Smith

by Wade Adrian

  “You do?”

  “Guard duty. Duh. You notice anyone else walking around with weapons? You got me out of a shift standing on the wall, but I’m not sure working myself half to death was better. Nice boring wall shift sounds kind of nice right now.”

  “Huh. Why did Bishop give my knife back, then?”

  “Well, it’s yours for one. Second, a lot of people own weapons they just don’t carry them around. Things that pass for weapons anyway. They’re not forbidden or anything, but carrying one on a daily basis does sort of imply if something goes down you’re willing to help. Most people keep them at home just in case anyone ever shows up in force. Do with yours what you will.”

  “Hmm.” Seemed best to keep it for now. Things might change later… but it seemed all too clear that the safety this place offered was only as real as the fence was tall.

  The little town was much less lively as they approached it. It hadn’t been that long… maybe an hour and a half, at most. There were still people around but they were busy with things that looked like work. Breaking down tables, cleaning up the picnic area, some sweeping, and apparently a guard shift change at the gate.

  “Evening.”

  9

  Miles stopped, turning on his heel.

  Bishop was sitting in a rocking chair, gently swaying back and forth on a covered wooden porch. Edna had a rocker of her own on the other side of a small table.

  The guard nodded. “Sir.”

  “How is your project going?”

  Miles looked to Smith. The guard might have rank, however that worked here, but it was Smith’s project.

  “If you’ve got a generator you don’t mind me using for a bit tomorrow, I can probably throw together a few bows. Found most of the parts for the rig. Seems promising.”

  “Really now. That’s good news. I’m curious to see one. I don’t like to mention it in mixed company, but the reality is bullets are getting hard to come by.”

  Smith nodded. He had been hearing the same for years and it only got more true with time. “All the factories stopping will do that. Miles here has been a great help, by the way. Though we did bang his knee up a bit. My fault. Moved something I shouldn’t have.”

  Bishop shrugged a bit. “Bound to happen in all that clutter. Hopefully the last accident.” His attention shifted to the young man. “You need a trip to the medic?”

  Miles shook his head. “I’ve had worse. Should be fine in a day or two. Maybe a little stiff in the meantime.”

  The older man smiled. “Take the day off tomorrow. Rest up. Reward for helping today.”

  “Thanks.” Miles looked aside at Smith. “My bow one of the ones you’re making tomorrow?”

  Smith shrugged. “Could be?”

  “Cool. I’ll limp over to watch.”

  Edna leaned forward in her chair. “Good evening, Mary. What’s got you out so late?”

  Mary had been half hiding behind Smith. It seemed rather rude that Edna would ask her something knowing full well the girl didn’t speak… but that didn’t slow Mary down much. She swept her hands through the air, making a series of gestures.

  Sign language. Huh.

  Edna’s eyebrows climbed a bit. “Something at the fence? Well, I’m glad you got it patched up.” She sat back in her chair, an irritated look pointed square at her husband. “I told you we need to improve the fences.”

  Bishop sighed. “As soon as you find a hardware store that’s still open, I’ll get right on it. But good luck at this hour.” He rolled his eyes. “You know anything about fences, Smith?”

  “Uh… been awhile, but I suppose. Yeah.”

  “See?” Bishop waved to present Smith to his wife. “Told you I was working on it.”

  “Ha. Hardly. Serendipity isn’t something you can take credit for, dear.”

  “Why not? I do it all the time.”

  Edna’s eyes turned back to them. “I’m glad everything worked out. I’m sure your parents are looking for you, though. Good night, dear.” She waved.

  Smith was… mildly confused until he noticed Mary signing again. She gave him a small nod and waved to everyone before turning and wandering away, disappearing from sight between the buildings.

  “Talking” to her was going to take some getting used to. But clearly others had. He wondered if only Edna could understand her. Surely her family must have picked it up. And whoever she worked with in her field hand clothes.

