Chapter 4c
see minor edit to 4b - it will make a difference
It didn't look like much from the outside. The walls were white painted cinder blocks originally; now it was white in places and gray where all the paint had been sanded off by the wind. There was the support for a sign, the actual sign that once had been there had blown away. A roadrunner had been painted on the street side wall, underneath crude block letters spelled out ROADRUNNER. This work of art looked newer, my guess was it had been done no more than five years ago. Somebody had shot at the roadrunner and his head no longer looked quite right.
About five paces from the door I was hit with an invisible wall of wrongness. This was not a good place. Bad things had happened here and bad men were inside. I smiled. This was my kind of place.
I walked in the door, it was a screen door with a metal one behind it that was propped open. I let it slam behind me. I liked the sound of screen doors slamming. It reminded me of old movies about other peoples happy lives. I liked it so much I kicked backward and popped it back open so I could hear it slam again. I stepped to my right and smiled as it banged shut again behind me.
"Hey now. Don't you love the sound of a screen door slamming?" I asked the other patrons who had interrupted important conversations to stare at me. Nobody answered. The bartender looked at me and went back to drawing designs on the bar top with his finger and a puddle of beer.
It was almost the usual place with the usual people doing the same stupid shit. Almost. This place was different for two reasons. I instantly liked both of them.
The first was the table full of bad asses. Four males, two of them Indians and not the Navajo type. Their faces were sharper, more angles than planes. They looked leaner too from what I could see. Built for going the distance rather than working in one place all day. They would be quick.
Both of them were wearing leather holsters like mine except theirs had more leather cutaway in front so they could draw faster. They also were packing butcher knives in handmade leather sheathes. One of them was fringed with what had been a nice head of blond hair. It was just getting better and better.
The two white guys were to young to have seen Mad Max but they had instinctively grasped the concept that looking like a B movie bad ass would intimidate peace loving citizens. The skull motif had been overdone when I was their age. Now, it just said, "Trying to hard!" They were probably from what used to be California.
The second reason was the barmaid. She was beautiful. Enough so that it distracted me from the staring contest I was having with the assholes at the table. I'm sure they thought they won but I didn't care.
She came out of the backroom and was carrying a fresh bottle of skullfuck, complete with worm, balanced on a little tray like this was actually someplace where people cared about presentation. She smiled at me, said, "Have a seat stranger" and was past me in a hummingbirds heartbeat.
I watched her move, she had a great ass and black hair long enough to touch it. I thought it would be nice to be that hair while I pulled up a seat at a table where I could keep my back against the wall and watch the doors.
I nodded to the old guy lost in his drink a couple of tables down. He didn't even notice. I wasn't surprised. All bars like these had an old man or woman whose job was to stare into their drink and occasionally bust into tears or rants.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
The Unknown - Chapter 4b - by nova
Chapter 4b
They had a pair that the guy had never came back for. Bobby told me "It's been two years and I'll have your boots done in three days. Odds are pretty slim he'll come back and if he does, well we'll find something else. Just don't scuff them up. Please."
"Sure."
I pulled them on. They were tight. "What size are these?"
"Eleven and a half." He shrugged. "That's the best I got."
"It's okay sweetie. You can walk from one end of this town to the other in five minutes."
She had a point.
"Okay. Anyplace you can recommend to get something hot to eat and cold to drink?"
Without hesitation she told me, "The Roadrunner. Make a left on the boulevard and you'll see it."
Bobby didn't like that. "What about the Dock? Better crowd."
"Honey. Does this man look like a rough crowd is a problem." She laughed. It was a strange laugh, the raucous cry of a crow. For a second I felt a cold chill run down my spine. I looked closer at her. I got zero feeling from her. She had no presence. It hadn't set off any alarms because it wasn't a threat. Very strange. It was unique but I had run across people like before. Back in the day. I didn't want to think about back in the day. I shut it down. It wasn't a threat -- it wasn't a problem.
"You go have a bowl of chile. You'll like it."
"Thanks."
I walked out the door and made my left. I heard that damn crow laugh in my head until I found the Roadrunner.
They had a pair that the guy had never came back for. Bobby told me "It's been two years and I'll have your boots done in three days. Odds are pretty slim he'll come back and if he does, well we'll find something else. Just don't scuff them up. Please."
"Sure."
