To Cross a Wasteland

by Phillip D Granath

  Three of Murphy’s men approached, these were the Greasers. They had the responsibility of running the pump day in and day out, maintaining it and especially as their nickname implied, greasing the aging engine.

  “Miles," Eric, the youngest of the greasers acknowledge the old man with a nod.

  “Eric," Miles said returning the nod. “Curt, Bolt," he added acknowledging the other two.

  These three had shadowed Miles for the last few years. Each had come into Murphy’s employment for their own reasons, and each had some experience working on machinery. Miles didn’t consider any of them truly friends, but they had worked hard together for years now, they had solved problems, at times inventing solutions. Miles knew Murphy had him training his own replacements, it was hard for him to get past the idea that when the kingpin believed these men capable enough, his deal with Miles would end. The aging engineer doubted he would be allowed to live very long after that.

  “What happened?” Miles asked simply.

  “She started to get a wicked shimmy," Bolt was the first to respond.

  “Started to vent around the shaft, of course, we lost pressure," Curt added.

  “We doused the fire as quick as we could. Brooklyn wasn’t too happy, not at all," Eric added sounding guilty.

  As the men spoke Murphy’s guards milled about lazily, most laying in the shade of the wall. Brooklyn was the only one standing within earshot, he looked nervous. Murphy had entrusted this man with keeping his water operation running. His life was probably tied to the condition of the pump as tightly as Miles’s was. The thought made the old man grin, at least failure had a silver lining.

  “Did you get the piston apart?”

  “It took some doing, but yeah, we did," Bolt said.

  The reply surprised Miles for a moment, not even a year ago these men would have been too afraid to pull apart anything on the massive pump without him here.

  “Well, Okay then, let’s have a look," Miles said and with that then group moved to stand below the massive machine. Brooklyn trailed away behind them.

  The pump itself had been based on an older English design called a Newcomen Engine. It had a boiler that could burn wood or coal, a pressure tank and a heavy steel beam on a pivot, they type that most people immediately associated with oil wells. Attached to the end of the beam was a shaft connecting a massive piston, or it would have been if the piston wasn’t currently laying in pieces at the engineer’s feet. This pump, in particular, was a modern working replica, built specifically for the rail Museum at 1/3 scale. It was only intended for “For Demonstration use only” as a small placard in front of its display had once read.

  Miles got to his knees, awkwardly, if not as painfully, as usual, thanks to Kyle’s pills. The old man examined the coffee can size piston. The rest of his little team kneeled with him, but none spoke. A series of rubber gaskets, totaling almost 6 inches thick were badly cracked, melted and otherwise deformed. He ran a hand gently around the edge of the piston, searching for any signs of rubbing, grinding or cracking. He smiled when he didn’t find any.

  “Can you fix it?” Brooklyn asked with concern in his voice. Miles and the rest of the Greasers looked up at the little man that had joined them.

  “I think so," Miles replied simply, and then asked. “How much pressure was she under when this happened?”

  The three greasers all looked away, Eric finally replied, still not looking at him. “It was over the line,"

  Miles stood with the help of his crutch. “You all got lucky this time. If one of those gaskets would have failed completely, got caught in the piston, she could have seized up. That could have gouged the piston, or the shaft maybe bent the rod or even warped the beam. This is it, guys. No spare parts. You break it, and we are all fucked. Even Murphy," Miles added the last words while looking directly at Brooklyn. The man took the hint and walked away.

  “Listen, guys, I know what’s being asked of you. Maybe that idiot wants to impress his boss or make up for lost time, maybe he’s pumping extra and skimming off the top. It doesn’t matter the reason; he makes you push her harder than you should. If this pump fails, no more water, no more chits. If we can’t fix it, then we are useless to Murphy and believe me, Murphy doesn’t bother to keep around useless things. I want you to think about that the next time some asshole orders you to push her harder than you should," the three greasers responded with a series of head nods.

