The Bard’s Tale (2016)

The wind whipped a gust of sand across my face again. I could feel the coarse grains lash at my cheeks while others got caught in my stubble. I’d tied a makeshift scarf around my face some miles back, but it had slipped down and now hung loosely around my neck. I could pull it up, but it was caked in the smell of sweat and dirt, made my face too warm in the afternoon sun, and made my breathing heavy. It would just fall down again anyway.

In this empty waste, I found myself confronted with a road sign that had been left standing by some grace of…well, whatever. It announced a welcome, but the name of the town to which it welcomed me was broken off—it seemed fitting, given that the town itself was long gone now as well. But I didn’t need the name. I recognized the sign. If I went round to the back of it, I’d find my own initials etched there, along with those of a high school sweetheart’s who had probably gone the same way as the town and most of the rest of the population.

Back in my youth, the spot I was standing on now would have been covered in damp tarmac that glistened in the little sunlight that managed to make its way through the trees. The thought of the cool breeze that used to rummage through the leaves seemed parodied in this new, harsh land. I could almost smell the forest, and the droplets of water hanging from their leaves made my parched throat beg. But when I opened my eyes it was still a wasteland that surrounded me. There were still mere fragments of the tarmac below my feet, and the battered rear bumper of an old car that protruded from the sand told me that this truly was no longer the place I had grown up.

But I wasn’t searching for a dead town, childhood memories, or even a sweetheart. Rumor had it that the ashes of the old place had struck up its own new little sprout of life: food, water, and civilization, of a sort. If this was only the welcome sign, I still had a couple of miles trek ahead of me. While the heat of the day wasn’t desirable, the night was coming in, and that brought its own issues with it. I took my aching fingers and pulled the loose scarf back up around my face and started walking. I gave it two hundred feet before it fell down again.

The rumors had been generous. But I guess that it all comes down to perspective in this day and age. True, there was a small town here now, and it seemed to be thriving. But the tales I had heard had mentioned great towers of white stone, lush vegetation streaming through the streets, and carved sculptures that would make your heart ache. It’s possible I was in the wrong place.

What actually stood before me was a string of makeshift buildings clustered around a single main street with a few stragglers off of the main path. It looked as though the buildings had been crafted out of whatever was available and salvageable: the hoods of car, sheets of corrugated iron, road signs, and some other things I couldn’t really identify. Pretty, they were not, but I guess they kept the wind and the sun out.

As I got closer I could see down the length of the street and saw the impetus for another of the rumors: at the fair end was some sort of oasis, I couldn’t see the pool of crystal clear water from here, but I wanted it to be there, and the trees and bushes that stood there told me that I wasn’t necessarily lying to myself. Around this little piece of life were a few more of the ramshackle buildings, clustered as if praying around it.

A couple of people were moving up and down the street carrying odds and ends, going about their business—they either hadn’t noticed me, or they didn’t care. A repetitive clunk, the kind I’d only heard in old movies, seemed to be the only other sign of life. Following it, I found an open faced building where a woman in a heavy leather apron, adorned with patches, her hair cropped short along one side, and tied back on the other, was hammering a piece of metal into shape. It didn’t look like a horseshoe, and it would have seemed redundant had it been, given that I hadn’t seen any horses in the town, or since I’d been further down south now I think about it. It seemed more probable that the piece she was making went into what, with my current vocabulary I could only describe as a car. Though it looked more like it had been crossed with a go-kart and a pile of kitchen knives. I mused on it for a while then turned my attention back to the woman hammering away. I leant against the wall and waited for her to finish. I really wanted to sit, and my legs continued to remind me of the fact, but leaning would have to do for the moment.

She eventually threw the piece of metal carelessly aside, dropped the hammer, and pulled her gloves off. This done, and still without looking at me, she gave me a warm welcome: “I don’t know you.”

“I just got into…town?”

“I can see that. Bring anything with you?”

