Super Pulse (Book 4): Defect

by Conifer, Dave

  “Dewey! What are you doing here?” Nick asked. “Everything okay?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Dewey answered as he stepped inside and pushed the door closed. “I thought you, like, might need some help. Are you pulling another all-nighter?”

  Nick put down the charcoal scoop and walked towards Dewey. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll probably be here all night. Are you sure about this? Because I’ll definitely take you up on it.”

  “Uh, sure, yeah,” Dewey said.

  Nick cocked his head. “So level with me, Henry Bishop. Did you run into Sarah? Did she talk you into this?”

  Dewey looked down at his feet. “Well, I—” he stammered. “Like, well—"

  “It’s cool, Dewey,” Nick said. “I appreciate your help no matter whose idea it was. You can learn this stuff right along with me.”

  “What are we, like, making tonight?” Dewey asked.

  “Shovels,” Nick answered. “Lots of them.” He pointed to the blanks that he and Nancy had already carved out. It seemed like months since they’d done it, but it was probably just last week, he knew. “They’re already started. Tonight we finish shaping them. Later we’ll bolt them onto wooden rods, and we’re done.”

  “All that tonight?” Dewey asked.

  Nick laughed. “I doubt we’ll get that far. I’ll be happy if we get a quarter of the shovel blades formed.” He spent the next few minutes explaining everything he knew about the process to Dewey. They decided that there was no logical way to divide the work, because if they both worked on the same blank, it would only be a matter of minutes before they’d maimed and blinded each other swinging hammers and pounding on red-hot slabs of metal. They’d work on their own. Nick promised himself to keep a close eye on Dewey, only to remember that he himself didn’t know what he was doing either.

  “Ready?” Nick asked, looking Dewey in the eye. They’d already donned their deer-skin aprons and spread the limited selection of tools out on one of the logs. Each had already staked out an end of the I-beam anvil that Sarah had found so comical.

  “Yup. Let’s go,” Dewey answered.

  Nick dug out a sizable serving of charcoal and poured it into the forge. Each of them picked up a blank with tongs that had been scrounged from the Warehouse a long time ago. Nick pumped the bellows with the foot pedal while they heated their metal over the coals. And then it was showtime.

  When Nick saw Dewey attack the glowing, smoldering slab so ferociously with his hammer it reminded him of something, but he couldn’t place the memory. It wasn’t until dawn, after both were finally tucked into their bunks for an hour or two of sleep, that he traced the recollection all the way back to the Ben Franklin Bridge on the day they’d met. He’d gone after the shovel blank with the same frenzy that he’d fought one of the drunks who’d been hassling them that day.

  As Nick cautiously pinged away at his own blank, he’d all but convinced himself that the cacophony coming from the other end of the anvil would lead to disaster. Dewey’s hammer struck his metal blank at least five times for every time Nick’s did. He couldn’t see Dewey’s work, but was imagining the worst. As he jammed his own blank into the fire to reheat it before working it again, he realized he hadn’t mentioned the need to do this to Dewey. It probably wasn’t going to matter. Hopefully he wouldn’t waste too many blanks before he gave up, Nick told himself.

  A few minutes later, however, as he struggled with hammering the edges up into a curve that could hold some dirt, he was amazed when Dewey put his hammer down and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Because parked on the anvil in front of him were not one, but two perfectly-shaped shovel blades that put Nick’s current work product to shame. They still had to poke the bolt holes in it, but except for that, it looked to Nick like both were finished. “Should I, like, start another one?” Dewey asked innocently. “Are these good enough?”