I pulled them on. They were tight. "What size are these?"
"Eleven and a half." He shrugged. "That's the best I got."
"It's okay sweetie. You can walk from one end of this town to the other in five minutes."
She had a point.
"Okay. Anyplace you can recommend to get something hot to eat and cold to drink?"
Without hesitation she told me, "The Roadrunner. Make a left on the boulevard and you'll see it."
Bobby didn't like that. "What about the Dock? Better crowd."
"Honey. Does this man look like a rough crowd is a problem." She laughed. It was a strange laugh, the raucous cry of a crow. For a second I felt a cold chill run down my spine. I looked closer at her. I got zero feeling from her. She had no presence. It hadn't set off any alarms because it wasn't a threat. Very strange. It was unique but I had run across people like before. Back in the day. I didn't want to think about back in the day. I shut it down. It wasn't a threat -- it wasn't a problem.
"You go have a bowl of chile. You'll like it."
"Thanks."
I walked out the door and made my left. I heard that damn crow laugh in my head until I found the Roadrunner.
The Unknown - Chapter 4a - by nova
Chapter 4a
I threw my backpack on the bed and looked around and sighed. It was a dump. For the average twenty year old out there it would have been great. They would have no standard of comparison with what had been once because the once upon a time I knew no longer existed. For them, the a/c, which was actually running, and the light switch that worked would have been storybook.
I shed some gear, keeping the guns and sharp stabbing tools and left the rifle in it's sheath along with my pack on the bed. My back ached from toting all this stuff, especially with my raggedy ass boots making me walk funny. I decided to see if I could find a cobbler. Maybe I could get a few more miles out of them. Then get something to eat and see if what else was for sale that was on my list. Salt should be easy enough to find. My ammo supply was fine and I didn't plan on stocking up until it went on my new employers account. As I walked out the door the electricity in my room died.
I found a cobbler without any difficulty. It was run by a wizened old white woman who ran the counter in front while her man ran a foot powered sewing machine in the back. The shop smelled good. A mixture of leather and old feet. A smell I found comforting. I pulled my boots off, my foot wraps were less than pretty. I was glad she couldn't see them. Hell, I didn't want to look at them myself.
I dropped the boots on the counter and handed her the boot heel. She set it down on top of the counter and moved it next to the boots with the tip of her index finger. She looked at my boots, looked at me, looked back at the boots, and yelled, "Hey Bobby. Come check these out!"
"What?"
"Come here!"
He turned his head to look at me and made a frowny face, that's when I noticed he had lost an eye somewhere along the line, and shuffled over to join us. She indicated my boots and told him, "He wants them resoled."
Bobby picked up the worst one up, turned it upside down, then stuck his finger through the hole by the toe, shook his head, and set it back down.
"Mister. It would be cheaper for me to make you a new pair. I mean..."
I cut him off. I was trying to stay calm but I was getting angry. I was telling myself "It's the truth. Don't get mad at him" and I wasn't really. I was just mad. Mad that everything was slipping away. Mad that I was here. Mad that my life was what it was.
"No. I want them fixed."
I think my expression had changed or maybe the tone of my voice. Maybe both. He physically stepped back from me. The woman? She cocked her head, looked at me for a couple of beats, and asked, "They magic boots sweetie?"
I looked at her. I felt the anger spiking. If she was being a smart ass or just fucking with me I was going to make her extremely sorry. Burn down the fucking shop with them in it flashed through my head. She didn't flinch, she just looked me in the eyes, and I realized she understood. The anger drained away as fast as it had arrived to be replaced with a sad weariness.
"Yeah. They are."
She nodded her head and we all kind of went suspended while she thought whatever she was thinking. "Okay. Hows this work for you. Bobby keeps the original uppers and redoes everything else?"
I thought about it. It wasn't a bad idea. "Okay. How much? How long? And do you have something in a size 12 I can wear until you get them done?
I threw my backpack on the bed and looked around and sighed. It was a dump. For the average twenty year old out there it would have been great. They would have no standard of comparison with what had been once because the once upon a time I knew no longer existed. For them, the a/c, which was actually running, and the light switch that worked would have been storybook.
