(Ishmael)
But it was okay. I knew this guy. He was a bit of a smi-feral man-child, even by post-Crash standards, but he was essentially harmless. Larry looked a little spooked by him, though.
“Holla, Cooper” I said. “What else is news?”
“Murder,” he said, his eyes twitching through the woods. “Murder two months thence. Murder two months hence. Hostile takeovers in the freight business. Bigtime clustercuss. I’m talking some serious Macbeth shit going on.” Cooper wasn’t your typical resident of this neck of the woods. Most people lived in tightly knit bands held together by ancient allegiances. When the Crash hit, the only people who made it out were the people who could trust each other with their lives. But where Cooper came from, no one is quite sure. What the people in Wal do know is that, when Cooper was a kid, someone found him sleeping in a chicken coop. It was noted that the chickens laid more eggs when he was there, so they let him stay.
And then one day I thought it would be fun to teach him how to read. The weird part is it took exactly one day, and I’m by no means a teacher. The kid was bright, but he was none too strong in the social graces.
To look at Cooper was to look at exactly what you’d expect out of a raving crazy living in the woods. Wiry. Wild-eyed. Knotted-hair. Clothed in tattered pelts and scavenged sheets of Tyvek. But he knew the trees and he knew the animals. He was the guy who could make it through the woods at night and not be torn apart by dogs and cougars.
“How does Wal fare?” I asked.
“The Storemaster said I could dine with his daughter if I got the job done.”
“Sounds generous of him,” I said.
“But there was murder and dogs and there wasn’t any Ditch Witch to be found,” said Cooper. “I had to return the freight and proffer a refund. I was near to half-befucked that day, but there was a calving later which I helped in and got paid some soup and a sleep in the barn.”
“Who is this guy?” said Larry.
“This guy is Cooper,” I said. “Cooper, meet Larry. He doesn’t know anything.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” said Cooper, sniffing the air above Larry’s shoulders. “Shshsh.”
Cooper held his palm up, then flapped it for a moment, like the wing of a rock dove settling in to drop a turd on tombstone. He began pacing out a wide circle around us. His piercing gaze alternated between us and the surrounding woods.
“What’s he looking for?” asked Larry.
“Everything, near as I can tell. Just let him do his thing.”
At this response, Larry dropped his load of saw blades on the ground. The sudden noise made Cooper jump. He snapped his head straight toward Larry and showed his teeth.
“Double-you tee eff, man?” said Larry.
“You two shouldn’t be out this way,” said Cooper.
“I agree,” I said. “Any chance you could get us to Wal by the quickest route.”
“Well,” said Cooper, “there’s the road...”
“I know you know there’s a better way than the road,” I said. “The Storemaster is saving me some bacon. I can pay you to guide us.”
“I don’t have a license to work in Wal,” he said.
“We’re not in Wal,” I said.
“No one in Wal gets paid without a license. And you know I won’t take a license. You can’t make me accept a lot in the life. No license and I take the jobs as I choose and the Storemaster don’t like me getting paid there, especially since the thing with the Ditch Witch.”
“I’m sure I have a quarter pound of bacon I could spare,” I said.
“That’s a lot of bacon,” said Cooper, scratching his scalp with one hand and under his arm with the other. “Taxes on that, I’m sure. And I don’t have a license. If you could pay me up front, pay me here instead of Wal, but I can’t go in there just yet. No one in or out without a license or an invitation. Those that try are befucked if they do and becalmed if they don’t.”
“How come he can say the f-word?” asked Larry.
“Because he’s an effing local,” I said. “Now don’t antagonize him. We’re making a deal.”
“Dude, he’s totally shutting you down,” said Larry.
“That’s right,” said Cooper. “I have to shut you down.”
“I can get the bacon,” I said.
“I can’t go in there,” said Cooper. “Not in there.”
“Would this help?” said Larry. He held out a semi-circular object wrapped in grease-spattered yellow paper.
Cooper sniffed.
“It’s a taco,” said Larry. “Machaca. A little on the cold side, but still good.”
Cooper came right up to Larry’s hand and practically put his nose right on the taco.
“Yes,” said Cooper. “Half now. Half when we get to the gate.”
“And the deal is done, my brother,” said Larry. He tore open the wrapper and broke the taco in half.
Cooper snatched the first half and devoured the cold greasy thing as though he hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe he hadn’t. This part of the future could be a hungry place, but not in Wal.
I grudgingly admitted that Larry had done well. A comment that he countered with a statement questioning if I had the intention of making a sexual advance. Fine, Larry. I won’t say anything nice to you. Kicks to the groin from here on out.
