by Won, Mark
She seemed a bit nonplussed at my answer, “But how did you survive the monsters?”
“Mostly, I stayed on my boat. Once I got far enough north there was a waterway through Illinois to the Great Lakes.”
She asked me, “But how did you get here? The monsters are all over the place!”
“Well, I had a vehicle, but you know how it is. Something goes wrong these days and it’s not like you can call triple A. Once I found myself on foot I hiked till I got here. Mostly, I stuck to the woody ways so the monsters couldn’t find me. I spent a couple nights in trees, too. I killed a few monsters when necessary,” I motioned to the claw hammer I had at my belt. In Haven I’d had the handle replaced with a much longer one.
She said, “Where are my manners?! My name’s Linda Barrow. Would you like some apple cider?”
“I wouldn’t want to put you out, ma’am.”
“Nonsense! We have plenty to spare,” she pointed behind herself, using her thumb, “Johnny Appleseed did us quite a favor when he came through these parts. Our back way has a dozen of the finest apple trees you ever saw.”
She got up from her seat and hurried inside, presumably to get the drink she’d offered. Inside, I heard her yelling out to others in the house that they had a guest from ‘outside’ come to pay a visit.
“Martha, Alden, I got a stranger on the front porch! He’s from outside! His car broke down and now he’s here! He’s been all over! Come see!”
Alden (I presumed) answered, “No he ain’t! Ain’t no one from outside! We’re all there is! Mayor Callow said so!”
Martha was a more believing soul, “What’s he like, Aunt Linda? Is he a big man?”
Linda answered, “He’s a negro!” except she didn’t use that particular word, “Don’t you think I know all them in town? I’m tellin’ you he ain’t from around here!”
Alden asked, “Well, how did he survive being out there, then?”
“He said he slept in trees!” was Linda’s reply.
“Oh,” Alden seemed to think that made perfect sense. Probably because I’m a ‘negro’.
By that time I had captured the attention of the four kids playing on the swing. It had finally dawned on them that I was something new and somewhat more interesting than a tire hanging from a rope.
I asked the biggest of them, “Is there a mechanic in town?” not because I had any need of one but because that seemed like a logical question to ask for someone with presumed car trouble.
Eventually, he answered, “Yeah,” and seemed happy to leave me hanging. I was beginning to fear these people might not be worth the effort. I had no intention of carting back a couple hundred stupid racists to my new home town. I mean, seriously, what’s the point of that?
“And where would I find this garage? Could you please give me directions?” There was a bit of duplicity in my question. The answer could give me both the layout of the town (to a limited extent) and some idea of what else the town might have to offer.
Once the lad got over his initial reticence he proved a font of useful information. By the time Alden and his good wife, Martha, had come out to meet me I had a fair idea of the scope and size of the town of Shallow Ford. It housed about eight thousand people. Most of the bread winners used to work at one of the two major business in town. Either a Super Mart store or the regional HQ for Tires Continental (which also had a sizable automotive garage attached).
Once I had a glass of cider in hand and introductions were made all around, Alden was keen to get a proper interrogation started. Without any real idea of where to begin the best he could come up with was, “So, why did you come all this way?”
“There’s some people in Wisconsin that I’d been telling Linda about who are real curious about anyone left alive. They’re interested to know how the human race is doing outside of their little area. But mostly they hope to try their hand at trading, assuming they might have anything anyone else might go for.”
Alden replied, “Well, I bet Mayor Callow would like to hear all about that! Hey, Bart,” he yelled at one of the kids, “go tell the mayor we got us an outsider come to visit!” Alden puffed up so much at the thought of having something to tell the Mayor he almost burst the seems of his favorite wife beater T-shirt.