  All Nick could do was stare at him, with the head of his own hammer resting on the anvil. This is so Dewey, he thought with a smile. And it looks like I’m gonna’ hit my quota before I go.

  ~~~

  Working without a break, they finished all thirty shovel blades before the sun came up. As soon as he realized what Dewey was capable of, Nick devised a work procedure that relegated himself to supporting role. Besides keeping the fire stoked and burning hot, he tasked himself with beating down any rough edges on Dewey’s blades after he’d finished them off, and then poked the bolt holes before carrying them over to the corner to cool off. Amazingly enough, the charcoal pile was two scoops from total depletion almost exactly when they’d finished the job. Somebody would have to make more before the next order of metal work could be completed. That would take time, Nick knew. But even though he might not be the one who resumed the work, he took comfort in knowing that the Blacksmith Shop would function just fine after he was gone. The best blacksmith in Tabernacle would still be around.

  “You did good, Dewey,” Nick said as they trudged up the road in the dark. “Wait. Who am I kidding? You did great.” He knew he didn’t sound as enthusiastic about it as he felt, solely because he was completely spent after yet another eighteen-hour day. The bitter cold didn’t help. He always found that regardless of how hot he was when he left the fiery shop, any heat he carried out the door was gone after just a few steps. All he could think about right now was getting back to The Village and crawling under the covers. He didn’t even hear Dewey’s reply, if there’d been one.

  ~~~

  Determined to finish the shovels as soon as possible, Nick was at the firewood piles the next morning as soon as there was enough sunlight to see what he was doing. There, he poked through the heaps until he found what he needed to make the thirty shovel handles. Most were perfectly straight. The ones with a slight bow or that changed directions a few times would have to be good enough, because he wasn’t about to set out for the woods looking for something better. These would work.

  It took half a day to cut them down to the right length, strip the bark, and smooth them out as best he could with the only tool he could find for that task, a dull knife. With the hand-drill he’d borrowed from Del he bored holes in the end of each, acquiring a painful set of blisters on the inside of both thumbs in the process. Finally, while everybody else in the camp was sitting down for their dinner, he bolted one of the shovel blades to each by the light of the small fire he’d kept burning in the forge.

  It gave him no small satisfaction to see the new shovels leaning against the walls of the shop all the way around, despite the lack of uniformity among them. His work was done, and it had been important work. The people of Tabernacle needed these shovels, just like they needed the fifty spears he’d already delivered. Maybe, he thought as he smothered the flames in the forge and prepared to go back to the Village, the tools he’d made and the shop he’d set up would help them to remember him and his contributions after he was gone, even if he never made it back.

  Eighteen

  Nick had been lying in his bunk for about four hours before he finally decided it was time. Tabernacle had gone to sleep, except for a few guards on duty in their shacks. He knew where they were and had already planned for it. Dewey hadn’t moved a muscle since saying goodnight a long time ago and was likely not going to awaken. If he was going to leave, and that was still the plan, now was the time.

  It was something he’d given a lot of thought to, even though he always knew it was inevitable. Leaving Sarah just as their relationship seemed to be blooming was the hardest part. He really thought that could have gone somewhere. Maybe, if he ever came back, there was still a chance. Except for Dewey, she was the only one around who understood him and accepted him for what he was. But none of that mattered anymore. He couldn’t stay, and he knew it. At least not until he undid some of the damage that most campers believed he was responsible for.

  Careful not to make too much noise, but not too worried about waking up his heavy-sleeping roommate, Nick wrestled himself free of the bedding he was under and padd
ed softly across the room to where he’d left his clothes. A small sack of his possessions was already parked in the cold outside the door. All he needed to do was dress. Linda Brown, who once considered leaving with him, had agreed to park the purple pickup truck inconspicuously on Route 206 outside the camp entrance, so he wouldn’t have to worry about driving past the guards. All he had to do was slip through the woods. Then he’d been heading south.

  All was proceeding as planned until he found himself among the trees with his bag slung over his shoulder as he made his way slowly in the dark. As it always was anymore, the night was deathly quiet. After he was deep in the woods, though, he was convinced that he was hearing sounds he wasn’t creating himself. Each time he stopped moving as a test, he confirmed this. The faint sound of rustling leaves behind him never stopped. It could be a wild animal, or even the wind, but he didn’t think so. He was being followed.