“Just myself by this point. A little knowledge from the south, a list of places that aren’t there anymore, and the names of some dead. Been by myself for a couple of weeks now, pretty much out of any supplies I had. But I’m willing to lend a hand if there’s the opportunity.”

She had finally turned her attention to me and was eying me up and down. “You made it on your own for a couple of weeks, eh?”

She looked at me with an unfaltering gaze and I almost felt like she wanted me to respond in some, but she nodded pensively and continued without my having to go to the effort.

“I guess you can’t be entirely useless then. You’re welcome enough here, or so I’m told. No particular rules on who can stay or who can’t. Case by case basis. Elaine calls it. Good thing, probably, or I’d have got rid of some of those useless saps that are huddled around our waterhole some time ago.”

She paused, as if to see what I thought of that. I made a noncommittal noise. Agreeing seemed like it might go too when I didn’t know the lay of the land. That seemed to be enough for her.

“People will probably have some jobs around here. You look like a man who likes to earn his keep. Might be some questions about what happened to the rest of your group of course. But that can most likely wait. The truth is what’s important.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” I lied.

“Good.”

“Place a person can get a drink?”

“Aye, head down the street to the bar. You’ll know it when you see it. Phil, the barman, he should be able to point you in the direction or work. Or Elaine. Either way.”

I thanked her and turned to leave as she pulled her gloves back on, but she called me back.

“Jay will want to talk to you. He’ll want the news from the south. People had families down there.” I watched as she started to pound at a new piece of metal, then followed her advice down the street.

I did, indeed, know the bar when I saw it. Somebody had apparently found some cans of red and yellow paint, but no brushes, and splashed it over the front of the building. The result was a little garish, but it stood out as identifiable among the drab metal of the other buildings. A crudely fashioned metal sign hung over the door proclaiming “Phil’s.” Propping himself up by the door was a narrow man with a long neck, he switched between scratching half-heartedly at it, swigging from the mug in his hand with a grimace, and squinting up at the sky where the sun was setting. I went to open the door, a part of me wondering whether he’d try to stop me, perhaps ask for my ID—though it had been a few years since anyone had bothered with that for me, even before all this happened. As it turned out, he didn’t, and I was admitted to Phil’s.

It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the considerably dimmer light inside the bar. A faint bulb or two hung in what was a surprisingly spacious room, with some old Christmas tree lights strung along a few walls. Electricity was rarer these days, but not entirely uncommon, they probably had a generator out back. A single bright bulb was saved for a small performance area at the far end of the long room where a man was playing a guitar and singing to a not immodest congregation. As I stood there, growing accustomed to the light and the bar’s own special bouquet of god-knows-what, I was pleased to find a cool breath across my face and noticed that several fans made from piecemeal bits of metal had been strung up around the bar. It left me wondering how many people came for the drinks and music and how many came just for the cool.

A large, sweaty man in a grubby undershirt stood behind what passed for a bar: it seemed cobbled together out of what could be found, much like everything else, but someone had managed to find a polished wooden top to cover about two thirds of the area, and the man was cleaning it now as if he had birthed it from his own body. I was guessing that this was Phil.

“A new face?” he said as I approached.

“No, I’ve pretty much always had this one.” Phil laughed and I felt awkward.

“So, what’s your story, friend?” The “friend” was a new addition to what had become a well-worn phrase of late. It was interesting how a simple string of words could become so unanimously used, even after the break down of the internet and mass communication. Nonetheless, every time I met a new person, it was asked of me. I’d even found myself using it once or twice.

“A group of us were coming up from the south. Just me now. Heard about this place. Sounded better than anything else I’d heard.”

“Ah. Sorry for your losses. I hope that we meet your expectations.” I didn’t tell him that they didn’t.

“The, uh…blacksmith? Told me to come down here, that there might be work for me, and that someone called Jay would like to hear about what’s been going on?”

