by L. T. Vargus
I addressed Spider.
“Is it OK if I leave my bike here for a minute? I’ll be right back, and I can show you how to brew the coffee.”
He shrugged.
“Ain’t my responsibility, though.”
“Fine.”
I pulled Izzy along with me as we retraced our steps back to Mia and Kristoff’s.
“Erin, was that man trying to sell that little boy?”
“Yes.”
She gaped at me, eyes wide and horrified.
“We have to help him!”
“How? There’s no way we have enough to trade for him, and even if we could, we’d be giving away our goods in trade for another mouth to feed.”
Izzy thought for a moment. Lowered her voice.
“We could steal him.”
I rolled my eyes.
“They murder thieves in this town, Izzy. Often.”
“But it’s not right!”
“I know it isn’t. But there’s nothing we can do, so just try not to think about it.”
Back inside the shop, I asked Kristoff if Izzy could wait there for a few minutes. I could tell he was hesitant, and Mia definitely wasn’t wild about the idea.
“Ten minutes, tops. She won’t touch anything.”
With a sigh, Kristoff agreed.
I picked my way through the crowd back to Spider’s stall. There was a tray set out on the counter now, laden with a steaming kettle, a cup and saucer, a round ball-style tea strainer, and a spoon.
I instructed him on how much coffee to put in the strainer. Vapor spun and roiled in the air as he poured hot water into the cup.
Then we had to wait for it to steep, and I realized I should have come up with another excuse to leave. Instead, I was stuck there with Spider, and I felt his creepy-crawling eyes studying me.
“Rare to see two girls out unaccompanied,” he said. “Must be rough out there for you.”
I said nothing.
“You got a place close by?”
“Nope.”
He chuckled.
“Touchy, aren’t you?”
You’re really supposed to steep the dandelion coffee for around ten minutes, but I couldn’t take it. After only three minutes, I suggested Spider try the coffee, using the maple syrup to sweeten it.
He sipped it.
“Not bad, actually. But that maple syrup. Hot damn. Been a while since I seen any of that. How much you got?”
“Just those two jars. But I’ll have more next spring.”
I knew the syrup would be a hit. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t offered it to Kristoff. I needed something good to barter for the meds. And I had another trick up my sleeve, too.
“I’ve also got this,” I said, bringing out the apple butter. “Two cases. You could use it as a sweetener as well or just to eat.”
I opened one of the jars, and Spider had a taste.
He nodded approvingly, then ducked down below the counter. He popped back up with a clear plastic tote full of prescription bottles.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
My heart quickened at the mere sight of the pill bottles. I got out the list Marissa had given me.
“Augmentin, Zithromax, Cipro, and Metronidazole.”
The man consulted his own list.
“I’ve got all that but Cipro. Had some, but I sold the last of it last month.” He squinted at her. “How much of that coffee stuff you got?”
“I have another ten-pound bag of it.”
“Anything else of interest?”
I pulled out another jar. “Trout. Fresh caught just a few weeks ago.”
Spider turned the jar over in his hand.
“I’ll take a few jars, plus both bags of coffee, the syrup and apple butter. And I’ll throw in a bottle of prednisone.”
“Fine,” I said. It was a fair deal. Better than fair, actually.
We exchanged the goods, and when I’d finished stowing my take on my bike, I turned to find Spider squinting at me with interest.
“How much you want for the other?”
“What other?”
“You know,” Spider said, raising his eyebrows as if that explained it all.
My hackles went up. Was he propositioning me?
Before I could tell him to eat shit, he spoke again.
“For the little one?”
It was a moment before I realized he was talking about Izzy.
“No.”
“Can’t be easy for you. And it’s obvious she ain’t your people. Don’t look nothing like you. Let me ease your burden. I can offer you a real good price. I got enough specialty gear in here that you could buy damn near anything you want. One of them nice, shiny automatic rifles? You could buy ten of ‘em.”
“I said no.”
I grabbed my bike and started wheeling it quickly away from Spider’s stall. He called out to my back.
“That’s the best offer you’ll get from anyone. Just ask around and see!”
Jeremiah
Rural Maryland
10 years, 42 days after
Again, we sat around the fire — most of the squad and myself. A few stragglers from other squads once again in the mix.
The talk was different than last time, though — the jovial bean talk replaced by something somber and quiet. Maybe even thoughtful, if men like us are capable of that. Not sure. Anyway, after a full day of marching to nowhere with our rucks trying their best to compress our spines, I suppose the shift in conversational tone made sense. And just think. It will only get worse as we move into the hills again.
After a long quiet stretch, Smitty poked a stick into the fire. Stirred up a mess of sparks. And then spoke.
“You guys ever think about the world outside of here?” he said. “Outside of this little strip along the Appalachians where the Crusaders and the Squadron do battle, I’m saying? I’ve never seen any of it, you know. Probably never will.”
“I heard it’s all going to desert,” Alabama said. “The midwest and whatever. I mean, like, those states where they used to grow all the corn and wheat and shit. What do you call it? The Great Plains. Whole shitting area is fucked forever now.”
