Smith

by Wade Adrian

  And so the trek home began. Seven had ventured into town, nine were leaving. Richer in tools, medicine, and books, with a few other odd prized thrown in. Ross wore one of the assault rifles their attackers had carried, and one of Baron’s hunters carried the other. Morei kept his rifle shouldered. It wasn’t fully automatic, but he probably had a lot more bullets than anyone else.

  Huh, that was something Smith hadn’t considered. They were poorer in bullets. Not a major issue today… but there were only so many left.

  They took turns pushing the carts. It wasn’t much of a problem on the road. They were heavy, true, but it was worth the trouble. When Smith wasn’t pushing a cart he kept his eyes on the ground. He picked up every stray feather he could find, tucking them away into a plastic bag.

  More than a few arrows had been lost on this journey. Wooden ones with feather flights might not last like carbon fiber sport arrows, but the parts were a lot easier to come by. Few if any of the feathers he found were from a goose or turkey, the traditional archery feathers. They would work, if not amazingly well. Easy enough to test them. Those with the shortest reliable range would probably go to the gate guards.

  Despite the solid ground underfoot, the halt was called only an hour after sundown. The carts were heavy, and while people could deal with a dark road, the carts had more trouble with every rock and crack.

  Morei pulled his trusty hubcap from his pack and made a small fire in between a few rusted out car remnants while the scouts and hunters made with their typical nightly tasks.

  Smith stared up at the stars overhead. The rain that had dogged their trip this far had moved on leaving a clear sky. Which, ironically, meant it was colder. Especially without a cozy insulated attic. He warmed his hands by the fire and took out his notebook.

  Timms tilted his head a bit. “What’s that?”

  “A… friend back home is curious about the outside world. Asked me to document the trip.”

  Baron scratched at his beard. “They could just ask about it.”

  “Maybe they wanted a fresh perspective.”

  Timms eyebrow crept up. “But you said you lived outside recently.”

  “I did. But I have to admit, it all looks… different somehow now.”

  Baron scoffed. “Inside a few days, and already institutionalized?”

  Smith smiled. “No. It’s just… a weight off my shoulders, I guess. Out here, it was all about food. Shelter. Warmth. Every day was getting through that day. Nothing else mattered. Then I found your walls,”

  “Much to Ross’ chagrin…” Baron muttered.

  “And since then, I dunno. It just… seems less like the world is gone. More like it fractured, but there’s still pieces that resemble what we used to have. Cooperation. Coordination. It makes carrying on easier. More meaningful.”

  “Mmm.” Baron nodded. “I admit, it’s nice to think it’s there, even if I don’t visit much.”

  Timms scoffed as he pulled an old blanket tighter around him. “If this,” he pointed at the dark sky and the wind trying to kill their tiny fire, “is your idea of paradise, friend, you can keep it. I look forward to seeing these walls.”

  Baron chuckled.

  32

  “Conversion Disorder Aphonia.” Timms nodded.

  Smith tilted his head. The day had been much like the last, and the night was as well. “It doesn’t make any more sense the second time.”

  “Hmm.” The little man shook his shaggy head. “It is a psychological reaction to stress. While it was once thought to be an exceptionally rare disorder, cases climbed significantly when things…” his voice trailed off as his eyes lost their focus, his gaze falling to the fire between them. A welcome bit of warmth in the dark night. He lifted his chin again a moment later, dark thoughts apparently banished. “Well, suffice it to say, there were plenty of reasons for stress.”

  Smith nodded. “No arguments there. But it’s all in her head then? She can talk?”

  “Well, no. And yes.” Timms scratched at his chin. “Physically, she would have no ailments. Though a lack of use might have caused some problems. Her voice might be different than it was before. But the reason she can’t speak is entirely in her mind, yes.” He tapped the side of his head as an example. “Being rendered mute isn’t common, even for such an uncommon disease, but I’m sure you have seen some of the other symptoms without even realizing it. Balance issues, weakness, unexplained tremors. Those things tend to stand out more.”

  Now that he mentioned it… “Yeah, seen some of that. Other camps. People assumed it was something wrong with the water or food.”

  “People assume a lot of things. It’s always better to have facts.”

  “Well, that information wasn’t exactly readily available.”

  Timms shrugged, as if knowing that sort of thing should be commonplace. “At any rate, it’s something only she can fix. I’m afraid qualified psychologists are probably in short supply.”

  “Mmm.” Smith nodded. Well, at least he had learned something. It had a name. Maybe they could find something on treating it.

  The days were long, stopping early or no, due to the carts. The wheels weren’t exactly designed for distance, and absolutely were designed for a perfectly level smooth floor. Chill winds became normal as they ventured back. Fires were difficult to keep alive, even inside old cars. Few of them had enough glass left to keep out the wind, and even when something was draped over missing glass, the vehicles provided nothing in the way of insulation. That’s not to say being out of the wind wasn’t worth the trouble, it certainly was. It just wasn’t comparable to a real shelter.

  Timms was obsessive with his cart. If he wasn’t pushing it he was still walking in arms reach of it. He only had the strength to give it a few hours each morning, but his willingness to do so seemed to help the general opinion of him anyway.