“Aye, aye, that’d be Chrissy. They’ll be time for that later, Jay’ll be with you when he’s done playing.” Phil wagged his large head towards the stage area where the man still stood singing. “For now, how about a drink? First one’s on the house.”

“Sure. What do you have?”

“Beer.” I stood waiting for some more options, but eventually realized that they weren’t coming.

“Alright then, why not.” Phil smiled, turned around and when he turned back handed me a mug of pale liquid. It was warm, flat, and slightly sour, but it tasted like whoever had brewed it might have once had beer described to him by someone who spoke a different language. I tried not to grimace.

“It takes some getting used to, I’ll grant you that. But it’s better for you than drinking the water straight from the source these days. People still do of course. Been some bad illness. We were mighty thankful when a girl passed through here with some meds a while back.” I just nodded along at this. I was still trying to find a tactful way to suggest that I could give some lessons in home brewing when a pair of dusty, long-fingered hands appeared on the bar beside me.

“Grab me a mug, Phil,” said the woman. I hadn’t heard her come in, but I didn’t recall seeing her over in Jay’s congregation when entered. She was wearing badly scuffed leather boots, her long hair was tied back, and she wore a dark cowboy hat that seemed to have a bullet hole in it. I didn’t like to question whether she’d had a lucky escape or had “won” the hat—the pistol at her hip suggested it could have been either. Taking another sip of what I’ll continue to generously refer to as beer, I turned back to the bar. I didn’t feel like trying to start up a conversation with this woman. I’d seen granite that was softer than her eyes.

“We’ve got a new one in town,” Phil said, nodding to me and rendering my previous decision redundant. “This is Elaine. I suppose you could say she’s the mayor here. One of the founders, too. Elaine, this is…sorry, I forget what you said your name was.”

“Matt,” I invented, shaking Elaine’s hand and toasting at Phil. I didn’t bother taking the sip that should have accompanied it.

“Matt, ay?” Elaine said, pushing her hat back a little and pulling a strand of hair from her face. “Are you useful, Matt?”

“I hope to be.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me. For now. Welcome to the town, the buildings look like crap and the beer tastes like shit, but we survive. That’s all anyone can ask for these days.”

I nodded, feeling stupid. Phil had busied himself with the bar again and seemed to be leaving us to it. “So, you were one of the founders?”

“Yes.” Alright then, I thought.

“Who are the other founders?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re dead or gone.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. In this time, you make it or you don’t. They didn’t. Or couldn’t.”

“How did all of this start?”

“Jay tells it better than I do. You’d be better off asking him. He’ll embellish a little, make it more exciting for himself, but he spins a good yarn. You should listen to him play. Kick back, relax. Tomorrow you work.”

“Sounds good to me.” I smiled at her. She didn’t reciprocate.

“We’ll see. Nothing personal, but I’ve heard a lot of empty promises.”

“You can have faith in me.” I knew she wouldn’t believe me, and I wasn’t sure I did either. But the corner of her mouth twitched. She threw back her head and poured the contents of her mug down her throat and dropped it on the bar. Phil winced as the mug bounced and risked damage to his mahogany top.

“I’ve got errands to run around town. I’ll be seeing you.” She strolled out of the bar as if she owned it. I guess to some extent she did. As the door swung open it was still bright enough outside that I had to blink spots out of my eyes.

Phil was still fussing over the area the mug had bounced on, apparently making sure it hadn’t received any dents. I decided to leave him to it and take the advice everyone seemed to be giving me: talk to Jay. I went and staked out a table a little back from the crowd and watched him play.

