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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 implied 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, 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, Frank, chatty to a fault, 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 Company sent each day one of three teams out 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 are upset, suggesting we are wasting time and effort warning 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 brow beating 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, 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-not 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 pallet yet to be flipped, 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 back, protecting the driver while monitoring behind us as we moved forward. The remaining members watching 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, 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 needed to know where he was, stationary, not wandering around. I need his energy focused on a single task. The last thing I needed was for him to engage with others we meet along the way. And I have seen him on the range and his skill with a six shooter questionable. Quick to act, sure, lacking any accuracy. And now I have had enough!
He was sitting mumbling, a distraction pulling the team in to 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 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.”
“I need you to buy in to the program. I need your decision now.”
“I’m in. Relax, you’re the boss man,” he replied with that overconfident, cocky smile.
My gut tightened as I holstered my weapon, turned, walked away wondering if I was about to take a bullet to the back. Headed toward the stable. Guess for the moment everyone was on board.
“Saddle up.”
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