
“He spent most of his life gatherin’ it up, and makin’ stuff with it. When his boys got old enough, he tried to teach ‘em how to do what he was doin’. They'd keep on gatherin’ up metal and junk, and he'd show ‘em how to make stuff out of it. Only his oldest son, Chester, really enjoyed it. As soon as the other boys got old enough, they got married and went back to farmin’. That was the only sure fire way of keepin’ a family fed.”
Schultz got up and moved to the opposite side of the shop, bent down, and started rummaging through items on a shelf under a workbench. “Chester, on the other hand, worked as hard as he could to get everything that people didn't want, figurin’ that just about anything that people would throw away would be useful for somethin’.
“‘Cause of that, he left his kids, and their kids – and eventually, me – a whole bunch of stuff. Some really useful, and some pretty worthless. And... a lot kinda in between.” As Schultz searched through the objects, Jonah noticed a ring peeking out from under the bench, leaned against the wall. It looked similar to the wheel in the Deathlands, though much smaller. He didn't think it was the same as the one he'd seen here before, which gave him the feeling that it might not be so rare. Still, Jonah perked up at seeing this, waiting for the opportune time to ask a different question.
Schultz pulled out a large sphere on a metal frame. Setting it on the table in the middle of the room, where the bike rested minutes earlier, he spun the sphere.
“This here’s a globe.”
Jonah walked towards it curiously. “What's a globe?”
“It's a map.” Schultz stopped the circling sphere, and pointed to an area of brown amidst a splash of dust covered blue. “That's China.”
Jonah looked at the textured area, running his fingers over the surface, making trails in the dust. He noticed that on the base of the metal frame there were deep scratches. He could barely make out a few distorted letters. “I'm sorry, Schultz, but I still have no idea what you're trying to tell me.”
Schultz let out a loud sigh. He then spun the globe around to the opposite side, and pointed at another mass of brown. “That's ‘North America.’ That's where we live. In particular, the United States of America.”
Jonah furrowed his brow, narrowing his eyes trying to dig deep into his thoughts to pull out some sort of sense from what was being said. He didn't want t
o waste Schultz's time, but he definitely didn't want to leave without figuring out what any of the words meant when it was obvious that Schultz had some answers.
Noticing Jonah's long pause, Schultz continued.
“You've heard of oceans, right? Things that are like lakes with water you can't drink, but thousands of times bigger?”
“Yes... So, was China an ocean?”
“Well, I think the right question might be 'is China an ocean,'” Schultz replied. “And the answer is no. All this blue color is water, and that brown stuff is land. Kinda hard to tell the difference with all the dust. This globe was made a long time ago. Years and years before Chester found it. Years before his dad started gatherin’ junk. Back before the Resource War.”
“Resource War?” Jonah asked blankly.
Schultz paused for a bit.
“Another long question for another time...” Schultz was trying to put boundaries on his explanations, but it was obvious that the single question required much more information than the simple answers that Jonah assumed would be found.
“When this map was made, we, America,” he said, spinning the globe for context, “we’d get a lot of our stuff from China.”
“How?” Jonah didn't understand just how far apart the two lands were, but he knew that he absolutely couldn't travel there on his bike.
“More questions with long answers... At the time, we had these huge machines that could quickly travel long distances. By land, sea, and air.”
“By air?” Jonah scoffed automatically in response. “Like riding a bird?”
“One thing at a time, son. If you get hung up on the details, you'll never get the whole picture.” He continued, “all you need to know is that they'd make lots of the goods that the folks in America would use. They'd send it over here, but they'd put their name on it, to make sure that we knew who made it.”
“Wait... I don't understand. Why would they make things for people in America, when they were separated by this ocean?” Jonah asked while pointing at the distance between the two countries. “Why wouldn't the people here just trade with their neighbors, and make the things themselves?”
The Surface's End Page 3