I shed some gear, keeping the guns and sharp stabbing tools and left the rifle in it's sheath along with my pack on the bed. My back ached from toting all this stuff, especially with my raggedy ass boots making me walk funny. I decided to see if I could find a cobbler. Maybe I could get a few more miles out of them. Then get something to eat and see if what else was for sale that was on my list. Salt should be easy enough to find. My ammo supply was fine and I didn't plan on stocking up until it went on my new employers account. As I walked out the door the electricity in my room died.
I found a cobbler without any difficulty. It was run by a wizened old white woman who ran the counter in front while her man ran a foot powered sewing machine in the back. The shop smelled good. A mixture of leather and old feet. A smell I found comforting. I pulled my boots off, my foot wraps were less than pretty. I was glad she couldn't see them. Hell, I didn't want to look at them myself.
I dropped the boots on the counter and handed her the boot heel. She set it down on top of the counter and moved it next to the boots with the tip of her index finger. She looked at my boots, looked at me, looked back at the boots, and yelled, "Hey Bobby. Come check these out!"
"What?"
"Come here!"
He turned his head to look at me and made a frowny face, that's when I noticed he had lost an eye somewhere along the line, and shuffled over to join us. She indicated my boots and told him, "He wants them resoled."
Bobby picked up the worst one up, turned it upside down, then stuck his finger through the hole by the toe, shook his head, and set it back down.
"Mister. It would be cheaper for me to make you a new pair. I mean..."
I cut him off. I was trying to stay calm but I was getting angry. I was telling myself "It's the truth. Don't get mad at him" and I wasn't really. I was just mad. Mad that everything was slipping away. Mad that I was here. Mad that my life was what it was.
"No. I want them fixed."
I think my expression had changed or maybe the tone of my voice. Maybe both. He physically stepped back from me. The woman? She cocked her head, looked at me for a couple of beats, and asked, "They magic boots sweetie?"
I looked at her. I felt the anger spiking. If she was being a smart ass or just fucking with me I was going to make her extremely sorry. Burn down the fucking shop with them in it flashed through my head. She didn't flinch, she just looked me in the eyes, and I realized she understood. The anger drained away as fast as it had arrived to be replaced with a sad weariness.
"Yeah. They are."
She nodded her head and we all kind of went suspended while she thought whatever she was thinking. "Okay. Hows this work for you. Bobby keeps the original uppers and redoes everything else?"
I thought about it. It wasn't a bad idea. "Okay. How much? How long? And do you have something in a size 12 I can wear until you get them done?
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Unknown - Chapter 4 - by nova
I checked into my room. The clerk, probably the owner, was a white male in his early 50's who was sitting in an old metal folding chair outside the office. He wasn't reading or talking to anyone. He was just staring off in to yesterday probably and waiting for something to happen or the day to end. Instead he got me.
Check in was easy. No questions asked by either of us other than wanting to know how long I wanted to pay for and how much. He was curious but not curious enough to ask which was not that unusual.
Our conversation was brief.
"How much?"
"You want deluxe?"
"What do I get?"
"Stove works probably, well, one burner does...sometimes. You can come by and use my Internet if it's working. If we have power, which we do sometimes, your room a/c might work."
" A lot of mights and maybes in there for paying extra."
He shrugged. "Not going to lie. Everything we got was already old before Powerdown. It runs or it doesn't. The special gets you the room where last time I checked everything ran."
"I'll take it.
"Yes sir!"
Manners had improved greatly since PowerDown. Not surprising as the survivors included a fair amount of angry, armed, and usually traumatized people who were as stable as old school dynamite was. I would like to think I added to that as I believed manners was a borderline capitol crime depending on who was involved and what my mood was like that day.
The room was a room. It had the original kitchen appliances from the renovation done 50 years ago. The refrigerator had been duct taped shut 20 years ago at least and someone had scrawled "Don't open!" with a black marker on the door. Of course someone had opened it as the tape had been nicely slit. I couldn't smell dead refrigerator so it had to have been awhile.
The bed was lumpy. If I came down with bedbugs I was going to be very unhappy. So would the man who checked me in.
Check in was easy. No questions asked by either of us other than wanting to know how long I wanted to pay for and how much. He was curious but not curious enough to ask which was not that unusual.
Our conversation was brief.
"How much?"
"You want deluxe?"
"What do I get?"
"Stove works probably, well, one burner does...sometimes. You can come by and use my Internet if it's working. If we have power, which we do sometimes, your room a/c might work."
" A lot of mights and maybes in there for paying extra."
