It Was 2052

by Richardson, J.

  There had been beer and wine and whiskey brewed and available in his hometown, Jackson just never seemed to acquire a taste for it. Now, he felt the fire of the amber liquid every inch that it traveled from his mouth to his stomach. He tried not to choke. Eric gulped down his shot and let out a loud laugh, “Has to grow on you, friend.”

  They talked about building the shelves and perhaps getting out to barter for a tool or two that they hadn't found in the basement. When Rose came back behind the bar, Eric said, “This time, girl, add a splash of water and an ice cube to our drink. She fixed them a mixed drink and since no one presently demanded her service, leaned on the bar and talked to them. Her hair piled on top of her head, small silver hoops in her ears, she wiped her delicate hands on her apron and said, “Hey, ya'll going shopping? I wanna go, wait until the afternoon, okay?”

  Jackson took a sip of the drink. It went down a bit smoother, still was a scorcher. He shook his head, “You know, I was so intent on just getting work and staying that I didn't even ask how much---when do I get paid---how do I get paid? Hope I don't get paid with this fire water.”

  Eric and Rose both looked amused. “You only get paid once a month, on the first and it's not a lot. Doesn't seem to matter much. Silver is the main currency but folks mostly would rather trade for something they want or need,” said Eric. Someone raised a glass and called for the waitress. Before she moved away, he said, “Hey babe, I'll see you in the room later. Jack and I are going to get some supper.” She blew him a little kiss and moved away.

  When Jack stretched out on his narrow bed that night, he was still feeling a bit mellow and he had many things on his mind other than home.

  The next morning, he met Eric in the pub that would be closed until later and they worked on tightening and repairing the bar stools and a wobbly table or two. He went to the mayor's office and told him that he had found some shelves in the basement that he thought he could rebuild for the office. He also told him that he discovered a thing or two in the maintenance area that he didn't need but thought might be good trade items. “If it's okay, mayor, Eric and I will go out this afternoon, take the barter items and see if we can locate some more tools and perhaps some bolts and paint for the shelving. This morning we did some maintenance down in the pub, some of the stools and tables were in pretty rickety shape.”

  “That's good, Jackson.” He reached in his desk and took out a small pouch of coins, “Here,” he tossed the pouch to him, “you might need some more funds.” Shuffling piles of stuff on his desk again, “Can't wait to get some shelves in here.” And without looking up, “Keep your guard up out there, son. The streets can be a little rough.”

  In the fourth floor rest room, he washed his hands and face. To his surprise, there was some filtered glints of sun visible through the window in his room. That's better already. He put the coin pouch and several tools that he had found in an old metal toolbox, into his pack and secured it to his back. Hand tools had been thrown into the case for years and at least one of many assorted ones could easily be spared. A tap on Eric and Rose's door and the three of them quickly walked down the four flights of stairs.

  Rose gave him a kiss on the cheek and he thought what a lucky guy Eric was. The young woman wore jeans, a bulky yellow sweater, a small pistol in a case at her waist and what seemed to be a constant smile. Rose was quite a girl. He had never really felt a special attachment to any girl, never been in love. Must be great to have that connection, exchange those electric looks that I've caught between the two of them.

  On the third level, the door swung open and a man dressed in coveralls, around age fifty stepped out. “Hey, Uncle John.” Rose hugged the man. “Have you met Jackson?”

  “Yes, I met him down in maintenance. Glad to have him and Eric working, I'm sure no carpenter. Where you three headed?

  Eric said, “We're going to see if we can trade for some supplies. The mayor is wanting his shelves built. Right now, it seems.” He flashed a wide smile.

  “Want some lunch before you leave?” asked the Uncle as they traveled down.

  “No thanks,” said Rose, and enthusiastically, “We're going to eat at one of the other village cafes.”

  They reached the second level, making small talk. A gray haired couple emerged, nodded to them all, asked the uncle if he was going for lunch. The small group had reached the ground level. The cafe, pub and market to their left and the distillery works was to their right. Uncle John got a serious expression, “You men take care of my girl,” then he smiled and gave the red head a pat, “Have fun and...”

