Smith

by Wade Adrian

  He locked the door before lying down and staring at the ceiling.

  The lights dancing on the roof were annoying at first, but he found his eyelids getting heavy after a half hour or so.

  His mind was fuzzy when the birds started their racket. He tried to cover his head with his pillow, but it didn’t help. Broken shards of horrific dreams of the world outside plagued his weary mind, but like all dreams they faded away to nothing as he sat up and shook his head.

  This was no day to be tardy. Hopefully the water was already heating up. He wasn’t going to get another chance to bathe in comfort for at least a month.

  It was the innkeeper that brought him clothes this time. He waltzed in, set them down just inside the door, and left again without a word. Smith would have thanked him, if he’d stuck around long enough for him to speak. Guy was spry for his age.

  The outfit was black jeans and a green thermal shirt, so his tailor was expecting winter before long, too. Great.

  He dressed swiftly and was back to his room before his hair was dry. He didn’t have much to secure, really. His only possessions not on his person were at the shop. Well, and the shop itself, though he might not recognize it when he got back.

  The construction crew had been doing good work. No reason to assume they would stop and start doing shoddy work while he was gone. Still, he would have liked to be present.

  He belted on his knife and holster before laying his hand on the doorknob. There was a knock.

  20

  Bishop was standing in the hall. He wasn’t dressed for travel. Just another day for him, but he was carrying some stuff. He barged in past Smith. The room was pretty tiny, so with two occupants it felt downright crowded.

  “Thomas said you wear tens.” He held up a pair of hiking boots. “Hopefully ten and a half won’t be a big problem.”

  Smith blinked at the shoes. They looked all but new. Maybe worn a few times by someone that had never hiked anything but stairs. “Uh, yeah. That should be fine. Thanks.”

  He nodded and held out a leather jacket. “While I’m pretty sure this is a bit too large, the alternative was an ever larger one. And this, of course.” He held out a backpack. “Travel rations, blanket, water, a compass and map of the local area. Our location is marked… ambiguously. There are several marks, and we are at the center of those, if you draw connecting lines.”

  Smith’s eyebrow crept up. “That’s rather clever. Though I’ll try to burn it or eat it if I think it will fall into the wrong hands.”

  Bishop chuckled. “Don’t fret it. You’ll only need to check it at all if you somehow get separated from the group. A failsafe. But don’t get separated.”

  Smith took the bag and coat before setting them on the bed. “I hope this trip is worth all the resources going into it.”

  Bishop shrugged a bit. “We’ve had good runs in the past, but we’ve also had other opportunities dead end, or run dry. To be perfectly frank, we need this to pan out. Rawlins is running low on supplies, your shop is practically empty, and the tools that were in there have pretty much worn down to nothing in the process of farming, ranching, and construction. But, if I may make a request…”

  Smith shrugged into the coat. It wasn’t exactly cold outside, but he was easier than carrying it. “Shoot.”

  “Books. I know they’re heavy, I know they might be in rough condition, but if you can find books, useful books, that would be a godsend.”

  “Like… what? Cookbooks?”

  “Anything. Cooking, growing food, raising animals, building things with wood, maybe something to expand your own knowledge. Most people here are doing their best with limited information. Wilson runs the fields as best he can, but he wasn’t a farmer, he was a landscaper who kept a garden. He’s tried to do that on a large scale but some things simply don’t scale up. You might have also noticed we don’t have any horses. We caught some, but we couldn’t keep them in good health, so we released them again. Chickens and pigs are easy, but beyond that we’re kind of stumped.”

  Smith nodded. “Right. Hardware store might have something like that. Pharmacy might too. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “If you can, condense multiple subjects into single volumes. That might help with weight even if it means less information in the long run.”

  “I’ll figure something out.” Smith shrugged. “I could really use some brushing up on my woodworking skills. Goes hand in hand with metal.”

  “Anything else you think will help us here, grab it if you can. I understand there’s going to be a weight limit, I do. But I also know only you and Rawlins will care much about this request, and he’s going to be looking for medical books above all else. The others are mostly concerned with survival and carting back gear.”

  Smith tilted his head as he pulled the bag up onto his shoulder. “That might be a thing to look for, too. Survival books. They were all the rage for awhile there. Living off the land, hunting, maybe even tanning hides or making jerky. Things the hunters and scouts might not need to brush up on, but could still be useful to the rest of us.”

  Bishop opened the door. “I like it, but I think you’ll have higher priorities.” He ducked his head out into the hall, glancing both ways before sticking his hand into his pocket. “This hasn’t exactly been cleared, but…” He pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it out toward Smith while he kept watching the hall.

  The little green cardboard box was full of .38 special rounds. Smith snatched them and stuck the box in the pocket of his coat. “Are you sure about this?”

  Bishop shrugged. “Only use for them is self defense. Tiny gun like that won’t be much help on the wall. Besides, we have bigger ones for that. At least, we do right now. I’d like you to be safe, and keep an eye on Rawlins, too. The outdoors-men can get distracted sometimes. Rawlins keeps his own sidearm for things like this. You watch out for him, he watches out for you.” He grumbled a bit as he dropped his voice. “Don’t like having two division heads outside at the same time.”

