"Can we go?" Meyer asks impatiently, a bag slung over his shoulder.
Sanda whacks him in the arm, her serious expression vanishing. "Come on, I've never had a sister! And a lotta good you are with hair talk."
A mildly annoyed expression crosses Meyer's face, and I catch Aron working hard to stifle a laugh.
Without saying a word, Meyer produces his handheld and maps our route. "It's a couple of miles, should take us an hour or so."
"You got the list?" Sanda asks Meyer.
Meyer pats his pant pocket. "Right here."
The four of us set off. Meyer scouts ahead and Aron trails us, enjoying the mountain view, I guess. I quicken my pace to catch up with Meyer, who seems to be walking slightly too fast.
"You in a hurry?"
He slows slightly for me. "Not really. Just want to get this trading over."
"What did Gabrielle send to trade?"
Meyer smiles and pats the bag. "Weirdly enough, food bars."
"Food bars? They aren't even good."
"I know." He shrugs. "But several of the residents in town love them. They probably hoard them as an emergency stockpile. Or could be they get tired of farm fresh produce. Gabrielle says they always go for a fair price." Meyer reaches into the bag and produces a bar. "Hungry? There's plenty."
I shake my head. "Thanks, but no. I need to talk with Sanda."
Meyer nods and picks up the pace again to remain a few steps ahead of us.
"What's the name of the town?" I ask as I let Sanda catch up with me.
"Thornton, named after the guy who founded it maybe twenty-five years ago."
As we walk down a ridge, I spot the town in the distance. It's not large, but kind of spread out. The majority of the buildings are here and there with vast empty spaces around them. Why they would do that, I'm not sure. In the center sits a cluster of buildings, the city center, I think.
"So why did they settle all the way out here?" I ask Sanda.
"For the same kinds of reasons my mom lives here. To be able to do what they want without too much interference. Mom doesn't like the watchful eyes of any government, and I guess the townspeople really enjoy living off the grid."
"Gabrielle said that, too. What exactly does living off the grid mean?"
"No tech. Or very little, at least. Nearly all of it is unused and only for trading purposes. They store most of it and usually let you go through it if you want to. Some of it's useful, some not. Who knows if they'll have what Aron requires."
"What do they do for communications?"
"For the most part, they don't. The townspeople exist in their own world. Traders come and occasionally they travel up to Mom's for information, but mostly they don't need it. Each time I've gone to town, they seem happy."
"I guess life would be a lot simpler," I say.
Sanda chuckles. "No doubt."
Aron comes up beside us and smiles.
"So what's the story on you?" Sanda blurts out.
I clear my throat. "Aron's from Elore. He's … my friend."
She gives me a suspecting look. "There's more to the story, isn't there?"
Heat prickles over the back of my neck.
"Avlyn was my pairing," Aron says in a rather matter-of-fact way. "We intended to make a contract."
I glance at him. His expression is nearly flat, unreadable. From our exchange earlier when he touched my face, I gather he's hiding some emotion. He and I have years of experience with that, so it's not all that difficult for us.
"No kidding?" Sanda asks. "Awkward."
"It's fine," I quickly say. "Aron and I are friends now. He's a good person."
Aron's lips quirk into a tiny smile. "That barely mattered in Elore."
"Being a good person always matters," I say.
He nods absently.
"And dimples don't hurt either," Sanda adds.
Aron raises his hand to his face and grazes the spot where his dimple sits. A much larger smile overtakes his face than before, and the color of his cheeks turns to a perfect shade of pink, a stark contrast to his artificially darkened hair.
A loud crack sounds in front of us. Pulse pounding in my ears, I scan the area, my mind instantly activating the EP. My vision lights with information, but not where the sound came from. Sanda ushers the three of us behind a grouping of boulders. Meyer pulls a concealed weapon from his side and settles beside a tree. Why didn't I think to bring a gun?
"What's going on?" I call to Meyer.
As I say it, my vision lights up again, and new words scroll across the bottom of it.