  Rose cut him off, “I know. Shoot first, ask questions later.”

  Jackson thought how he had heard that around his family and hometown, all his life. Even though he was well trained, he personally had never been in a confrontation where shooting another person was a consideration. It hadn't been all that long ago that things were much more dangerous. His grandparents had lived through very perilous times and even his parents had experienced some bad situations. He did remember an incident when he was a young boy, a man had climbed over the fence of the family compound where he grew up with sometimes as many as twenty kin folks in residence.

  The man looked pitiful, starved and attempted to steal some eggs. When the alarm was raised and the thief caught, Jackson was certain that his grandfather was going to shoot the man. His mother had intervened. It was raining that day, too. Bouncing along in the old truck, he sat between his grandmother who drove and his mother. His grandfather in his dark rain slicker, sat with the man in the back and never took the big rifle off of him. The lightning flashed and the rain poured from grandpa's hood and soaked the captive.

  They had driven more than thirty minutes away from the town of Unity. His grandfather tapped on the back window of the truck and his grandmother pulled to a stop. The man was unloaded from the pick-up bed and he stood beside the road. Jackson's mother took a bag from the floorboard that had a few days of food and water in it and handed it out the window. Over the noise of the thunderstorm, he heard grandpa say, “You should've asked us for food and work. If I ever catch you on my property, stealing again, I will shoot you.” He handed the man the bag. His mother swung open the truck door, squeezed her small son in closer to the driver and his dripping grandpa slid in beside her. They rode in silence back to the family compound.

  A day or two later, he asked his grandmother, “Wasn't the man just hungry? Would grandpa have shot him?”

  His gram said, “You never steal from anyone, Jack. And you never allow bad or evil behavior to go unpunished.” She had pulled him to her and kissed the top of his head. The incident was never discussed again.

  ***

  The three new friends burst from Brewer's Village into a near bright day and a noisy chaotic street scene. Jackson had been so head down intent on finding the Brewer's Village when he arrived, he really had no time to notice the bustling and crowded city life around him. The sidewalks were clogged with all kinds of people, all diverse cultures of people and all ages of people. Hello---hello! Can you hear me? He tried to see who was speaking and said, “Hello?” Eric slapped him on the back, he and Rose laughed out loud. “Who was that guy?” said Jackson.

  Eric said, “He wasn't talking to you, he was trying to talk on a cell phone. Haven't you ever seen a phone, country boy?”

  “Oh-h,” he said, a little embarrassed. “There were some phones around town. Damn sure not something you could walk around with. We could usually reach someone within the town. We had these short wave radios that we talked on with folks farther away sometimes.”

  “I understand, I don't remember having anything like a phone, back at home. Uncle John says there are evidently still satellites orbiting around up there in the sky,” said Rose and looked up at the hazy yellow colored heavens, visible between the towering village complexes, “and something he called cell towers. He said people are able to talk to each other on those small gadgets. Seems to me they mostly just try to talk on them.�
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  “Well, who knows,” said Eric, “lots of stuff that I don't exactly understand.” In the middle of the twenty first century, three young people should be as familiar with phones and amazing electronics as with their own face but in this post catastrophe mid century, these were only things they might have read about in an old book.

  A steady stream of slow moving vehicles clogged the streets, not what could be called a flow of traffic, more of a jerky stop and go spurt. There were no traffic lights, an occasional stop sign that might as well have been invisible for all the heed that was paid to it. The rule of the road was the dominance of the biggest and quickest and a raucous chorus of honking horns and expletives echoed between the buildings.

  Jackson was captured by the sight of an enormous screen high on the side of a building, colored images, both still and moving flashed across the expanse. A car screeching away and Shop for everything your auto needs at the Hot Wheels Village....Eat at the Fresh Market Village Cafe with a gigantic picture of tomatoes and vegetables....a clear bottle with amber liquid and a glass with ice beside it, When it's bourbon, Brewer's is the Best. Just as he was wondering what those huge red lips below exotic dark eyes were going to say, Eric spoke in his ear.