  “So…” Bishop’s chair creaked. His face was hard to read, lost in the shadows of the porch. “What really happened?”

  Miles made a detailed study of his boots.

  Smith tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re new, uninformed, and we certainly appreciate your efforts on behalf of our community, Smith.” Bishop took a sip from a coffee cup sitting on his table. “But traditionally, when someone wants to leave we don’t stop them.”

  Smith frowned.

  Edna nodded. “When someone chooses to abandon us, they have already spent time considering it and found something wanting. Even if they stay after that point, they will be less productive. So we let them go. No effort is made to stop them.”

  Bishop shut his eyes as he rocked. “If they return, they do so with a greater respect for what they already had, and they are all the better for it. If they don’t return? Well…” he shrugged, “then they still aren’t using up food or water while not pulling their weight.”

  Smith tried to keep his face neutral. It all sounded rather callous, but it made sense. And it was a kinder system than some he had run across in the past. Still… to not even try and stop them seemed irresponsible. “She wasn’t wrong. There was something out there. I’ve run across them before.”

  Bishop leaned forward now. “Green eyes, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Miles nodded. “Gate guards see those eyes two or three times a month. Guess we just assumed they weren’t interested in the rest of the fence because they couldn’t see in.”

  “I’m told they hunt by scent.” Smith’s shoulder ached a bit.

  Bishop rubbed at his chin. “The hunters suspect as much, though it’s never been confirmed. They have always taken precautions to mask their scent anyway. Just something hunters do.”

  “I didn’t have that benefit.”

  Edna leaned forward now. “You’ve seen one up close?”

  “Close enough to touch it. But it was dark, so I didn’t see it, no.”

  “But you’re… alive.”

  “I have scars, and spent a week in a sickbed. Tended to by people who found me. If I had been alone…” He shook his head. “So when I saw the eyes, I helped her patch the fence.” He wasn’t going to admit to what Mary had been attempting, even if they had guessed at it. He’d told her he would keep it to himself.

  Miles smiled a bit, once more looking at the ground, but he didn’t say anything.

  Edna concealed a smile of her own with her hand as she leaned back in her chair.

  Bishop let out an exasperated breath. “Appreciated, Smith. The hunters might have a few questions for you too, now. Go get some sleep. I’m sure we can find a generator for you.” He set his chair to rocking again. “How many bows do you think you can make with what’s in there? How much time does it take to make one?”

  “Takes an hour or two, maybe. Faster with a bit of help to keep the parts moving. Don’t need the generator running the whole time, only when using heat. Afraid not all of what’s there is useful stock, though. Weather damage, and simply drying out. But a lot of it should be good. Incidentally, some spray paint would help if you’ve got any. Things that bond with plastic are better, but anything will cover it. Keeps the material from outgassing. Makes it last longer. Sun eats it up otherwise. All in all, I’d say… maybe enough for twenty or thirty. But I can’t see needing that many.”

  Bishop’s chair stopped when Smith had given a number. Had he been surprised? The chair started again a moment later. “Better to have something a
nd not need it. Besides, there are some traveling traders that come by. Weapons of any sort will give us an edge in haggling. They’re hard to come by.”

  Miles chuckled. “No pressure.”

  Bishop waved at them dismissively. “Go on, get. You gentlemen have had a long day. Plenty of time for these discussions tomorrow.”

  Smith stretched his neck a bit. “Sounds good.” He waved. “Night.”

  Edna smiled and waved. “Do try to rest. I know the first night is hard, but you can trust in the walls and there’s someone keeping watch at all hours.”

  Bishop nodded. “And with Miles on holiday, it will be someone competent.”

  Edna smacked him.

  Miles just chuckled. “Come on, Smith. This way.”

  The building with sleeping quarters for traders and travelers, an inn he supposed, was still open when they arrived. Miles leaned in the door and nodded at the old man behind the desk. “Bishop come by?”

  The bespectacled man set a book aside and looked up. “Yes. Is this him?”