Gunfire: 234 feet, 322 degrees Northwest
"We're under fire. I can't get a lock on the shooter," Meyer says, keeping his voice low.
As I search the area marked in my vision, the EP zooms in—it's never done that before—and I spot the gunman. He's alone, and his weapon is ancient.
Double Barrel Shotgun
It's an older guy with a graying beard, shifting slightly as he squats in back of a mound of dirt, weapon gripped tightly in his hand, but not readied.
"There's one guy," I tell the others, nudging Meyer. "How about you try to talk to him?"
"Well, I don't want to shoot him if I don't have to," Meyer says.
I angle toward Aron and Sanda. "You two are okay, right?"
They both nod.
"Meyer, he had the opportunity to hit us easily, but the shot missed completely. Could have been a warning," I reason.
"I'll try to talk with him. You three stay there." He gestures to us to keep low, hunkering himself carefully behind his tree. "Hey, what are you shooting at?"
The man does not respond.
"Try again," I call in a hushed voice. "I'm not sure he's actually dangerous."
"My friends and I just want to talk," Meyer says. "We're traveling to town to trade. Up visiting Gabrielle on the hill and she needs some supplies."
Nothing comes from the man for what seems like too long.
"You kids armed?" he finally yells, slowly raising his weapon.
"Yes," Meyer admits stepping out from the tree. "But only for protection out here. You never know what types of animals you might cross paths with. Some of those big cats get hungry."
An old vid of domestic cats from primer school flashes in my mind and I wonder what Meyer is talking about. How big do cats get?
The man chuckles. "You got that right," he says, walking nearer to Meyer, who's gripping the weapon at his side. "How about you put that gun down and kick it away until I get to know you better?"
"You could do the same," Meyer says as he drops his stunner to the dirt and boots it a few feet from us.
"No, I don't think so." The bearded man stops, still holding his gun, but now it's readied once more and pointed at Meyer. "Now, have your friends come out where I can see them."
I rise slowly and motion for Sanda and Aron to do the same, but don't show myself yet.
The man motions his gun in our direction. "Who are they?"
"They are my friends," Meyer says levelly. "I told you, we're visiting Gabrielle and needed to go for some fresh air. She was running low on supplies, and we volunteered to head into town and make trades." Meyer turns toward us. "Come on out. Let this man see you better."
My heart pounds, but I do as Meyer says and slowly travel to meet him. Aron and Sanda follow. From his posture I have a feeling this man doesn't want to hurt us, but bad things happen quickly.
"What do you have to trade?" He bobs his head slightly in an attempt to see if Meyer has anything interesting.
Gently, Meyer reaches for the sack slung over his shoulder. "Food bars, mostly."
The guy cocks his head and partially lowers the gun. "Really?"
Meyer smiles. "Yeah, want one?"
The man's face lights up and he lowers his weapon completely. Even though I know this is not over, relief washes through me. At least we're getting somewhere.
Meyer slowly lowers the bag from his shoulder and holds it out to the man.
What if this guy steals all our bars? He's the one with the gun.
The bearded man steps forward and snatches the bag from Meyer, then quickly riffles through the sack, producing a bar and holding the snack high into the air as if it were a tremendous prize. Meyer looks at me, dumbfounded, and behind me Aron snickers quietly.
"I woke up dreaming about a cherry-flavored food bar this morning," the man says. "I said to my wife I was going to have one and she thought I was off my rocker. But here it is, and you brought it." He inches closer to Meyer and hands the sack of bars back.
I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing this guy won't steal our trades, or kill us over them.
He rips open the wrapper and tears off the end of the bar with his teeth. "I'm Boyd. Alen Boyd," he says while chewing. "You said you're friends of Gabrielle's?"
"I'm her daughter," Sanda pipes up.
I hope that will appease the guy so we don't have to spin some story to keep straight.
Boyd squints at Sanda. "Oh yeah, I see the resemblance. I've been there a couple times." Instead of asking anything more, he goes on chewing the bar.
"Would you be willing to escort us into town? Meyer asks.