  If that was true, and it turned out to be a guard, he now faced the risk of getting shot. Is it worth it to try to make it to the truck? He wasn’t sure, but whoever was out there wasn’t close enough to take a shot through the trees, even if it were daylight. Not yet, anyway. If he could make it to the truck he could escape long before his pursuer got there. He decided to press on. As he moved, he could hear that whoever was tracking him was doing the same.

  Whoever it was, and for some reason Nick assumed it was a man, he was proving himself adept at creeping through a dark forest. By the time Nick could sense that he was near the camp entrance, the follower had closed the distance significantly. Nick no longer thought he could find the truck, get inside, and drive away before getting shot at, if in fact there was an armed guard on his tail. It was time for a change in plans.

  When it was clear that his pursuer somehow knew exactly where he was, and was almost on top of him, fear drove him to call out. “Who’s there? It’s just me! Nick Mercator!” Panic at hearing something thrashing through the brush led him to add a desperate “Don’t shoot!”

  “I’m not gonna’ like shoot or anything,” a voice from the dark said. “I was just trying to see where you’re going.”

  “Dewey?” Nick asked.

  “Yeah,” Dewey answered. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

  “Dewey, you scared the bejeebers out of me!” Nick said. “Come on, cut me a break!”

  “Sorry,” Dewey said. “I was just trying to make sure you were okay.”

  “How’d you get through the woods so fast, anyway?” Nick asked.

  “I just kept walking,” Dewey answered. “And following the sounds. Like, what are you doing?”

  Nick sighed. “I’m leaving, Dewey. I didn’t want anybody to know.”

  “Leaving, like, forever?” Dewey asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Nick admitted. “I have to get out of here, though. I can’t take all the hate anymore. I’m going to look for Matt and his family. Since everybody blames me for him getting kidnapped, or whatever happened.”

  “What about Sarah?” Dewey asked.

  “I’ll miss her,” Nick answered. “But it’s not enough.” He walked over to where he thought Dewey was, and could finally make out his shape in the darkness. “I just don’t want to be here anymore. Not like this.”

  “Well, where are you gonna’ go?” Dewey asked. “Matt could be anywhere.”

  “I got some inside information,” Nick said, and then told him everything he’d learned from Linda about how they’d chased the van all the way to Atlantic City that night. “So that’s where I’m going.”

  “That’s down where I’m from,” Dewey said. “Hey, like, I don’t really need to be here, either. Can I come with you? Maybe I can check on my mom and dad.”

  “Whoa, Dewey,” Nick said. “Do you know what you’re saying? First of all, I’m leaving right now. Right this minute. It took a lot to arrange this. Are you ready to hop into the truck with me right now without going back to the cabin? I don’t think so. And you shouldn’t even be considering it. You have a lot to stay for.”

  “I do?” Dewey asked. “That’s news to me. I mean, it’s, like, safe here, and there’s plenty of food to eat. I don’t take that for granted. But I would like to see how my family’s doing. They’re probably worried about me. I’d like to look for them.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that,” Nick said. “I’d give anything to know how my daughter’s doing in Virginia, or wherever she is by now. But you’d be giving up a lot, Dewey. You know that, right?”

  “But I could always come back,” Dewey pointed out. “I’m not in any trouble. It’s not like with you—” he stopped in mid-sentence. “Like, what I’m trying to say is—”

  “I know what you’re talking about,” Nick said. “And you’re right. You might not be burning bridges for good, like I surely am.”

  “I’m sure they’ll, like, be good here without us,” Dewey said.

  “I was counting on you to take over the Blacksmith Shop,” Nick said.

  “Me?”

  “But I’m sure somebody else will step up,” Nick added quickly. “If you’re really serious about this.”

  “I’m serious,” Dewey said.

  “You have to promise something,” Nick said. “I’m vowing never to mention this place to anybody. There’s enough risk for Tabernacle without us pointing people in this direction. Can you do that?”

