Dystopia Chapter 26: Making Friends

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, Addison, and I prepared the wagon. Gathered a few tradeable supplies, two bridles, and two used saddles for extra horses should they be required. Early afternoon we headed out, covered in ponchos, looking like worn-out travelers seeking shelter with little of value in our wagon. Frank handled the team, and I scrunched over, appearing asleep. Addison sat in the wagon bed. 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.

Think incognito. Low profile. We decamped through the north gate, but circled around to the south side, then headed east along an aging roadway. Felt 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, wonder if — or when — humanity will cease, CNN once reported that because of AI, man would become extinct, still here but now wondering if there is a god … when he stopped, I merely grunted and on he went… I found it oddly comforting.

Arriving, the streets were 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, rainwater with no sign of ownership. He filled the feedbags and attended to our horses. Frank’s eyes noted that someone was approaching from behind. 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 incurred a stranger’s wrath. “Hey, asshole, that’s my water, my space, whatch you think you're doing, stealing my water?” Surprised, I stepped back, placing my hand on my weapon, realizing immediately that it 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 the wagon, smiling, approaching this challenger, and exclaimed loudly, “Dick, … long time no see, how ya doin? Remember me?”

Attention drawn to Frank, scattergun in hand, now pointing toward him, he 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,” as he shifted 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?”

Addison now stood, smiled, and greeted the visitor. “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 use this space? Sorry, what was your name again?”

The uninvited guest eyed Addison slowly. “Well now, missy, yeah I gotta pad your welcome to visit but your mates gotta go, now.”

Frank interrupted, “By the way, forgive my friend here… a little slow upstairs,” tapping his head.

“Shut up,” he bellowed.

Clearly getting angrier, “Anywhere outside of city limits, now move on,” he mumbled, directing us with his weapon, still leering at Addison.

Another word out of him, and I’m positive she’ll shoot him in the street.

As we hoisted ourselves back onto the wagon, I asked, “What do ya mean a little slow?”

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

“I’ll see what I can do …thanks.”.

Return to Table of Contents