by HL TRUSLOVE
Just as you draw back to strike again you feel a heavy, painful impact on the base of your skull. It’s only for a split second as it makes everything around you go black.
Groggily, you groan as the world returns to you. There’s a sharp ache where you were hit in the head that throbs every time you try to open your eyes, so instead you bury the meat of your palms into your eye sockets to try to relieve the feeling. You hear a little chuckle nearby and look up towards it when you feel like you’re able to.
You’re no longer outside, but are instead inside a small, poorly lit room. Perhaps one of the shacks that you spotted before? Even worse you appear to be in a cage. An old, rusty thing, clearly not designed for humans – you barely fit inside. A man watches you from across the room, an amused expression on his face. He runs his hand through a great, orange beard and gives you a smile. It’s not nasty or mocking, it seems quite genuine, and that makes it sting more.
“We don’t like people who come here just t’ cause trouble, you know,” he says, sagely. You don’t reply. You can imagine he’s right, they don’t. And that’s pretty much exactly how you introduced yourself.
“Now,” he continues, “have you calmed down?”
Apologise for your behaviour – Turn to S.1.10.
* * *
Remain silent – Turn to S.1.11.
S.1.8
“Yes,” you confess, seeing no reason to hide your origins from this oddly enthusiastic but nonetheless curious man.
“Ah, is that a fact? I thought I recognised yer uniform from… well, must’ve been way back when, back when the first lot from the vaults came over. Twenty or so years ago?”
You feel a bit disappointed. If he doesn’t recognise your clothes from your group passing through, they can’t have been here.
“Look, come inside for a cuppa. If yer willin’ to talk, I’d like to hear yer story, bairn.”
In a complete flip from earlier, you suddenly find that the wind off of the sea has made you quite chilly. You accept his offer and follow him into the largest metal building.
It seems to be a little home area they have set up for themselves. There are a couple of other people inside, all dressed in the green overalls, none of whom seem bothered when Hamish tells you to sit down and make yourself comfortable. You look around the room as you take off your pack and settle down on the little threadbare sofa they have.
The corrugated metal walls have been painted with bright paint to try to give the interior a cheerful feel, but despite best efforts at upkeep it’s started to peel away. The place is divided in two, a living area and a sleeping area. On the side you entered from, there’s a knackered suite of furniture which seems well used, as well as a paraffin stove and several cupboards full of jars of… something pickled? You can’t tell without a better look.
Opposite you, there are several sets of bunkbeds set up around the perimeter of the room in the most space-efficient way possible, packed in like sardines with just enough space for the occupants to roll out in the morning. Some of them are neatly made, while others have blankets and pillows strewn across the mattresses. It’s a well lived-in, if not tidy, place, but it certainly seems like home to them.
Hamish sets down a steaming tin mug in front of you and you gratefully accept it, blowing on the steam and using the beverage to warm your hands.
“So, tell me how you ended up here,” he says.
And you do.
You tell him about the boat ride, the storm. Gaia and Viktor, Mari and Fanon. What you’ve seen since being here. How you’re looking for those you’ve lost. He listens and nods and as you were expecting, he tells you that he hasn’t seen them. At least that means they went inland, you suppose.
“Seems like you’ve been through quite a lot,” he says. You nod and look down at your now-depleted tea.
“You know, I have a sister not far from here. She’s the leader of a big tribe that lives inside a ship. I think she’d be interested in meeting yer – maybe she’s seen yer group.”
If you have met Morag (E.2) – Turn to S.1.13.
* * *
If you’ve read The Great Migration (CH 8) – Turn to S.1.15.
* * *
Otherwise – Turn to S.1.14.
S.1.9
You follow Hamish into the cold air of the coastal farm, glad for your overcoat against the wind off the sea. With a great sweeping gesture he indicates the fenced-off portion of the ocean that the farm sits watching over. The floating balls bob in the waves, steady in their buoyancy.
“This is where the magic happens,” he tells you. “At the end of each of these beauties is a line of rope, or a net, or a cage. We grow it all here. Scallops, clams, mussels – seaweed! And of course fishing. We’re lookin’ into farming shrimp, too. We have another couple of sites along the coast we want to expand for it. People come to us to trade for food. We’ve no interest in fighting; we’re happy to share for a good offer. Would be nice if the rest of the place thought that way,” he sighs.
He beckons you to follow him into one of the little sheds. The moment he opens the door you find yourself sucking air in through your teeth – it’s freezing! Huge barrels of ice are shoved in here, the remainder of their last catch. Fresh, filleted fish glisten appetisingly and black shells of mussels sparkle from the frost. It’s incredible. You’ve never seen anything like it, not even back in the vault.
“So,” says Hamish, snapping you out of your thoughts, “can I help ye any further, or do you just want to trade?”
