RED FLANNEL

SILAS LEFT THE hardware store and walked further down the block. The moon was at the peak of its arc, casting a mysterious aura over the street of abandoned vehicles.

The cluttered roads reminded him of the word that people had chosen to describe his kind. Clunker. To him, the term was more fit for describing a car. They were relics of the past. Pieces of junk that were only good for scraps. Their batteries were always dead, but there was a small chance that one of them had the wires he was looking for.

He started to open the hood of a car, but the sight of a red flannel shirt caught his attention. It was hanging from the mirror of an old RV, which was skewed across all three lanes. He approached the shirt as it waved in the breeze. The fabric was damp with sweat, and there were blood stains up near the collar.

He peeked through the glass pane in the door, but a layer of dirt obscured his view. The handle was stuck, locked from the inside. Rumbling snores came from within. He wandered to the front, but a large sheet of plywood blocked the windshield and thick blackout curtains covered the side windows.

He stepped back to look from a distance. The sides were streaked with dry mud, and the tires were slashed to shreds. There were large cracks across the windows, and both headlights were smashed. The RV was certainly no longer recreational.

The moonlight glinted off a piece of metal on the back. It was the rounded handle of a ladder, leading up to the roof. At the center of the roof was a standard emergency exit hatch.

With careful attention, he climbed the ladder. His rubber soles squeaked against the chrome rungs. As he stepped across the top of the vehicle, the metal moaned and creaked. For a brief moment, the snoring stopped as the man inside rolled onto his back. Then, the snoring continued.

Silas reached the emergency hatch and leaned against the frame. The hinge snapped at the weight of his body and slid off the side of the roof. It crashed onto the hard pavement and echoed an empty clang. The man shifted in his seat, turning away from the noise and revealing his face.

It was the same man that Silas had met earlier. He was sprawled shirtless across a cushioned seat with his legs propped on a pile of boxes. His face was bruised from the beating he had taken. On the table to his side were guns he had snagged from Charlie and Connor. Behind him were the bags he had stolen, and Silas’s tools were sitting on top.

They were impossible to reach from the roof, but if he lowered himself down, he could grab his tools, unlock the door, and go unnoticed. He sat on the edge of the open hatch, dangling his legs through the hole. Carefully, he placed a hand on either side of the opening and lowered himself down until he was hanging. The metal rim of the hatch creaked and started to bend from his weight. As he hung, he kept an eye on the snoring man.

A silent drop from the ceiling was impossible, but with precise timing, perhaps he could mask the sound with the snores. He waited, dangling from the open hatch, studying the rhythm of the man’s breath.

…in…out…in…out…

He bobbed his head with the steady tempo, anticipating the perfect moment to drop.

…in…out…in…out…

A piercing chime rang from his chest. He lost his grip and flailed about, yanking the curtain from the wall and falling to the ground. His heavy body crashed to the floor, shaking the entire RV. The silky curtain sprung in the air and floated down over his head.

The man shot up from his seat, eyelids bursting wide open, and reached for one of his rifles. “Don’t come any closer,” he yelled, “unless you’re looking to die!”

Silas threw the curtain aside and scurried back against the wall, throwing his hands up as a sign of surrender. The moonlight shined through the curtainless window, highlighting his rusty chest.

The man glanced at the pink heart, and then at Silas’s face. With a close and careful examination, he lowered his gun and cracked a smile. “You’re the clunker from before.”

Silas did not respond. Instead, he kept his arms raised, staring back at the man.

“Ah, that’s right,” the man said. “You’re the one who doesn’t speak. But if I remember, that’s not entirely true.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Hello…Right? That was your one word of wisdom.”

Again, Silas did not say a word.

“Hmm. After everything we’ve been through, you’ve gone shy on me. I guess I can’t make you talk, nor do I really care. I apologize for my indecency.” He gestured to his shirtless body. “Mr. Cowboy ruined my flannel when he decided to sock me in the face. I got most of the blood out, but the shirt’s still damp as hell. I’ve got it drying outside. But you don’t want to hear about laundry. Where are my manners? The name’s Deacon.” He stuck out his hand.