* * *
Cooper had us quickly on a deer path leading away from the main road and under the dark and creeping canopy of the woods proper. It was a bit of a hustle to keep up with the sprightly forest-urchin. Larry and I were both out of breath as we broke through to a meadow.
And, by meadow, I mean overgrown parking lot. If you knew what you were looking at, you could see the bent and rusted shafts of the abandoned light poles. A few trees broke through the sea of tall grass. A few scattered huts and outbuildings, as well as the hulk of an occasional SUV, punctuated the grassy plain that lead up to the walls of an ancient concrete warehouse-style big box store.
“And hence you’ve come to Wal,” said Cooper.
“Here’s your taco, bro,” said Larry, handing Cooper the rest of it.
Without so much as a goodbye, Cooper grabbed his payment and ran for the woods.
And then, dammit all to hell, if Larry didn’t lick his fingers and trigger his ludicrous taco-based time travel method on that tiniest, unmeasurable drip of grease. We jumped. Not very far. But we jumped.
We shifted straight into winter. In the blink of an eye a snow drift built up around us. We were still just a stone’s throw away from Wal, but now we had to plunge through three feet of snow to get there.
Perhaps there had been an overcorrection to global climate change over the centuries. I’d never been to Wal in winter before. It was damn cold, and I wasn’t dressed for it. Larry, with his Nordstrom poseur flannel and his canvas high-top sneakers, was going to die of exposure if we didn’t get to shelter soon.
I considered pulling out my watch and scratching the mission. But this was one hell of a teachable moment. How would he learn from the natural consequences of accidentally time shifting if I bailed him out right away? Plus, I kind of like to see him suffer.
And the suffering was just beginning.
“Holy crap, these things are hot!” he yelled as he dropped the saw blades into the snow.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You carried the saw blades on that jump?”
He answered with an unceremonious “duh.”
“That doesn’t usually happen,” I said.
“You carry all kinds of crap with you,” said Larry.
“Inside my coat,” I said. “The aura effect covers the exterior of your clothing and includes small personal items that have been steeped in your temporal footprint. But those saw blades... they really shouldn’t have made the jump with you.”
“Whatever,” he said. “They’re melting through this snow bank.”
“Pick them up!”
“You pick them up!”
The diamond saw blades had melted their way deep into the snow. They’d be as good as gold in Wal. While I was sure I had some credit on the Storemaster’s ledger, it was always better not to arrive empty-handed.
I sucked it up, and plunged my arms into the snow. The blades were still warm.
“Larry, I’m not sure what you are, but you are something different.”
“Dude,” he said, “I already told you it’s a waste of time to hit on me like that.”
“I ought to hit on you with my fist,” I said. “Let’s get to town before we start losing toes.”
* * *
We didn’t have to blaze much of a trail before we hit a cleared path. It was easy going to the first gate, vaguely recognizable as something cannibalized from the ruins of several shopping cart corrals.
“Holla, travelers,” barked the guard at the gate. “What business have you at this, the darkest night of the darkest season of Wal?”
“Goods for sale,” I said. “I know it’s late, but I do have an account on the ledger. I’d like food and lodging for me and my assistant. We can do business in the morning.”
The guard pulled his hat up out of his face and looked at us.
“Ishmael?” he asked.
“The one,” I said.
“Get in here before the dogs show up.” He opened the clumsy gate. “Hurry. It’s an evil time. An evil time, but Hannie will set you up for the night.”
“What kind of evil?”
“Best not to talk of it while the sun is leaving the sky,” he said. “Let’s just say there’s a Burning on the morrow.”
Ritual Burnings were not altogether unheard of, but they never happened in Wal. Brookland, maybe. And in the Meatlands, for sure. But never in Wal. The Storemasters had always looked upon Burnings as being bad for business. Things were definitely not right here.
“Would I know who’s up for Burning?” I asked.
“I hate to say,” said the guard, tying up the slats of the gate. “But it’s that Cooper boy.”
“Hey,” said Larry, with a stupid grin, “I know that guy.”
“Don’t be so happy, Larry,” I said. “They’re planning on lighting him on fire tomorrow.”
“What the hell?” he said. “I thought you said this place was chill?”
“It was,” I said. “It’s supposed to be. I’ve got to figure out what happened to my town.”
“Oh,” said the guard. “One more thing.” He handed us each a small, clay jug. “Merry Christmas!”
At least there was some civility left in Wal, but a Christmas Burning? Things had gone seriously wrong.