Dystopia Chapter 14: Saddle Up

Three days of backbreaking work clearing a path wide enough to squeeze a wagon through with ease. Blisters aplenty. Fortunately, we recruited several others to help. Sure, favors implied, a quid pro quo. Still, words you’ll never hear from me: ‘I promise.’ Never commit to anything, ever.

From a rooftop, I noticed ‘committee’ members? And folks of the Well observing. Surely wondering what the hell we were up to. Wasting time and energy. Providing nothing for the community. Wondering why we would build an entrance for outsiders to approach. Just more areas to be guarded. Mr. Maddox visited, observed, and without a word just shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked away mumbling.

We gathered the next day, midmorning, each anxiously considering today’s task. Except Frank, verbose as usual, entertaining himself with endless noise. So much input, having been here and there, done this and that, sharing his thoughts unfiltered, presents a poorly conceived plan for today. Whatever you have accomplished, he will have a story, an embellishment, “well I have…” The youngest of the group, - blond curls, blue eyes, easy on the eyes, chatty to a fault, everyone his friend. For now, an annoyance. His past a mystery, like the rest, here by chance. Unpredictable. The opposite of Brett.

The committee sent out one of three teams to find some items, food or material, with little luck coming back, empty-handed, and occasionally fewer members than left that morning returned. They are upset, suggesting we are wasting time and effort, warning that we produce or there could be a cost. A threat? A promise?

My plan was to find someone, anyone, open to the possibility of trading this for that. Simple. Rather than browbeating someone, how about engaging in a conversation? We will head north through the desert along a path, now visible, still overgrown. Hindrances removed, terrain leveled, and widened for access. North within sight are buildings, perhaps most empty, although likely holding materials and trouble, some occupied with those, like us, seeking to survive and willing to barter. Once upon a time, unity seemed possible; come together to save humanity. That did not go well. The haves and the rest of us are always at odds. Ideas abound, solutions presented but not scalable.

We will travel through the desert, one of many small groups leaving this complex. With one major difference, we will have some supplies visible: a basket of produce and a few empty crates. One must bait the hook to catch fish.

Brett would drive, Frank would sit in the wagon facing backward, protecting the driver while monitoring behind us as we moved forward. The remaining members watched for potential danger. We will be visible, a curiosity sure to be seen as an easy target. We are one of many on the road, an empty wagon in tow, scavengers. Small groups of vagabonds.

Naturally, Frank complained, “What the f…, why am I in the damn wagon?”

“I need you to protect Brett and keep us safe. Eyes on everyone.”

“The hell I will,” he protested.

I had to keep tabs on his exact location… rooted in one spot, not roaming. I need to channel his energy into one thing at a time. The last thing I wanted was for him to get sidetracked interacting with people we crossed paths with. Watching him on the shooting range didn't help matters — his handling of a revolver leaves a lot to be desired. He fires without thinking and can't hit a thing. And honestly, I've had enough!

He was sitting mumbling, a distraction pulling the team into the doldrums. Enough was enough.

I stood, approached where he sat, stopped, without warning, pulled my weapon and place the barrel against his forehead, pressed gently, and said quietly, “This is the last time I will pull my weapon without using it, the last, so you can either stay back, clean the stables or get with the program.” I’m sure I saw Addison smirk.

Silence.

“Do not test me.”

More silence.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I need you to buy in. I need your decision now.”

“I’m in. Relax, you’re the boss man,” he replied with that cocky smile.

My gut tightened as I holstered my weapon, turned, walked away, wondering if I was about to take a bullet in the back. Headed toward the stable. Guess for the moment everyone was on board.

“Saddle up.”

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