Dystopia Chapter 27: Making More Friends

Moving onward, the village was silent. Quiet enough to wander freely, although folks were watching and judging. We hoped to get a warm welcome, but that wouldn’t last. Hope is a sign of weakness. A character flaw. 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 can 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 others will get an accommodating greeting. Meanwhile, we continued to wander about, seeking a location to secure our wagon and avoid confrontation. Found a front yard where, for a small fee, we could “rent” the space for the day. Hate to split up, but personable Frank and Addison will venture out and see where supplies might be available for purchase. They seemed to be amenable. I will stay with the wagon.

Trouble, like rain, comes and goes. Difficult to know the good guys from the bad guys, and I saw several wandering my way, three nefarious characters. I sat in the back of the wagon, doing my best not to make eye contact, feigning boredom, hoping they would pass on by.

They stopped. Wait. Maybe with any luck they will tootle along. One moved forward alongside the wagon — a horse’s whinny. Shifting, he kicked the wagon, seeking to gain my attention. I lurched as if startled. “Afternoon,” I mumbled.

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

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

“Bummer, nice wagon,” he repeated. “We? We who?”

“It’s old,” I noted.

“Whose is older, the guy or the wagon?” he asked.

“Both.”

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

Two were still straight ahead, maybe thirty feet away, shifting their position, alert. The third mounted to my left.

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

“Did you just call me a dick?”

Oops. It worked for Frank.

“Now move away,” he commanded.

Gotta work on my socializing skills.

He pulled his pistol, now resting on his hip, cocked. The other two still seemed confident there would not be a problem, sat in their saddles, still side by side, straight ahead. Beginners, this is a careless deployment.

Their eyes betrayed them. Someone was approaching from behind me. More trouble?

“Out of the wagon, slowly,” he demanded.

For now, I will follow his directions slowly. But in my peripheral vision — wait — I now saw Addison approaching. Standing, I turned back to face my adversaries and saw Frank to the right, then on the other side, the others.

Addison approached, shaking her head. “Three grown men badgering this old guy, really?”

He evaluated the situation, then, without a word, grunted. He turned and rode off with others tailing behind.

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

“Apparently, I’m old, mentally addled, unable to communicate, and a magnet for trouble. We should leave posthaste, but.” It had turned colder. As the sun descended, the wind-driven rain created a challenging environment for departure, and with others observing, it would also be a perilous action.

“We need to find a place and settle in for the night. We need to complete our search for materials.”

I knew acutely that they were watching us. They…, the unsavory thugs, the frightened, the feral. Revised plan: Brett, Cord, and Joshua will explore north of Main Street, seeking a safe place for the night and 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, said, “What’s the plan?”

“Plan updated. The three of us will 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. Tomorrow at noon, meet and slip out. Hopefully, without notice.”

Did I just say hopefully?

My mood matches the weather: out of control.

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