Smith

by Wade Adrian

  Morei shifted from foot to foot, seeing what he could through the glass door. “Lets stay at Defcon 4 anyway.”

  Huh. Smith moved the cart a bit, weaving a few of the bungee cords through the door handle of a truck. No one would run off with it without some headaches and some noise.

  Morei pulled the door open a few inches, moving it very slowly. He reached in and grabbed the bell hanging on the inside before it could make a sound.

  The hunter ducked in first, Smith followed, and Morei quietly shut the door behind them. He removed the bell entirely and gently set it down.

  It seemed like much ado about nothing. The place was silent. The air inside warm and stale. Some shelves were still loaded with stuff while others were bare, just like the hardware store.

  Smith stepped forward, casually putting his knife away, but Morei grabbed his arm. The scout shook his head and pulled Smith back to stand with them.

  Hunter and scout both swept their eyes across the place, weapons at the ready.

  It seemed pretty clear to Smith, but this wasn’t his arena. He had avoided places like this while he was outside. And yet part of his mind wondered why the hardware store had been less of a threat. It was bigger, more places to hide. Maybe it was simply because nothing there had given them reason to be cautious.

  Morei pointed at the cash register by the door. It was sitting on an L shaped counter. “Get back there, stay quiet for now.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  Smith shrugged and wandered around the counter. He glanced down at his feet from time to time, looking for more cans or whatever. While the shelves were not exactly in order, the floor was pretty clean. Not clean clean, there was some dirt, but without a lot of junk lying around.

  There was a little trapdoor behind the counter, flush with the ground. Probably electrical access or something. All of the displays and lights around him were wired to something, working or not.

  He sat with his back to the wall, the room at large hidden. He could see quite a bit of it in mirrors hung up around the edge of the ceiling, though. Morei and the hunter poked through the aisles, giving each other silent signals and moving with precision. No wonder they had kicked Smith out. It appeared he had missed a few scout classes and they didn’t care for his improvised signals.

  He thought they had been pretty clear.

  The stuffy air bugged him after a few minutes. The place had no windows to open, but maybe they could prop the door open once they were sufficiently convinced it was safe. His coat suddenly seemed uncomfortably warm.

  “Bleh.” He rolled his head around his shoulders and sighed.

  His eyes fell on the trap door again.

  It was propped up an inch or so, a shining pair of eyes deep inside watching him.

  He blinked a few times. “Umm, guys?”

  The door flew open, arms reaching out and latching onto Smith. He couldn’t find anything to grab onto as he slid across the floor into darkness.

  He heard the door slam shut, and something metallic scraping, followed by a thud.

  26

  Smith groaned as he tried to sit up.

  A weak light flickered on. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust.

  The skinny man standing over him looked like a scarecrow. His clothes hung loose and his hair was a mess, sticking out every which way. A pair of glasses hung in front of his eyes, making them hard to see for the reflected light.

  “Don’t move!” His voice was high pitched, almost breaking.

  He was holding a familiar looking .38 special.

  Smith sighed and held up his empty hands. “Really?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Smith, I’m a… smith.”

  The scarecrow tilted its head. “Who are those men?”

  “Guards, more or less. We’re from a town, looking for supplies.”

  The scarecrow’s eyes leapt around the tiny electrical room before landing on a metal box. He set the light down and snatched the box up, the gun held pointed at smith the entire time.

  The little box had a wand on its side. The man waved it at Smith.

  His eyebrow crept up. “A Geiger counter, really?”

  “You’re lying. You’re raiders. Thugs. Here to take my things.”

  “Well, first off, I don’t think a Geiger counter can detect that, and secondly, if you live here I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. We’ve got almost seventy people to look after though, so we need some of this stuff. We’ll make a trade. I’m sure your people need something.”

  The scarecrow ignored him as the trapdoor above boomed and shook. Dust fell down on Smith, still lying on the floor, his hands high.