You may swap any one non-item stickers (labelled “F”) for Seafood (F.29) here.
* * *
Ask to stay and help a while – Turn to S.1.16.
* * *
Ask if there’s anything else interesting here – Turn to S.1.17.
* * *
Leave – Turn to S.1.18.
S.1.10
Perhaps what you did was wrong. Perhaps you acted too harshly. With a deep, long sigh, you look the man in the eyes.
“I’m sorry. I acted rashly.”
That seems good enough for him. He stands up and walks over to where you’re contained and opens a hatch on the front of the makeshift cage – which turns out to be mostly made of wood and wire, but is surprisingly sturdy – and lets you out.
“I’m Hamish. I’d apologise for the bump on the noggin I gave ye back there but, well. You were a bit wild.”
“I know. Again, sorry.”
“Well. Now yer in yer right mind, let’s see if we can do business,” he says, and walks outside. You follow, your temper rightfully cooled.
Turn to S.1.9.
S.1.11
You stare at the man from across the dark little room, with a look that lets him know: I have no intention of apologising to the likes of you.
He sighs and stands up to his full height and shakes his head.
“Shame,” he tells you, before yelling out in a call for someone. Four people enter the room, including the two guards from before, one of them looking bloodied and furious.
“Take them away and make sure they don’t come back.”
The guard now without his pipe nods, and you find yourself being carried in the crate with a great amount of effort. The group lifts you out of the building and then out of the camp, walking far inland with you. It’s night by the time they decide to deposit you. They drop your crate and one of them throws your pack down nearby.
“Don’t come back,” says the broken-nosed guard. They walk away.
It takes at least an hour of struggling for you to finally free yourself from your confines. Eventually, the crate gives way and falls apart, leaving you flat on your back and furious. You grab your pack and vow never to return to those lowlifes.
END.
Add Cruelty to your character sheet.
S.1.12
You stare at Hamish, tight lipped, with an expression on your face that lets him know you have no intention of divulging more about yourself than you absolutely need to. After a mom
ent Hamish shrugs and sighs and shakes his head.
“All right then. Yer an odd one, I’ll give you that.”
You wouldn’t say odd, you’d say cautious. But you don’t correct him.
Turn to S.1.9.
S.1.13
“Oh, Morag?” you say. Hamish looks genuinely taken aback.
“You know her?”
“I do! She was one of the first people I met out here.”
You find yourself easily lapsing into another story, describing your journey to the ship and your meeting with Hamish’s sister. He listens with a big smile on his face, nodding along and commenting ‘aye, that’s just like her!’. At the end of your tale Hamish claps his hands together.
“Well bairn, any friend of my sister’s is a friend of mine!” he tells you, getting to his feet and asking you to follow him. “Come, I’ll tell ye how we work ’round here. Guided tour, that’s special!”
He leads you out of the warmth and back into the bracing sea breeze, then sweeps his hand across the ocean at the buoys bobbing away on the water.
“This is where the magic happens,” he tells you. “At the end of each of these beauties is a line of rope, or a net, or a cage. We grow it all here. Scallops, clams, mussels, even seaweed. And of course we go fishing. We’re lookin’ into farming shrimp, too. We’ve another couple of sites along the coast we want to expand. People come to us to trade for food. We’ve no interest in fighting, just happy to share for a good offer. Would be nice if the rest of the place thought that way.”
He beckons you to follow him into one of the little sheds. The moment he opens the door, you find yourself sucking air in through your teeth – it’s freezing! Huge barrels of ice are shoved in here, the remainder of their last catch. Fresh, filleted fish glisten appetisingly and black shells of mussels sparkle from the frost. It’s incredible. You’ve never seen anything like it, not even back in the vault.
“Take what you can carry. If you’re in Morag’s good graces, you’re a welcome recipient.”
“But—” you begin, very much feeling bad for not offering a trade. He waves his hand to gently silence you.
“I insist. Consider it hospitality.”
Add Seafood (F.29) to your notebook.
Add Compassion to your character sheet.
* * *
Ask to stay and help a while – Turn to S.1.16.
* * *
Ask if there’s anything else interesting here – Turn to S.1.17.
* * *
Leave – Turn to S.1.18.
S.1.14
You reach into your pack and roll out your map of the area. Hamish looks surprised at it, and at the number of markings you’ve made already.
“Can you point out where it is, please?”
Hamish does so, and you make a little note of it.
Add The Ship (Chapter 5, L.5) to map.
* * *
Turn to S.1.9.
S.1.15
“I do know Morag!” you say, but then realisation sinks in. “Oh. But, her village doesn’t live there any more. They moved on... after an attack.”
Hamish’s face falls, and you feel a deep sadness, knowing that you’re the one who has to deliver this news.
