Dismounted now, they led their horses and their cargo to the left onto a narrow road that the Guard had built up some years back. It ran parallel with the Wall and the smaller of the two rivers that cut north-south through the area, the high Wall on the left and the deep running river on the right. The idea was to give invaders a good, long time to be within sight of gun emplacements on the opposite shore where multiple guard stations were built and fortified on the muddy bank of Snake Island. The road itself wasn’t much of anything other than a compacted bunch of dirt and gravel, but it led north to a more impressive old-world bridge that was the ingress to the city proper. At one time this bridge held hundreds of old cars that were stalled and then abandoned when the apocalypse kicked off three decades ago, but the old machines had long been turned to scrap. Now the bridge was a smooth, straight shot up and over the multitude of creeks and marshlands that came with having two rivers constantly rising and falling with the rain as they cut through the city on their way to empty into the sea.
Once over the bridge and on solid ground again, the Rangers were amidst the crowds in the market district. The farmers with their handcarts and laden backpacks pulled away from the main thoroughfare to deposit their goods in the massive, tin depot where their hauls could be sorted and distributed. Meanwhile the Rangers had to dive into the hundreds of people going about their day purchasing food from the dispensaries at the bridge exit. The dispensaries tended to run their queues out into the street, one line of hungry folks mixing with several others until the area was a mess of people jostling to keep their place or, at the very least, keep moving forward. It happened no matter how much the Guard tried to maintain order throughout the day, so the Rangers had to ask for a gap to be made quite a few times to get the horses and trailer through.
The more inquisitive children, tired of waiting to pick up their food ration with their parents, ran alongside the Rangers begging to pet the horses or asking what they'd found out there in the wilds. Everett did his best to answer questions and accommodate requests for horsey pats, but he also tried to be boring enough to allow the children’s attention spans to wane before the column got too far from the kids’ parents.
North, up the road and on higher ground where the more specialized vendors sold their wares, the crowd thinned out to be manageable enough. Repurposed houses and garages stood open, advertising the sale of all manner of goods and services. Poppet makers’ signs advertised enchanted floor cleaning models, now with friendlier faces and fewer bugs, for 20 silver coins. Paper makers’ apprentices stewed vats of pulp while the master took dried stock off the rack to bind. A shock shop sat uncharacteristically dark and empty inside, while the squinting proprietor hunched over his work table out on the walk, soldering on a way past its prime circuit board.
A crew of linemen dangled precariously as they replaced a transformer up above. Apparently the possessor of an electricity Gift, one of the uniformed crewman held the live wire well away from his coworkers as sparks flew from his hands. A pair of goggled and masked members of the sewer patrol unloaded specialized equipment from a wooden cart, passing collapsible spears, heavy picks, and glowstone helmets to their fellows already down a nearby storm drain. No doubt, once the cart was empty, the two skinny men on the surface would slither down into the dark themselves to carry out their duties.
Newsies pushed their squeaky carts through the crowds and sold their single-page issues for a copper piece. Everett didn't stop to buy one, but the big, featured headline “Trial Concluding Today” was emblazoned across the day's issue. Whose trial or why this particular trial made headlines, Everett didn’t know. He’d ask about it later, once he’d had a chance to relax.
A stretch of former mini malls held washeterias with semi-functioning machines that rumbled and rocked on their frames as sweaty attendants went from washer to washer, knocking the shop’s singular engine belt that powered the machines back into place. Bookies stood inside their doors working the fighting pit scene, taking bets from anyone that came with a good reference. Meanwhile, small-time martial arts instructors and weapons masters that fed competent fighters into the pits trained their more durable proteges in full view of the public with the combatants working heavy bags or sparring among those with sufficiently enhanced bodies or Gifts that helped them take extra punishment.
Every once in a while, Everett would spot the crumpled, twitching forms of addicts lying in the gutters or against the hot brick of a store, their skin livid with bruises and contusions they most likely could not remember acquiring. Their dependence on black made them lethargic and frail during their dry times, but no one dared touch them even to remove them from the street lest the affliction spread. Black was like that, suffusing the body and soul until you became a transmission vector for the high and subsequent addiction.
Odds were that some of the sweaty gladiators training in front of the schools were on the stuff, riding that hideous strength black gave them to trade blows with opponents far above their level. Their drug fueled vigor and boundless aggression probably brought them victory after victory even as it hollowed them out, leaving them in a wretched heap in the alley too. Everett wanted to grab them and shake them, tell them that road led to heartache and death, but it would do no good. Everyone knew the risks, but power, even transitory power, meant everything in the new world. Not everyone had the coin or the discipline to enhance their power the slow and safe way.