  Smith pushed the tool cart most mornings, only switching off with someone else at the midday break. Then again, even filled with metal, wood, and plastic, it probably didn’t hold a candle to carting so much paper around.

  His afternoons were spent in search of feathers. He still snatched up any he saw in the mornings, but he wandered far and wide in the afternoons to find them. The bag was getting pretty full. At this rate he would be able to toss out some of the worst ones.

  The book cart lost three wheels on its travels. They were easy enough to replace, though it took time. Smith toyed with the idea of making skis and just dragging it through the dirt later. Maybe it would snow and make their lives at once harder for walking and yet easier for dragging.

  Timms always seemed to sleep well. It didn’t take much for him to fall down and pass out at the end of each day. He wasn’t built for this sort of thing. Hell, none of them were, but barely surviving for fear of getting too far from his precious books hadn’t done him any favors in the exercise department.

  Morei kept an eye on the little scarecrow each day. He’d pose questions to the librarian, attempting to stump his seemingly endless encyclopedic knowledge. There was really no way Morei knew what the capital of Sweden had been, but Timms answering “Stockholm” without a moments hesitation lent a certain air of credibility.

  And apparently Norway’s capital was Oslo.

  Such things seemed… rather pointless to Smith. The questions were well meaning jabs at the librarian, but all they did was make Smith wonder what had happened to those places. Was the rest of the world faring better than them? Worse?

  It was depressing to think how much they had once had. Travel across the globe in mere hours… it had taken them days to get this far. Probably hadn’t even crossed many zip codes.

  It took them eight days to make it back to where they had left Rawlins and his keepers. Longer than anyone wanted, but they were not willing to dump any cargo. It seemed like gunfights made people possessive.

  The van they had left Rawlins in was empty, and his keepers where nowhere to be found.

  Smith managed to contain his panic
attack when he noticed none of the hunters or scouts were freaking out. They must have known something he didn’t.

  Baron glanced around the van for a few moments before shading his eyes and looking up to the west.

  A tiny spec of light was visible off in the woods. The hunter grunted and inclined his head that way. “Bring them back. No reason to add needless wear to the carts for one night.”

  Two of the hunters took off into the woods without a word in response.

  Ross’ scouts set about making camp. Morei shuffled Smith and Timms into Rawlins’ van. He set them up with a small fire before heading back outside. It was cozy enough, even with the side door open. The wind wasn’t coming from that direction.

  A few minutes later the hunters returned, shadowed by the scout and hunter they’d left behind. Rawlins limped just ahead of them on a crutch.

  Introductions were short and simple. Timms was barely keeping his chin up, so conversation was at a minimum. Rawlins climbed inside the van without any help.

  Smith gave him a nod. “You good to travel?”

  “Good as I’m going to get. I’ll slow us a lot more if snow sets in.”

  “Probably true. We have a cart full of stuff from the pharmacy, if any of it will help.”

  The medic rubbed at his chin. “Doubt it at this point. Been walking on it. Just a bit stiff, gets tired faster than I’d like. Sore after a time. It will work itself out.”

  Smith produced the list Rawlins had given him, and handed it back. “Got a lot of what you asked for, and as much of each as we could find or transport.”

  The medic’s eyebrows crept up a bit. “Really? Huh.”

  “Town was in… decent shape. Not protected by ghosts or anything, just a caretaker.” He hooked a thumb at Timms. “And being small and out of the way meant most just passed it by. Granted, most things looters would take were taken, but enough was left to make out like fat rats.”

  Rawlins nodded a few times. “Pity I wasn’t there to see it.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll get the next one.”

  The medic gave Smith a level stare. “Sounds like you’re not volunteering again.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Smith shrugged. “Little bird told me this was less about my expertise, and more about my willingness to help.”

  “Well, that isn’t… untrue.”

  Smith shrugged. “I fired my gun, you know.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “I don’t think you understand. I’d never fired it at a person before. Ever. Not since the world went to hell, and not before. Yeah, I did some target shooting when I was younger, and some of that was at silhouettes, but never at a person. Never with intent to harm. My gun is a keepsake. A reminder of my father. My family. Long gone. That’s all I want it to be.”

  Rawlins eyes dropped to the fire. “I see.”

  “I’m not saying I won’t defend the walls if it comes to it. But this, out here? This isn’t for me. I did it. The situation demanded it. And ever since I fall asleep wondering if any of my erratic shots did something terrible.”

  “Those people wanted to kill you, Smith.”

  “I’m not so sure. They didn’t kill Ross and his scouts. They rounded them up. Yeah, they might have had a sinister plan, but our rescue and subsequent shootout spoiled us ever knowing. All we can do is assume.”

  “We make a lot of assumptions these days. But I’ll keep on assuming we’re right until I see evidence we’re not.”

  Smith smiled a bit, but it was cynicism behind his eyes. “That’s a dangerous attitude. The same one that ended the world.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Rawlins’ voice was level. Even. And all the more scary for it.

  “No.” Smith shook his head. “I don’t. But like I said, this has shown me my place. If you need something from me in the future, you’ll find me in my shop.”