Chapter 2: Meeting the Mayor, A Used Car Salesman, and the Doc
The Mayor initially seemed a personable sort. From him I was able to learn a great deal about the surrounding countryside and what I might expect to find for eighty miles in any direction. To the north was what used to be a major town of thirty thousand people by the name of High Quarry. In order to cut themselves off from that threat, the citizens of Shallow Ford had banded together and blocked off the two roads that led there. As it was described to me, those two roads were an ‘old highway’ and the ‘new interstate’ and ran closely parallel to each other for most of their length. To block off the roads more cars, trailers, trucks, buses, etc. had been piled up using a crane that a work crew had left behind on the day of the Change. The locals who had appropriated the crane had used the same process to block themselves off from two more roads to the east, one to the south and one to the west, the way I had come from. As far as I could tell, the only reason that had worked was because of the steep terrain lying to either side of the roads in question and the lack of any of the more mobile enemy threats.
My guess that these people didn’t have to worry about ogres and ghouls proved true. Of course, the locals couldn’t be expected to use those names, but I was fairly certain I would have recognized a description, just the same.
The mayor had decided that we should convene in his home, so he had his chauffeur, a young black man by the name of Jeb, drive us back to his place. The mayor’s home was a sizable house with a real nice white picket fence running all the way around it. The lawn was the only one that I had seen thus far that had been kept cut. A large black man was busy washing off a lawn mower by the garage. Inside, Mayor Callow’s house looked well cared for. Thick carpets, overstuffed armchairs, and a big screen TV filled the main living room. On one side was a huge fireplace fitted with a large and ornate mantle. There was a portly middle aged woman dusting it. She was black, too. Covering the mantle were a number of trophies and pictures displaying the mayor’s family (he had a wife and three kids) in various stages of joy and/or victory. I also noted that all the entertainment system’s idiot lights were on, so I knew electricity was coming from somewhere.
He bade me sit in a chair next to his own then called in a servant, one ‘Missy’ by name, an attractive woman. An attractive black woman. He said, “Missy, why don’t you bring in a nice cup of coffee for Paul and I. Oh, and tell George that he missed a spot on the lawn again, out front by the hedges. That’s a good girl.” I had to wonder if the guy was for real. I had the sinking feeling that I was in some kind of inbred, atavistic, pillowcase over the head, racist nightmare. I hadn’t even known places like that still existed. Not that I was being judgmental or anything. It was just that I might not have been the right man to be doing the negotiating, if you see my point.
“So, Mayor, this is a real nice house that you’ve got here. It looks like you put a lot of work into it.” Other people’s work, but I didn’t tell him that. I heard Missy operating an electric coffee grinder off in the kitchen.
“Why, thank you, Paul, that’s kind of you. A man’s house is his castle, they say.”
In spite of that sinking feeling, I tried to be nice, “That’s quite a family you’ve got there,” I said while pointing to his mantle, “It looks like they won every trophy in town.”
“That’s the Callow way, Paul, very competitive. Always give one hundred and ten percent. Don’t you agree?” Sure, why not? I could play along.
“These days people who hold back one day might not make it to the next, Mayor. It’s us against them.”
At that point I looked through the large front window and saw a pair of women approaching. They matched several of the pictures on the mantle. Cle
arly the Mayor’s wife and daughter. Each was dressed in a fine dress with a soft floral print. One of them opened the front door, and they started talking before they were fully in the room with us.
“Daddy,” The younger of the two began, “I hear you’ve got a newcomer in here.”
Simultaneously, the girl’s mother said, “Robert, where are you keeping-”
As soon as I heard their approach I had gotten to my feet, anticipating another round of greetings. The instant they saw me they clammed up like I was some kind of highly contagious leper come over for the express purpose of spitting in the butter dish. Frankly, I must confess to being not altogether unamused.
Mayor Callow understood the situation immediately. He was instantly on his feet, making introductions (no handshakes), explaining where his wife and daughter had been (playing bridge with some neighbors), expanding on his explanation by guessing what his sons might be up to (checking up on the work ethic of some local farmers), before finally excusing his wife and daughter to ‘look after the Sunday wardrobe’ and ‘check in on Missy in the kitchen’. By the time the mayor had glossed over the faux pas, and gotten rid of his wife and daughter, Missy had returned with a nice big cup of joe for each of us.
