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When the alarm stopped, the residents of Blue Station were eerily silent. “Where?” Wisp asked.
The men gathered around the person manning the communication center. The phone and ether link connected them to the two closest Sentinel Posts, a train station and the two closest Rover Stations.
“Incursion at Creamery. Sentinels should report to Southern Post for orders, and Rovers should sit tight here until they have more information.”
“And me?” Wisp asked.
“Angus wants you back at High Meadow Town.”
That was exactly where he wanted to be which made things easier. Even though Wisp followed orders most of the time, he had been less inclined to go just anywhere lately with the baby due soon. He’d only accepted this assignment because he was close enough to a train station that getting home wouldn’t take too long. As he was loosely affiliated with all three sections of guards, he had been given a vehicle allotment which allowed him to take a car from any pool. Sometimes, when he thought about how he used to live, his present life felt surreal. In so short a time, he had begun to take so much for granted. Like the fact that he could drive around in his own vehicle and not be worried about people wanting to kill him on sight.
Blue Station was deep in the woods equidistant from Fragrant Meadows Farm and Golden Oaks Farm. There were eight Sentinel Posts guarding the perimeter of the lopsided oval that made up the border of the Survivor’s Alliance. The corresponding eight Rover Stations each had a pie-shaped chunk of interior that was wide at the perimeter and narrowed down to a point at High Meadow Town which was the approximate center. In addition to their patrolling duties, each Post or Station was responsible for their access roads. Wisp was pleased to be able to report back to Martin that the Rovers of Blue Station were doing a good job. Without potholes or frost heaves in the road, he was able to travel at a good clip down to the Southern Linkline.
He dropped the car at the train station, signing it back into the pool of vehicles there. Despite being an underused stop on a smaller line, the station was well kept. Checking the main board, he saw that a train for Clarkeston was due in another fifteen minutes. The latest copy of the newspaper, The Bulletin, had been posted by the big board. Wisp was uneasy to see that the first flu victim was not named. Their community was small enough that he might know who it was, and that worried him. Mentally he reached for Bridget, but she felt fine. Shining like a lamp in a coal mine. Her light had started burning a little brighter recently. He wasn’t sure if that had to do with the pregnancy or not.
Aside from the announcement of the first flu victim and the explanation of the alarm that had gone off, there was a plea for people to not try the Purple Pickle. Wisp knew that there would be a few more deaths. This was a tense time of year. It was harder for some people to play the waiting game. If a dangerous cocktail offered a chance to check out for awhile, it would keep attracting a certain kind of person, regardless of the warnings.
He settled on a bench to wait for the train. He could feel some people in other parts of the station. Everyone seemed to be going about their business in a mundane manner. It was soothing to feel a thread of boredom sliding into to the general sense of the place. Too often, he had to seek out the frightened or wounded, sharp emotions that were almost painful to touch.
The train wooshed into the station with a half dozen people already aboard. Wisp had heard that there were a lot more people traveling again. Angus had created a pocket of stability, and people were being drawn to it from all over. That brought some good with the bad, but with adequate forethought, they were usually prepared for just about anything.
He changed trains at Clarkeston. There was a nervous group of refugees already on the train that he boarded for High Meadow. They took one look at him, with his long white braid and the numbers tattooed on his neck, and huddled into a corner. Their hushed arguments couldn’t disguise their fear from Wisp. But he’d learned that he wasn’t the right person to try to talk people around. They needed to feel safe first, and then get their cues from people they trusted.
When he got off the train at High Meadow, he went straight to the Greeting Committee kiosk to alert them to some new people. Luckily, it was being manned by Walt who was someone he knew.
“There are some folks that came in on the last train,” Wisp said.
Walt peered past him. “Are they in bad shape?”
“I spooked them,” Wisp confessed. “They stayed on the platform to argue.”
“Right. Well, they’ll learn,” he said in apology. Walt grabbed a basket of water bottles and snacks. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Wisp turned to watch him leave, sensing no animosity at all from him. So much had changed in a year.