The sign, as we enter the town of Cross Junction, is a mix of metal and wood. The name, Cross Junction, is the green state sign that would tell you how far to go until you reach it. It’s cut where the number would be, and centered on a wooden board. Under that, hand painted in neat letters, is the population, 2364. It’s been changed often. Under that, a slogan. “At the junction of whatever things have become.”
“They looking to encourage us to join?” John asks. “Or scare us away?”
“I doubt the number’s been going down.” Elizabeth points to the faded paint streaks under the number.
“There’s also the road,” Albert says.
“Not much of one,” Terry snorts.
“But more of one than just about every other one,” the bogbear replies. “It’s like the system’s maintaining some sort of commerce lines between settlements.”
“They’re about to have their next population boom.” I start pulling again. “Where’s your relative? I don’t feel like having to wander around searching.”
“I’m messaging him.”
The houses have an odd prefabricated look to them. They’re rustic log cabins, more than actual houses, but they also look alike. Like someone is stamping them in place, instead of everyone building their own. They’re also closer to the road than I’d expect. For as often as I’ve driven through here, I don’t remember anything of what this stretch looked like before, but it was a highway. Houses weren’t usually abutting it.
“Are you sure this place is populated?” Elizabeth asks.
She’s right, there is a definite lack of welcoming committee.
“Uncle Pawel is still in the clan list, so he’s alive, and he lives here.”
“Maybe they’re all at work,” Terry said. “The neighborhood, back home, kind of felt like this during the weekdays.”
“I wonder what kind of work they’d have, all the way out here,” Deloy asks.
“Farming, building houses, blacksmithing, hunting, fletching, herbalism, tanning, cooking,” Terry raises another finger and thinks. “I can’t think of more jobs from the games I played, but any city builder that includes people management gets you to keep everyone busy, idle people rarely lead to happy people.”
The Worgen snorts. “I’m at my happiest when I don’t have anything to do.”
“Most children feel that way,” Albert said.
“I’m nineteen.”
The bogbear nods. “I rest my case.”
In the distance, the buildings change, modern among the rustic, fewer houses, and more business. There’s also less of a cookie-cutter sense to them. Some of them might have been there before the change. Someone exits a building, sees us and runs inside.
“I think the welcoming committee is about to show up,” John says.
The committee is around twenty people, with an even mix of humans to none humans. One pushes people aside and a bogbear hurries ahead. “Albert! Why not say coming?” they hug.
“Uncle Oskar told you I was coming.”
“Oskar say send supplies.” He motions to me. “No you come too.” They switch to another language.
“Welcome,” a man in a bloody apron says. “Forgive the lack of reception. We didn’t know to expect anyone.” He looked at the bogbear.
“Not told people coming. Told supplies.”
I look at John, and he nods, then steps forward. “I’m sorry if this is going to cause problems. We picked them up on the way here. Winchester’s kind of a mess.” He offers his hand. “I’m John.”
“Jeffrey.” He shakes it. “We were told there was no one remotely human left there. That there was something… wrong with the place.”
“People have told you about it?”
“We get a trickle of newcomers still. Some came by the city. Mitch, I think it is, went in. Something about physics not being right.”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“We pulled some out by accident, and they returned to normal, so we rescued as many as we could.”
“Amanda’s going to flip,” a disheveled woman says. “We’re not ready for this many people.”
“I think she’s going to be happy,” a young man in an unstained apron says. “This is going to go a long way to putting us at township status.”
“If it doesn’t kill us from starvation, first.”
“Come on, there’s going to be hunters among them. We can always use more farmers. That was one of the problems she told me about. We have too much arable land for—”
“Can someone tell me where you want these?” I say, and the two of them take a step back, startled. I open my mouth to point out I wasn’t that harsh.
“You have to forgive Chuck,” John says, smiling. “Social cues aren’t his strength. But he’s right. He’s been pulling this thing all the way from Mount Jackson. How about we park it and let him rest? Albert and…”
“Pawel. Yes, yes. Follow. Forge is at back.”
The crowd, which has grown slightly, parts and they watch me pull the pickup.
Out back turns out to mean almost a kilometer away, past housing and into the forest. I can smell ash and burning wood and other smells a hundred meters away.
“Are we still even within the city limit?” I ask.
“Ah!” Pawel exclaims. “No city. Not town even.” He speaks whatever language their clan speaks to Albert, then looks at me again. “Map limit other side of forge. Strong smell. Stay far.” He lowers his voice. “Enjoy alone.” He laughs.