The patrolling Guard saw the obvious presence of the drug, ignored it, and enforced traffic violations or checked business licenses instead.
Everett noticed Finn’s gaze linger on the training blackers as well, absent mindedly flexing his recently healed wrist.
“Hey, Finn,” Everett called. The young Ranger’s head snapped in Everett’s direction, the look on his face a guilty one. “When we get back, you wanna help me fix your rifle? I could be persuaded to give it a little compensation if that’s your thing.”
Finn slapped on that lopsided grin he used when he wanted to pretend he was too cool for school. “Much as I appreciate the offer, I’ve got to go see my dad as soon as I’m off duty. He’ll probably have something for me to do. Besides, I’m useless in a shop. You know that.”
“Hey, buddy. It was just an offer. Who knows? You might take to it eventually.”
Finn balked, shrinking away but turning the movement into an overly casual check of his horse's bridle. “Maybe I’ll come back after checking in at home. You going to be there for a while?” He asked.
Everett shrugged. “Long as they’ll let me.”
“Your work ethic astounds me, big man. I’m gonna go home and close my eyes all the way for the first time in weeks,” the rookie declared.
Everett didn’t exactly call what he did work. He just enjoyed the act of making something out of next to nothing. It was more of an all consuming hobby. If the Rangers made him a full time engineer, he’d never ‘work’ another day in his life.
“Oh, and you expect us to believe your time at home is just soft pillows and home cooked meals?” Carl shot back over his shoulder from the head of the column.
Finn laughed a little too quickly and a little too boisterously to be believable. “I do my fair share of training at home, I guess.”
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“Just training?” Carl probed.
“Plus, I’ve got hobbies and stuff.” His tone was light but strained.
“Name one.”
“Is sleep a hobby?”
“Nope,” replied Carl.
“Heavy drinking?” Finn suggested.
The scout shook his head. “Unlikely.”
“Women?”
Carl snorted. “Have you ever even talked to a woman?”
“Just the once. Tell your mom I said what’s up.”
“You couldn’t handle my mom, newbie. She’s like an angel, but one of those angels from revelations, all eyes and holy light that’ll melt your face off your skull.”
Finn pursed his lips and looked up thoughtfully before giving an appreciative nod. “I could be into that.”
“That’s something I might believe, if I didn’t know better. You’d be surprised by what I know, newbie.”
There was a long, pregnant pause, long enough for them to pass a couple more store fronts.
Then Finn brought out the big guns. “I collect spores, molds, and fungus.”
Carl whirled around and pointed an accusatory finger at Finn. “Don’t you dare quote Ghostbusters to me. You sully Ramis’ genius with your… your… your obfuscations.” Everett saw something pass between the two… something significant, but Everett knew better than to ask. Carl knew a lot about a lot of people by virtue of his power of perception, but he had a hard rule on narcing. A curious someone might even get stabbed for suggesting he do so. Stabbed then taken to a healer if Carl liked that particular someone.
“Fine. Keep your secrets, all the good they’ll do you,” Carl finally said, dropping the subject and going back to leading the column.
“Oh, like you’re a real open book, Carl,” Saul teased, finally having the vigor to spare for some banter.
“No one asked you, Doc,” the scout scoffed, turning around to walk backwards and pointing at himself with both of his thumbs. “With me, what you see is what you get, and I’m proud of that. Big Carl ain’t just a man, he’s a brand.”
"Big Carl?” Everett mouthed to Finn, but the younger Ranger could only tilt his head and shrug.
They walked on in companionable silence until they pulled into the Ranger compound around noon. It wasn’t much to look at, really, not compared to the miracle Wall sitting right there visible over the treetops across the river. The compound was in a wooded part of the city that used to be a park, but the Rangers claimed the place when the unit had been founded, digging in like ticks and daring an authority figure to evict them and their animals. A while back, they’d strung rusty chain link between the five gabion wall strong points in the shape of a funky pentagon, though the Rangers called it the Star in honor of the old Texas Rangers. Upon their approach to the old gate, which was mostly respected as a courtesy rather than because it was a physical barrier, Carl was the man to call out their sign.
He cupped his hands and directed a shout at the little wooden guard shack that sat next to the gate. “Flash!”