"Oh sure." He pulls back the cuff of his coat, revealing an antique watch similar to the one Meyer wears. "My patrol's nearly up. I can head back. You can get your gun, too."
Meyer snatches his stunner up from the ground and holsters it onto the back of his pants under his jacket.
Boyd finishes his bar and guides our group down the hill and into the city center. All the buildings in Thornton are short, one or two stories each, and made of gnarled gray wooden slats. Several have silver panels affixed to the roofs.
"What are those?" I whisper to Meyer.
"Solar panels. Apparently some of these people use them for electricity."
The road splitting the middle of Thornton is made of dirt, and a few women meander in front of the buildings, some of which appear to be modest shops and other sorts of businesses whose purposes I'm unsure of. Two women, one carrying a covered basket, pass our group. They both stare, and the first one leans over and whispers to her friend.
"I'll take you to Sheriff Jenkins," Boyd says. "He'll get your information and calculate a fair price for your trade."
The five of us pass several stores, including one marked Bakery, displaying an array of deliciously toasted pastries and bread on trays. Why would Boyd ever dream about food bars when he has this available? From the interior, the shopkeeper waves at me, and I do the same, adding a smile.
Meyer throws me a look urging me to speed up, and I increase my pace, hustling to his side. Boyd directs our group to an open door. Outside stands a white-and-brown speckled horse tied to some kind of post. Or, at least, I think it's a horse. It's been forever since I've watched anything on horses, but the thing is huge and stands there watching us with soft eyes.
I pick up the pace and grab Meyer before he follows the others inside the door, pointing to the animal.
"What's that?"
"A horse. People ride them here." He turns to go in, but I pull him to stop again.
"Ride them? For what?" I glimpse back at the horse as it paws its foot—is it a foot?—on the dirt.
"For pleasure, transportation …" He grins and motions with his head toward the entrance. "We should go in."
Inside, a musty smell hits me, giving me the strong urge to head back to the bakery, but Meyer's hand settles on the small of my back, holding me here. Boyd walks straight to a counter and slams his hand down onto a small, dome-like object that emits a high-pitched sound when he touches it.
"Be right there," a husky voice calls from a doorway beyond the counter. A tall man with reddish hair, probably in his mid-thirties, appears. "Who do we have here?" the man asks.
"Traders, Sheriff Jenkins, from Gabrielle's place. This is her daughter," Boyd points to Sanda, "and a few of her friends."
"Well, Gabrielle's a quiet neighbor," the sheriff says. "Mostly stays to herself and brings excellent trades. What d'ya got?"
Meyer takes off the bag and hands it to the sheriff. While they make their trade, I scan the interior of the room. An old, tan computer system in the corner looks extremely out of place in this town. When Gabrielle said these people live simply, she wasn't kidding. The panels I saw on the rooftops couldn't produce much electricity.
"Don't bother with that old thing," the sheriff says. "It's only there for emergency communications, but we haven't had an emergency in a really long time. Our luck, it probably doesn't operate." He chuckles. "Should rip it apart for scrap."
Not thinking, I brush my hand over the top of the system. In an instant the screen flickers to life.
Chapter
Sixteen
I freeze as words and a symbol of a sun appears on the once-blank screen, my hand unmoved from the top of the system. I quickly pull it away to run it through my blonde hair, grateful I changed the color so these people can't easily identify me.
New Philadelphia Rural Project flashes over the screen, the sun sitting directly above the words.
"Um," I say, my eyes darting to Meyer, whose eyes have grown wide. Did either the sheriff or Boyd see me start the system, or do they still have no clue?
"Wow, weird," Sanda says, walking straight to the sheriff. "My mom did say there were random electrical surges on the grid. You guys are hooked up, but don't use it, right?"
The sheriff gives her a curious look, but Sanda's lie sounds plausible enough to take the heat off me for a moment.
"She did, did she?" He steps from the back of the counter and taps on the old keyboard. "We wouldn't have heard."