  “Sounds fair to me.” Rawlins poked at the fire.

  When they had set out weeks ago, Smith had felt Rawlins was the one he understood most. Now, it seemed he was the one he understood least. Time was funny like that.

  He had spent far more time out here on the town’s behalf than he had actually spent inside the walls. It would take more than a month for that scale to even out. And while it was, he would still be working on their behalf at his forge.

  A strange thought rattled through his mind as he sat staring at the fire.

  Were the walls really worth it?

  It seemed like he was on the raw end of this deal, no matter how it shook out. Sure, he got some things out of it, food, safety… but he was essentially signing up to be a cog in a machine. An important cog, but a cog nonetheless.

  He pulled out the notebook and flipped through the pages. He could see his naivete fade away in the entries, giving way to some dour thoughts… but they went away once things transpired in the town. He scribbled up a new note about finding Rawlins again, everyone back together and safe. He tried to make it sound… upbeat.

  Staring at the words for a moment, he considered leaving the notebook. Just tossing it in a ditch. Lost in some frightful accident.

  No. Someone might find it, and it contained far too much information that might lead them back.

  He could burn it… the fire waited. Crackling. It could use some fuel.

  And yet his hand didn’t move. He kept it close. Safe.

  Mary had given it to him. She had asked him to keep a log. A simple request. He had agreed. She would be upset if he failed to return with the notebook. The girl had clearly had a hard life, he didn’t want to add to it.

  He tucked the notebook away again and pulled his coat tighter against the cold. It was a long way yet and the pavement had run out. He lay back against the wall of the van. Any sleep he could get was worth it.

  His thoughts strayed back to the walls. Maybe they were worth it. Other people seemed to think so. Perhaps there was value in being a cog. Society was built on the idea. If his work could help the others, it had value.

  Heh. The voice in his head was starting to sound like Bishop.

  They had to wake Smith up when food was done. It didn’t take him long to go back to sleep. This entire undertaking had been exhausting.

  The next morning was colder. The little fire was nothing but glowing embers. Smith’s teeth were chattering as he sat up. “Goddamn.”

  The van’s doors were all shut. A few bits of wood and pages from an old phone book were waiting by the fire. It took a bit of work to coax it back to life.

  Rawlins was nearly motionless through it all. Timms was shivering in his sleep.

  They needed to get back. This was probably the last night they’d have the benefit of so much shelter. With any luck it would warm up again. There was no way it should be winter yet. They hadn’t been gone that long.

  Smith almost jumped out of his skin when there was a gentle rap against the front window. He glanced up to see Morei waving.

  The handle was noisy and less than efficient, but he managed to crack the window.

  He regretted it when the wind caught his face.

  “What are you doing up?”

  “Freezing.”

  “Pfft. Townie.”

  “Yes, I am. And I would be delighted to get back there as soon as possible.”

  “Meh. No worries. We’ll be moving within the hour. If you’re feeling generous you can wake them slowly. Pretty sure Ross just plans to open the door.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “Not really.”

  Smith shook his head. “How are things looking? You think this will pass?”

  “Even if it does, it’s not going to get warm again. Stay bundled up. The sun will get you through.”

  “Not looking forward to sleeping in the woods.”

  “Such a townie.”

  “I’m serious. It’s cold.”

  Morei rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. We have our ways.” He stuffed a few more sticks in through the window. “Leave the window open a crack a
nd get that fire built up. It will still be dark when we get moving. Soak up all the warmth you can.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  Morei nodded and turned away.

  Smith rolled up the window with a sigh. Being a cog was a pain.

  33

  Timms was just this side of conscious when they got moving. He was as much leaning on his cart as he was pushing it. The noontime break was called well before noon. It was the turn where they would be leaving the road. It should have only taken them an hour or two to reach it, but between Rawlins limping and Timms half-assedly pushing his cart it had taken longer.

  So far, Ross’ spirits were too high for him to complain much. It was a good haul. It would take some convincing for them to start throwing things out.

  The scouts checked on the carts while the hunters scrounged up food. Smith stopped asking what he was eating. It was meat. Protean. It kept him going. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t people. He doubted they’d cross that line any time soon. It might be rat though… the thought alone made it taste terrible. It was all he had though, so down the hatch. The water they had collected didn’t taste much better.

  Timms scarfed on his lunch without a word. Rawlins kept looking at the carts. “Too much. It’s too much. We won’t get it all back.”

  “Don’t have to.” Smith popped another piece of cooked probably-rat into his mouth.

  “Oh?” The medic glanced aside at him now. “Why is that?”

  “We’re getting back into our part of the world. Worst case, we stash it and scouts can carry bits back for weeks.”

  “Mmm.” Rawlins nodded. “I suppose that’s true. I hadn’t considered it. Still, better to get it done faster. At least the medicine.”

  Timms raised an eyebrow at that.

  Smith chuckled. “It’s all important. Lots of people put in requests. We’ll get it all there as fast as we can.”

  Morei’s weather predicting skills were on point. The day warmed up enough that Smith didn’t mind having his hands out of his pockets. The sun warming him like a lizard made the moments he was in the shade, or the sun was lost behind clouds, bearable. Still far from warm.