Jay was probably in his late forties, a shortish, solid man, bald, but with an impressive bushy beard minus the moustache that gave the impression that his hair had just slipped down to his chin, and in a minute he’d push it back up and tie it back into an untamed ponytail. His shirt was sleeveless (looking at the bar’s patrons, it seemed a trend in this heat), but his arms were decked out in tattoos that reminded me of epic fantasy tales I’d read as a kid, etched out in pen and ink doodles on an awe-inspiring scale. Though his acoustic guitar was old and battered, in need of a coat of varnish and missing two strings, he managed to make it sing. Though it seemed he was well established when I came in, it turned out he was still a ways from the end of his set. As I sat and tried not to drink the “beer,” he played quite a few more songs. Some I recognized: old folk tales of the working man, sprung from the rural parts of England and the mining towns of America; some numbers spawned from the old sea-faring days, tales of murder, pirates, and lost loves; and then there were some I didn’t know, though I knew the story well enough. I guessed they were of his creation, or he’d learnt them from the writer. They told of the destruction, the hopelessness, those who couldn’t take the world as it had become and had taken their leave of it, those who had been mild-mannered before the storm but now ran cities or led crews of bandits, and then the tales of pure hope—the thing that let people power through, just waiting to find a chance to stop surviving and start living. I’d seen a little of all the tales he sang as I’d rambled around in the wake of it all, I think I managed to avoid being the direct subject of any of his songs though, the good or the bad.

He drew to a close a final song and made a show of checking an old battered pocket watch, stretching, and rubbing his throat.

“I think that’s enough from me, for a few minutes at least,” he said, and the crowd made general “aww” sounds of disappointment. I felt like it was all a show, they had all had a good run from him already, and he looked like they’d get some more before the night was out. The moans turned into applause as he took his guitar off, leant it against his stool and moved to leave. A girl in her teens stood up from the front and took up his guitar, he turned to her and smiled and she started up a song of her own. It was more simplistic than the songs that Jay played, but her voice was pure, and she kept the audience from being too downhearted.

I stood up as he went to go to the bar and passed my table. He looked up at me as if he expected to recognize me.

“I’m new in town. I hear that you could fill me in on a few things,” I said, and his face broke into a smile.

“Happy to, happy to. Just let me get a drink.” He went to go past me then stopped and held up a finger, “unless, of course, you’d like to…” he trailed off, pointing at the bar and making his suggestion plenty clear.

“I would, but I’m told I don’t start earning my keep until tomorrow.”

“Ah, ah. I understand. Just a second then.”

He bustled over to the bar and I settled back down, thinking I should have just given him what was left of my own drink. I took another sip and wondered how long Phil thought it would take to get used to. Jay put his drink down on the table and sat opposite me, his back to the girl who had taken his place, his knees spread wide on the low stool, and a hand propped on his knee.

“So what’s your name then?” he asked.

“Matt,” I said, well-practiced at remembering my own lies.

“Ah. Matt. Matthew. Strong name. Biblical name.”

“Uh huh,” I said, immediately wishing that I’d picked something else.

“So then, Matthew, what brings you here?”

“I grew up around here. I was living down south when everything started happening. Things are pretty unpleasant down there.”

“So I’ve heard.”

I nodded at the interruption and carried on. “I was down there for a while, but had nothing keeping me there, wondered whether things might not be so bad somewhere else. I got together with a few people and we started heading north. Along the way, I heard rumors about this place. Grandiose rumors, as it turns out, but it sounded like it might hold hope. When it got to being just me, I figured a return to the old home was about overdue.”

“Not here anymore though, of course. If you grew up here. What happened to the rest of your group?”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the story. Infighting. Fatigue. Illness. Bandits. Some went their own way, others just went.”

He bowed his head slightly and stroked his beard before turning to his beer for a moment.

“I was told you’d likely want to hear about what’s been going on further south, and the names of people I know have died?”

“Yes. Yes. I try to keep records of such things. I hope to provide answers for those passing through with questions about loved ones, and keep the history alive. So we don’t forget. But you can tell me all of that tomorrow, I want to know before you think about leaving, but tonight isn’t the time for such talk. Tonight is to be more cheerful.” With that he broke himself out of the gloom that had steadily overcome him and, as the girl finished a song, a smile spread across his face and he lent his voice and his hands to the applause before turning back to me. “How long might we expect you to stay?”