  “Easy,” Dewey replied.

  “Even if we think they’re good people,” Nick said, “we can’t say anything. You never know who they’ll tell it to.”

  “I’m good with that,” Dewey said. “So can I come?”

  “I hope this isn’t because you’re worried about me,” Nick said. “Because you shouldn’t be. And anyway, it’s not on you to worry about whatever happens to me.”

  “I want to go,” Dewey said again. This time it wasn’t a question. And since it wasn’t, Nick didn’t feel like he had to answer it. Instead, they made their way to the purple truck and climbed in.

  ~~~

  “Okay, I give up,” Lou said a few minutes after crawling from her makeshift sleeping bag and rolling it into a tight bundle, the way they all did every morning before loading the truck for another day’s travel. “Where are we going, Squid? Me and Plankton have both tried to get it out of you without putting you on the spot, but you never give us anything. Now I’m asking you directly, and I’d appreciate an answer. No games.”

  Squid took her bedroll from her and hoisted it into the bed of the truck. Apparently hearing the conversation, Plankton turned his attention from the fire and walked over to where Squid and Lou were standing. It looked like he wanted to know, too.

  “I told you all along that you don’t have to stick with me,” Squid said. “I’ve said over and over that I’ll even leave the truck with you if you want to split up with me. Just say the word.”

  “You’re doing it again,” Lou said. “Same speech every time, but no answers. Why can’t you be straight with us, just this once?”

  Squid hopped into the back of the truck, pretending to be reorganizing the load but clearly buying time while he thought of a response. Finally, he faced them. “I’m looking for somebody,” he said. “That’s all it is. Somebody here in New Jersey. Only I have no idea where to look. There’s no way to know where anybody is, just like every place else we’ve been. So the truth is I don’t know exactly where I’m going.”

  “I thought you decided on Atlantic City after what that guy in the woods told you,” Plankton said.

  “Yeah, I did,” Squid replied. “At least for the moment. But I was coming to Jersey before I met you two, even if it wasn’t Atlantic City, and I’ll be staying here even if we all go our separate ways.”

  “Who are you looking for?” Plankton said.

  An angry looked crossed Squid’s face, one that neither Lou nor Plankton had ever seen before. “I don’t want to talk about it. And that’s my right, so don’t push me. My offer still stands if you two want the truck.” He slid out the back and sl
ammed the tailgate shut. “I have a few more things I need to grab, and I haven’t reloaded on water yet. When I get back, just let me know if we’re still traveling together.” Without looking back, he stomped into the trees and disappeared. Both noticed that he hadn’t stopped for the crate of water bottles, which had already been filled that morning by Plankton in any case.

  ~~~

  The cab of the truck was quiet for the next few days as Squid, Lou and Plankton continued their journey. The recent argument, if it could be called that, had cast a pall over what had been a remarkably upbeat relationship until then. But it had also highlighted that, except for the secrets in Squid’s mind, they didn’t have a plan.

  Lou and Plankton had spoken about this when Squid had gone into the woods after the flareup. Neither liked being led around blindly by Squid, but at the same time, both knew they could thank his toughness and survival skills for keeping them alive and healthy. None of the three seemed to know what they wanted, let alone how to get it. That made for a quiet ride in a truck that used to be filled with chatter.

  They were weaving among the obstacles in the road as they proceeded southward on the New Jersey Turnpike, stopping to check for gas whenever they came across abandoned vehicles that looked relatively undisturbed. Oddly, there were fewer such vehicles in the area than anyplace they’d seen. Consequently, their fuel supplies, while still ample, were beginning to dwindle.

  None of the three was sure why the pickings were getting so slim as they traveled. “It could be that it’s getting worse everywhere as time goes on,” Squid had suggested a day earlier. “It would make sense. We just happen to be here at the moment to notice it.” Whatever the reason, it was cause for worry. Even though they had no clear destination, mobility was something they all cherished. They were much better off for the ability to go easily from place to place.