The next morning, Brewer was hating life. His head pounded, his stomach churned, and everything was too bright. He had never felt like this. If this was the price for drinking the holy drink, it wasn’t worth it.
He couldn’t imagine going into the brewery today. He grabbed a glass out of his cupboard and drank a lot of water to help the dry, cottony feeling in his mouth. This was not a good way to start the Five-Day. He needed to go in, or there would be extra hard work to make up the lost day. The grain would be ruined.
Brewer froze in mid sip. There wouldn’t be any making up anything for a while. Memory of last evening’s discussion drove a painful spike through his skull, threatening to make him retch. He had promised the See-Oh to deliver a package. A box and its contents, in fact. Various and sundries. Something, something, meet before sunset.
Details were a bit hazy at this point. He went to lie down.
As the day lifted, he felt better. He managed to make a simple broth with a protein cube for lunch, the bread and the saltiness helping him recover. By early afternoon he felt almost human again. He certainly would never drink mead again! He went to clean up the mess in his bathroom.
With the approach of evening, he could no longer put off his task. He walked to the brewery to hitch the horse to the cart. He fumbled a bit on the harness but got it on. The Abbot would undoubtedly be waiting already, probably tapping his foot. Regrettably, he couldn’t figure out a way to walk back the promise of previous night. Brewer wasn’t happy about that.
At his workplace, he couldn’t find the luggers. He couldn’t blame them. They had probably headed back to the stable around lunch, tired of waiting for him. He needed to tell them to clean the malting room floor and not to come in until he got back. Maybe the Abbot could arrange someone to tell them. He shook his head at the wasted grain. The Farmers would be furious when they found out.
Up the hill he went.
A rolled up section of the Cloister wall a hundred paces or so to the left of the usual spot where he met with Abbot had some boxes stacked in the brown grass. Several luggers were visible there, bringing more cases out. Traces of the hastily departed caravan still littered the lawn by it. An unfamiliar man in a green shirt waved him over. A O tube dangled from his nose. Brewer drove the wagon off the road toward him.
A large room set in the wall was filled with boxes and crates. Brewer stopped in front of it.
“Evening.” Brewer thought it best to be friendly. He got down from his seat.
“Hmm.” The man in the green shirt ignored him and studied a shiny tablet. Brewer caught a glimpse of some scrolling text. The man looked over the boxes in the storeroom and held the tablet up to a set of square markings on one. A beep came from the tablet. “You.” He pointed at the nearer of the luggers and then at box. “Grab that box, put it by the wagon.” He motioned toward Brewer’s cart.
The man in green spent twenty minutes scanning boxes, directing the luggers to grab one or another, and bring it to the growing pile by the wagon before approaching Brewer. “All the gear is ready.” He kicked at a crate stenciled with the word “Kitchen”. It had a picture of a pot on it. “There’s a small solar panel in there so you can recharge it.”
Brewer nodded. He was regretting not having eaten much this day and wondered what he was talking about. Also, why weren’t they loading up his wagon?
“Brewer, I’m glad you’re finally here. May your footprint decrease.” The voice of the Abbot pulled him away from the tableau. The Abbot trudged over the ground to him.
“May you recycle all.”
Abbot leaned in close to him, right in his face. “Do not screw this up. The See-Oh is trusting you with something very important to him.”
Brewer’s heart started to race. “I... I will try my best. I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Of course you can. You have instructions, directions.”
“I’ve never really been outside of the town walls.”
“Nonsense. You’ve visited the fields of the Farmers before.”
“This isn’t the same.” Brewer’s headache was starting to come back.
“Just go to the old road and follow it south. Keep going until you get to the next Cloister. You’ll be fine.”
Brewer was feeling anything but fine.
Two luggers were carrying a huge smooth gray cube. It looked to be chest high on Brewer. The edges and corners were clad in metal. A couple of latches held a hinged top down on the enormous container. There were several small holes with a fine mesh in the sides, just under the top.
Brewer raised an eyebrow. “The box?”
The Abbot nodded.
The box was loaded onto the wagon and pushed to the front. The rest of the boxes and crates followed suit.
“Are those all supplies?” Brewer’s eyes followed the progress.
“The ones with the red squares are supplies for you. There’s enough for two of you to get there and back. That should be plenty. It should only be a couple of weeks,” said the man, looking over the tablet with the inventory.