  He could hear Morei above. “Smith? You okay? Why is this thing locked?”

  The scarecrow’s wild eyes turned back to him. The guy was shaking. “Tell them to leave, or I’ll kill you!”

  “It’s okay.” Smith pitched his voice up. “No big deal.”

  Morei didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll get something from the cart.”

  “Yeah, maybe don’t do that…” Smith sighed. “He probably already left.”

  The wild eyes swept up to the door and back down to Smith. “What cart?”

  “We found the hardware store first. All kinds of tools. You might have missed it the… several times it’s been said, but I’m a blacksmith. I make things.” Smith lowered his hands, shifting on the floor a bit.

  The gun shook his his direction. “Don’t move!”

  Smith sighed. “I’m uncomfortable. Deal with it.”

  If the guy was going to shoot him, he probably would have by now. Moving about did confirm his gun was missing, though. So he had a knife… and his wits.

  “You can stop pointing that at me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Moptop didn’t seem convinced. He backed up a step or two, as far as he could get, his back to the wall. “You’re raiding my home.”

  “We’re looking for supplies. We’re here, specifically in this building, for medicine. We have people that need it, or will in the future. We’ve got a medic who knows about this stuff. He gave me a list, if you’d like to see it.”

  Scarecrow just shook his head. “No. No. You’re raiders. Raiders!”

  It wasn’t all that unusual to find people that had gone around the bend. Most of them out here had. Far more unusual to find sane ones. Smith had learned to simply avoid confrontations. For every one decent person you had a handful of whackos.

  He shifted his weight and stood up.

  The gun shook at him all the while.

  The note from Rawlins was easy enough to find, and sticking his hand in his pocket would have given the guy ample reason to shoot if he really wanted to. “Here, this is from our medic. Proof we’re here for specific things. We’re not just grabbing whatever. If you claim this stuff, we’ll pay for it somehow.”

  Scarecrow’s eyes turned down to the note. He snatched it away from Smith and held it close to the little light. His lips moved as he mumbled to himself while he read.

  “Amoxicillin…” He blinked a few times. “Amoxicillin.” He tilted his head.

  “Right. That’s good, for some reason?”

  “It’s a penicillin based antibiotic.” The glasses turned to Smith. “People looking for things to get whacked out of their gourds wouldn’t care about it.”

  “News to me, I just make things out of metal.” Smith shrugged. “Like I said though, Rawlins, our medic, knows his business.” He held out his hand. “Can I have my gun back? Kind of a family memento.”

  Scarecrow blinked at the gun in his shaking hand. “Ah. Yes. I suppose.” He moved his finger away from the trigger and held it out sideways. “After all, if your friends outside wish to kill me, there’s little I can do to stop them. Raiders wouldn’t care about a hostage. Don’t know what I was thinking.” He folded the note from Rawlins and held it out as well.

  Smith gingerly took both and put them away in their normal places. Stupid of him to leave the g
un loaded. “Fight or flight response, I guess.”

  Scarecrow’s chin lifted a bit. “Indeed.” He lifted his hand overhead and pulled on a metal locking bar. It screeched as it moved.

  Smith gave a nod. “Look, we’re really here for stuff. But you guys will probably be safer with us than out here on your own.”

  Scarecrow stared at him, his eyes unseen behind the lenses painted yellow by the tiny light bulb. “It’s just me. I’ve done well enough.”

  All things considered, if the guy was alone he’d held up pretty well.

  Smith shrugged and stepped onto the ladder, shoving the door open with his free hand.

  Morei was standing above, the pickaxe from the cart held high overhead.

  “Uh…” Smith looked up at him, his eyes blurry from the change in lighting. “Don’t?”

  The scout set the pickaxe down as the hunter helped Smith out of the little electrical access pit.

  He knelt down and held out his own hand to Scarecrow. “Come on, nothing dangerous up here.”

  The skinny guy with crazy hair paused a few moments before climbing out.

