Shape, Shadow, Silhouette; Texture, Spacing, Sound; Movement and Shine: the Ten Reasons Why Things Are Seen.
He could never remember the last two.
But it didn’t matter. While his mind traced through the list, his body moved by instinct. It pulled him through the woods, finding the shadows and avoiding the twigs.
It was a padded list, anyways.
The midsummer smells of dust and dry rot pervaded, while shafts of light shone through the trees, confusing the senses. The precautions he’d taken over the past couple days, scouting the eastern arc for a possible tail, had calmed his mind but left his body full of nervous energy. He stepped out of the woods near the ‘Town of Blackstock’ sign, but he didn’t climb up onto the Highway.
His gait transformed into a nondescript stroll, while his thoughts drifted back to the long trek he’d been on when he first passed this way. He stayed to the low ground. Beneath the surface his muscles were twitching.
A sun dipped behind some clouds, and he crossed the street, over towards Landfall’s. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he drifted into view of the market, but nobody looked over and saw him. He slid into the bar’s welcoming darkness.
The Mechanic was there; his hunched form was sitting in the far corner. With a discreet motion, Wentworth slid his duffle bag down his arm, and propped it against the stairwell heading up to the pool room. His rifle — damn! He should have put it away, or at least slung it before coming into town. None of the other patrons seemed to have noticed though — that loudmouth caravan guard was at the bar, drawing everyone’s attention — so with a casual movement he tucked it under his duffle bag, then walked away, sliding into the empty chair at Raxx’s table.
“How’s it going?”
The Mechanic’s eyes clicked up from the pint they’d been staring into. For a moment Wentworth felt bad for sneaking up on him, but the man showed no discomfort. The Mechanic’s face was blank.
It was only a heartbeat before he replied, but for that instant his visage was stripped away. Gone were the mannerisms, the cheerfulness Raxx showed the outside world. His face was a stone clock, ticking away. A cold, benign intelligence.
“Hey.”
Wentworth tilted his head in acknowledgement, then glanced over at Eddie behind the bar. The man paused in his conversation with Billy, and held up an empty pint glass. Wentworth nodded, and the two of them waited for the beer to arrive before continuing.
“So you find what you were looking for out there?”
Wentworth shrugged. “Yeah. Just getting to know the lay of the land.” He took a sip of his beer. It was warm and bitter. He crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back against the wall, staring out at the room. He felt comfortable. Stable.
“You know,” he glanced over sharply, “locals are what they are. You can’t change that.”
Raxx’s shoulders slumped and some emotion returned to his face. “Yeah, I know that.” He stared down into his drink. “Sometimes I forget stuff I already know.” He took a swig then fell back in his chair. “Fuck.”
Eddie took a slow sip from his pint glass. With the rim half-covering his eyes he watched the mullet-haired guard flirting with Marie at the front of the room. She was ignoring her drink and toying with her hair. Off to the left her brother was glaring at nothing. Elmo had been spending most of his time in the bar since the mule kick, using the alcohol to medicate the pain. But tonight it seemed to be making it worse.
“Ai, Billy,” the mohawked-foreigner was sitting at the bar, nodding his head in time to the music. “Your buddy there,” he nodded in Verizon’s direction, “He’s pissing on somebody’s lawn.”
“Eh?” Billy glanced back, “What, he’s just talking to her. Why you beefing, Eddie? He ain’t doing nothing.”
He eased back on the bar, “It ain’t me that’s angry, Billy; I’m just explaining how things work here. You know I appreciate your business — I always like it when you foreigners come out here and buy my beer. But just now we got a situation, and it ain’t nothing to do with me. Back behind you on your right — past your buddy Raxx — is a big ox. His name’s Elmo. Marie back there is his cousin. And he ain’t feeling too happy. You catch what I’m saying?”
“Aw, come on, they’re just talking — if you appreciate our business, why’re you getting all upset over a conversation?”
Eddie shook his head. “T’ain’t me. It’s Elmo over there. I just thought you might like a chance to go talk with Marie and your friend… you know, before Elmo decides to speak with them himself.”