“I don’t really know to be honest. As long as I’m welcome and have no reason to go, I suppose. I’ve not exactly got a job or a family to be getting back to.”

“Indeed. Indeed. Well then, as I say, time for the gloom later. What can I…what was it? ‘Fill you in on?’”

I had to rack my brains for where to start with a question. There wasn’t anyone I wanted to ask after, I was sure they were all dead, it was more general curiosity that I wanted sated. “Phil said that Elaine was one of the founders here?”

“Ah, yes, indeed. Quite a tale, to go with quite a leader.”

“You were there?”

“No, no. I came by sometime after all this went on. I like to move around when I can, see different things. I’ve stayed here longer than anywhere so far, now that I come to think of it. But I’ve heard the story from enough places that I think I can give a version pretty close to the truth.”

Elaine’s comments about embellishments crept up in my mind and I wondered how much salt I should season the story with.

“I’m a little shaky on exactly when the town was founded. People haven’t been great at tracking the date since everything happened, in my experience at least, and the group that founded it weren’t the sort to keep records so diligently. Time was I would have suggested working it out from the seasons, but we can hardly trust those anymore.” I could see a pain in his eyes at the lost knowledge, but the joy of storytelling seemed to burn that out as he carried on. “But regardless of the day, month, season, or year, it started with a group of just four. Elaine, who I gather you’ve met and I’m sure I don’t need to describe to you, and three men. First there was Rick, Elaine won’t speak on the matter, but story has it that he and her had been lovers sometime before it all happened, why it had broken down we can only speculate. And many here have. Rick was the sort of guy that would have been happy modeling for catalogues, good looks, the whole ‘chiseled jaw’ thing going on, and as Elaine described it once after we found an old bottle of liquor ‘an ass that wouldn’t quit.’ Next came Anton, quiet type. He’d apparently done survival training before the fall, stuff with troubled kids out in the wilderness or something. Knowledge of fruits and leaves has certainly been less helpful of late, but he knew a thing or two about staying alive that carried over. Finally there was Buck. Not his real name, by all accounts, but none of those accounts even try to make up what his real name might have been. We know that he’d been in prison, other than that everything has to be taken with a certain skepticism. He was a bragger and, from what I can tell, a pathological liar. A strong, muscular guy, he managed to hide the fact under layers of fat even when food got scarce.

            “So, the four of them had been hiking their way in search of a new place to hold up. The last place wasn’t viable anymore, so they grabbed what was left and struck out east, towards here, as they found out later. They’d been going a good couple of weeks, the sun was heading down, and their food had run out two days earlier. Now, if you looked west when you came in, you might have seen that big rock, sticking out of a hilly outcrop, overlooking the town?”

“Yeah, I saw it.” I hadn’t, but it seemed better for his story if I had.

“Right, well they came up over that, just as the sun was setting out in front of them: a thin azure line crisping the horizon and below them the light glinted off a crystal clear pool of water in the sand, the likes of which they hadn’t seen before. Surrounding it were big, lush, green trees and even stretches of grass.”

If they had come from the west, I thought to myself, then the sun would have been setting behind them. At best they would have seen their shadows over the pool. Never mind: his story did sound better like this. He certainly gave it the performance it apparently deserved.

“Well, they just dropped everything they were carrying and rushed down that hill to the pool, stuck their heads right in, drawing in deep gulps of the stuff, even choking a little. They didn’t care if it was diseased by this point, they needed water and they’d found the coolest mountain spring. Their bellies full and bloated with water, they just crashed out where they were, lying beside the pool. Next morning they bathed in it, and then they had to start worrying about what to do next.

“Back then this was a clean fresh water supply, I don’t need to tell you how valuable that is. And for that night they’d been fine there, but what happened when someone else came along? Someone else that didn’t like sharing and had a bigger gun than them? Remember, there was only the four of them back then. Today it might have felt like you walked into town without anyone noticing, but trust me, LuAnn was up in the  watchtower, and if you’d looked dangerous you would have been ‘welcomed’ very differently.”