  In the fully lit room everything dangerous about him faded away. He was just a malnourished man, a tad on the short side, badly in need of a haircut.

  “You got a name? You probably don’t want me calling you Moptop.”

  Moptop seemed to think it over. “Jeffrey Timms.”

  “Cool. Nice to meet you, Timms.”

  Morei and the hunter were both watching warily. They had probably had more run ins with crazies than Smith. Occupational hazard.

  But assuming everyone else you met was already nuts made it hard to find people that weren’t. Or that were borderline and could be saved.

  That was pretty much what Smith had thought of himself before he got hungry enough to walk up to the fence. If they hadn’t wanted to talk, that was fine. Probably would have just shot him. Fine either way. Funny how quickly that view had changed when the gate opened.

  Extending the same courtesy seemed like the right thing to do.

  Besides, it was a lot simpler and safer to make the effort with backup.

  “What do you do around here, Timms? Other than, you know, surviving.”

  “I used to run a small bookstore.” He adjusted his glasses.

  “There’s a bookstore in town?”

  “There was.” He nodded a bit as his eyes shifted to Morei, the hunter, and then back to Smith. “I spend my time here these days. It’s a stronger building, and it has that hatch to hide in.”

  “Cool. So, do you mind if I try and find the stuff on my list, here? We would appreciate it and, like I said, I’m sure we can come to some agreement.”

  “Amoxicillin is on aisle 3.”

  “Thanks.” Smith took the list out of his pocket. “Don’t suppose you know where the rest of this stuff is?”

  “If it’s here, yes. I’ve done inventory several times.”

  “Groovy. Could use a hand then, if you’re not busy.”

  Timms adjusted his glasses. “I… suppose.”

  The hunter relaxed his guard a bit as he moved to cover the door, just as he had in the hardware store.

  Morei kept his eyes on the thin little scarecrow as they wandered the store.

  Smith read off the things Rawlins had noted, Timms lead them to that section, and Morei loaded up a little red plastic basket he carried in one hand.

  “How long have you been here, Timms?” Morei tried to look as though he was casually examining a shelf, but his eyes never strayed long.

  “I don’t know. How long has it been?”

  Morei picked up an old bottle of hand soap that had turned into a colorful brick. “Going on a decade.” He set the thing back down with a shake of his head.

  “Almost a decade, then.”

  Morei narrowed his eyes. “Here? All this time? I would have seen you.”

  Timms tilted his head a bit. “Why? I don’t leave. I have what I need.”

  “I’ve been here for a month or so. Watching.”

  “Most of my food comes from gardens I tend. I don’t travel far. How did you avoid my traps?”

  “Traps? The can strings? With the greatest of ease.”

  Timms frowned. “I admit, those were meant more as a nocturnal warning device than anything else. I have other traps, you know.”

  Morei rolled his eyes.

  Smith tugged on his beard. “Sorry we broke your stuff, then. Tell me, though… if you’ve been here the whole time, are you why this place is like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “I dunno… clean? Most places are overgrown, covered in graffiti, or charred husks where people set fires.”

  Timms nodded slightly. “People come by sometimes… I hide. Wait. And I try to clean up after them. It’s rare these days. Mostly I pull weeds. Bad for the pavement if you ignore them. No fires so far.”

  Morei crossed his arms. “Probably been scaring people away with your pretty little town. And you could have ignored us, then.”

  “I… was afraid. No one had ever gotten so close. Or in numbers. I panicked. I thought you would find me in the access space.”

  Smith gently patted him on the shoulder. “Well, no harm done. You’re safe and sound with us.”

  The little man flinched at the touch.

  Morei just shook his head. “So you’re the only one here? We have more friends about. They’re not going to encounter anyone hostile?”

  “Not anyone I know of.” Timms adjusted his glasses. They were clearly too large to stay on properly.

  The work of clearing the pharmacy didn’t take as long. It wasn’t nearly as large and its contents were better organized. And they had a helper.

