Dystopia Chapter 26: Making Friends

We were 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. Unsure whether the weather would work to our advantage.

Frank and I prepared the wagon. Gathered a few items: two bridles, a blanket, a used saddle, and scraps. We headed out, covered in ponchos, looking like two worn-out travelers seeking shelter with few worldly possessions. Frank handled the team, and I scrunched over, appearing asleep. Strangers going nowhere, of no interest to anyone, on this nasty, nondescript afternoon.

The rest of the team would arrive at their own pace, seek a blacksmith, and wander about town. Beginning our first reconnaissance, 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 was time to saddle up. Think incognito. Low profile. We decamped 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 clomped along the pavement while Frank offered an unbroken commentary as we headed downhill. The rain lessened for the moment, gently tapping on our ponchos. Frank reported on a family of roadrunners, mom and her six chicks scooting back into the underbrush, he talked about the weather, the smell of creosote lingering, a family walking uphill, maybe toward the Well seeking comfort, climate change, politics, wondered 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 stops talking, I merely grunt and on he goes… I find it oddly comforting.

When we arrived, the streets were quiet; the weather keeping folks at 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, rainwater with no sign of ownership. Filled the feedbags and attended to our horses. Frank caught movement behind us. Really, we’ve only been in town minutes and already we’re making friends.

Standing by a leaning hitching post, with no effort required, I drew a stranger’s wrath. “Hey, asshole, that’s my water, my space. What do you think you're doing, stealing my water?” Surprised, I 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, uh, didn't realize it belonged to anyone.”

“Ignorance is no excuse. Move it,” he screeched like a stuck pig.

Meanwhile, Frank, who had been observing what was about to be a train wreck, walked from the other side of the wagon, smiling, approaching this challenger, and exclaimed loudly, “Dick, … long time no see, how ya doin? Remember me?”

The stranger’s attention quickly shifted to Frank. He seemed unsure who represented the biggest threat, confused about where to focus.

The visitor spouted back, “Name’s not Dick, who the hell are you?”

“Come on, you remember?” Frank repeated, “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 rambled on.

“Name’s still not Dick, so move on,” he said, shifting the scattergun toward my gut.

“Whoa, I am so sorry. You remind 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 added, tapping his head.

“SHUT UP,” the intruder bellowed.

“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 reimburse you for this space and the water? Sorry, what was your name again? Nice belt buckle.”

He was clearly getting angrier. “Anywhere outside of city limits, now move on,” he mumbled, visibly losing patience.

Hoisting ourselves back on the wagon, “what do ya mean a little slow?” I asked.

“You need to practice a witty comeback or two, and how to redirect a conversation. Silence can be hazardous to one’s health.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Still watching us, we ambled on. From ahead, raising a cloud of dust, a group, maybe half-a-dozen headed our way. We averted our gaze, attempting to escape a confrontation.

Return to Table of Contents