Brewer nodded. A familiar barrel was placed in the back. Brewer looked at the Abbot.
“It’s just water. None of your product. Oh, we can’t forget.” The Abbot pointed at a small crate with half a dozen bottles in it. Brewer’s stomach flipped-flopped.
“Now, don’t be tempted. That mead is for the See-Oh of where you are going. A token of our appreciation.”
Brewer hastily shook his head. Memories of the morning still threatened him.
The luggers finished loading the wagon. The man with the green shirt gave it a glance and headed inside of the room, pressing a button on the wall. The door unfolded down, converting the outer wall of the Cloister once again into a smooth, unbroken surface.
“Remember your promise. Whatever happens, deliver the box and its contents. Don’t go to sleep on the road and get as far as you can tonight. Everything will be fine,” said the Abbot.
The evening bell at the gate tolled in the distance. Brewer turned to mount his cart. The Abbot put his hand on Brewer’s shoulder. Brewer started and looked at the Abbot.
“For Gaia’s sake, after they get the message, tell them to hurry.” The Abbot looked about, then reached out, clasped Brewer’s hand, and shook it. “Good luck.” He turned on his heels and strode to his usual portal.
Brewer closed his mouth, pursed his lips, and heaving himself onto the seat, he picked up his reins. “Come on, Maggie. We’ve got a long night.”
The horse clomped down the road toward the gate.
* * *
The horse tried to turn toward the brewery when it reached the front of the building on the street. A tug on the reins stopped it. Confused, it stamped its feet before proceeding.
“No, girl, we’re not going to the farmers tonight either.”
They drove past the tenements and decaying storefronts. There was no one to be found. It made Brewer uneasy. Ahead, an old, withered man with a long white beard held a lantern up, casting light in the already dark courtyard in front of the town gate, the gatekeeper waiting for Brewer’s approaching wagon. He paced back and forth, the circle of light following his unsteady gait. The electric light from the lantern occasionally revealed two luggers near the door, crossbar to the gate already in their hands. It took Brewer a moment to figure out what the gatekeeper held in his other hand: a spear, of all things. He matched the human-sized shapes atop the wall, illuminated by the dying light, who also held spears.
Brewer nodded at the man as he approached.
“About time you finally showed up.” The gatekeeper seemed crankier than usual. “Been kept from locking up, waiting for you. Open the gate!” he shouted.
Brewer was fascinated by the spear. He had never seen the gatekeeper armed before. The tip kept jerking back and forth.
The gate creaked open.
“You gotta hurry. We hafta bar the door.” The luggers holding the cross bar seemed to be trembling. The strangeness of the scene rattled Brewer.
Brewer nodded and took the wagon through the opening. It slammed shut as soon as he cleared it, a loud thud announcing the door being barred.
Brewer plodded into the twilight. He spied the red building of the Farmers and went past it until he met the Ancient’s road running north-south past the Farmers’ barren fields. He turned south. Looking over his left shoulder, he could see the walls of the town as a dark smudge along the eastern horizon. The steady plodding of hooves kept their own time.
The night deepened, and some stars started to show. There was still a ruddy glow on the western horizon, a perfect cap to a weird day. He was going to need an electric lantern out to light his way to do as the Abbot told him. He thought he saw one under the seat earlier.
A moan interrupted his thoughts. Brewer looked around. A banging started. From behind him. Brewer froze.
“What the... Hey! Let me out! Let me out, you Gaia-blasted carbon-shitters!”
The wagon stopped. Brewer stood and turned around. The yelling was muffled. Was it coming from the box? In the gloom, he put his hand on the lid. It shook and rattled. The voice continued to shout expletives. It was clearly coming from within. Brewer reached around the sides and front and undid the latches. He started to lift the lid open when it was snatched out of his hands by the force of someone hitting it. A head popped up. In the last of the light, Brewer could see they had red hair in a bun. Brewer studied the face.
“Oh, by Gaia’s tits, I thought they were kidding. They sent me off with the fucking moron!”
Brewer gasped. “You! I saw you the first time!”
“No shit. Cunts shanghai’ed me into the box.”
Brewer stared at her.
“Bushwhacked? Kidnapped?”
“Wait, are you saying you’re not supposed to be here?”