Silas glanced at his hand but didn’t shake it.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you crashed through the ceiling.” He paused for an answer, but Silas only stared back at him. “No? Not a word? Look, as much as I like hearing myself talk, I need some kind of back and forth. Otherwise, I’m just some crazy guy talking to a walking trash can.”

Coherent words eluded Silas. All he could manage was an awkward shrug.

Deacon mirrored the gesture with a similar, mocking shrug of his own. “Okay, then. I see you’re just going to stand there for the rest of the night, so I’m going to find somewhere else to sleep. Good running into you again…I guess.”

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and reached for the duffel bag.

“Wait,” Silas said. “That’s my bag.”

Deacon cracked another smile. “So, you do speak. For a second I thought there might be something wrong with your voice modulator thingy.”

Silas pointed to the duffel bag. “I need those tools.”

“Of course you do, and so do I. You’ve got some valuable stuff in here. But the bag isn’t yours anymore. Those goons may have stolen it from you, but I plucked it from them, fair and square. Finders keepers.”

“But I need that bag if I want to reach New Valley.”

“New Valley, huh? I hate to break it to you, but a clunker like you is never going to make it all the way to New Valley. I’m a nice dude, but most people would have killed—”

A bullet shattered the curtainless window and dented the corner of Silas’s chest plate. He stumbled back and hit a wall. Another bullet whizzed between them, tearing open one of the cabinets. They dropped to the floor and covered their heads, protecting themselves from the raining debris. Two more bullets ripped through the side of the RV and splintered the wooden counter.

“Hold your fire,” said a familiar voice.

Deacon’s eyes widened when he heard the subtle Western accent. “The son of a bitch found us.”

“Are you sure it was them?” asked the voice outside.

“I think so, Joe. A man and a clunker, right?”

“Yeah, that’s them.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “We know you’re in there, but you probably figured that out from the bullets. We also know what you did to Charlie and Connor.” He waited for a response and then continued. “They didn’t deserve what you did to them, you know. They were good guys, just looking out for our community.

“You see, when someone steals from us, we consider that a crime. When someone walks into our camp and waves a gun in our face, we consider them dangerous. I like to think there’s still some civility in this world. Civility comes with rules. If you break those rules, you should be punished. Justice must be served.”

Again, he waited for a response. This time, Deacon answered.

“Justice, huh? Where’s your badge then, sheriff?”

“Enough with the jokes!” Joe screamed. “If you want to be a smartass, so be it.” He turned to his men. “Kill them both.”

A barrage of bullets tattered the RV. Deacon rose up with his rifle, firing back with rage in his eyes. He threw the second rifle to Silas. “Here!” he yelled over the roar of gunfire. “Let’s kill these sons of bitches.”

Silas caught the weapon. Its weight was uncomfortably hefty. He aimed through the window, struggling to keep his arm steady. His finger froze, and then crept away from the trigger.

Between shots, Deacon looked at Silas. “You’re a freaking clunker for Christ’s sake. You should know how to use that thing.”

Silas tried again, this time firing a single shot into the ground twenty feet in front of the RV. The recoil swung the barrel upward, and he fired again into the ceiling. Embarrassed, he lowered the gun and slumped his head.

“Really?” Deacon said. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

A bullet crashed through the half-shattered window, piercing Silas’s head and blowing off the entire left side of his face. The incredible force pushed him back against the counter, slamming his head into the cabinet. He raised a hand to the missing half of his face and then ducked below cover.

“Holy crap,” Deacon said. “Are you okay, buddy?”