I look at Albert, who shakes his head, smiling.
Fine, I won’t ask.
The open air building is built out of logs, and there’s signs there was a fire at some point.
“Learn size hard way,” Pawel comments. “Forge make high heat. Wood burns easy.”
“Didn’t you know that?”
He laughs again. “Use industrial forge before.” He motions the way we came. “Cement building. Air filtration. Not work no more. So move forge to house.” He points to a modest building made of logs, but nothing like the others we saw entering the town. This one feels ‘homemade’.
“Are you the only one in this area?” we can’t be in the same zone as where we left the other. Pawel nods. “Doesn’t it mean this is close to being wilderness like outside the limits?”
The bogbear points to the forge. “Technology.” I wait for more. He speaks with Albert.
“Tech’s one of the things that raises a zone toward civilization,” Albert says afterward. “Just him alone isn’t enough to make the place fully civilized, but it’s high enough he doesn’t have to deal with the big monsters.” Pawel says more. “They’re going to make a road connecting the forge to the rest of the town, and that’s going to raise it more.”
“Big monsters,” Pavel says, pointing to the forest.
“We know,” Albert says with a laugh. “Chuck loves to beat the crap out of them.”
“Monster hunter?” Pawel asks. “Need more them.”
I shake my head. “Where do you want the pickup?” he points to the side of the forge, by its wall. Once it’s in position, he and Albert speak quickly, looking over the content. I get out of the harness then, after hesitating, I unhook it from the pickup and send it to my inventory.
I make my way along the path and send John a message.
“Do you have a quiet place where we can talk?”
“There’s someone who’d like to thank you first.”
* * * * *
The someone is a woman in her early fifties. Svelte and enthusiastic. I know she’s the one because she’s up from the table where John and Patricia are seated and hugging me before anyone can reach.
I stiffen and watch my willpower. I’ll give her until I can see the drop, then I’m—
She lets go of me. “I am so glad to see you and your group. You have no idea what that metal’s going to do for us, not to say of the people you brought. John said there’s more of them in Winchester. Do you know how many? He didn’t. I’m Amanda, by the way, Welcome to Cross Junction.”
I’ve taken a step back without realizing it and not looking for the exit causes a noticeable dip in my willpower.
What is she?
Her smile falters.
“I’m sorry. Did I say something offensive? My mouth has a tendency of running off with me. I really didn’t mean any offense if I did. I’m just really happy at the help you’re bringing us.”
“I’m glad I could help,” I manage to get out and she smiles again, and it falters. What is she expecting here?
I look around so I don’t have to think about it. This is a bar, the counter and bottles behind it makes it clear. The room has eight tables, with only the one John is still at, watching us, being occupied. A muscular man in a flannel shirt and jeans steps out from a backroom, crate in hand, looks up over before putting it on the counter and moving bottles under it.
With nothing else to look at, I have to look at her. She’s still there, waiting.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No, no. Why are you asking?”
“You’re standing there, not doing anything.”
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?” I look over her head. “John, what’s going on?”
“Two socially clueless people trying to have a conversation.”
“She isn’t clueless,” I reply. “Just listen to her talk.”
“Oh,” she said. “Ohhh. I talk so much as a way of covering the fact I don’t get most of how people are. I mean, it started as a defense mechanism, but then became my default setting. Used to cause me no end of problems before the change, but now, everyone lefts me talk and when I stop they tell me what they think.”
“And you’re the Amanda that’s in charge of this place?”
She smiled. “Yes! Isn’t that great? I mean, it helps that I was part of a lot of committees devoted to neighborhood revitalization in my youth, even did a stint on the Martinsburg city council. That didn’t go as well as I would have liked, but I did learn something about running a town. Well, we’re only a township at the moment, but I’m hoping the people you brought with you will choose to say. The interface won’t give me the numbers until they’ve made the decision, but I expect we’re going to more than double our population that way.”
She jumps in place, clapping her hands.
I look at John. Is this punishment for going off on my own and nearly getting myself killed? He bursts out laughing.
So yeah, this is my punishment.
“I’m sorry,” she asks, looking at the man. “Did I say something funny?”
I should leave. It’s not like I owe her anything, and John can deal with this without me, if he even needed me here for more than punishing me.
“Come on over,” John says once he’s done laughing. “Gregory, bring Chuck a beer.” He lowers his voice and I probably only make out what he says because of my perception skill. “He’s going to need it.”