The girl scowled at him. “You are thick. They drugged me and put me into the damned box. I sure as hell didn’t want to come.” She looked all around at the dark sky with myriad stars, shadows spread across the land. Her eyes settled on the glowing western horizon. “I don’t get out much. Is it supposed to be like that?”
He shook his head at her. “It’s nighttime. Sun sets. Gets dark.” Soon, they wouldn’t be able to see each other if he didn’t get a lantern out.
“Why is that still lit?”
Brewer looked over. His heart started to beat a little faster. “I don’t know. I think it’s a little brighter than before.”
“You need to get going.”
“I think you’re right.” Brewer sat down in a hurry and took up the reins. “Hiya!” The horse started to mosey along.
“Can’t this nag go any faster?”
Brewer cracked the straps on the horse. She sped up marginally. A quick glance to the right, and he saw a couple of flickering orange pinpoints of light at the horizon.
“Go, go, go!” His passenger urged him on.
“The wagon’s heavy. She can’t pull it fast for too long.”
A loud grunt and the sound of two feet landing on the floorboards. Crash!
Brewer looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing back there?”
Crash! Crash!
“Keep your eyes on the road,” the woman said. Another crash. Brewer urged the horse on. The wagon started moving faster. The road was a darker shade of black ahead of him.
More crashes followed. A loud splash. Brewer kept flicking the horse with the leather. The wagon flew over the smooth surface. There were now hundreds of lights dotting the dark landscape to the north and west. Here and there were large clumps of flickering lights.
“Those don’t look like lanterns to me.” Brewer’s voice was whipped away by the wind of their headlong flight.
The passenger yelled back. “Those are torches. They’re attacking at night. Gaia fuckers.”
“Torches? They are using fire?”
“Drive!”
The crowd seemed to be heading away from them, cutting across the plains. The farther south that the wagon got, the fewer seemed to be heading their way. Only outliers of the main mass were visible now. A few more minutes, and they would be out of sight of all the torches.
The road dipped ahead of them. He glanced back and less than a handful of lighted brands were visible.
Good thing, too. The horse was slowing down, tired from the run. They would have to stop so Brewer could take care of her.
Brewer felt movement next to him.
“Why are you slowing down?” The seat creaked when the girl dropped down onto it.
Brewer looked over to her. Her face was just another patch of dark. Only the wavy outline of her hair was visible. She must have taken her hair out of the bun. “You can’t run a horse like that for too long. Tires them out, and they can get hurt.”
“Oh.”
Brewer had the horse walk about ten more minutes before stopping. He stood up in the front of the wagon and looked back. There was a glow to the horizon to the north of them now, on the other side of the road. He shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of willingly burning something and increasing your carbon footprint. It was very alien to him.
He climbed down and went to toward the back of the wagon. “You pushed the water barrel off, didn’t you?”
“Water barrel? I thought it was beer. I couldn’t shove it off, so I tipped it over.”
Brewer frowned. “That’s not good. That not good at all. What else did you throw off? Bring me the lantern that’s under the seat.” Brewer heard her drop. Her footsteps approached.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s really dark out here. We would be seen for miles.” Her voice was hushed.
She had a point. Brewer snorted and climbed in the back. He felt around and found one of his pails. It was still tied to the rail. Finding the barrel, he righted it. It sloshed, thankfully. He reached far down and put the lip of the pail into the precious water. Walking to the front on the smooth road surface made him thankful that they hadn’t accidentally gone off. That would have ended badly. The wagon would have likely tipped, and they would have landed in the sharp, jagged rocks of the shoulder. He held the bucket out for the horse. “Hey, Maggie, it’s going to be alright.”
“My name’s not Maggie.”
“I was talking to the horse.”
“Oh.”
The horse drank the water. When she was done, Brewer rubbed her nose. The mare nickered softly. He tossed the bucket into the cart bed with a clatter and climbed aboard. Hands felt for the reins. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you coming?”
Silence answered him for a long moment before the wagon swayed under the effort of a someone climbing in. A body dropped heavily on the seat next to him.
“You ready to go?” said Brewer.
“I’m not a ‘you.’ The name is Sara. And before you get any ideas, I’m trained in five different martial arts. I can kill a man with a paperclip.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m Brewer.” Brewer had no idea what she was talking about, ideas or otherwise.