He shrugged. "Not going to lie. Everything we got was already old before Powerdown. It runs or it doesn't. The special gets you the room where last time I checked everything ran."
"I'll take it.
"Yes sir!"
Manners had improved greatly since PowerDown. Not surprising as the survivors included a fair amount of angry, armed, and usually traumatized people who were as stable as old school dynamite was. I would like to think I added to that as I believed manners was a borderline capitol crime depending on who was involved and what my mood was like that day.
The room was a room. It had the original kitchen appliances from the renovation done 50 years ago. The refrigerator had been duct taped shut 20 years ago at least and someone had scrawled "Don't open!" with a black marker on the door. Of course someone had opened it as the tape had been nicely slit. I couldn't smell dead refrigerator so it had to have been awhile.
The bed was lumpy. If I came down with bedbugs I was going to be very unhappy. So would the man who checked me in.
The Unknown - Chapter 3c - by nova
Chapter 3c
I walked around the motel before I went in and then made a circle through the closest streets. I wanted to know my exits and entrances, possible enemies, and mostly just to feel the flow of the place. It wasn't too hot but I was aware of the sun. Lately I had found sun spots on my arms and I had a nice one below my left ear. Crusty reminders that genetics had designed me for a land under a different sun.
Cover was nonexistent outside of the buildings. Nothing new there. The grid layout worked for me on a number of levels. Mainly because once I got a feel for the layout I had most of the possible city movement patterns locked in. Page wasn't much of a potential street fighting battleground. No connected buildings or narrow alleys. That would make movement tough for any defenders and easier for the raiders to isolate and then burn or mortar out. There had to be some kind of perimeter guard or patrol but I hadn't seen any sign of one. They were relying on picking them up far enough off to bug out to the safety of one of the bridgeheads and hold until a Saints or nation react force showed up. Not really a plan but better than nothing. My guess was it had been a long time since anyone worried about raiders here.
I walked around the motel before I went in and then made a circle through the closest streets. I wanted to know my exits and entrances, possible enemies, and mostly just to feel the flow of the place. It wasn't too hot but I was aware of the sun. Lately I had found sun spots on my arms and I had a nice one below my left ear. Crusty reminders that genetics had designed me for a land under a different sun.
Cover was nonexistent outside of the buildings. Nothing new there. The grid layout worked for me on a number of levels. Mainly because once I got a feel for the layout I had most of the possible city movement patterns locked in. Page wasn't much of a potential street fighting battleground. No connected buildings or narrow alleys. That would make movement tough for any defenders and easier for the raiders to isolate and then burn or mortar out. There had to be some kind of perimeter guard or patrol but I hadn't seen any sign of one. They were relying on picking them up far enough off to bug out to the safety of one of the bridgeheads and hold until a Saints or nation react force showed up. Not really a plan but better than nothing. My guess was it had been a long time since anyone worried about raiders here.
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Unknown - Chapter 3b by nova
Chapter 3b
I was dropped at the town park and pointed in the direction of my motel, I had gone with the non VIP choice. My motel was called the Red Rock and it was just one of a handful of ancient motels all stuck in a motel ghetto. The difference between the Red Rock and the rest was it was still in operation. The others? No one who wasn't drunk would even want to climb through one of the kicked in windows or doors and seek shelter inside of them. I'm sure it was done and I'm sure it wasn't something you could do very many times and survive.
Just thinking about the odds of a scorpion bite made me shudder. I hated the evil little fuckers. They were the Wests version of the water moccasin. Always pissed off and ready to mess with you just because the could. Originally, when I first came out this way I thought it would be rattlesnakes. I went two years without seeing a rattlesnake. I shook a scorpion out my boot the second night I crossed into what was once Atlzan, once the American Southwest, and now a collection of half assed autonomous regions and American Indian Nations sprinkled with religious leader compounds, white only clans, and a lot of sun baked, half starved feral whatevers who were just one step up from wild dog packs.
The feds had pulled out of most of the American southwest after fighting a long ugly insurgency throughout most of the region that sputtered along even after PowerDown. For awhile after they gave up on that they had settled for protecting areas with resources and the related delivery infrastructure with mixed success. Lately they had been making noises about reunification of all the areas into one big, glorious, USA again. Too bad they had screwed that up so badly the first few times they had tried that. From what I heard they were having problems holding on to what they had.