  “Ok, let’s get to work. Curt, Bolt, you two break down the piston and cut off what’s left of those gaskets. Eric and I’ll start working on cutting a new set,” at the engineer’s words the little team sprang into action. The sun just finishing its rise.

  New Order

  Tamara was out on her morning walk, sadly it was becoming the high point of her day. A brief half an hour where she could be alone with her thoughts, her hopes, her hate. Coal had been called out to the ranch gates early. The Chief of the Black Jackets was on his way to visit the City council, he had invited Coal to join him, and the Indian had agreed. Though what the Chief or the City council could possibly want with the half-breed was beyond her.

  She moved around the back of the big glass building. Past the piles of firewood, the stacks of wild grass and the bundles of herbs hung on clotheslines too dry. She walked the opposite way around the wall as she had done yesterday. As she approached the corral, a stableman watering the horses saw her, and his face lit up. Riley was a sweet young man, perhaps 18 and handsome in a naive kind of simple way. He always went out of his way to talk to her, usually tripping over his own words when he did so. She guessed he was still a virgin.

  “Good morning Mrs. Coal!” Riley said a little too emphatically, as he intercepted her walk.

  “Good morning Riley," she replied simply, not breaking her stride.

  “Beautiful day for a walk," Riley added matching her pace.

  “I guess," Tamara replied already bored of the conversation.

  “You know, I can believe it, that people used to walk everywhere back before. I mean before they even had to. It’s good for the heart they say," Tamara rolled her eyes, she couldn’t count how many times Riley had told her that. She tried to ignore him and hope that he got the hint.

  “Just a…a great day…for walking," Riley said awkwardly.

  Tamara shook her head; the young man just couldn’t take a hint. A wicked thought crossed her mind, and she stopped suddenly, turning to face the young man. Riley almost collided with her, and the two found themselves standing very close.

  “You know what else this would be a great day for…fucking," Tamara said in a passionate whisper.

  Riley stared at her in obvious shock he opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  “I hear it’s good for the heart too," Tamara added. “So what do you say, cowboy? Want to take me behind the barn and give it to me rough?” she bit her lower lip as she looked up at him playfully.

  “I...I... I…don’t…” Riley stammered.

  “You know it would be kinda risky, but doesn’t that make it even more tempting? I mean if Coal caught us, he, well he would probably cut your dick off," Tamara said matter-of-factly. “But believe you me I would make it well worth it," she added in a pleading tone.

  “I…I shouldn’t…” Riley continued to search for words as he took a step backward.

  “Oh come on Riley, even if you lost your dick we could still be friends," she said and with that Riley turned to flee.

  “We could be such great girlfriends, and we would have so much to talk about, like walking," she called after him grinning and trying not to laugh.

  Tamara turned and continued her walk, smiling at young Riley’s expense. She probably shouldn’t have done that. Here she was trying to blend in with the sheep, the last thing she needed was a scandal. When the young cowpuncher finally catches his breath, he’ll start to talk. Men always do, doesn’t matter if they were experienced or not. The rumors will go around, though Tamara didn’t really care about that, but i
f Coal caught wind of them well, it could make her job here a little more challenging.

  Though maybe young Riley had a little more backbone than she gave him credit for. What if he caught his breath and decided the risk was worth the reward? She would fuck him then she decided. Then she would tell Coal that he had raped her. The big man gets a chance to take revenge, spill a little blood, well probably a lot of blood. Tamara would get to play the damsel in distress, not her favorite roll, but if it helped her endear herself to Coal, she would.

  She continued her walk, circling the corral, considering how she could spin a little scandal to her benefit. She was so lost in thought she didn’t see the flower until she almost stepped on it. She froze and stared down at it. A white plastic lily with a 3-inch wire stem just at the base of the wall. She put her high heel down next to it and bent down pretending to remove a stone from her shoe. She picked up the flower and placed it behind her ear with a casual sweep of her hand through her hair. Then she was moving again, striding back towards the big house.