Silas nodded and gave a thumbs-up. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Good. There are way too many out there. I’m bailing.” He yanked the rifle from Silas. “There’s no point in letting you keep this if you’re not going to use it. If you want to be helpful, grab the bag and follow me.” He slid the bag across the floor. “Don’t look back. Just run for your goddamn life. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Silas said, grabbing the bag and looking at Deacon with his one remaining eye.

Deacon bashed through the front door, grabbed his shirt from the side-view mirror, and sprinted into the foggy night. Silas followed, running away from the sound of gunfire. They weaved through a maze of cars, sliding across hoods and spinning around corners.

The shots from behind quickly stopped, replaced by the distant pitter-patter of feet and an occasional barking order from the men. Find them! Don’t let them get away! Their voices jostled Silas’s nerves, but he tried to focus on Deacon. The man was spry for his age. Silas’s unoiled joints and recent loss of depth perception made it hard to keep up. Deacon made an abrupt turn into a local police station. Silas almost slid past the door but caught the edge of the corner and swung through.

Inside, Deacon had vanished. Silas stopped to scan the reception area. There was a short counter with a banner in front. The word Welcome was printed in large blue letters. Behind, there were rows of empty wooden desks stacked with files and folders. Lining the sides of the room were abandoned offices. He walked through the aisle at a deliberate pace, turning his head from side to side.

Another chime rang from Silas’s chest. As if he had been summoned by the sound, Deacon rolled out from under a desk and pulled Silas down with him.

“Can you shut that damn noise off?” he said, pointing to Silas’s chest. “You’re going to get us killed.”

Silas shook his head and shrugged. “I can go somewhere else if you would like,” he said, standing up.

Deacon pulled him back down. “Stay down. It’s not going to go off again, is it?”

“No, not for a while.”

“Good. Then just shut your mouth and we might just get through this alive.”

The front door swung open, and a single pair of boots walked through. Outside, a volley of footsteps scurried past the building to look elsewhere. Silas monitored the steps of the man who had entered. He moved to the side of the room and continued along the perimeter. When he reached the far wall, he stopped, turned inward, and moved toward the center.

Silas and Deacon pressed closer to the floor as the brown leather boots stepped into their sights, stopping right in front of them. Silas peeked out to see a bushy gray mustache and overgrown sideburns. The man’s hands were hooked on his belt, which was barely holding his plump belly in place.

“Where the hell did they go?” the man asked, swiveling his head. “This is a goddamn waste of time. We could be on the road right now if Joe didn’t have his head up his ass about these two idiots. At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we get to New Valley this century.”

He scoffed, marched down the aisle, and barged out the front door. They could hear him yelling outside. “I’ve got nothing in here. Did you find anything?” Another voice that was far too distant to understand replied with a muffled whisper.

When the voices were gone, Deacon slid out from under the desk and ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “That was pretty close, huh?”

Silas’s oil gauge chimed again as he rose to his feet.

“If that had gone off a minute earlier, we would both be toast right now,” Deacon said, poking his finger at Silas’s chest. “What is that thing, anyway? Some sort of clunker doohickey I wouldn’t understand?”

Silas shook his head. “My oil supply is empty.”

As he said this, his legs collapsed under the weight of his body. Deacon leapt forward to catch him, but the metal chassis was too heavy. Silas fell forward into a kneeling position.

“What the hell just happened?” Deacon asked. “Are you okay? That bullet tore up your face pretty bad.”

“It has nothing to do with my face. My battery is low. I expelled a lot of energy running. My legs lose function when I drop below five percent. Next, I will lose my arms and torso.”

“Crap. Well, I’m not about to let an innocent clunker die on my watch. What do I do? How can I help?”

“Find anything with a battery. It’s okay if it’s damaged, as long as it still has power. Find whatever you can and bring it to me.”

“Got it,” he said, scurrying into the next room. “Don’t worry, buddy. You can count on me.”

The silence was chilling as Silas waited for the stranger to return. Would he return? Silas was not sure. Kindness had become so rare that it was hard to trust anyone. After a few minutes, his arms dropped and his body slouched. Now he had only his voice.