“So I’ve been thinking. And I have a theory.” Raxx took a sip of his beer. “See, there was this other place up North I stopped at for a while, and I think the same thing happened there. It was part of what they called the ‘Woodsman’s Code’ — it was a lot like the ‘Corn Cycle,’ it was their rules for how to farm — trees up North, not crops, but still — and how to run the town.”
He took another sip of his beer. He was forcing the idea out, and it was coming in halts. “I’ve got to tell you another theory first. You remember the Silver Beetle plague a few years back?” Wentworth didn’t, but he nodded to keep Raxx talking. “The only barley that wasn’t hit was the one they use for animal feed — the two-row barley. That year all the farmers switched over to it, and didn’t grow the other stuff until the beetles disappeared. I remember the beer being shitty. I switched to drinking whiskey.”
The statement reminded him of his drink and he took a sip, eyebrows still furrowed. “But here’s what most people don’t realize: I was talking with these farm hands one time, and they told me that during the plague they’d sometimes find a crop of two-row that was infected. So they’d burn those ones, just like they burned the fields of Four-row and Six-row. Now here’s where it gets interesting. The next year — after the plague was over — they said that the two-row had changed. Four- and six-row were still the same, but the two-row was a darker brown than it used to be.” His shoulders hunched. “Why? Why had it changed, when the others were still the same?”
Wentworth shrugged, and grunted for him to continue.
“Here’s what I figure; the seeds they used to grow the four- and six-row were from two years before — they’d burned all the plants during the plague year, and none of them had produced seeds. But for the two-row, they used the stuff that the beetles hadn’t eaten — that they hadn’t burned. And those seeds were different.”
He tugged at his eyebrow ring as he thought, “There hasn’t been a plague with the cattle or oxen, not that I can think of — but the ranchers are always picking out which cattle they’re gonna breed, and which ones they’ll slaughter based on things like milk and size. So I’m guessing if there were a plague that we’d probably see the same thing happening with the animals as we did with the plants. Some of them would be better at surviving than others, and the ones that did would be different somehow.”
Wentworth scratched the side of his glass with his index finger. It was empty. “There were a lot of prewar ideas like yours. I’d say you’re probably right.”
Raxx looked up with a flat gaze. “That’s good, because it leads up to my next idea. When most people think of the War, they only think of the bombs. But where I grew up most of the stories were about what came after. They all said that the punishment for the War was worse than the War itself.
“It was… basically, it was sort of like a ten year plague… and if the Silver Beetles could change the barley… well, couldn’t something like that change people?
“Say you survived the bombs; half the people you meet are gonna be sick, or dying; would you want your daughter taking a chance marrying one of them? When you knew your own kids had survived okay?”
He grimaced in agreement, and Raxx carried on. But Wentworth had lost interest in the conversation. He was sick of these provincial hamlets, and wasn’t interested in rooting out Blackstock’s traditions. He was only listening because it would make the Mechanic feel better.
When was the bartender going to look up from his conversation and bring over another pint?
“…but even though there’s no reason for it anymore, they still do it, because the Corn Cycle is tradition. It’s all one big piece, and that’s the problem; they can’t take a small part of it and look at it, figure out whether or not that part makes sense, and then decide if it should be changed. In their minds, it all goes together, or none of it does.” He tilted his glass to drink only to find that it was empty too. He shook his head in annoyance and slid it over to the corner of the table. “I feel like an idiot for ever thinking I could fit myself in here.”
Wentworth shrugged, looking down. “You never know how locals are going to react. The bigger burgs are usually better.”
“Yeah, but they don’t got—” Wentworth’s head snapped up, and Raxx stopped speaking. He raised a hand in caution, and peered through smoky lenses towards the front of the room.
Raxx was twisting around to see what he was looking at, just as a loud giggle broke over the music. The two caravan guards were at a booth with Marie; one sitting, the other leaning over the table. Raxx stared at the scene, trying to figure out what had Wentworth tensed when a sudden bellow shot lead up his spine.
“Ai!”
The bar froze at Elmo’s shout. The canned music was heavy and latent.
“Marie! The shit you think you’re doing?”
A sibyllic change swept over the redhead. “Fuck you, Elmo! Go back to your bitterroot!”