“So, Paul, I understand that you come from some northern folks looking to trade. Is that so?”
Finally, we were going to get down to business. “Absolutely, Mayor. Haven has diverse foodstuffs to trade as well as medical supplies, some of which we make ourselves. It would be a tall order but you might be able to swing a wind powered generator depending on what you’re willing to part with for it.”
“What would I need a windmill for?” He seemed quite amused by the concept.
“Well, Mayor, I don’t know how much propane you have left to keep the lights on with.”
“Propane!” Mayor Callow laughed openly, “Why, Paul, at Shallow Ford we have an electric dam. Is propane what you folks up north use.” What a condescending prick.
“Sometimes. Mostly we use wind generators. They’re in high demand and kinda resource intensive to make. That’s why I said they’d be pricey.
“Still, I don’t know what kind of diet you’ve been getting, but I expect Haven could supplement it. Also, we’ve begun our own textile production if you think you might be interested in that. Someday we hope to get into the bullet making business if we can ever get our hands on some sulfur and potassium nitrate. What does Shallow Ford need?”
The way the Mayor’s piggy eyes got greedy all of a sudden I was finding the man less and less personable the more I got to know him. He said, “Do you have any butter? Beef? Pork? Bread? Not corn bread, bread made from wheat, preferably white.” White bread. How unsurprising. “Ice cream, chocolate, pepper, salt, sugar, maple syrup, cream, orange juice, beer, whiskey...” The man was no longer making an actual list for trade but a wish list of everything he’d come to miss. Eventually he ran out of steam so I was able to try and address the other side of the equation.
“I know we can help out with some of that, Mayor, not all, but some. What do you have to offer?”
He thought about it for a moment, “Tires, oil, gas, and any automotive supply you could name.” That was a bit disappointing. Back in Haven there was no shortage of such resources. Most people didn’t drive anymore so we only needed to keep a few tractors and buses functional. The rate of decay for gasoline being what it was, the tractors were scheduled to be converted to vegetable oil after the harvest, making the offer of gasoline of especially low value.
I asked, “Do you folks make your own gas? Or is it all just what was left after the collapse?” If Shallow Ford actually had some sort of production capability that would put a new spin on things.
The mayor responded, “What do you think this is, boy, Texas? Where do you think we’d get an oil well from? I never! We have a major automotive industry here, and all the gas ever needed to keep it going. What do you say to that?”
“I’d say car parts, especially tires, have some value, but all that gasoline is going to go bad in a year or so. It’s not the black gold it used to be. Do you have any tires that fit a tractor? Maybe I could take a look around the tire store? That would give you some time to make a list of the kinds of things you might like from Haven and how much you’d actually be willing to part for them. What do you say?”
“I do believe,” the mayor began in an unctuous, gluttonous voice, “we’re close to making a deal. Now what exactly does this Haven place have to offer? Beef, I hope...”
-
The Tires Continental Tire Store and Automotive Supply Center was the biggest such conglomeration that I’ve ever seen outside a military base. It seemed ostentatious in its middle class excess, if that makes any sense. They did, indeed, have tires fit for all vehicles, including both buses and tractors. They also had a number of replacement parts that I was sure someone, who knew more about it than I, would be interested in.
The store’s manager, one Buddy by name, was only too eager to help me find my way around the place, once Mayor Callow had a quiet aside with him. Then it was all ‘we have the best selection anywhere’ and ‘highest quality merchandise in the whole state’. He even tried one of those ‘lowest prices to be found’ lines before he came to his senses. Buddy was born to sell used cars. In fact that’s exactly what he tried to do.