All hope was gone. The friendly stranger had left him. And of course he had. There was no reason for him to help. They had no prior relationship. It was foolish to think a human would help a simmi. By now he was probably half a mile away.

That was when his one eye caught sight of the duffel bag, which had slipped off his shoulder and plopped to the ground. One of the rifles was leaning against the desk as well. They were things the man would have taken if he had intended to leave.

Another chime came from his chest, filling the empty room with echoes.

Deacon reentered from a door in the back, dragging a simmi along with him. He gasped for air as he heaved the heavy body across the floor. The dead metal legs scraped the floor as he pulled the body closer and plopped it in front of Silas.

“Jeez, you clunkers are heavy. There are a whole bunch back in those cells. I nearly broke my back trying to bring two at once. Gave up halfway. You’re lucky I didn’t pass out from this one.” He crouched beside Silas, who had slumped over, completely still. “Whoa, are you okay?”

“Hurry,” Silas said. “Soon I will lose my voice and won’t be able to instruct you.”

Deacon hopped to his feet. “What do I do?”

“Retrieve the two wires from my bag.”

Deacon looked down. The wires were sticking out of the top. He reached in and pulled them out, holding each end in front of Silas to show him. “Okay, now what?”

“There are two holes on the underside of my chest. They are color-coded with the wires.”

Deacon leaned over and saw the holes. He sorted the wires and plugged them in.

“Now, remove the chest plate from the simmi.”

Grabbing the thick metal plate from the dead simmi’s chest, he yanked up with force. “It’s screwed on pretty tight,” he said, dropping it to the ground and looking back at Silas.

“There’s a screwdriver in my bag. Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

“I’m going as fast as I can, buddy. Just hold on. I’m not letting you die.” He rummaged through the bag. Hammer. Wrench. Pliers. Shears. Bolt cutters. Duct tape. Screwdriver. He held it up to show Silas. “I got it.”

“Good, now unscrew the chest plate.”

“Oh, right,” Deacon said, as if he had forgotten why he needed the screwdriver in the first place. He loosened the plate and moved it aside. The battery occupied most of the space inside, with a small silicon chip sitting next to it. “Whoa, this stuff is rad.”

“The battery should be color-coded as well. Clasp the wires on.”

The moment they were connected, Silas could feel the energy flowing in.

Deacon watched with anticipation, as if he was waiting for something to happen. “Did I do it right? What now?”

“Now we wait,” Silas responded.

“Really? That’s a little disappointing. I was hoping for sparks or something. You know, something a little more exciting.” He reached down to make sure the clips were secure. “Christ!” he yelled, pulling his hand back. “That thing is hot.”

“Don’t touch them. They heat up fast. Just stand back and wait. It will take some time.”

“How long?”

“Overnight, maybe. If I power down, the process should be faster.”

Deacon sat in one of the chairs. “Okay, then what am I supposed to do while we wait?”

“I don’t expect you to wait for me. You may go as you please. All I ask is that you leave my tools.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not while Joe Cowboy and his goons are still out there.” He swung his legs up onto the desk. “Besides, I need to finish the nap you so rudely interrupted.”

“Very well. You should know, I can still see and hear while I’m powered down, so stay away from my bag.”

Deacon raised his hands in the air. “Hey, I may be a thief, but my word is my word. I will not touch your stuff. You better not do any weird clunker stuff while I’m asleep. I should be the one with the trust issues here. You know, with clunkers attacking humanity and all.”

“We’re not all like that.”

Deacon waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and go to sleep, or power down, or whatever you call it.” He leaned back with his arms crossed. “That oil sensor thing isn’t going to go off all night, is it?”

“Not while I’m powered down.”

“Good.” He closed his eyes. “Maybe I can get a full night of rest for once.”

Before powering down, Silas moved his head so he could see both Deacon and the front door. His one remaining eye would watch both with caution.