I was briefly hurt that I apparently didn’t look dangerous, but shook it off.

“They started scavenging parts from cars and the like. Look at the buildings, you can see how they were made. But the first thing they built was a barricade, right around the entire oasis. It wasn’t long before some none-too-friendly types came by. Elaine and the boys were never the type to be trifled with though. I figure about half the people that tried to claim the waterhole as their own fled, and the other half are probably buried a mile north of here. But on occasion people would come through who genuinely just wanted the water and were more than happy to share. The town grew from that, building by building. After a point they had enough people to keep a good watch, and word got out that it wasn’t worth the casualties to try and fight your way in, and they were able to dismantle the barricade. Some of it went into this very building. Look around long enough and you’ll find a few of the bullet holes that raiders left in it.”

I glanced around but couldn’t see any. Maybe it was just the dim light. “So what happened to the three guys then? What was it, Rick, Anton, and Buck? Elaine said they were dead and gone. If they got it secured with them still around then…”

“Well, for a while they were all in charge together. The new citizens were happy to follow their lead if it meant safety and water. Rick was the first to go. He and Buck went out scavenging for parts and for food. Took a couple of the civvies with them. Now, the way Buck told it, they were a couple of miles out and raiders came down on them. Reckoned it was some of them that they’d turned away sometime before. Buck was the only one that made it back. Said he’d had to make a run for it. Raiders had sniped out Rick before they knew what was happening and then the civilians got taken down in a flurry of bullets, Buck barely escaped with his life. But Buck is a big man, and he made it back with the weapons that all the others had been carrying as well. I don’t know, never rung true to me, and Elaine wouldn’t tell you this, but from what happened later I suspect it didn’t for her either. They went out to look for the bodies. Just found blood soaked sand though. Buck said the raiders must have taken the bodies, had some gruesome suggestions of why, still… I’ll let you decide for yourself.”

There didn’t seem to be much to decide, at least not from the story I was being told, which was probably third hand at best.

“Rick had never been the most useful of the group. He’d fetch and carry when it came to it and he could hold a gun, though he didn’t like to. But he was their glue. He kept the seas of Elaine’s temper calmed, he made sure Anton stayed content with what was going on, and he ensured that Buck didn’t do anything too stupid. Once he was gone, it was really the end for the group. Anton was the next to go.”

“Buck kill him, too?” I asked, bluntly.

“No, no. As far as I know he’s still alive out there somewhere. As far as anyone knows here really. Anton was never really designed for life in a town, even one such as this. He was happy on the road with the others, and before the fall he kept out in the open as much as he could, away from people as much as he could. Elaine tried to stop him from leaving, had an argument about it in here, not careful enough to check that Phil wasn’t eavesdropping. Elaine said she needed him stay, that with three of them still in charge their position was legitimate, but without him it started to get more feeble. He laughed at that. ‘Then let them rule themselves,’ he said, ‘we were never looking to be leaders, we were looking to be people.’ She didn’t really respond to that. Instead she just said that with only her and Buck in charge, people would get restless. Anton laughed again, and laid down a prophecy, ‘Once I’m gone, and make no mistake, I am going,’ he said, ‘the two of you won’t be in charge together for more than a week. He’ll force you out, burn the place to the ground, or you’ll put a bullet in his head.’ He was an astute man was Anton, I would have liked to have met him.”

“I think I can guess which one happened then…”

“Ah, you must be astute to,” Jay said with a smile. “Anton left the next morning. His cot wasn’t even cold before the troubles started. Small at first. Buck wanted to start rationing the water more strictly. Wanted to monitor what people drank in here. Wanted to put everyone on strict rotas to get the best work out of them. Now, Elaine is all for efficiency, but she’s also for an element of freedom in what people can do. If you don’t cause trouble, you can do what you want. But you’ll be treated more kindly if you lend a hand. But what Buck wanted had nothing to do with efficiency. It had to do with him having control over things. Everything. It might not seem that bad, perhaps, but I think Elaine could still hear Anton’s words. Then one day, Buck comes up to her, says he’s going on a run, scouted out a big salvage area last time he was out, a little further away than they’d usually go, wants to show her. And he wants to bring a couple of civilians along as well. Starts sounding familiar, right?”