  Miles nodded and shoved Smith in the door. “All yours. I’m sure you have instructions.”

  “Hmph.” The old man climbed up from his chair. “This way, if you please.” He plucked a key from a hook on the wall behind him. There were at least twenty of them.

  The place looked… smaller inside. It was a large building, but the entrance where the old man had been sitting behind a counter seemed cramped. The hallway he was lead down was only just wide enough for two men to walk abreast.

  “How are you finding our little community?”

  “Oh, it’s quite nice. Peaceful.”

  “Mmm.” The old man nodded. “Most days. You a trader?”

  “Uh, no. Blacksmith, I guess. I make things.”

  “Really.” The man adjusted his glasses. “So, you’re a permanent resident?”

  “That’s the idea. Think I might still have some tests to pass.”

  The old man stopped at a door with a metal four pinned to the outside. “I wouldn’t fret it. Most people that fail tests do it on the first day.” He held up the key. “Accommodations aren’t for just anyone.” He held the key out to Smith.

  He took it with a nod. “Thanks, and for the kind words.”

  “Mmm.” The old man pushed his glasses back up. “Washroom at the end of the hall, hot water available in the mornings. Breakfast is served in the square at seven or so.”

  “Guess it would be silly to ask for a wakeup call.”

  “Well, I can yell. But it’s not generally an issue. The roosters make a racket at sunup.”

  “I think I was trying to be funny.”

  “If that’s you’re aim, you’ll need a joke everyone else doesn’t tell.” The old man turned and headed back down the hallway. “If you need anything, I’ll be out here.”

  “Thanks.” Smith called after him, then regretted it. Other people might be trying to sleep. Things like that just… hadn’t been a concern for awhile.

  The room wasn’t exactly spacious, about twice the size of the bed, but now the building’s layout made sense. They had broken it up into as many sleeping quarters as possible, even if those were a little cramped.

  There was a small window on the far wall. Light from the lamps outside made it in well enough for him to see. There was a lantern on a small table beside the bed, along with a matchbook.

  He locked the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. The matchbook was all but weightless when he gently picked it up.

  It was strange to think they had been so common once that he paid them no mind, and yet yesterday he would have given up most of his possessions to have one even knowing its uses were finite.

  Crazy how one’s fortunes could shift.

  He didn’t bother to light the lamp as he laid back on the bed. It seemed like a waste.

  One’s fortune changing on a whim seemed to be almost commonplace anymore. His had seen more ups and downs than the average roller coaster, but he still found himself willing to hope this was the last change. A good change.

  It was good that he had taken the risk. If they stormed in while he slept and chopped him to bits, well… at least he had gotten a few warm meals out of it.

  His hand rested on the hilt of his knife as he closed his eyes and tried not to think. Quiet, calm. It was probably polite, or whatever, to kick off his shoes, but he preferred to leave them on. His feet rested on the floor.

  They held some rather harsh beliefs here. His usefulness might keep him safe, but while he might be willing to hope he wasn’t ready to trust just yet.

  10

  Smith would swear he had only just shut his eyes when the damned roosters started crowing.

  Light was just beginning to filter through the flimsy drapes into the room. He hadn’t even noticed the drapes the night before. He didn’t know how long he had sat awake. A few hours at least, just waiting for someone to knock the door down.

  His own fault. The roosters weren’t early. Their professionalism was not in question.

  He rubbed at his neck as he sat up. There was a crick in it. He sighed and silently chided himself for not using the bed the proper way. After all, his paranoia had not payed off. But it was easy to say that after nothing happened.

  He grumbled as he climbed to his feet and fished around in his pocket for the key.

  The hallway was empty. No one had come looking for him yet, though he doubted it would be possible to sneak out unseen, even if he wanted to. Probably best to wait until someone came to fetch him… though he didn’t have to wait here. He stepped out into the hall, locked the door behind him, and turned right towards the end of the hallway.