The giant heaved to his feet, upsetting his table. His glass exploded as it hit the stones. He wobbled briefly then strode forward with purpose. “Don’t you be shitting me, Marie, not four days before the fucking Corn Festival—”
Marie’s response was lost in confusion as Billy shouted over her. Verizon tensed like a spring. Marie’s tattoos were an angry blue smear, and she screamed incoherently. Raxx was dimly aware of Wentworth sliding out of his seat as he found himself standing up as well.
“Here’s you, talking to these blasting yarnels—” Billy moved towards him, hands out in placation. In a haze of drunken pain, Elmo mistook the gesture. He shoved the man back with a pair of meaty hands, knocking him onto Marie. She started shrieking and Eddie’s shouts joined the bedlam.
Wentworth moved through the nest of overturned tables like a bead of hot oil skipping across water.
“You son of a bitch!” Verizon was climbing over the table in defence of his friend. Elmo grabbed Billy, lifting him by his mohawk.
“Sneaking with my cousin!”
Wentworth reached Elmo a step ahead of Raxx, hiding in the background of Elmo’s rage. He placed a steadying hand on the giant’s shoulder, while his other closed over the fist tearing through Billy’s hair.
The motion was a fluid twist. It ended in a sharp jerk and a shriek from Elmo.
The floor shook with the giant’s collapse, silencing his scream. Wentworth was on top, pinning his arms.
Raxx shifted gears and stepped over them. Verizon was jumping off the table — he caught the guard in mid-air, and heaved him back onto the table. “Stay!” His hearing came back — Wentworth was yelling in Elmo’s ear.
“Calm Down There Buddy! Calm Down! No—” he dug in with his knee, “Don’t Do That — I Need You to Calm Down! Are You Calm? Are You Good Now Buddy? Okay, That’s Good.” He looked over at Eddie and jerked his head, motioning him over. Raxx fixed his gaze on the guards; they were flushed and panting, but they weren’t moving to interfere. “Eddie’s gonna take you home, that okay buddy? You’re gonna be walked home to bed, if you stay calm. Yeah, Marie’s going with you too — you need to calm down so you can look after her, right? Are you gonna calm down? That’s good, ‘cause Marie need you to be calm. You gotta look out for her, right? Okay, buddy, I’m gonna let you up now — you’re calm right? And who’s gonna walk you home? Eddie, that’s right.
“Raxx, give me a hand here.”
“Okay, we’re gonna help you up, and then you’re gonna go home with Eddie, okay? You ready? One — Two — Three! There you go — you’re calm still, right? Look at me! You’re calm? That’s good now, Eddie’s gonna take your arm — and here’s Marie, she’s going to take your other arm. Now are you going to be okay? You’re going to be able to take Marie home? That’s good. Aright, I’ll see you later buddy, is that okay? Good. You have a good night, now.”
The three locals left the bar, and then it was just the four of them. Raxx saw Wentworth’s face slide into a scowl and his leg start jittering as he surveyed the two guards.
“You okay?” he asked Billy.
“Uh, yeah man, I think so.” He rubbed his head then looked at his arms; he wasn’t bleeding anywhere that Raxx could see. “Yeah, man. I think I’m okay.”
“Good.” Wentworth turned about, as if dismissing them, and walked behind the bar. He started rooting through the shelves, oblivious to their questioning gazes.
After a few seconds Verizon glanced from Raxx to Billy. “The fuck was that about?”
“Shut up.” Wentworth had placed a bottle on the counter, and was searching for glasses.
“Hey, man—”
“He said for you to shut up!” Raxx glared at Verizon, “Seeing as he just saved your ass, I think you ought to listen.”
Behind the bar, Wentworth ignored the other three. With a practiced hand he lined up the four glasses, then took the bottle and poured a shot of amber liquid into each. He grabbed the water pitcher, and repeated the process. He slid three of the glasses into place with bar stools and looked up.
“Sit. Drink. I’ll sort out the cost of this with Eddie when he gets back.” His eyes were heavy behind the tinted lenses.
Raxx took the far left seat, letting Billy and Verizon sit together. They’d been cowed into silence for the time being, but he could see that Verizon was itching to speak. Raxx decided to play it easy, grimacing as he sipped his whiskey, water back or not, and let Wentworth take his time getting to whatever it was that he wanted to say.
