BAIT

THE FOREST GREW denser as they continued their journey to New Valley. The grass was taller, and the flowers were more vibrant than ever. The trees embraced the warm sun. Their branches swayed in the summer breeze, and their roots dug deep into the healthy soil.

“That’s when the guy jumped me,” Deacon said, concluding a longwinded story. “He tackled me to the ground and started swinging. Punch after punch. He just wouldn’t stop. I don’t know what I did to set him off, but at that point, there was just no reasoning with the guy.”

In the distance, Silas heard the faint sound of bells. Windchimes. Or was it nothing? Deacon didn’t seem to hear it.

He ignored the sound and focused back on Deacon’s story. “You don’t know why he attacked you?”

“Not a clue. It baffles me to this day. That kind of thing makes you wonder just how many crazies there are out there.”

“So what did you do?”

“The only thing I could do. I took the beating as best I could.”

“You didn’t fight back?”

“Hey, I’m all for standing up for yourself, but the man had a knife. You’ve got to be smart in situations like that. Punching back might have gotten me killed. So, I took the beating of a lifetime. That’s how I got this.” He pointed to his upper cheek.

Silas glanced at the scar that he had somehow missed until now. “That’s quite the scar.”

“Yes, it is. Lucky for me, I’m pretty good at taking a beating. Eventually, the idiot got tired. He wasn’t exactly an athlete. He had worked himself into such a frenzy that after only a few seconds he was lying on the ground next to me. I got up, stood over him, and clocked him right in the nose. He was out just like that.” Deacon snapped his fingers. “Turned off like a light bulb. And while he was out, I grabbed his stuff and ran. Takers keepers, right? I still have his knife.” He pulled out his pocketknife.

Again, the sound of windchimes rang. This time it was louder. Silas swiveled his head to find where it was coming from. It seemed to be from every direction. Deacon still did not seem to hear it.

Silas shook his head and turned back to the knife. “How long have you had it?”

Deacon rubbed his chin. “Let’s see. The guy attacked me right after the riots started. That would make it…nine years? I rarely use it. Threatened a couple people, but guns are usually more effective.” He slipped the knife back into his pocket and held up his rifle. “I mean, what scares you more? A dinky little knife or this bad boy?”

“They’re both pretty frightening to me. The rifle is louder, but the knife has an unsettling intimacy.”

“I can appreciate that. From my experience, it’s usually not the weapon that scares me, but the person behind it. The right kind of lunatic could make a feather terrifying. It would be difficult, but they would find a way.”

Once more, the bells rang. They had grown to a volume that was impossible to ignore. “Do you hear that—” Silas started to ask, but he paused at the sight of the clearing in front of them.

“Whoa,” Deacon muttered, staring ahead.

There was a circular area absent of trees. In the center, a lone lifeless simmi was slouched on its knees. Hanging from the surrounding branches were dozens of windchimes. Every time the wind blew, a medley of bells rang throughout the forest.

“Well, that’s not eerie at all,” Deacon said. “One lonely clunker praying in the middle of a field surrounded by bells.” He glanced up at the nearest tree to study one of the chimes. “Why in the world would those be up there?”

“Look,” Silas said, pointing. “Oil.”

Next to the simmi was a black jug, presumably filled with oil. The simmi had propped its limp hand on top, but the cap remained unturned.

“Is the clunker dead?” Deacon said, raising his arm to block the sun. “Hey! Are you dead?”

“Don’t yell. You might wake it up.”

“I don’t think it can wake up. I’m pretty sure it’s dead.”

“How do you know?”

Deacon plucked a rock from the ground. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Before Silas could stop him, he tossed the rock into the air. It arched over the clear field and hit the simmi in the head. Its neck cocked to the side and its head fell forward.

“Yup,” Deacon confirmed. “The thing is definitely dead.”

“That means the oil is ours,” Silas said, holding up his nearly empty red jugs. “Good timing. We’re almost out.” He stepped forward, into the clearing.

Deacon studied the clearing more closely. There was no grass. Up until now, most of the grass had reached their knees. “Why isn’t there any grass?” he asked himself, watching Silas walk further into the clearing. “It’s like someone dug it up and didn’t bother to regrow it.”

At that moment, it hit him. He realized what was wrong. The chimes. The oil. The clunker. “Wait, Silas! Stop!”

Silas dropped like a sack of beans, falling to his knees. An incredible force pulled his arms down, and his legs locked in place. He collapsed forward, overwhelmed by the growing weight of his own body.

A grainy distortion concealed his attempts to speak. His mind was scrambled. His perception of the world was cut into snippets. Time no longer had meaning. How long had he been on the ground? Where was he? Would this feeling ever stop? The sensation grew more intense until it was unbearable, and then it grew some more.

And then all at once, it was gone. The extra weight. The downward pull. The spiraling path toward insanity. It was all gone in an instant. He pressed his hand to his chest and then pushed off the ground to stand up.

“Are you all right there, buddy?” Deacon asked, trotting over to help.

Silas focused on planting his feet on the ground, and then looked at Deacon. “I don’t know what happened.”

Deacon kicked away the grassless soil to reveal a thick layer of metal plating buried underneath. “It’s an electromagnet,” he said. “You walked right into a trap for clunkers.”

“How?” Silas said, still disoriented.

“Someone must have buried it. I found a wire leading over there.” He pointed beyond some bushes. “It connects to a generator on the other side.”

“Who would bury a magnet like this?”

Deacon shrugged. “Beats me. Someone who has a problem with clunkers is my guess. But that doesn’t really narrow it down.” He crouched and used his hands to push aside more soil. “Whoever it was, they went through a lot of work to hide this magnet. A hole this size would take days to dig. Weeks even.”