  Bathing had become something of a silly old world tradition since everything went to hell. The closest thing he’d had in months was a swimming in questionable rivers and being stuck in the rain. Neither really counted in his book. Keeping his clothes clean was more important, but even that was kind of relative. Soap didn’t exactly grow on trees. Or maybe it did, he wasn’t sure how they made it.

  But since they were kind enough to offer, he might as well indulge in a silly tradition for old times sake.

  The washroom was unlocked. He wandered in casually, trying to look like he belonged. There were six “tubs” made from cutting large wooden barrels in half. Probably easier to move than a normal bathtub, now that he thought about it. Besides, most tubs were fitted to walls anymore. The free standing ones were rare. Each tub had a release valve at the bottom, and the concrete floor sloped down a bit toward a grate set in the middle.

  Must have been here before. No way they poured a slab this large without a truck. Part of the garage or something. Clever to make use of it.

  The water in a reservoir at the far end of the room was hot, though it wasn’t using a water heater. There was a fire burning on one end of the room with the metal reservoir above it and buckets sitting on the ground. There was a chimney of sorts over it, a metal duct that was fitted to the wall.

  This must have been a kitchen, or something akin to one. Huh.

  No one had killed him in his sleep but that didn’t mean any everything was fine here. He felt a bit vulnerable, even with the shut door. Still…

  His knife ended up in reach of the tub, his clothes piled up on a chair he dragged over to the furthest tub from the door. The chair had come from a counter with a few mirrors set up. It seemed like the way to get the most time to react to someone entering.

  Most of the tub was already filled with room temperature water, but the few buckets from the heated pot made it soothingly warm.

  He could see grime letting go of him and floating to the top as he climbed in. Ugh. Had it been that long? A bit of scrubbing got the rest. There was soap but… he couldn’t imagine it had been easy to come by. Best not to waste it on someone like him. He was just going to get dirty again. Probably before lunch.

  It wasn’t exactly comfortable in the round tub, he couldn’t stretch his legs out, but the warmth almost made
him fall asleep again.

  Stupid roosters.

  His eyes shot open when he heard the door close. Not open, close. Comfort had robbed him of precious time to react to…

  A young woman with red hair was standing just inside. “There you are. Bit ahead of schedule, hmm?”

  She walked over to the tub carrying a bundle of cloth. Smith didn’t take his eyes off her. She could easily have a knife. Mary had magicked one up the night before. Maybe they all had them.

  She stopped a few paces away, setting the bundle down on the counter. “Towels, and some fresh clothes, as requested.”

  “I don’t recall requesting anything.”

  “Mister Bishop did. Afraid all we had clean in your size was some spares for the farm hands. They have laundry done practically every day.”

  Huh. “Thanks.”

  She shrugged. “You’re expected in an hour or so. Bishop said he found what you asked about. Don’t ask me what that means, because I don’t know.”

  He had found a generator then. Good.

  Smith’s eyes snapped to the side as the woman picked up his pile of clothes. She pulled the belt from his pants and set it and the knife back down. “We’ll get these cleaned up by this evening. I’ll put them in your room.” She raised an eyebrow as her finger poked out through a hole in the shirt. “Unless you prefer I turn them over to be made into cleaning rags.”

  “Uh, no. I’d like to keep them. Thanks.”

  She shrugged and wandered back toward the door. “Don’t forget, one hour.”

  The door opened and shut again.

  So much for privacy. And if he was ahead of schedule, that probably meant he was here early. He didn’t relish the idea of sharing the room with other bathers. He wasn’t that comfortable with the idea of other people yet. Too exposed.

  Hell, he’d never been that comfortable with other people.

  He dunked his head into a bucket of hot water and scrubbed at his hair with a bit of the soap, the smallest sliver he could find. He rinsed it off with water from the non heated tank and set to drying it.

  One of the old mirrors set up along the counter showed him his reflection. He paused. He hadn’t seen it in awhile. He really could use a shave…