Quickly, I back up and let him do whatever it is he's planning to do.
"What a mess." The sheriff shakes his head. "Now they'll follow up with a report. We only use this system in the case of dire emergency, and Philly is going to wonder what it was." He walks to a box on the wall and opens a metal door on the front. Inside, a circular object displays moving dials. "Seems like the main electrical grid has come online, too. How in the world did that happen?" He sighs. "Makes the entire situation worse."
"How come?" Sanda asks.
"Because when we go live, they want to know why. It's a real pain. The whole thing is a network. Means if the main grid is up here, it's up for all the other towns, too." He taps at the keyboard, still not closing the program after several tries. "I'm gonna have to get someone else in here. Alen?"
Our guide, who has been curiously watching the commotion, pops to attention.
"You know if Andrews is around?" the sheriff asks.
"She should be," Boyd says, nodding toward the door. "You want me to go fetch her?"
The sheriff pinches his lips together. The system refuses to shut down from the keyboard. "It would be best. This will cause me a bunch of extra work, and I'd rather get it dealt with ASAP."
"Yes, sir," Boyd says and bolts out the door without so much as a goodbye.
The sheriff moves from the operating system to station himself back behind the desk. "You have a list of the supplies you're looking for?" he asks.
Meyer digs in his pocket and presents the folded piece of paper Gabrielle must have given him. The sheriff opens it and studies the contents.
"This should be fine. I'll have the goods arranged for you, but you're gonna need to hold tight for a bit. It will take some time to get this sorted out." He gestures to the computer system. "Residents will be down here wondering why the grid's active and what I'm doing about it."
"What should we do in the meantime?" Aron asks.
The sheriff plunks his hands on the counter and looks at Aron. "Why don't you kids head to Katherine's. Should be some locals there, and you can get a bite to eat while you wait. Tell her I sent you and will pay her back for anything within reason."
The sheriff ushers us out the door and points out the way to Katherine's, whatever that is. I search for the horse, but it's missing.
"Avlyn," Meyer
says in a hushed voice.
"What?" I mutter as I tighten my jacket around me to stay the chill of a gust of wind.
"You know very well what."
Sanda quickly moves to my side as a few townspeople scurry past us and into one of the shops, but not before they stop and watch our group. "Hopefully I covered it well enough, so lay off, Meyer. She didn't mean to."
"You did do an excellent job, Sanda," Aron says from behind us. "Quick thinking,"
Meyer shoots Aron a glare.
Aron throws up both his hands into the air in surrender. "What? She did. Don't you think so?"
Meyer turns to me, shaking his head. "What Sanda did was fine. I just want Avlyn safe." Meyer wraps an arm around my waist. "Let's get to Katherine's. Then we'll be done with this place."
"Will you tell Gabrielle what happened?" I whisper to Meyer.
He eyes me, as if in thought. "No. I think Sanda's lie worked, and it will just make Gabrielle nervous."
Katherine's Café is an old wooden building with solar panels on the roof. My guess is each house and business provides their own electricity if they need it, and this keeps them self-sufficient without assistance from New Philly. Inside, it has the same musty odor as the sheriff's office, but intermingled with old and new savory food smells I can't identify. But maybe they have some of the bread I saw earlier. My stomach rumbles at the thought of it. I haven't eaten since early this morning.
Five round wooden tables fill the room, each with matching chairs surrounding it and a vase and red flower in the center. I stroke the petals of the flower on the closest table. Slightly rough and decidedly not real. Fabric.
Why would anyone decorate with an artificial flower?
An empty drinking glass sits before each chair. In the corner, two men, probably in their late forties, sit discussing something seemingly earthshaking, if their slight scowls and whispers are any indication. A sweet-looking, stout woman wearing a knee-length dress with a tiny blue flower pattern comes out from two swinging doors, wiping her hands on a towel.
"Well, who might you be?" the woman asks in a singsong voice as she nabs a handled container from an unused table.
"The sheriff sent us," Meyer explains. "He told us to eat while we wait for a trade."
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