“I own the car lot across the way,” Buddy pointed across the street. “After we’re done here maybe you’d like to come on over and take a look around. I’m sure we could make some kind of deal. I’ve got a bunch of beauties and they’re calling out for an appreciative new owner, like yourself.”
I said, “Maybe I’ll take a look around, Buddy, but no promises. The fact is, Haven has precious little need for cars. Anybody who wants one just has to go out and pick one up anywhere. Look at Shallow Ford’s roadblocks, for heaven’s sake! They’re made out of cars.”
“You can’t blame a guy for trying.” Then in a more curious tone, “So what’s that Haven place like, anyway?”
“Well, it’s different form around here, that’s for sure. Shallow Ford got real lucky. It was basically unaffected by the Change. Up north the whole Great Lakes region was affected. Haven is mostly a bunch of survivors who escaped by getting in a bunch of boats.
“Right now we’ve got a crop in the field and more fish to eat than anybody really wants. The houses are crowded to the point of bursting, and all the lights are out because all the electricity we have is being used to run power tools. So it’s not great, but I have high hopes that things will get better. The man in charge has a solid plan for us to build more housing, manufacture munitions, grow crops, make medicine, you name it.”
Buddy asked, “So they sent you out to find folks to trade with, huh?”
“Yes and no. My primary job is to find anyone worse off than ourselves and ask if they want to come back to Haven. Remember, most people don’t have this kind of community like you do. They’re lost and alone. We rescue them.”
“We? Who’s we? I thought you came into town alone.” Oh shit.
“I’m part of a larger group. Our bus had some trouble and it seemed wisest for me to scout around for any groups of monsters while everyone else made repairs.” Time to try for a distraction.
I asked, “Has anyone died in Shallow Ford since the disaster struck? If so, did he get back up?”
Buddy responded, “Well, Lucy Campbell died but she stayed down. Is it true then? If folks die outside of Shallow Ford they turn into monsters?” The thought of it had him pretty upset.
“It’s true, sometimes. No one’s sure why, but sometimes when people die they Change. Some places like Shallow Ford are immune. If you step outside the safe zone, however, you better make sure you don’t die.” I said it with a smile, trying for a little gallows humor.
I was curious about how he’d heard about dead people changing into monsters so I asked him.
“Billy Ray said so. Him and Harris and Buford go out and find stuff in High Quar
ry. They the ones that said that.”
“That makes me wonder how they found out, if you see what I mean.”
With a confused expression, “What do you mean?”
I explained, “The only way for them to know that some people turn into monsters after they die would be if they saw it happen. So who did they see die? Who else went out with them? Or did they run into someone they killed?”
Buddy looked worried. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He didn’t seem to think the notion of those three men killing a stranger too unlikely, though.
“Hey, Buddy, is there a restroom around here I could use?”
Once alone I contacted Sam using my walkie talkie and informed him of my situation. I told him to go back to the rest of the crew with instructions to wait and extra day, just in case I could learn anything useful.
By the time I’d gotten back to Buddy I found him with a friend. A skinny elderly gentleman with a big nose who had a learned look about him. He introduced himself as Dr. Cooper.
“I hear from Buddy here that you have access to medicine. Is that so?”
I answered, “It is. We have a few chemists working on it around the clock, plus we stockpile anything we find. What were you looking for?”
“Insulin, if you have any. Our supply is running low and Miss Parker needs it.”
“I don’t have any insulin with me but I know they make it back home. How much time does Miss Parker have?”
The doctor replied, “About six weeks, more or less. Is there any way you might get some? The word around town is that you’re here to trade.”
“You heard right. But I can tell you right now that there’s no way I can guarantee that I’ll be able to get to Haven and back before the snows make the roads impassible. Because of that, I don’t know if the boss would go for it. A mission of mercy is one thing, but there’s a safer solution. If Miss Parker is willing to temporarily move to Haven we can set her up for the winter. Then she can come back in the spring, if she wants to. What do you think?”