There was a long pause before the countersign came, not from the guard shack, but from above them. “Gordon! Go on in, boys. We’ve been waiting for you.” The voice came from a well camouflaged blind built into an old oak just behind the column and to the right. Inside would be a sentry taking his turn on the duty roster to watch the approach, probably carving lewd messages and pictograms in the wooden walls for other Rangers to find. Every Ranger that came up had done gate duty up there, and Everett remembered the smell of old tobacco mixed with mildew along with how the wooden platform creaked and flexed when he set his full weight upon it. Not the large engineer's favorite duty, but it was nice enough if the weather cooperated.
As was custom, no one turned to acknowledge the sentry’s presence. They simply unlatched the gate and proceeded inside to an open courtyard of packed dirt surrounded by sturdy wooden structures where they were all fed, housed, equipped, and trained as long as they stayed in the city and were employed as Rangers. Several workers rolled barrels of something that rattled metallically toward the barracks while two Rangers, male and female, squared off in the rope-lined sparring area slashing and thrusting with training knives, fighting over a dropped dummy rifle on the ground between them. The smell of fresh hay and manure as well as the sound of gentle whinnies blew in from the stables to their right. Inside the barn-style workshop to the left, Everett detected the whirring of a circular saw.
The column’s freshly returned horses sniffed at the air and danced back and forth as if to ask if they could go see their friends. Dog especially seemed ready for the mission to have officially come to an end, constantly trying to angle himself to drift toward the stables... toward a particular filly the horse knew to be there. Everett rubbed Dog's neck and clicked his tongue to try and keep him focused for just a little longer. Carl held up his hand calling for a halt just in front of the command post, an old red brick square thing that used to be a utility building when the park was still a park.
After a long moment, Ranger Commander Nelson strode out of her office in the command post and stood in front of Carl, who was their de facto leader in Cap's absence. The commander was a woman of extremes: tall as Everett, thin as a switch, skin like beef jerky, wiry gray hair under a wide-brimmed cowgirl hat, and the shining silver star of the commander pinned to her leather vest that draped over her camo fatigues. Her voice was reedy like wind blowing over empty bottles, but it carried with it a command and confidence unmatched by anyone Everett had ever met.
“Welcome back, Rangers. Report!”
“Five returning. Red on ammo, amber on water, green on personnel, amber on equipment.” Carl called in his ‘official command voice.’
“Very good, Ranger,” the Commander answered with an approving look, ending the ceremonial part of the homecoming. “Now, where the flippin’ heck is Cap?… pardon my French. Did that old coon dog find something out there more interesting than leading his unit back home? Is that how you lost an entire trailer?”
Finn cleared his throat and fiddled nervously with his horse’s lead and that of Cap’s. The Commander gestured for him to speak. “No, ma’am. We ran into Lady Yshmari on our way here, and Cap went to secure ammo before the depot got the word we’re persona non grata. The trailer is a longer story.”
Commander Nelson sighed, removing her hat and running her fingers through her hair. “I’ll see what I can do to smooth things over with Yshmari and the council. I know you boys are eager to be off duty, so turn in your firearms and gear for storage, stable your horses, and I’ll see you all bright and early at sun up tomorrow.”
She’d barely finished her sentence before they were scattering like cockroaches in the sun.
“Wait. Wait. Wait, you little heathens. I haven't dismissed you yet.”
Everyone stopped dead, Everett with his plate carrier halfway over his head and only able to see out of one of the arm holes.
“Now come here. All of you. Come in close.” Finn, Carl, Saul, and Everett gathered around the old Commander. She smelled of wood smoke, cordite, and cut grass. She looked them all in the eye one by one, making sure they all met her gaze. “I’m glad you’re all back safely. Finn, your father will be eager to see you. Saul, remember to take some time to eat and rest. Carl, don’t make me come get you out of jail.” She grinned, her coin enhanced, white teeth a jarring contrast to the aged leather that was her skin. “Now… dismissed.”
Again they scattered. Everett, once again tried to leave, but Commander Nelson grabbed his arm with surprising strength and pulled him back to her. “Everett, my boy, you got a message a couple weeks back. Sealed letter. Pablo’s holding it for you.”
“Roger that, ma’am. I’ll get it,” he replied distractedly. The buzzing of the workshop called to him.
“See that you do, and don’t go taking apart any of my stuff before you ask.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her expression turned into a mischievous smirk, holding him there for just a couple torturous seconds more while he tried to keep his eyes from darting toward the shop, but the Commander eventually broke. “Alright. Scoot,” she laughed as she slapped him on the shoulder.
Then Everett was off duty. Between missions. Between blows. Between horrors.
It was high time he made something.