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Up early preparing for what could be our last day among the living. The rain was moving in, returning with a vengeance, the wind increasing, and cold. The air was heavy, the atmosphere a gloomy gray. Not sure if this will work to our advantage or not. Frank and I prep the wagon. Gather a few trade-able supplies, two bridles, and two used saddles for extra horses should they be required. We head out, covered in ponchos, looking like two worn out travelers seeking shelter with little of value in our wagon. Frank handled the team, and I scrunched over, appearing asleep. Strangers going nowhere, of no interest to anyone, on this nasty, inclement, nondescript afternoon.
The rest of the team will arrive at their own pace, seek a blacksmith and wander about town. Beginning our first visitation, just seeking an impression of the area. Calm village, no chaos. For now, just avoid trouble. The goal, check out the area, be inconspicuous, and leave without causing a stir.
It’s time to saddle up. Think incognito. Low profile. Decamping through the north gate, but circled around to the south side, then headed east, along an aging roadway. Feels familiar but not in a good way. The horses’ hooves rhythmically clomping along the pavement while Frank offers an unbroken commentary as we head downhill. Rain lessened for the moment, gently tapping on our ponchos. Frank reports on a family of roadrunners, mom and her six chicks scooting back into the underbrush, he talks about the weather, the smell of creosote lingering, a family walking uphill, maybe toward the Well seeking comfort, climate change, politics, wonder if, if and when humanity will cease, CNN once reported because of AI man would become extinct, still here but now wondering is there a god … when he stopped I merely grunted and on he went… I found it oddly comforting.
Arriving, streets are quiet, the weather keeping folks’ home, or inside. A few individuals headed here and there, seemingly with a purpose, no sign they had any interest in our arrival. Frank pulled up to a hitching post and trough filled with water, rain water with no sign of ownership. Fills the feed bags and attended to our horses. Franks’ eyes noted someone was approaching from behind. Really, we’re only been in town minutes and already we’re makin friends.
Standing by a leaning hitching post, with no effort required, I incurred a stranger’s wrath, “Hey, asshole, that’s my water, my space, whatch you think you're doing, stealing my water?” Surprised, stepped back, placing my hand on my weapon, realizing immediately that was an unfortunate reflex. Now facing a pissed off thug, armed, yards away, and as usual, at a loss for a clever response, “sorry, I, a, didn't realize it belonged to anyone.”
“Ignorance is no excuse. Move it,” the words screeched like a stuck pig.
Meanwhile, observing what was about to be a train wreck, Frank walked from the other side of wagon, smiling, approaching this challenger, exclaimed loudly, “Dick, … long time no see, how ya doin, remember me?”
Attention drawn to Frank, scatter gun in hand, now pointing toward him, spouted back, “names not Dick, who the hell are you?”
“Come on, you remember?” Frank repeats, “that time in Texas.”
“Remember the saloon in, in El Paso, the night with the dancing girls? You drank me under the table and vanished with some brunette. Didn’t see ya until the next morning. What a hangover, but you seemed to be fine,” Frank rambles on.
“Names is still not Dick, so move on,” as he shifts the scattergun at my gut.
“Whoa, I am so sorry. You reminded me of a buddy from the past. Damn nice guy. You’re like an identical twin. Like a clone. Those were good days. No problem, we’ll move along, I mean, …really not the Dick from Texas? What was her name again?”
“By the way, forgive my friend here… a little slow upstairs,” Frank adds, tapping his head.
“SHUT UP,” he bellows.
“Maybe you can help us out, where we might settle in for a couple of days, avoiding trouble while getting a meal? Any job openings, could we rent this space? Sorry, what was your name again? Nice belt buckle.”
Clearly getting angrier, “Anywhere outside of city limit, now move on,” he mumbles, directing us with his weapon.
Hoisting ourselves back on the wagon, “what do ya mean a little slow?” I asked?
“You need to practice a witty come back or two, how to redirect a conversation. Silence can be hazardous to one’s health.”
“I’ll see what I can do, …thanks.”
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