Dystopia Chapter 19: Hostile Reception

They saw us coming. Slowly approaching. Midday, hot, most hunkered down, the heat today unbearable, triple digits. But still a waiting entourage, someone from the roof yelled, “he’s bringing people.” Interest piqued, there was a procedure for adding to the population… strict rules. Pulling into the yard, the Scout Team surrounded the wagon, holding back the audience. Brett stood ready to protect his cargo. Approaching the wagon, one of the committee leaders appeared, distraught, immediately demanding an explanation.

Compassion had become a defunct human attribute, everything seen as a cost to be recorded, justified. A balance sheet with credits and debits to be balanced.

“We came across a group whose members required medical help and were open to trading for medical supplies.”

“What about her and how will you feed these folks and who put you in charge? Take them back.”

From behind him, a pair of enforcers appeared.

“Initially, she will gain skills to help her companions and, for the time being, our medical staff, next regarding food. That’s between me and Ms. Bishop. Finally, as for your hired help, they need to stand down.”

Chump stepped back, needing to save face. Eyeing the crowd, he waved his arms, demanding everyone back to their daily duties. As the crowd dispersed, he stepped forward, fingered his weapon, and declared. “They got three days, then gone.” Turning, stepping away, followed by his personal escort - a reminder that I was the reason we lacked an actual doctor.

The crowd disbanded, and with some help we moved the injured and supplies to our ‘hospital’ while we made sure they were warmly received. And expectations understood. Ragtag medical staff, welcoming group, and having intimidating scout team members pressing around the entrance didn’t hurt either. The container of supplies, with the promise of more, was equally compelling.

Settled in, I offering Diana, lunch? “I know the cooks, which means zip, but who knows, and we have our special, reserved table.”

She tentatively accepted, “Addison, would you give her a quick guided tour?” Before she could answer, Frank pushed forward. “Allow me.”

Diana smiled. I was sure Addison and I shared the same thought: trouble.

“Excuse me, I got an errand to run and will meet all back at our special table.”

I quickly checked with Ms. Bishop. After arranging a meal and a deal, I promised to bring food next time and to not bring more mouths to feed.

I returned to the stables and asked that my mount be prepared for a departure later that evening, at dusk. Received a quizzical look from all while avoiding eye contact or offering an explanation. I had a plan. Luke's threat had stirred something I’d been pushing down. Memories of my daughters intruded again - wondering if they were well, if they ever thought of me or cared. They could be anywhere, across the road, or miles away.

Our new reality consisted of ranches controlled by power brokers dominating resources, each with a militia, goons, with few scruples and small dependent units fighting for survival.

To the east, less than a mile away, such a unit existed. Inhabitants often heard late at night, with music playing, arguments brewing, and the occasional gunfire. Could a family member still exist? I’ve heard that missing relatives leave notes on bulletin boards.

A fool’s errand. A loner, an easy target.

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