  The list was checked off in short order. Everything Rawlins had asked for. He must have made a minimal and simple list. If he had come, he probably would have delved deeper into the stock.

  Smith grabbed more than a few of each thing requested. Maybe quantity could make up for lacking in variety. They piled up two little baskets. A second cart was undoubtedly in their future.

  It was conspicuously lacking in books, though. Maybe Timms had been rounding them up.

  The store floor stopped at a set of double doors marked as “Employees Only.”

  Smith hooked a thumb at them and turned to Timms. “This is your place. You mind if we have a look? If the back room has some old books on this stuff it would help us out a lot.”

  Timms shrugged. “I don’t have much on medicine, but I’ll take a look, sure.” He slipped ahead of Smith, pushed the door open, entered, and let it shut again behind him.

  Morei shook his head. “I trust this guy about as far as I can throw him.”

  “He looks pretty light. Bet you could toss him a good distance.”

  “Don’t get cute. This guy is too far gone.”

  Smith frowned. “Maybe. Maybe not. He could be useful. Rawlins wants more people anyway.”

  “Not at the cost of public safety. This guy isn’t a blacksmith, or a hunter, or a farmer. He’s a professional caretaker to a dead town. A glorified janitor. I’m not sure how much use that will be to us. To anyone.”

  “Maybe he can do something else useful.” Smith pushed the door open.

  “Like what?”

  The room beyond was lined with shelves that had all been cleared of their usual stock. In place of medicine or whatever else should have been there, books lined all of the shelves. They were stuffed into every gap in the shelving, and more were stacked up on the floor.

  “Well, maybe not organization… but there’s got to be something here Bishop wants.”

  Morei tilted his head. “Huh.”

  27

  “I apologize for the clutter.” Timms vanished around a shelf. “I started moving things here a few at a time when I found my shop wasn’t as… safe. People made it into there a few times. I lost some precious tomes. Classics. Two first editions.” He reappeared at the far end of the shelf again, shaking his
shaggy head. He was carrying a few books. “They used them to start cooking fires.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s tragic. We, on the other hand, have been looking for knowledge to keep our people alive and thriving.”

  Timms held out the books he carried. “Or you are the most polite raiders I have encountered. Either way, I think some civility shown to me warrants a reward in this day and age.”

  Smith took them with a nod of thanks. Three books, two about first aid, one of which specifically related to camping and common outdoor injuries, and a rather hefty tome on human anatomy.

  “Those should help to make use of what you found here.”

  “Huh. Wow. Well…” Smith flipped through a few of the pages. “This is all Greek to me.” He glanced up, casting his eyes around the back room. “Tell me, if you had to pack up the absolute essentials to take with you, how long would that take?”

  Timms frowned. “I don’t think you understand. These are the essentials. Well, I admit a few of them are frivolous, but by and large these are the important things I salvaged before my store was lost.”

  Morei tugged on Smith’s arm, pulling him a step back while Timms vanished into the shelves again. “What are you doing?”

  Smith pointed at all the books. “Knowledge, man. Knowledge is the greatest tool of mankind. Things we already know are things we don’t have to suffer through learning again.”

  “So?”

  “So look at all this.” Smith shook his head. “I never thought I’d see something like this again. It’s amazing.” He crossed his arms as he faced Morei now. “I’m sure Bishop would agree. If we could get all this back, with its caretaker, we would all benefit.”

  Morei sighed. “I dunno, man…”

  “That’s fine. You don’t have to. There are two other division heads nearby. We’ll ask them.”

  Morei scoffed. “Ross will tell you ‘no’ on principle alone. He’s suspicious of all outsiders.”

  “Then I’ll only need to talk to Baron. Time saver.”

  The scout held up his hands. “Okay, man. Your thing. I’m not part of this. But don’t you think you should ask squirrelly guy before you put yourself on the line for him?”

  Smith paused before nodding. “Yeah, probably. I’ll do that.”