by Colin Sims
“I like bread and beans,” she replied distractedly, arranging some of the smaller sticks on the ground. “But what the hell are bananas?”
“They’re fruit,” I said, holding one up. Then I asked her, “So Samireh, I know you told me you’re a scout for Oldstown, but seriously, who are you and why are you helping me? You’re not planning on killing me, are you?”
She looked up at me from the little stick teepee she was making and frowned. “You know you haven’t even told me your name yet?”
“It’s Michael,”
“Progress.” She smirked and refocused on the sticks. “It’s like I told you. I’m a scout for Oldstown. And I felt bad for you.”
“How did you know about Boise?” I asked. “And how did you know I was from there?”
Samireh struck a rock against the blade of her katana and a bright spark set the sticks ablaze. “I saw it,” she said quietly. “I was up on a ridge.” Suddenly, she threw down her sword and added angrily, “It’s not like there was anything I could’ve done, okay?”
I recoiled at her sudden outburst. “What do you mean?”
She shot me a fiery glance and shouted, “You idiots would have shot me if I got within a hundred yards! There was nothing I could do!”
“Did you know the Slicers were coming?” I asked.
“Everyone knew they were coming,” she fired back. “Every scout, anyway. There were hundreds of them moving through the tunnels. How could I not know?”
I suddenly stood up. “You mean tunnels like this one?”
“Relax,” she said, waving her hand. “These tunnels are everywhere. Plus I could hear one of those things coming from a mile away.”
“How?”
“Because I live out here. Besides, they don’t care about us.”
I cautiously sat back down and inched toward the fire. My clothes were still soaking wet and the night had gotten cold incredibly fast. One of the happy perks of nuclear war: schizophrenic weather changes.
“So that’s why you’re helping me,” I said after a while. “You saw the whole thing?”
“Yeah,” she said solemnly. “I really am sorry. I know how much it sucks, and I know how you’re feeling right now, believe me.”
We sat in silence for a moment, letting the fire grow taller. My head was spinning with questions, and I could tell she was thinking about something too. Minutes rolled by as I rubbed my arms to get warm.
Eventually, Samireh silently reached over to my bag and rifled through it. She grabbed one of the bananas and, after careful examination, started biting at the skin.
I didn’t want to, but I smiled. “You have to peel it,” I said.
“Peel what?”
“Give it here,” I said and showed her how.
She stared with a disgusted look on her face as I peeled it halfway. “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, holding back out her hand. “But I’m eating it anyway.”
“All yours.” I handed it back. “So what do we do now?” I asked. “Is there anywhere to go?”
By the time I’d finished my question, Samireh had already wolfed down the entire banana and, after quizzically examining the peel, started to eat that too. “Peel it my butt,” she mumbled, then explained, “finding food’s not so hard if you know how to look, but tomorrow I’m taking you to Oldstown. Speaking of which, you have anything good in that pack? Like anything valuable?”
My hand instinctively tugged the pack a little closer. “Why?”
“Because you have to buy your way in, Mr. Peel the Banana. You can’t just show up and expect them to say, ‘sure, here’s some food, water, a place to stay, whatever you like,’ Things don’t work like that.”
“So I gather.”
“So.” Samireh looked at me expectantly. “Cough it up. What do you got? Let’s see the bag.”
I figured she could’ve easily taken it from me if she really wanted to, so I pushed it over.
She rummaged through it like a hungry wolf, tossing its contents aside until she got to the night vision glasses. “These are okay,” she said, turning them over in her hands. “And since I’m with you, they’d probably shelter you for a night or two for these. But definitely not for good. What else do you have? Anything? You have to have something.”
I shot up to put everything back in the backpack. “I don’t want to stay there forever,” I informed her. “And you never even told me what ‘Oldstown’ is.”
“It’s a settlement,” she answered. “And you’re lucky, too. It’s one of the semi-normal ones. The whacko religious kind would probably burn you at the stake or something.”