  “Jack, pull the bag around to the front and be on your toes.” Jackson followed his friend's look to three men weaving their way towards them. The men were older, heavier built and didn't have friendly looks on their faces. As they got closer, they effectively cleared a path and moved menacingly forward. Trusting in Eric's street savvy, he moved the bag to his shoulder, between himself and Rose, who Eric had maneuvered between the two of them. One of the men gave a sneer that fell short of a smile and said, “Who-o-ee Red, aren't you a sight today?”

  All three young hands moved to their guns and Eric said, “Move on Asshole.”

  One of the men spit a nasty dark goo right at Eric's feet. The possessor of the sneer was suddenly rolling a pocket knife between his fingers. Jackson was thinking that here was that confrontation he had avoided all this time, when a new figure joined the six of them. From a nearby doorway, an imposing man with a holstered pistol on each hip, a rifle over his shoulder stepped out. The western style hat was no small piece of head wear and his pointed boots had a shine on them, his eyes invisible behind dark sun glasses. He poked a finger, hard into the chest of the center man of the three, “Didn't I warn you not to be talking to or messing with any folks, par-tic-CU-lar-ly women folk, on these streets?” His voice was deep and had the tone of a croaking frog.

  The man straightened himself, made an effort not to flinch, “Yes sir.”

  “Unless you're missing them leg irons and the work crew, don't you let me so much as see you---any of ya'll,” his head turned to each of them, “even blinking at any females. Got that?”

  The three just nodded and hustled away behind them, disappearing into the crowd. The three young people let out a sigh of relief. Eric stuck out his hand, “Thanks Sheriff. Those jerks are pure bad news. Oh yeah, this is Jackson. He and I are the new carpenters at Brewer's. We're just out to do some trading, have some lunch.”

  “Nice to meet cha'” croaked the man. “On about yer bizness now.” He was walking away but turned, “Kid,” he appeared to be looking Eric's way, “Shoot first, ask questions later.”

  “Got it,” smiled Eric.

  The big red lips flashed across the screen again, a sexy voice was amplified over their heads, Come to Luciano Village and try a piece of my pizza, then a smacking sound. They all laughed, Rose put her hands through both of the man's arm, “About three blocks down. Let's see what shopping we can do and it's Pizza for lunch.” The sun was making a valiant effort to shine and the demolition derby in the street sprayed murky water on the inhabitants of the sidewalks of Big D.

  Chapter Two

  Level Three

  It was Dallas, not the sprawling Texas city of the early twenty first century but still Dallas. He had to admit that he was a “country boy” because he felt amazed at the vast difference between his hometown of Unity and this place. The city was an eclectic mixture of things he had only seen in books or old movies. The fascinating visions he had often watched on the vintage television in the common room at the family complex; pictures of modern life before the event and stories that depicted characters very much like the cowboy sheriff he had just met a few moments before.

  It was well past lunch time when the three friends entered the pizza place on the lower floor of the Luciano Village. They had gone in and out of several of the other villages, traded and purchased nearly all of the supplies Jackson and his helper needed. The two men patiently waited on Rose as she looked through various offerings in the village markets. Now Eric said, “Girl, it's way past lunch. I'm about to cave in. Let's find that pizza.”

  Rose gave up on her efforts to talk Jackson into buying a long sleeved denim shirt, similar to the one that Eric was wearing. She was unaware that the young man was being very cautious with his funds now that he knew he wouldn't get paid until the end of the month, she just shrugged. A pale colored blouse got placed into the shopping bag over her shoulder and she gave the clerk a few coins, pleased with the purchase.