“I knew that.”
“Giddyap, Maggie.” He flicked the reins.
The horse plodded into the night.
* * *
The moon finally rose. Its waning crescent cast a low silvery light on the prairie grass around them. They stood still in the night, and the road’s glinting surface rolled past them to the sound of hooves clopping.
Brewer was dead tired. His head kept nodding. The horse barely moved forward. At some point, while it was still dark, the girl, Sara, had slumped against him. Now in the moonlight, he could see her smooth youthful skin almost glowing on a slender face that came to a narrow chin. She looked at peace now, different from...
He shook his eyes open again, chin back up. Terror drove him before but that could only take him so far. Apparently, this was as far as he could go.
He scanned the dim rolling terrain to find a spot to rest for the night. He remembered the Abbot’s warning and thought it was a good idea with all these raiders around. Off to the left there looked to be a large tree. It had a tall, thick, central trunk with wide spreading branches. The bottom of the mass of branches reached down to the ground on one side. The whole thing seemed tilted, but Brewer didn’t care at this point. He aimed the wagon toward it.
The rough ground jostled Sara awake. She gasped as she held herself up.
The closer they approached, the weirder the tree seemed. The trunk was really thick. The bottom line of the branches looked rounded. All Brewer cared is it was relatively darker under it, out of the moonlight. They would be harder to be seen which he thought would be safer. He got down and unhitched Maggie in the darkness, guided by familiarity. Horse freed, he led her to the far side, away from the road. She started to eat grass.
“Why are we stopping?”
“I can’t go on. Neither can the horse.”
Sara’s voice quavered. “Are there any signs of them?”
“I think we’re alone.”
Horse tended, Brewer went to the back of the cart, looking for some bedding. He hoped Sara hadn’t dumped that. Actually, there was a lot he hoped she hadn’t dumped. Abbot had indicated it was a couple of weeks’ trip. Things could get pretty miserable. Ah, that’s why he had said “for two of you.” A grunt escaped him.
Rummaging around in the shadows of the wagon bed managed to produce a couple of bedrolls. Lifting them out, he made his way to his unwilling guest.
“Here.” He thrust one at her.
“What is this?”
If they had been out in the open where there was more more light, he was sure she wouldn’t have liked the look he felt spreading on his face.
“Bedroll. Spread it out. Lay down on it. Go to sleep.”
“You’re going to sleep? How can you sleep?”
“I’m going to try. You should too.” He walked over by the wagon and spread his bed out before lying down in it. He lifted a corner of it up and removed a couple of offending rocks before re-adjusting and putting his head down.
“I’m going to stay up.”
“Suit yourself.”
He closed his eyes. Sleep chased away his thoughts in minutes.
* * *
In the morning, Brewer found himself staring at a grate covering the sky. It spread over him in a vast circle, one side suspended, the other collapsed and touching the ground. The pillar in the center was a crumbling circular building made of brick, supporting a dish-shaped structure overhead on ancient metalworks with the remnants of gears visible. Vines crept on the brick walls and roots without number came through the openings in the grate, giving it a hairy appearance. There were places in the roof where the sky was plainly visible.
“Sara?”
He sat up and looked for her. She was propped up with the bedroll behind her head, back against the wagon wheel, fast asleep. Red hair was tucked over her shoulder. Her long blue gingham dress made her look like a Farmer’s wife except that it was too new, too nice.
Huh, so much for staying awake he thought.
Time to take inventory of what they had left. He rolled up his bed and approached the wagon to put it away.
Sara sprang to her feet and went into a crouch, hands up at ready. Her eyes showed white all around her pupils, and she frantically cast her gaze about. Brewer stood there with his head turned slightly until she looked at him. Her face relaxed, and she put her hands down.
“Oh, it’s just you. Where you trying to sneak up on me?”
Brewer shook his head. His lips were pressed together.
“Well, don’t. I’m dangerous. Deadly even.”
“Right. Well, Miss Dangerous, we have to check to see what we have left. You know, find out what didn’t get tossed last night? And then we should get going. We left all this stuff behind us like breadcrumbs, and it’s just a matter of time before someone finds it and comes looking for us.”
She cocked her head at him. “That’s pretty smart for the...” She clamped her mouth shut and just nodded.