“Charming,” I said. “But I don’t have anything else.” Yet as soon as I told her that, my thoughts went to the chain around my neck and whatever that little object was at the end of it. I bent down to pick up the flatbread Samireh had tossed aside and right when I did, she pointed. “What’s that necklace?”
For a second, I reeled back, convinced that she had somehow just read my mind. But when I looked down, I saw the chain had come out from my shirt and was hanging freely. “Nothing,” I said quickly.
Samireh smiled. “Well, now I know it’s something,” she said and held out her hand. “Let me see it. Don’t be a weirdo.”
“I’m serious. It’s nothing,” I repeated, though my heart was beating faster. I didn’t have any idea myself what the thing was, but I knew it was important enough to keep secret. Still, I didn’t get the impression this Deadlander girl was going to give up. So instead, I tried a different tactic.
“So what kind of name is Samireh?” I asked.
She raised an eyebrow and looked at me with a smirk. “It’s Persian,” she said. “But I’m only half. My father was Apache.”
“You mean like an Indian?”
“Yeah. Like an Indian. So what’s with the necklace?”
I tucked it back in my shirt. “It’s nothing,” I told her. “Just a memento, okay? It was my dad’s.”
She frowned. “It might have been your dad’s, but I’m calling bullshit on the whole ‘memento’ thing.” She started to stand up. “Do I seriously have to take it from you?”
My eyes glanced at the Glock next to my bag, though I decided the gun might be a little excessive. Besides, whoever this girl was, she could’ve let the Fleshers take me, she could’ve killed me herself and then taken whatever she wanted—but she hadn’t. I never figured on making any friends in the Deadlands, and I doubted I ever would, but if there was anyone who I could trust so far, Samireh was it.
“Fine,” I relented, pulling the chain over my head. “You can look at it, but I have no idea what it is.”
She smiled smugly and took the necklace. “Thank you, sir. Now I’m going to have to kill you.”
I jumped back. “What?”
“Jeez, I’m just kidding. But you’re right. This thing is weird. You sure you don’t know what it is?”
“No idea,” I replied. “But it’s something important, I know that.”
“How?”
“The founder of Boise, this guy, Frederick Shaw, gave it to me before he died. He said it was my dad’s and that I needed to figure it out. He didn’t say much else. Just that I had to keep it safe.”
Samireh turned the box at the end of the chain over in her fingers, and then—without warning—broke it in half.
I stared for a second in shock before launching forward. “What did you just do?!”
She held up her hand to fend me off. “Stop being so crazy, it’s just a cap, see?” She held it out for me to look.
Huh. It was just a cap. And the piece of metal sticking up from the box looked strangely familiar.
“Do you know what it is now?” she asked.
Cautiously, I took it from her hand. “It’s a USB,” I said under my breath. The box itself was a strange-looking black metal, but the plug sticking out of it was undeniably a USB. “I think it’s a flash drive,” I added slowly.
“What’s a flash
drive?” Samireh asked.
I looked up at her. “It’s this old type of tech. It stores data from a computer.”
Samireh snatched it back, wrinkling her nose. “It doesn’t look like much,” she said appraisingly. “But if you’re right, I’m guessing whatever’s on it is worth something to somebody.”
“We can’t sell it,” I snapped at her.
She shot me an annoyed glance. “We’re not selling it, dummy. But there’s a guy in Oldstown who can probably help you figure out what’s on it. I trust him. He’s cool.”
“Who’s this guy?” I asked. “Your boyfriend or something?”
“He’s like a hundred—so, no. He’s crazy for Old World tech, though. He’ll know how to help.”
“But why would he?” I asked. “Didn’t you say the settlers wouldn’t help me unless I could buy my way in?”
Samireh shrugged and bit her lip. “Well, he’s probably going to want to sell it. But at least we’ll figure out what’s in it before he tries. Don’t worry.”
