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“Goodwill is as important a currency as food or weapons.”
History of a Changed World, Angus T. Moss
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NICK OFFERED ALL THE factory people the opportunity to return with them to High Meadow. He had the information he needed now and felt it was time to sit down with Angus. The two women were looking better after sleep and a hearty meal, but still limp with fatigue. They both gave weak assent to anything Nick suggested. The dark-skinned woman whispered that her name was Marla. When Nick looked at the pale blonde, she moved her lips with a scant breath of sound. He thought he could make out “Pam.”
The woman, who still wouldn’t even give them a name, declined his invitation. She took some supplies and left on foot. Nick told her to take a van, but got a look of shock in response. However, she did accept a handgun when he offered. The wounded man, who gave his name as Bob, was eager to go where there might be a doctor.
“Why don’t we take all the vans?” Darrell asked.
“One’s got a dead driver,” Nick warned. “I didn’t look at the supplies in that one, but I took everything else. They’ve all got low batteries. We might be able to siphon some energy out of the slaughterhouse to top them off.”
“We need to make a stop,” Istvan said.
Nick looked a question at him.
“The ranch.”
Nick ended up taking Wisp, Istvan and Everett to look for the ranch. Darrell, Ted and Nixie would sort and pack the confiscated supplies into the two vans then figure out a way to charge the batteries. He decided against taking a third van. Two vehicles might not attract attention. Three definitely would. Until he understood who was claiming which territory, he wanted to be cautious.
Istvan said he thought he knew a road. Nick told him to drive. Wisp and Everett sat in the back, weapons at hand. The Traveler took them back down the lane to the slaughterhouse’s parking lot. Then he crossed the lot to the far tree line. As he had suggested, they found a narrow road heading off in what Wisp concurred was the right direction. The road went through more thick woods. A few miles later they came out into rolling fields covered with random groupings of sheep, cattle, a few oxen and horses.
“Look at this!” Everett said leaning out his window.
“Do you know these people?” Nick asked Istvan.
“I do.”
Istvan drove them down a lane that skirted the field. A low house, surrounded by trees and a large vegetable garden came into view. Four men, on horseback armed with guns blocked the road.
“Stop,” Wisp said.
“It’s the van,” Nick said. “We should all get out.” The men appeared to recognize Istvan, but regarded the rest of them suspiciously. “Go talk to them about the cattle,” Nick said waving Istvan forward. “We’ll wait here. And tell them High Meadow would like to trade in the future.”
Istvan gave him a calculating look before walking over to the men.
“Think they’ll be safe enough here?” Everett asked.
“They have been so far,” Nick said. “This close to the slaughterhouse, they may have been boarding cattle from the other ranches that were shut down.”
“What if they’re part of it?” Everett whispered.
“They aren’t,” Wisp said. “They have a territorial pride in this.” His gesture encompassed the home and fields. “They are angry and suspicious of us, but welcoming to Istvan.”
Nick looked back to the field that bordered the lane they’d come up. It looked like a Noah’s ark of farm animals. He thought about the people keeping sheep in Clarkeston and the cows at Creamery. Little by little they were gaining a toehold on self-sufficiency. If they could set up some regular supply chains they would be safe through the winter. And he had high hopes for next year.