“I dinnae know that. That’s… that’s a real shame,” he sighs. You wonder if you should reach out and comfort him, but you feel like perhaps you don’t know him well enough to do that. Not just yet, anyway.
“I’m sure she’ll make contact with you again soon! She just had to move on for now.”
He hums a note as if he isn’t sure, but manages a faint smile, nonetheless.
“Anyway, no point dwellin’ on it now, bairn.”
No, you suppose there isn’t.
Add Resolve and Compassion to your character sheet.
* * *
Turn to S.1.9.
S.1.16
“I’d like to stay here and help out,” you tell Hamish, “if you’ll have me.”
Hamish’s face breaks into a huge smile. He claps a hand on your shoulder.
“We’d be happy to!” he announces, and he beckons you to follow him so he can show you what to do.
And so, you find yourself a part in this life for a while. You’re assigned a bed in their shared dormitory, a top bunk over the guard who was smoking a pipe. He introduces himself as Ron, and seems welcome to having ‘another hand on deck’. Every night he offers to share his tobacco, but every night you politely decline. He shrugs, says ‘suit yourself’, then lies back and hums a little shanty to himself.
It’s these shanties you find yourself bellowing on the sea when you sail, thrusting the halyard down at the end of each line of song. The first and main thing Hamish wanted you to do was get onboard their little fishing ship, as you had experience battling the sea. You’re a firm hand on the sails to guide the vessel out, and good at heaving in a catch. Hamish names all the fish as you bring them in each time: salmon, trout, once even a huge pike that you have to wrestle with to get into the boat.
Usually, you put the fish on ice to keep them cold and fresh for trade, but the pike is gutted and filleted that night, shared out with the others for dinner. Everyone congratulates you, and you find yourself sitting the whole night with a huge smile on your face, getting warm blooded and rosy cheeked from the strong ale and heartfelt compliments the group shares to toast you with.
When you’re not on the boat, you’re still very busy. Every day you wake up, put on your fishing waders – those are what the green overalls everyone here wears are called, according to Hamish, and as they’re waterproof they quickly became your favourite item of clothing – and see what there is to be done. Sometimes, you’re with the group on land, who teach you how to prepare a fish by ripping out its innards and scraping it clean. Other days, you find yourself dealing with traders from inland who come to trade with your little group for their bounty. All sorts of things are passed over – fresh vegetables, new wooden planks and metal nails, furs from animals you can’t identify. You realise Hamish and his group have quite a life set up for themselves here.
But that isn’t the end of your experiences. One day, Hamish takes you further down the coast to another one of the sites and reveals something they’ve been hiding there: it’s a balloon. A vast balloon. As Hamish begins the process of inflating it, he tells you, “We use it to keep an eye on the horizon sometimes, check for any boats or storms out over the sea. It’s quite an experience if ye haven’t done it before, bairn.”
With only a little bit of persuading from Hamish, you’re convinced to get into the small basket attached to the balloon. A huge flame chugs violently above you to keep the thing airborne. You feel a bit sick as you rise up into the air and desperately try not to look into the great floating sack that’s keeping you in the sky.
Hamish is a master hand at this, though, and guides the aircraft out over the water seemingly without a care in the world. The waters are quite calm and for a moment you almost feel at ease, floating here up above the azure sea… and then you see the shadow.
“Hamish!” you squeak, pointing a shaking finger at the shape. “What is that?!”
Hamish squints at it before letting out a laugh.
“You’ll want to see this,” he says, lowering the balloon. “Come on.”
You protest but Hamish brings the balloon down anyway, until you’re no more than forty feet above the water. As you go the shadow gets bigger, more pronounced, and you realise it’s coming towards the surface.
A great, grey head breaches the water. Smooth and running with droplets, it’s not unlike the dolphins you saw on your way over here, only much, much bigger. The creature keeps going with surprising grace for something so large, its whole body coming out of the ocean and into the air. It must be thirty-five feet long. You watch it, slack-jawed, as it ascends, like it’s flying; yes, almost like it’s flying up to greet you, before gracefully turning its huge blubbery body in mid-flight and arcing back into the ocean. It hits the waves with a mighty spl
ash, with such force that seawater goes firing upwards away from it. A fine spray finds its way directly into your face and you cough wildly, having forgotten to close your mouth. Hamish laughs at you.
“Wh-what…?!”
“A minke whale. They’re around here sometimes, but are pretty rare. Maybe it wanted to show off, just for you,” he says with a smile and a wink. Flabbergasted, all you can do is watch the shadow slink away, astounded by the tiny moment of magic you caught in the face of the whale.
That night you dream about the creature. You wonder what your crewmates would think of it. Viktor would probably remain unbothered, but Gaia? She’d be awestruck, just like you.