***
When I woke up, it was to the pleasant feeling of Samireh kicking my shin. I grimaced and croaked, “What the hell?”
“The rain’s stopped,” she declared. “If we want to make Oldstown before dark, we have to move.”
I looked around the tunnel, then over at the opening. “It still is dark,” I told her.
“Stop being a baby and get up. I re-packed your bag more efficiently and took care of the fire, and as payment, I ate your last banana. Now, let’s go.” She shot through the hole back onto the surface.
I groggily got back to my feet. For a second, I was reminded of waking up before dawn two days ago back in my room at the Capitol House. It was the same feeling, just …
I quickly shook the thought from my head. I didn’t want to start crying again, especially in front of Samireh. I grabbed my pack and swung it onto my shoulders. Then I picked up the Glock and tried to put it in my pocket, but it was an awkward fit at best. I needed a holster.
I crawled out of the tunnel to join Samireh, who had already started hiking up the mountain.
“Wait up,” I called to her, but if anything, she went faster.
I jogged to catch up and then kept pace a few steps behind her.
“Nope, I don’t think so,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re not staring at my butt all day again.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, jogging up beside her.
She rolled her eyes. “I bet.”
“So how far do we have to go?” I asked. “And can I eat something at some point?”
“It’s far,” she answered. “And there’s nothing stopping you from eating right now, is there?”
I guessed not. I took out an increasingly stale piece of flatbread and chewed it as we walked. I was glad to have the canteen and took a long swig to wash it down.
We hiked in silence as it became fully light outside. The low-lying sun was hot and burned off the morning chill within minutes. Eventually, I asked Samireh if we could take a break. The fatigue of the past two days was beginning to take its toll.
“Give it another hour or two,” she said.
We walked and walked. Definitely more than an hour or two. I felt like I was going to disintegrate after each step. My body had been running on ninety percent adrenaline, ten percent blood for the past forty-eight hours, and I wanted nothing more than to collapse face-first into the dirt and sleep for the next six years. But Samireh kept telling me to “come on,” until eventually, around noon, she said, “Okay, we should stop for a minute and eat the rest of the food,” and so I collapsed face-first into the dirt and went to sleep.
It didn’t last six years, though. My guess was it didn’t last more than six seconds.
I woke right back up when Samireh kicked me in the leg. “I’m doing you a favor,” she told me, and then bent down to take my backpack. “You don’t want to fall asleep in the sun, trust me.”
I groaned as I slumped my head back onto the dirt. “Just give me ten minutes.”
“Nope. Here, have some bread.” She offered me a piece as she yanked on my wrist until I was sitting upright.
I blinked at her. “Seriously, how much farther is it to this Oldstown place?”
“I told you,” she answered. “If we pick up the pace, we’ll get there by nightfall.”
Pick up the pace? I thought miserably. It wouldn’t get dark for another seven hours …
I collapsed backwards and was asleep the instant my head collided with the ground. I was kicked in the face a second later.
***
It was finally beginning to get dark as we continued hiking east. At some point during the endless slog, I’d caught a second wind. Occasionally, Samireh would point something out to me, like another rabbit hole or a small stream where we could refill our canteens. Mostly though, we hiked in silence, which was fine by me. Talking and breathing at the same time would have been a challenge.
Before long, it was completely dark, yet we were still trudging forward. I waited at least a half hour before asking Samireh if we were getting close.
“You see?” she asked teasingly. “If you had waited just thirty more seconds, you wouldn’t have had to ask.”
Thirty seconds later, we were at the top of the latest hill, looking down on a handful of flickering lights below.
“Oldstown,” Samireh announced. “Population four hundred. And only a dozen or so are crazy.”
“Did you grow up here?” I asked.
She snorted. “Me? Hell no. I grew up all over the place. I’ve only been here since last spring.”
“Where were you before that?” I asked.
“Again,” she said curtly. “All over the place,” and I got the sense the subject was closed.