  Her heart raced, three messages, just three in almost a year. She sometimes wondered if Murphy had forgotten her completely. She had been his favorite, that’s why she had been handed this task. She needed a place to read it in private, somewhere the other girls couldn’t possibly see. Privacy was something Tamara sorely missed.

  Tamara stood in the outhouse. The rickety shack was built over an open manhole, it reeked, and she tried desperately to breathe through her mouth as she unrolled the small slip of green paper wrapped around the stem of the flower. A narrow beam of light shining through a crack in the wall allowed her to just make out the three short sentences. Her face lit up as order’s meaning struck her. This was it, her last day in this hell hole, the day she would distinguish herself and the day she would finally get to kill that pig.

  Councilman Neal pounded away with his gavel. “Order, I demand order," he shouted.

  “Neal! Stop with that fucking hammer!” Councilwoman Wadsworth shouted back.

  “I’ll shove that hammer up your fucking ass!” Councilman Jackson added, though his words seemed to lack conviction.

  “It’s a gavel," Rincone corrected.

  “I don’t give a fuck what it’s called," Jackson replied, his voice weak, his head down on his desk.

  Coal sat in his usual place on the third row of the city council chamber, his feet kicked up on a desk, and he was enjoying the show. This was Rincone’s second day in a row visiting the council, trying to get them to come to terms with the fact that they were going to hold elections. Whether they liked it or not. The Chief had invited Coal along today in hopes that his presence would lend his arguments a little more credence. So far the Indian hadn’t said a word. But Coal knew the city council better than Rincone did.

  Wadsworth had come to terms with the fact that they were going to have elections. She was now mostly arguing about details, the biggest being timeline.

  “How do you expect us to organize an election, get the word out and run a campaign if we want to be reelected? We need more time!” she demanded.

  “You have had all the time you are going to get. It’s called a decade. I don’t want anybody getting any cute ideas about buying votes or putting bounties out on say, I don’t know, me! That’s why I brought the council’s personal “Hitman” along to be part of this conversation” Rincone said nodding to Coal. Coal gave a goofy grin and wave. He had been right Hitman sounded so much cooler better than Bounty Hunter.

  “And what keeps Murphy from just killing us while we’re out there, shaking hands and kissing babies," Jackson asked. Coal had dealt with Jackson enough to recognize his mood, he held no illusions about getting “Re-elected.” Neal had once told him that Jackson had been appointed by the council in the first few days after all hell had broken loose. No one had ever voted for him in the first place. He was temporarily replacing a council member that had been on vacation. That “temporary” assignment had turned into a 15-year term.

  “Me and my Black Jackets, same as always. I’ll provide men to protect you while you are out politicking. You’ll be as safe as, well as anyone these days can hope for," Rincone replied.

  “And funds? You're holding all the tax money; how do we pay for…materials?” Jackson asked. Though Coal was certain that he had almost inadvertently said votes instead of materials.

  “I’m assigning one of my best men to help with that. Starting tomorrow, Benny will be here every day until elections are held. I’m going to authorize him to spend 100 chits to make sure this thing happens. That’s money for signs, ballots, pens, pencils whatever. Hell, use it to pay people to vote if you want, just as long as they can vote for whomever they want. He’ll also be here to make sure this thing is done on the up and up," Rincone replied eyeing each councilman in turn.

  “Order, order," Neal shouted again, banging his gavel.

  “Neal! God damn it," Wadsworth shouted at him. But this time Councilman Neal had an actual question.

  “What about prerequisites? Qualifications for the positions in question?” he asked with a cheerful expression. Neal had lost touch with reality years ago Coal thought, this council and its rule it’s… what was the word, decorum? Were all he had left. It was a damn shame, Coal remembered the speech he had given to the town, the one that brought everyone together to move the pump, in-turn saving them all.