“Just a little.”

“Buck had a nasty habit of underestimating people. Particularly if they had breasts. Guess he figured that she didn’t know what had gone on with Rick and what he planned then. They took out one of the sandcats—oh, hey, yeah, you might not have seen those, drop by Chrissy’s, they’ve come in handy. Well, when they work. Only got a couple though.”

I waved this aside, “I dropped in on my way here, think I saw one.”

“Ah. Well, from what I gather Elaine wasn’t going to be played for a fool, she went out there with him, but she hand-picked the ‘civilians’ to go with them. He drove out a good long way and stopped at the peak of a hill. Said he needed to stretch his legs. I hear that when he pointed the gun at Elaine one of their passengers shot his gun arm and the other took out one of his kneecaps. Word is, she just smiled at him. They tied him up and hauled his ass back to the main street, got everyone out there to hear what had happened as Buck just knelt, tied up in front of the sandcat, bleeding. She told the whole story then: Rick, Anton, what Buck had tried to do now. No one said a word when she put the bullet in his brain. And nobody challenged her authority since.”

I stared at him for a while before I realized that the story had finished and I was still staring. “Wow…So just… Okay. And after that everything has run smoothly?”

“Give or take. Elaine is in charge of decisions and such, but she mostly just lets people be people. There’s the odd hiccup, but she’s usually able to sort things out somehow. Things have just worked out. There’s usually people travelling through that we can barter some things from in exchange for a place to rest. Not that long ago we were having some trouble with illness, lot of people got sick. Probably something that got started from the water getting polluted. But a woman passed through, one who’d grown up here and had heard the rumors, just like you. She’d worked in a hospital before things turned bad and she had meds with her. We resupplied her and helped how we could and she managed to sort most of it out.”

I realized I was staring again. “What was her name?”

“Uh… It was a while ago, I probably have it written down though. Oh, Lorie. That was it.”

“Black hair. Pretty. Been in a city down south?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“You could say that. We grew up together. I haven’t seen her in a long time. I figured she’d died. Where did she go on to?”

“She headed up north. Said she thought things might be better further up there.”

“Is that likely? How long ago was this?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an expert. And perhaps five or six weeks.”

“I might not stay around as long as I thought. Sounds like I have something to look for.”

The next day I met up with Jay as I had promised him and gave him the names of the dead and any other information I could help with. A couple accounted for people he had known in his travels. Then I went to find Elaine.

She had joined us after Jay had finished his story the night before, and after she had finished her errands. I told her of my plan to head north and see if I could find Lorie and see if there was any truth to things being better further north. She’d stared at the table for a while before announcing: “I’ll come with you.”

I was taken aback at first. And I still had Jay’s story about her fresh in my ears. “But the town, doesn’t it n—”

“The town needs supplies,” she interrupted me, “and it needs more scavenging materials. That’s something we’re running out of here. I need to look further afield and it’s not something I can trust to just a scouting team. Chrissy, Phil and LuAnn can hold the town for the time being. We’ll take one of the sandcats, it’ll be faster, and more useful if we do find anything.”

I’d considered protesting further until she’d mentioned the sandcat. I didn’t want to dawdle, but walking more after only one good night’s rest didn’t appeal much.

When we got to Chrissy’s and told her we’d be taking one of them and that she was to help hold the town she seemed less than impressed but didn’t argue, loading it up with supplies for us instead. Elaine seemed like she’d be an interesting person to ride with. I just wondered how she’d react if she found out I’d given a false name. Perhaps she had as well.

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