Dystopia Chapter 14: Saddle Up

Three days of backbreaking work clearing a path wide enough to squeeze a wagon through freely. Fortunately, we recruited several others to help. A favor implies expecting something in return, a quid pro quo. Words you will never hear: “I promise...” Never commit to anything, ever.

We gathered the next day, midmorning, each anxiously considering our task. Except Frank, verbose as usual, entertaining himself with endless noise. So much knowledge — having been here and there, done this and that. Now he’s sharing it unfiltered, presenting 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, Frank, chatty to a fault, a nice-looking guy, easy on the eyes, blond locks, curly hair, blue eyes, always a story to be told. Never at a loss for words. Everyone is a friend. For now, an annoyance. A mystery, his past, 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, usually with zip, and occasionally fewer members than left that morning returned. They’re ticked off, saying we’re wasting our time, and they’re warning us we’ve gotta deliver or else. 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. Hindrances removed, terrain leveled, and widened for access. North within sight are buildings, perhaps most empty, although likely holding materials, 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 have-nots are always at odds. Ideas abound, solutions presented but not scalable.

We would travel through the desert, one of many small groups leaving this complex. With one major difference, we would have some supplies visible: a pallet yet to be flipped, a basket of produce, and a few empty crates. One must bait the hook to catch fish. This is what we plan to do.

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 would watch for potential danger. We’d be visible, a curiosity sure to be seen as an easy target — 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?”

We spent three grueling days in the sweltering heat, clearing a path and putting up with his endless yapping. Enough already!

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

“The hell I will,” he protested.

Push to the edge. I needed to know where he was, stationary, not wandering around. I needed his energy focused on a single task. The last thing I needed was for him to engage with others we met along the way. And I had seen him on the range — his skill with a six-shooter was questionable. Quick to act, sure, lacking any accuracy. And now I’d had enough!

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

I approached where he sat, stopped, without warning, pulled my weapon and placed the barrel against his forehead, pressed gently, and declared, “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.”

“Easy, Jesse,” Brett said.

“I need you to buy into the program. 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, and 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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