Brewer put his roll into the back and climbed in.
Hardly any of the stuff that had been loaded was left. Sara was efficient. He found a small case with a red square on it between the big box and the side of the wagon. Food for the trip. Inside was a tin of hardtack, some root vegetables, a cabbage, margarine, and supplements, the sum total of their victuals. The chest marked “Kitchen” which had a self heating pot, solar panel, cooking spoon, and a ladle was also a survivor. Basic cooking implements to make food they no longer had. Maybe they could forage? Brewer knew some of the plants that grew around them pretty well despite him telling the Abbot he never went out. His garden that desperately needed tending was full of seedlings that he had found and brought back. There was a case marked “Trade Goods.” Locked, of course, with a keypad. The crate of mead bottles was still on the back. He marvlled it hadn’t fallen off. And, of course, the big Gaia-blasted box the girl had come in. That should go. Couldn’t quite figure out why they didn’t just tell him she was coming. It’s not like he could have said no.
Experimentally, he gave the box a shove. It barely moved. Something inside rolled around and hit the wall. Curious, he peeked inside. There was a trunk inside, also with a keypad. It took up maybe two-thirds the length of a wall and was about a quarter of the width of the box. And a polished metal canister, a bit thicker than his thigh and longer by half again with black, molded handles on one end. Brewer thought it could hold maybe five gallons. It looked like it had a latch holding down a lid on the handle end. The culprit of the rolling sound.
He turned to look for the girl and jumped. She was standing right behind him. Her eyebrows scrunched together, and her mouth was a straight line, hands on her hips.
Brewer pointed at the contents. “What is all this? Why is it in there with you? Why am I taking you with me anyway?”
“I’m not going to Cotillion.”
Brewer drew back. “What are you talking about?”
“Cotillion. It’s the name of the place where you are going. All these places have names. What did you think our town is called?”
“Cloister?”
Sara laughed at him. “Cloister is the type of place. Where the See-Oh lives. We’re at High Plains.”
“Oh.”
“You really don’t know much, do you?”
Brewer’s heart started pounding and he grew hot. “Maybe not, but I know one thing. I know I’m taking you and the box to Cotillion.”
Sara’s green eyes narrowed and her lower jaw jutted out. A small guffaw escaped him. She gave a strong impression of being a Farmer again.
“That’s not funny, Mr. Tattoo Man,” she said between her teeth.
“Not with that attitude. Look, we have to get going before someone picks up our trail. Or would you rather me leave you here?”
Sara’s hands became fists, and she went rigid. She closed her eyes and let out a breath. Relaxed now, she said, “Fine. Just don’t get any ideas.”
Inspection complete, they got underway. The hot sun made Brewer sweat. Being deep into autumn, he thought some of the promised relief from a few nights ago would be had. Sometimes, it would heat up again in the fall before the frosts. But these last few years it just seemed that summer lasted longer.
At least he wasn’t all covered up. The girl was dressed in layers like a good Farmer’s wife, skirt all the way down to her ankles and long sleeves, hiding her pale freckled skin from the sun. Probably a good idea.
A wide-brimmed straw hat that had been at the bottom of the box put shadow on her face. Her laced boots were propped up on the front board of the wagon, material draped between her legs. She fanned herself with her hands in the morning heat.
Lunch time approached. In the distance was some... thing on the road. Brewer couldn’t make out what it was. It wasn’t moving. A strange shape made undecipherable by the distance was on the opposite side of the road. A barrel with four sticks in the air.
Brewer halted the wagon and stood to get a better look. There was a colorful pile of cloth next to the object. Sara’s eyes were big and round, but she didn’t say anything. He scanned the landscape. Nothing but desolate, wind-blown grass all around with a smooth black road cutting it in half out to the horizon. Cautiously, they made their way forward.
The sickly-sweet smell of meat too long in the sun filled Brewer’s nostrils after a minute or so of travel. Sara put her hand over her nose. He still couldn’t figure out what the shapes were.
Brewer got down from the cart and walked slowly toward the objects. Sara dismounted and followed an arm’s length behind him. The barrel became a horse’s body, legs up. The colorful pile was rags of some sort on a pink slumping mound. Four appendages in crazy wiggles on the road stretched out from the mound.
He froze and stifled a cry. The appendages were outstretched arms and legs.