Dystopia Chapter 27: Making More Friends

Eyes forward, we moved onward; the village was quiet. Quiet enough to wander freely, although folks are watching and judging. We hope to get a warm welcome, but that won’t last. Hope is a sign of weakness. A character flaw.

The teacher in me recalled the end of the 20th century; society hoped climate change was a phase. That technology would save us. Equality was possible. There is always a silver lining. That people are basically good, and the Star Trek ideology of the late 20th century was true. Humanity could be better, virtuous. Our forefathers had their doubts. Star Trek ideology, a myth, we cannot coexist. Pulled apart by tribalism, creed, and greed.

Here’s hoping the Scout Team #3 members will get an accommodating greeting. Meanwhile, we continue to wander about, seeking a location to secure our wagon and avoid confrontations. Found a front yard where, for a small fee, we can “rent” the space for the day. Hate to split up, but personable Frank will venture out and see where supplies might be available for purchase. He seems to be agreeable. I will stay with the wagon.

Trouble, like rain, comes and goes. Difficult to know the good guys from the bad guys, and I see several wandering my way, four, maybe five nefarious characters. Sitting in the back of the wagon, doing my best not to make eye contact, feigning boredom, hat pulled down, hoping they would pass on by.

They stop. Pause. Maybe with any luck they’ll amble along. One rider moves forward alongside the wagon. The sound of the nervous horses neighing. Shifting, he kicks the wagon, seeking to gain my attention. I lurch as if startled. “Afternoon,” I mutter.

“Afternoon. The owner reported you’re trespassing on his land… nice wagon,” the leader announced.

“We paid an old guy to park here for the day.”

“Bummer, nice wagon,” he repeats. “We, we who.”

“It’s old,” I noted.

“Who’s old, the guy or the wagon?” he asked.

“Both.”

“Whatever, we need a wagon. This will meet our needs, our lucky day,” he added. “The regional governess granted us permission to commandeer materials as needed, and we need.”

Three were still straight ahead, maybe thirty feet away, shifting their positions and appearing bored. The fourth mounted to my left. The self-appointed leader to the right of the wagon, leaning forward.

I look up, grinning, “Hey, you look familiar, you’re a Dick, right? El Paso, last year.”

“Did you just call me a dick?”

Oops.

“Get off the wagon,” he commanded.

Gotta work on my socializing skills.

He pulls his pistol, now hanging at his side, cocked. Grinning. The other four still seem confident there will not be a problem, sit in their saddles, still side by side, straight ahead and one on each side of the wagon. All focused on me. Amateurs, this is too easy.

Their posture and movements exposed them. Someone was approaching from behind me. More trouble?

For now, I’ll follow his directions slowly. But in my peripheral vision, wait, now see Addison approaching. Standing, I turn back to face my adversaries and see Frank to the right, then on the other side, the others.

The bandits were now outflanked.

Addison approaches, weapon in hand, shaking her head. “Grown men badgering this old guy, really?”

The leader, no longer grinning, evaluates the situation, grunts, and rides off without a word.

“Can’t leave you alone for a New York minute without getting yourself into a jam,” Frank notes.

“What was your plan?” Brett asked.

“Apparently, I’m old, mentally addled, unable to communicate, and a magnet for trouble. We should leave posthaste, but.” It has turned colder; the sun setting, and the rain now whipped about by the wind will make leaving difficult and, aware others are watching, a dangerous move.

“We need to find a place and settle in for the night where we all can stay dry and warm. Our mission for tomorrow is to gather and get. ASAP.”

Acutely aware that they’re watching us. The unsavory thugs, the frightened, the feral. Brett, Cord, and Joshua will explore north of Main Street, seeking a safe place for the night, a meal while keeping us in view. Addison, Frank, and I will venture south of Main Street with the wagon, checking out alleyways, shops to visit in the morning, a covered place to settle in for the night, and dinner.

Frank, always first to ask, “Was there a plan?”

“Plan update. Addison will join us, and we’ll seek some cover. You three stay out of trouble while monitoring us. Tomorrow we’ll find out whatever, visit some local merchants and wander alleys and backyards, collecting what they do not tie down or what we can barter for. Then, tomorrow at noon, meet and slip out. Homeward bound with collected bounty.”

Their gazes feel heavy, the villagers observing our helplessness with a voyeuristic air.

My mood matches the weather: out of control.

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