  “None. The people can vote for whomever they want, I don’t care what their backgrounds are. I don’t even care if the judge knows anything about Law or not; as long as he has a fair and level head," Rincone replied.

  “You’re setting this thing up to be a damn popularity contest," Wadsworth said dismissively.

  “No, I’m not. I’m following the same guidelines that all of you are or at least should have been," with that Rincone picked up a small spiral bound book from the table behind him and tossed it on the councilman’s desk.

  “In case you don’t recognize that it’s the city council charter, dated 1964. It’s what made you legal before, and it’s what makes you legal now. It doesn’t require any perquisites for membership in the city council and neither will we. You don’t like it? You think it’s outdated? Fine, change it. But that requires a city vote as well. It’s all right here," Rincone said gesturing to the booklet.

  The last of the fight left them just then. Coal could almost see it like a ghost escaping a room, they had come to accept an election as inevitable. For the first time, he also realized Nim wasn’t in the room. Not that she ever said anything anyway, perhaps she was just smarter than the rest and wasn’t going to waste her time arguing with Rincone. Maybe she was out trying to find a new home, or maybe she was making the rounds stumping for votes, neither would have surprised Coal.

  Cutting the gaskets had taken longer than Miles had thought it would, a lot longer. The Piston was wearing unevenly, it was something he had suspected during their last maintenance day, but he hadn’t been sure. This time he was certain. He had checked the diameter of the piston at two dozen points using a pair of large rusty calipers and marking each point with a pencil. Then he checked the measurements again with a second set, just to be sure. Three of those marks had measured shorter than the rest, both times, it was just a bare millimeter, but it was there. The piston head was slowly deforming. When it deformed enough that would be it, the old girl wouldn’t be able to build up enough pressure to pull up water from the deep well. It would all be over.

  Miles sat at his workbench in the small tool shed that Murphy had built for them, just under the tower. Curt and Bolt sat on the dirt floor, leaning against a tool rack while Eric paced like an expecting father. They were all nervous, they knew it was taking longer than it usually did. Mile’s had made them cut a second and then a third set of gaskets, now bits and pieces of rubber clippings, mostly from old mud flaps littered the ground. Miles had attempted to adjust the size of the gasket to offset the low spots on the piston, it was a temporary fix at best.

  Miles finished assembl
ing the piston with the new gaskets in place and then stood. The rest of the Greasers stood with him.

  “Okay," Miles said.

  “What is it?” Eric asked a note of fear in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing," Miles replied flatly.

  “You had us cut extra gaskets, you spent a whole hell of a lot more time than you usually do measuring that thing. You even used a second set of calipers, we all watched you, and you didn’t find anything wrong?” Eric demanded.

  “Not with the piston," Miles replied smoothly. “But those calipers, the first set are junk, in fact, I want you to get rid of them. I kept getting different measurements, so I switched to the other set, and those were consistent,"

  Eric looked at Miles for a moment then slowly nodded. The old man pulled on his green raincoat and then continued.

  “So here is the plan, Eric, you and I’ll grease and reinstall the Piston. By now the whole thing should be nice and cool, so Curt I want you to shovel out all the ash and whatever garbage you all have been feeding her and inspect the oven. Pay special attention to those seams, look for corrosions stress fractures over the whole thing. Bolt you focus on the beam and the rod, same thing," Miles instructed.

  “Brooklyn isn’t going to like that, he already said that he wants us to run her through the night to make up for today’s downtime," Bolt said.

  “I don’t care what he says, in fact, it will do everyone here some good to start getting used to saying no when it comes to this machine. I’ll also be leaving instructions that the pump will only be run 6 hours a day," Miles added.

  “He is definitely not going to like that," Eric said.

  “It’s for the good of the pump and the good of the town, but if Brooklyn doesn’t like it well then that’s just gravy," Miles replied and cradling the piston stepped out into the light.