  “Four, right? Me, Rawlins, Ross, and Baron.”

  Bishop waved dismissively as he stepped out into the hall and started for the lobby. “Those guys live outside. They’ll be fine. At the least, nothing to worry about.” The lobby was empty as they passed through. “Most of Baron’s people just check in once or twice a week. Keeping tabs on the animal populations outside the walls, as well as our exterior fields. Those take some serious attention to keep free of pests. Fortunately, many of those pests are edible. Rabbits, birds, that sort of thing.”

  Smith’s face twisted up a bit. “I’ve had chicken so far.”

  “Yeah, we had a few get past their egg laying prime. If you spend any time by the ranch, try not to name them. The more… exotic meat only comes in when we have a lack of normal stuff. Otherwise the hunters and scouts just feed themselves with it. Keeps our stores up.” Bishop pointed at a group gathering by the gate. “You’ll be learning all about that, I suppose. Your rations, like the map and compass, are just in case. Military rations we found a stored up. Rawlins swears they’ll be good until time stops. Personally, I don’t want to find out.”

  A nip in the morning air caused Smith to pull his jacket a bit tighter. “Didn’t realize it was that late in the year…” He muttered to himself, offhandedly.

  Bishop nodded. “You’ll need to be swift to avoid snow. Try not to let anything slow you down.”

  “Snow, right.” Smith sighed a bit. “Heh, suppose I’ll miss Thanksgiving then. Shame.”

  Bishop shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t celebrate it. Or much else anymore. We just tell the children Santa can’t find us here. Our defenses are just too good. Small point of pride. A few of them hold out hope, but these days… we’re more concerned with surviving than things like that.”

  “Understandable.”

  The kitchens were humming, but it was too early for anyone to really be gathering. Well, other than the group by the gate. A few stragglers off in the d
istance could be seen getting a head start on their more normal day.

  Bishop and Smith approached the small delegation gathered at the gate.

  Baron gave a nod as they stopped. “Morning. Waiting on Rawlins and two of Ross’ people to check in.”

  Three people dressed just like Baron were waiting at the gate, each with a bow and a quiver on their backs while a hatchet and large bowie knife were hanging from their belts. Their own layers of green rags varied in color, but they were all clearly the same design.

  Ross and his guy had the same short rag capes, but they lacked all the leather and bows. They still had knives and hatchets, though they looked to be large kitchen knives. Any port in a storm. Smith could probably whip up something better as soon as they got back. Ross was openly wearing a pistol and a belt with more rounds. His scout wore a sidearm as well, though he didn’t have the fancy gun belt. Perks for being in charge, perhaps.

  Baron’s people didn’t have firearms that Smith could see, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have them. His was under his coat, after all.

  Smith almost jumped at the silent tap on his shoulder. It was getting entirely too common. He turned, trying to figure out any last minute things to tell Mary.

  It was her father, Wilson, that was standing there. “Smith.” He raised his chin. “Got a minute?”

  Oh, good.

  Smith inclined his head politely. “Of course.”

  Wilson walked a few steps away from the group. Smith followed. The farmer pulled a few folded sheets from his pocket. “Got a list of tools I’d like you to keep an eye out for. Any you can find and carry is fine. I don’t dare to hope for seeds, but if you find any, please grab what you can. Place could use some variety. Peanuts would be a godsend.”

  Smith nodded as he took the sheets. He recognized most of the tools, but even the ones he hadn’t seen in person had drawings. “Huh. That’s handy.”

  “My daughter Mary has a good eye for detail.” Wilson crossed his arms. “Suppose that will be useful in her new trade.”

  There it was.

  Well, with any luck that all this was. He didn’t need these problems today.

  “I told her she had my approval, but that that probably didn’t mean she had all the approval she would need. I figured you’d have an opinion, and that Bishop might, too.”

  Wilson shrugged. “Truth be told we have plenty of hands, and it doesn’t take much to get another to a useful level. All the youths start their work life with me or on the ranch. It’s… more of a family matter than a business one.”

  And it might yet get worse. “I take it you approve, then? I told her even if it was approved, to help with the harvest when they’re not working on the shop. Don’t need people sitting idle.”

  “Indeed. About that…” Wilson scratched at his chin for a moment. “Rawlins show you his ledger yet?”

  Smith tried not to sigh. It came out as “Eh,” instead. “Yeah. I got the speech.”

  The farmer just nodded. “I don’t disagree with him. It makes sense. That doesn’t make it any easier as a father, of course, but…” he shrugged, “she seems to have taken a shine to you, and you’ve been a helpful sort. You come back from this and I won’t voice any objections.”

  Once again Smith felt the nagging thought that everyone else had his life plotted out. Maybe that was normal when one was part of a tiny community like this. It had been awhile since he was a part of any community. “I pretty much told them I was open to the idea, and I’m happy if that’s her opinion, but this is all still a bit… strange for me.”

  Wilson patted him on the shoulder. “Well, afraid it’s just something you’ll have to get used to. Practical, and all. There will be plenty of time for flowers and whatever you can find to pass for chocolates later.”