  The cafe smelled of all the Italian ingredients that create a pizza. They ordered, sat at a small table with bottles of water and waited for a number to be shouted out. On the exterior wall of the village a big wood fueled oven heated the room and sent smoky aromatic smells through the heat as the pizzas baked. Jackson looked around at the crowd that was sparse since it was late for lunch. He had lost track of what Rose was chattering on about, just said uh-huh in courtesy. There---at a table in the back corner, the light was dim but no mistake it was those beautiful big red lips. Of course, not as big or as red but it was those pretty lips. The exotic young woman was thin and small, her glossy black hair was sleekly pulled up and away from a delicate face, a long ebony stream of it flowing down her back. Large dark eyes caught his for just an instant and looked away. She sat very straight in her chair and listened unsmiling to a man sitting with his back to them. When the man turned up a bottle of beer, Jackson saw that it was the aggressive man from the street earlier.

  The large pizza was brought to the table. It tasted good and Jackson was trying hard to keep his attention on the conversation and company of his two new friends. His eyes kept wandering to the girl in the dusky shadows of the room. She didn't seem to be happy, perhaps even frightened. Eric said, “So, how do you think we can get those shelves up from the basement. You think we need to take them apart and rebuild them in the mayors office or do you....” the voice faded into the background of Jackson's head as he saw the woman and man stand up.

  The man put a rough hand on the woman's arm and they moved farther back into the cafe, towards a door. He tapped on the door, it opened and the gray haired man that was visible looked familiar, he allowed them to slip through the narrow opening. Is that the man from Brewer's? Half of the old couple that came from the second level stair entrance?

  Jackson said, “Sorry to interrupt, man. That thug on the street, what do you know about him?”

  Eric and Rose looked around the room, “Why? Is he here?” said Eric.

  “He was, sitting over in the corner with a woman. They went through a back door. You know, I would swear that the man who opened the door was that old guy from Brewer's. The man from the couple that asked Rose's uncle about lunch.”

  Rose said, “Really, that's a little odd. I don't actually know the old couple. Guess the man could be here for any number of reasons.”

  “All I know is that the guy from the street is a real piece of crap. He's connected in some way to the shady stuff that goes on in the villages. I think he would slice your throat in a blink,” said Eric.

  “The woman was young and really pretty. Wonder what she would be doing with that sleaze-bag,” said Jackson.

  “My uncle is always warning me. Not everyone is here in the city of their own free will. I think some folks, especially w
omen, do what they have to in order to survive.”

  He tried to push down his curiosity and also not show that this dark side of the city was damn unsettling. “Well, okay. Let's head back to Brewer's and figure out how we're going to handle those shelves.”

  Looking at a clock on the wall, Rose said, “Oh, my gosh---yeah, we gotta go. I need to be in the pub in a couple of hours.”

  ***

  The third level of the Brewer's Village was a copy of the fourth, various size rooms and two large bathrooms for residents between the ages of thirty and fifty. John took off his work boots. He splashed just an inch of Brewer's Bourbon in a glass and sat at his table by the window, placed his socked feet in the second chair. Being a maintenance man would probably never entitle him to one of the sparse rooms with a private toilet. That was okay, he hadn't always just swept floors, repaired plumbing and replaced light bulbs. Being here and close to his niece was just fine with him.

  John had taken on the responsibility of Rose when he was just thirty years old. He remembered a little of the world before the event, but mostly had known the world after. When his older brother, Rose's father and her mother died of a virus, there was no one left of family other than himself to take care of the feisty red headed six year old. He quickly grew to love her like she was his own daughter.

  Even though it was twenty years after the catastrophe, the world was very unstable and many bad people roamed the countryside. John led a strong and effective militia for several years and the rural area that he and Rose lived in stayed reasonably secure. He never had time to marry, as a matter of fact, their country home was in an area that was still very scattered in it's population. This had a lot to do with his decision to move he and his twenty one year old ward to Dallas. He felt like she needed to have more people in her young life. Who knew? He was only forty five years old, perhaps he would find a companion in the big city. So, two years earlier, they had arrived at Brewer's Village and so far, he hadn't regretted his decision.