Silas looked at the lifeless simmi that was still kneeling by the oil jug. If his experience was at all similar to what Silas had gone through, he had died both scared and confused.

“You’re lucky I was here to shut it off,” Deacon said. He knelt in front of the metal body, glaring into the dead simmi’s eyes. “Or else you’d be like this guy. Caught like a rabbit in a snare trap. Are you damaged at all?”

“I don’t believe so. Although, my power level is low. Twenty-seven percent. You mentioned a generator?”

“Yeah, just past those bushes. Follow me.”

Silas brushed the simmi’s hand aside, grabbed the oil jug, and then followed Deacon.

“You know,” Deacon said, “your battery doesn’t last very long. I’ve seen clunkers last twice as long without a charge.”

Silas tapped his chest. “It’s old. My battery, that is. Years of recharging have worn it out.”

“Why don’t you replace it? We’ve seen plenty of dead clunkers with batteries for you to take.”

“I could, but it would require a full shutdown of my system.”

“So? What’s the big deal? You already power down to recharge.”

Silas shook his head. “When I recharge, I enter a low-powered state, but I am still conscious. I can still see and hear. I just can’t move. Even while you’re asleep and I’m recharging, I am always watching.”

Deacon scrunched his face. “Huh, so you watch me sleep. That’s not creepy at all.”

“I’m not watching you. I’m looking out for danger.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just messing with you.” They walked past the bushes to reveal a gas-powered generator. Deacon tapped the top with his knuckles. “It looks like a piece of junk, but it’s still kicking.”

Silas leaned in to examine the machine. “Could you unplug those cables?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Deacon said, plucking out the cables and tossing them to the side.

From his bag, Silas pulled out his own set of cables. He connected them to his chest and handed the free ends to Deacon. “Here, plug these in.”

With the wires connected, Deacon grabbed the pull string that was hanging off the side of the generator and waited for Silas. “I’m ready when you are.”

Before Silas could give the order to start it up, the pump of a shotgun rattled behind them. “Don’t move,” said a low, grumbling voice. “Not even an inch.”

They both froze. Silas eyed the two rifles strapped to Deacon’s back, praying they would not have to use them.

“You, in the flannel,” the stranger said. “Take your hand off the generator.”

Deacon carefully lifted his hand.

“Now throw those rifles away. Nice and slow. Any faster than a snail’s pace and I’ll fill you with lead.”

Deacon raised the two rifles over his head and tossed them to the ground. They both tumbled into a patch of tall grass.

“Now, both of you turn around with your hands up.”

They did as he said, slowly turning to face the burly man. His bushy beard was mangled in knots, with flecks of dirt sprinkled about. He had a black cap pulled snug over his head, and his eyes were locked on Silas.

“What are you doing here?” he yelled, keeping his shotgun pointed at Silas’s chest.

Silas froze up. Was the man speaking to him? It certainly seemed like it. He tried to answer, but words evaded him. Instead, he braced himself for the force of the shotgun.

Deacon stepped in front of Silas. “We’re just passing through. My friend here needs a charge. We have no ill intentions.”

The man studied Deacon’s face. “Your friend? You mean the two of you are traveling together?”

“That’s right. Just a couple of buddies headed to New Valley.”

The man gestured his gun toward the generator. “You’re messing with my equipment?”

“If this is yours, then I guess so. We didn’t mean to tamper with your stuff. Like I said, my friend’s battery is low.”

A tense silence arose as the man considered Deacon’s words. He glanced at Silas again, scanning up and down. “Randall,” he said, lowering his gun. “The name’s Randall. If you’re looking to recharge, I have another generator back at the cabin. This one needs to stay hooked up.”

Deacon lowered his hands and shot a suspicious glare. “Randall, huh? I’m Deacon.”

“Nice to meet you, Deacon. I have to say, it’s a relief to meet someone decent for once. In this day and age, trust is always an issue.” He glanced at Silas, who was still holding his hands over his head. “It looks like your friend here agrees.”

Deacon shook his head. “Don’t mind him. Silas is afraid of pretty much everything. Humans just happen to be at the top of that list.”

“A simmi afraid of humans? Well, now I’ve seen everything.”

Silas finally lowered his arms.

“That’s a mighty fine chest plate you’ve got there. I’ve never seen one like it before. It’s one of a kind.”

Deacon chuckled. “Silas is definitely one of a kind.”

“No, actually,” Silas said. “There are plenty of housies like me in New Valley. That’s what I hear, at least.”

“That’s not what I’m interested in,” Randall said. “It’s the heart you painted on there.” He turned to Deacon. “That heart is full of love. You must truly love him.”

Deacon waved him off. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t draw the thing.”

“Whoever did, they really cared about you.”

A bright memory of Paige came flashing back. There was no doubt that she and her father both loved him.

“You mentioned another generator,” Deacon said.

“Yes. Several, actually. If you follow me, I’ll show you to my cabin. Just hook that one back up and get it running again.”

They did as he asked. Once the generator was back on, Deacon went to retrieve his rifles, but Randall snagged them away.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, slinging them over his shoulder, “I would like to keep your weapons for now. You can have them back when you leave. I hope you understand.”

Deacon nodded. “Of course. I would do the same.”

“Good,” he said. His eyes followed Silas as he moved. “The two of you can stay for the night. Your friend can recharge his battery, and I’ll fix you up a meal.”

Deacon perked up. The promise of food piqued his interest. “If you’re offering, there’s no way I can turn down food.”

Randall threw back his head in laughter. “I’ve eaten the last thousand or two meals alone. I can spare the extra food for a little company.”

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Silas said. “We still have a long journey to New Valley.”

“Fair enough,” Randall said. Again, he glanced at the heart on his chest. “But in the meantime, let us enjoy a peaceful night of unexpected kinship.”