Henley scoffed, his throat scraping out some strange rattle sound, and I realized he was laughing. He somehow made even chuckling seem psychopathic.
“That don’t make no bit of sense,” the psycho said. “Them there were the fertile-est fields of ‘em all. Kansas and all them corn states, I mean. Desert? I don’t buy it.”
“It’s like the Dust Bowl back in the day, you know?” Alabama said. “There was a drought, and without irrigation, that shit went to dust fast. As the plants die out, the last little placeholders keeping the top soil in place are gone, and now even more dirt gets swept up in the wind. Everything whipped around. Flung. It spreads and spreads. Now it’s all sand blowing around out there. Dunes that creep with the direction of the wind, spiral up into storms, slowly spread to cover the roads and shit. It’s nuts.”
Sorensen blinked in a way that expressed urgent environmental concern. Probably.
“Yeah, whatever,” Henley said. “You pussies can sit around worrying about what’s going on a thousand miles away. I’ve got better shit to do.”
He stood up and left. I’ll assume the better thing he has to do is go back to the tent and stroke the barrel of his rifle for a good long while.
“I want to get out of here someday. Out of this little shithole part of the world, you know?” I said. “I was saving up before I got sent out here. Probably only had a few months left to go.”
“Exiting the shithole. That sounds like a plan to me,” Smitty said. “Where you headed?”
“I want to get all the way to the Pacific if I can. Maybe Oregon or California. See what there is to see.”
The men murmured all around the fire, their imaginations suddenly aflutter with visions of the west coast.
“Any of y’all heard about what’s going on out California way?” Al
abama said. “I know I never have. Not nothing at all.”
More murmuring. Not one of them had heard so much as a rumor about what life was like out west, let alone any place abroad. It put some shit in perspective. About how small our sphere had gotten. Suffocating in this little stretch of woods and hills that two groups of idiots were fighting over for no good reason.
“Way I figure it,” I said. “Whatever life is like out there, it has to be better than this. Doesn’t it?”
Erin
Roanoke, Virginia
1 year, 297 days after
I hurried down the street to Kristoff and Mia’s shop.
The girl with the black eye was still standing outside, and though the other women had gone, she wasn’t alone. There was a man with her, and he wore the black and red SS patch on his sleeve. Great. I realized now that the girl was probably a scout, keeping a look-out for new girls. If that was true, I lost all sympathy for her.
Then again, I was feeling paranoid after the interaction with Spider. Maybe it was nothing. But I didn’t care for the way the SS guy was watching my progress as I rolled down the sidewalk.
I collected Izzy quickly, thanking Kristoff and Mia for the favor.
“Let’s go,” I told Izzy once we were outside.
“But what about the boy?”
“I told you, there isn’t anything we can do, so forget about it.”
“But—”
“I said drop it!”
Izzy flinched at the edge in my voice, and I felt bad about that. But I had other things to worry about. Getting us out of town in one piece, mainly.
The space in front of the brothel was empty then, but that didn’t actually make me feel better.
As we passed the open area of the market again, I felt eyes on us. Without looking, I knew it was Spider. I could have taken an alternate route, gone around the market completely. But I didn’t like the way the SS guy outside the brothel had stared at me, and venturing down one of the quiet side streets in town seemed like asking to get cornered.
We were nearly to the edge of the market when a flutter of movement flashed in my peripheral vision. A man unknown to me stepped away from one of the stalls and laid a hand on my arm.
“Would you ladies care for a sample?”
Too late, I saw that it was only one of the grilled mystery meat vendors. I’d already whipped my bike knife out, a special blade I rigged to fit in the handlebars of my bike.
“Touch me again, and you’ll lose that fucking hand.”
The vendor stumbled backward, nearly dropping the plate in his hand. The small cubes of meat on toothpicks slid to one side and threatened to spill over, but he caught his balance at the last moment.
“I meant no offense! No offense!”
I slipped the knife back in the hollow recess of the handlebars, made sure Izzy was still by my side, and kept moving to the edge of the market.
My heart continued to thud in my chest the whole way. As soon as we were clear of the market area, the crowd thinned enough that we could mount our bikes and start riding. I pushed us to get out of the settlement as quickly as possible. The faster we put space between us and the people there, the better. The raiders are known to do plenty of their pillaging in the radius that extends just a few miles from the city, so my goal was to get as far from the settlement as possible in the remaining daylight.
I fantasized about doing the full ride today. It was an enticing thought… that I could be home in my own bed tonight. Back safe with Marcus. But I knew it wasn’t realistic. We aren’t pulling as much weight back with us, but the ride is harder, and we’re already tired from traveling yesterday.
No, we have to pace ourselves. It won’t do any good to wipe ourselves out.
After an hour of riding, we made it to one of the lookout points along the mountain road. From that vantage point, you can see one edge of the old city. I looked back the way we’d come, at the winding silver ribbon of asphalt that wove between the trees and up the mountain. It was empty as far as I could see, which made me feel a little better.