  Smith chuckled. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. But as her father, of course, if you do anything untoward…”

  “They’ll never find my body? I mean between the pigs and the fields…”

  “I guess that will do. I was just going to tell you about my shotgun, less graphic, but I think you get the picture.”

  “I think the pellets would be hard on the pigs.”

  “You’re a strange duck, Smith.”

  “Mostly just nervous, I’m sure.”

  “Feh.” Wilson shook his head. “Don’t fret it. We’ll hold down the fort. You just stay in one piece and stick with the group. Honestly, I’m glad you came along.”

  “Oh?”

  “If you hadn’t, that would be me in a silly jacket gnawing on rations in the cold.”

  No wonder Wilson was a bit more chummy than Smith had anticipated. “Oh, well you’re welcome, then.”

  Wilson chuckled. “Good luck, and good hunting.”

  Smith smiled a bit as he wandered back to the group. That hadn’t been nearly as painful as he had feared. The guy was alright… shotgun aside.

  He almost bumped into Mary.

  These Wilsons were a sneaky bunch.

  She held out a notepad.

  He tilted his head a bit. “What’s this for?”

  She tapped the cover. The first page was already scribbled up. “I’m curious how the outside world is doing. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to leave, but I do still want to know how things have changed, and if they’re getting better. Please take notes on your journey. I’ll read them when you get back. Sort of like writing to me, though you have to deliver them yourself.”

  He glanced up at her from the page. “You probably have better use for this book.”

  She shook her head and turned the first page. The second had writing as well. “This is for you. Something to remind you of home.”

  He chuckled a bit. “I’m getting that predictable, huh?”

  She smiled and nodded a few times.

  He tucked the notepad into his pocket. “Okay, I’ll take some notes. Don’t expect any works of art, though. And you’ll need a correspondence course to decipher my handwriting.”

  She patted him on the cheek before waving and turning away. She glanced back when she got to the kitchens before ducking inside.

  21

  “You done talking to the Wilsons? I think there are a few more around.” Bishop was watching him with a raised eyebrow when Smith turned back to the group. Rawlins was with them now. His gear looked much more professional than Smith’s slapped together ensemble.

  Another of Ross’ people had arrived, and Smith could see one more waiting outside through the crack between the fence and the gate.

  “Just some last minute requests.” Smith held up the papers Wilson had given him before stuffing them into his pocket with the notepad.

  “Good.” Bishop nodded. “Everyone ready, then? You gentlemen try not to lose your charges.” He was looking at Ross and Baron.

  Baron waved up at the gate. “Clear?”

  Cooper, old baseball bat himself, was on the raised platform. “It’s clear. Open it up.”

  The sound of the metal gate scraping as it opened wasn’t exactly familiar. It had sounded rather pleasant before for some reason, but it sounded just like racket now.

  Of course, him not wanting to leave probably had something to do with it. Community issues aside, this was quite the place to be, and he was marching back out into the wild…

  Could this be an elaborate plot to get rid of him? Certainly a long way to go. Easier to just shoot him. Or, if that was too graphic for the public, drag him outside in the night. Getting him to leave willingly might be a good pretense… but he assumed Baron actually approved of his craftsmanship, if not of Smith himself, and having Rawlins wander out too would just be poor planning on their part. Needlessly risking someone important.

  He shook his head back and forth, trying to shake the paranoia. It wasn’t doing him any favors. He had seen the place and knew they had no one that could fill in for him. He was worthwhile. He had value. They were only risking him because of the great chance of a positive return on their inv
estment.

  Practical, like Wilson had said.

  Smith’s feet were a bit slow to respond as he walked toward the gate.

  He recalled thinking the sound of the shutting gate was ominous before. That he was locked in, for better or for worse. Well, it was ominous this time, too. It wasn’t fear that he would be locked out, but fear that it was the last time he would see the place.

  “Come on, Smith. Time to be going.” Rawlins laid a hand on his shoulder. “It gets easier to wander in and out, trust me.”

  Ross scoffed. “Pretty much just a place to sleep in peace.”

  Baron tugged his hood up. “Food is better in there.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  Smith was quite familiar with the road. He’d spent more time building up the courage to approach than he had inside inside the walls. Of course, he was much better off this time. Food and water. Better clothes for the chilly nights. New boots.

  Bullets.

  Even if he didn’t make it back, he had come out way ahead.

  He shooed away the unwanted thought. He was going to come back. He was going to step through the gate again, tools, books, and maybe seed packets in hand. Things would get better and more sustainable for their efforts.

  Positive. Think positive.

  Rawlins chuckled. “Stop looking back. They’ll think you’re scared to wander out or something.”

  “I am scared.”

  “That’s fine. Doesn’t mean you should show it. Let the people back there think you’ve got this all figured out, well in hand. Helps them sleep easier.”

  Smith frowned. “Yeah, I guess.”

  For the sake of those watching, they marched on in silence. It was nearly hour later when they stopped at an old abandoned shack. It looked like a rough patch of condemned, but Ross walked up to the door anyway.

  Smith took a few moments to lace his boots up tighter. Maybe he should have tried a second pair of socks or something.