We hiked down the hill, and after about twenty minutes, we were standing at the town’s front gate. It was at least a dozen feet tall, and was topped with coiled razor wire. The rest of the town was surrounded by a rusty wall of patchwork sheet metal. A handful of torches around the guard tower filled the air with a flickering orange glow. Samireh leaned toward me and whispered, “Let me do the talking,” then called out, “open up, it’s me.”
There was a second’s pause before a man’s voice answered back, “Samireh? You’re not due back for another week. Who’s that with you?”
I squinted through the torchlight and saw the outline of someone in the guard tower pointing a rifle at us.
“Found him in the Out,” Samireh called up to him. “Said he had things to trade.”
“Like what?” the guard asked.
“Nothing crazy,” Samireh answered. “A few pieces of tech, some medicine. Not much.”
“Medicine, huh? You sure he ain’t a threat?”
Samireh looked me up and down. “Very sure.”
“Alright, hold on,” the guard said, and a few seconds later, the twin gates started to creak open.
I wasn’t sure what I expected to see inside, but what I saw wasn’t much. Most of the “buildings” looked like the makeshift shacks of sheet metal back in Boise’s marketplace. A few torches here and there provided a little light, but even then, it was still pretty dark. On the other side of the gates was a pair of men with automatic rifles.
“Come on,” Samireh said to me, and pulled me with her.
As we walked into the town, a few men emerged from a nearby building and headed toward us. Samireh leaned over and whispered, “That tall one is the mayor. He’s kind of a tight ass, but he’s all right. The fat guy’s the sheriff.”
“What do I say to them?” I asked.
“Just that you’re looking for a place to spend the night. I’ll do the rest.”
We kept walking until we ran into the group of men. The tall one—who was like seven feet—introduced himself as Mayor Gant, while the fat one introduced himself as Sheriff Cunningham. A third man, slightly less pudgy than the sheriff, said he was a deputy. He was also the one carrying a shotgun.
The mayor fixed me with a hard stare. “Where’d you get something like that, son?”
Before I could answer, Samireh piped up. “He got them off a dead soldier from Boise. One of the ones who come out here sometimes.”
“Boy can’t talk for himself?” the sheriff said. He then looked at me with a droopy eye. “Is that what happened, boy? You pick that tech off a dead guy?”
I swallowed. “Um, yes, sir,” I answered.
All three of the men stared at me for a moment until the mayor turned back to Samireh. “All right, take him to Watkins. He’s still in his shop.” Then he turned to me and added, “Don’t think about doing anything stupid, you got me? We’ll put you up for the night and talk about some trade in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, before Samireh took my hand and started pulling me further into the town.
“So who’s this Watkins?” I asked a few seconds later. The mayor and his sheriffs were already out of earshot.
“He’s the old guy I told you about,” Samireh said. “He’s like the town’s tech expert. That’s his shop over there.” She pointed to one of a dozen metal shacks ahead; only this one had a large radio antenna on top.
I looked at it skeptically. “Can I actually trust him?”
“I don’t know, I guess,” Samireh replied. “He’s a little weird but he’s nice. He’s one of the few people around here I actually like. So that has to count for something.”
We kept walking until Samireh was banging on his door. I heard a quick shuffle of feet and then the door opened to the sight of a wild-haired old man who bore a striking resemblance to Albert Einstein.
“Samireh! I thought you were in the Out,” he said, pointing vaguely to the mountains. “What brings you back, child?”
Samireh pointed her thumb at me and answered, “Him. He’s got some stuff you might want to see.”
“Well, come in, come in.” Watkins gestured, standing aside for us to walk past. I briefly looked around the small room, which was lit by a few candles. There was a small yet incredibly cluttered workbench surrounded by rows of shelves lined with scraps of Old World tech. Once the door was closed, the old man wheeled around to look at me and squinted as if deep in thought. “You must have something special,” he told me. “Young Samireh wouldn’t have come all the way back for nothing. What is your name, my friend? Where are you from?”