So we’ll stop here for a while. Rest and have something to eat. Not for too long. I don’t—
Fuck.
I happened to take another glance out over the lookout again just now, and I’m pretty sure I saw something. It was fast. Just a flicker of color in a break between trees, probably a mile below us. But it’s what I’ve been dreading.
Someone is coming up the road behind us.
Jeremiah
Rural Maryland
10 years, 42 days after
Sometimes I think what scares me more than anything is that one day I will pick up this pen and have nothing to say, nothing to write here. Then what?
Erin
Rural Virginia
1 year, 297 days after
I pushed us hard. We rode the last two hours without a break, and it’s a steep section of road. My thighs are killing me.
It’s a winding path, too, so I haven’t seen anything else so far. I have my binoculars out and at the ready, and I check anytime there’s a good view of the way behind us.
Maybe it was a coincidence. Someone that already turned off on one of the other roads.
I keep telling myself that, but I don’t really believe it. There’s no room for wishful thinking these days. And that means I need a plan.
Stopped again. Just a quick break this time. Izzy’s taking a leak, then we’ll scarf some of the jerky I bought, refill our water bottles from the jugs strapped to my trailer, and hit the road again. The last time we hit a long, straight section of road, I saw it again. We are definitely being followed. Whoever it is was just a speck on the horizon even through the binoculars, but there’s definitely someone there. Someone coming up behind us.
The SS? Spider? Or someone else entirely?
I don’t know. But I’m going to have to find out. I can’t take the chance of leading them back to Ripplemead. Can’t put everything we’ve built and worked so hard for these last several months in jeopardy. I have to deal with it here and now.
It’s OK. I have a plan.
I’ve gone over it again and again, because there can be no missteps.
It’s risky, but it could work.
Isn’t that what I said my part was in this whole thing, anyway?
I’m the one that takes stupid risks for the good of the group.
This is it. We’re unpacked for the night. I’ve chosen the site for our (hopefully not last) stand — a little clearing right off the road. Camping out in the open is not something I would have chosen normally. But we’re on a stretch of road that runs through a skinny finger of the George Washington and Jefferson National Forest. There are no houses here. No structures at all.
That’s OK, though. In some ways, I think this might work better for my plan.
While Izzy unrolled our sleeping bags, I went out with the binoculars again. It was about fifteen minutes before I saw him, just a blurry blob of yellow on the horizon. But that was all I needed to see. It was Spider. I knew for certain now.
That’s good. I think. Better than a whole crew of SS, anyway.
Now we wait. It’s kind of funny, actually. He calls himself Spider, but I’m the one weaving a web and lying in wait.
Jeremiah
Rural Maryland
10 years, 44 days after
Here we march back up into the hills for the fifth straight day, hopefully moving away from the pack of Crusaders we crossed paths with a few nights back. Or maybe hopefully moving toward them. Not sure what the objective actually is with any of this.
We’re getting into some dense terrain now. Thick as hell woods. Just a wall of green to cut through with a machete. Slow. Tiring. Painful to get thwacked by branches over and over.
Even beyond the physical problems involved, it’s sort of nerve-wracking somehow to be surrounded by the green stuff like this. To have it all over you to the point that you can’t see more than a few feet in any direction. It’s kept th
e mood tense on this march. Uptight and quiet.
Hope it gets better soon.
I actually slept well last night, though I hardly believe it. Didn’t write or anything. Almost seems like a bad omen.
It happened. The nightmare. I think it’s over now. Let me go back and tell the whole story from the start. Get it all out in one purging swell and be done for good.
The thick stuff only got worse as we headed South, but then we found a trail cut nice and wide, and we started making better time. Of course, there were mutterings about how it only meant we were walking straight into the enemy’s path, but the mood changed to something more positive, anyway.
A little talk broke out. Mostly shallow stuff at first. Basics about being hungry or tired, but eventually full-blown conversations started bubbling to the surface like the skin that forms on some overcooked beans.
“Quick question for you, Meat. If you don’t mind my asking, that is,” Sully said.
Meat smirked. I think we could all tell Sully was in the mood to tease him a bit, and we were ready for the entertainment. Anything to break up the monotony.
“Yeah, sure. What is it?”
“What kind of meth you snortin’ out here? I mean, I know you ain’t smokin’ it, cause I’d smell that cat-piss meth smell on you if you were, and I don’t.”
He sniffed before he went on.
“Nope. No trace of kitty litter. You just smell like regular piss.”
Meat giggled, that beefy jaw splitting to show his big yellow teeth.
“Ain’t meth at all.”
“Uh-huh. So what is it? Weed? Opium? Can’t think of what else it could be. Expired prescription pills? That’d be out of your price range, I expect.”
Meat giggled again. Shook his head.
“Come on, man. You’re fucked out of your gourd 24/7, and you just seem like a stoner creep all the time. What’s the deal? Pretty sure we all want to know.”
Meat’s giggle came out a little choked.