The seconds stretched by. The guards couldn’t figure out what to do with their eyes — their gazes kept darting from Wentworth, to Raxx, to their glasses, then back again. Raxx just watched the three of them, while Wentworth glared impassively into his drink. The song playing on the stereo ended, and a new one started up. Wentworth grimaced, searched for the power cable, and jerked it out. “I hate that song,” he said. Then he breathed out, and looked at the two guards.
“You guys fucked up.”
“Hey man, I wasn’t even involved — that ox shoved me when I was just trying to calm things down—”
Wentworth’s look silenced Billy. He took a slow sip of his drink before speaking. “The first rule of Civie Ops — of the guard duty that you two are supposed to be pulling — is that you’re always operational. You think your job’s nothing more than guarding the merchant on the highways? Well, you’re dead wrong boys. These settlements,” he swept his arm towards the town outside, “are funny. There’s a group dynamic going on in these places. You never know what’s going to set them off. Either of you ever been around — what are they — cattle?”
“Uh — yeah,” Verizon shuffled in his seat. “That’s what my folks do. We got a herd down South between Steeltown and Six Nations.”
“Then you know how if you spook one of them, they all start running?”
“Yeah man. Uh, that happened the first time I took my pup out with me. She got all excited by the new smells, plus, I didn’t know it at the time, but she was just coming on to her first heat. Aw, shit, you should have seen it, Billy — she nipped one of them and next thing you know the whole herd’s running. Man, but my pa was pissed… it took us a week to round ’em back up again…”
Wentworth nodded at the story. “Well boys, that’s what these locals are like. Anything can spark ’em — and then you got a whole mess of shit on your hands.” He looked over at Raxx for comment, but the man just shrugged, and nodded. Wentworth laid his gaze back on the guards. “We’ll just have to hope that what happened tonight doesn’t set them off. Verizon, tomorrow you’ll go apologize to Elmo for talking to his woman. Billy, don’t you say anything.” He gave them a chance to protest, but they were wide-eyed silent. “With any luck Elmo will be feeling bad about what happened.” He stared down into his drink. “The hangover should help with that.”
Tilting his head back he downed the rest of the drink. The other three followed suit, Raxx stayed sturdy but the other two gasped. “You guys ought to get some rack. Tomorrow morning you’ll have to explain to your boss what happened. My advice would be to start off by telling him you fucked up — take responsibility for it. No bullshitting. Then say something along the lines of what I just told you.”
The guards stood sluggishly and made gestures fitting to their abashed expressions. They wandered off to their rooms, and then it was just the two of them. Wentworth refilled their glasses, his eyes heavy on the bar.
Raxx cleared his throat. “That was good of you. What you did just now. You didn’t even know those guys, not really.” He sipped at the drink, “And Elmo… he’s just been messed up lately. He got kicked in the ribs by a mule a while back, and since then he hasn’t been able to work a full day.” He swirled the amber liquid, “I’m not even talking about helping with Elmo. I mean what you said to them just now; I think it’ll be good for them.”
Wentworth paused for a beat before answering. “I didn’t do it for their sake.” His eyes were emotionless as they looked over the glass. “That bit I said about locals stampeding? That’s how it really goes; and if they stampede it’ll land shit-side up for anyone else who isn’t local.” He drank. His glass clinked as he put it down on the bar. He fished around inside his jacket for cigarettes. “That’s not something I need, or want to deal with right now.”
Raxx stared at him, a slow flush rising in his cheeks. He seemed about to speak then shook his head. “You know what? Forget about it.” He went to down his drink, but seemed to have second thoughts as it reached his lips. He grimaced, and put the glass back on the bar. “Your motorcycle’ll be fixed sometime tomorrow,” he said as he rose from his seat, “next day at the latest… so you don’t have to worry about anyone ‘stampeding.’ I’m going to bed.”
Wentworth paused in lighting his cigarette to nod, but Raxx was walking away
The door shuddered close; a slam would have been more appropriate. He poured the Mechanic’s whiskey into his own glass and watched the smoke from his cigarette curl up. The liquid’s level fell, and he filled it again. He stared at it, deep into another time and place. In his mind the scratchy recordings of prewar music still played. When Eddie finally returned his mind was spinning and lost, and a heavy weight lay on him. He left for his room to let the sleep engulf him.