There was another power bloc that was growing steadily and that was totally expansionist to the north. Even the Saints were looking over their shoulders and wondering about their borders. So far the Northerners had been content to raid to the east and expand into the heartland. They had a serious dislike of the feds and were beginning to push them hard. Real hard. I made myself stop thinking about them. Nothing good lay there for me and hadn't for a long time. I knew I was still welcome, hell, I was a legend, but I had left and never looked back.
Instead, I waged my own personal war against the feds. Eventually the fire inside me, that drove me, burned out. I found myself at a loss. Hunted by the feds I had taken refuge with the Saints. I made some money and made myself useful to them. They had left me alone and at times I even convinced myself that I was happy. They were good people and inside their boundaries I could almost forget the people I had known and all the blood that been spilled. Sometimes I wore no gear at all when I went out, nothing but a single holster, everything else hung on their hooks inside my bedroom closet.
I wasn't happy. If anything, once the fire had died I found more and more I was left with the blackness. I quit taking jobs and that didn't make a difference. I took jobs and that didn't make a difference either. The last one I did I had barely made it through to the end. Not because the people I was sent to talk to were any good. Rather, it was me. I just didn't care. It was the same old shit happening, with the same old people. and the results were always the same. The last job, I had, for a tiny bit of time, not drawn my weapons. Muscle memory took over just in time, it helped he wasn't as good as he thought he was, but for a blink I didn't care. Even I knew that was not a good sign.
I was dropped at the town park and pointed in the direction of my motel, I had gone with the non VIP choice. My motel was called the Red Rock and it was just one of a handful of ancient motels all stuck in a motel ghetto. The difference between the Red Rock and the rest was it was still in operation. The others? No one who wasn't drunk would even want to climb through one of the kicked in windows or doors and seek shelter inside of them. I'm sure it was done and I'm sure it wasn't something you could do very many times and survive.
Just thinking about the odds of a scorpion bite made me shudder. I hated the evil little fuckers. They were the Wests version of the water moccasin. Always pissed off and ready to mess with you just because the could. Originally, when I first came out this way I thought it would be rattlesnakes. I went two years without seeing a rattlesnake. I shook a scorpion out my boot the second night I crossed into what was once Atlzan, once the American Southwest, and now a collection of half assed autonomous regions and American Indian Nations sprinkled with religious leader compounds, white only clans, and a lot of sun baked, half starved feral whatevers who were just one step up from wild dog packs.
The feds had pulled out of most of the American southwest after fighting a long ugly insurgency throughout most of the region that sputtered along even after PowerDown. For awhile after they gave up on that they had settled for protecting areas with resources and the related delivery infrastructure with mixed success. Lately they had been making noises about reunification of all the areas into one big, glorious, USA again. Too bad they had screwed that up so badly the first few times they had tried that. From what I heard they were having problems holding on to what they had.
There was another power bloc that was growing steadily and that was totally expansionist to the north. Even the Saints were looking over their shoulders and wondering about their borders. So far the Northerners had been content to raid to the east and expand into the heartland. They had a serious dislike of the feds and were beginning to push them hard. Real hard. I made myself stop thinking about them. Nothing good lay there for me and hadn't for a long time. I knew I was still welcome, hell, I was a legend, but I had left and never looked back.
Instead, I waged my own personal war against the feds. Eventually the fire inside me, that drove me, burned out. I found myself at a loss. Hunted by the feds I had taken refuge with the Saints. I made some money and made myself useful to them. They had left me alone and at times I even convinced myself that I was happy. They were good people and inside their boundaries I could almost forget the people I had known and all the blood that been spilled. Sometimes I wore no gear at all when I went out, nothing but a single holster, everything else hung on their hooks inside my bedroom closet.
I wasn't happy. If anything, once the fire had died I found more and more I was left with the blackness. I quit taking jobs and that didn't make a difference. I took jobs and that didn't make a difference either. The last one I did I had barely made it through to the end. Not because the people I was sent to talk to were any good. Rather, it was me. I just didn't care. It was the same old shit happening, with the same old people. and the results were always the same. The last job, I had, for a tiny bit of time, not drawn my weapons. Muscle memory took over just in time, it helped he wasn't as good as he thought he was, but for a blink I didn't care. Even I knew that was not a good sign.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)