Dreaming heavily in a deep sleep, I was roused by nothing more than my sense of time, a biological prodding reminding me that I can sleep when I’m dead.

For a few moments, I laid with squinted eyes gazing in to the late summer sun. It was mid morning and the sun was well on its way to cresting in the sky, but the colorful songs of robins and wrens still filled the air. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the other senses for a moment, enjoying a feeling of tranquility that has become so rare for me. I could hear the soft lapping of the river water on the sides of the decrepit catamaran, complimented by the gentle rocking of the vessel, but drowned out by the small 2 stroke motor whirring as it powered us upstream. It smelled like summer still, though some of the trees were already shifting colors. I could hear Kevin and Lacey murmuring about something, but they were talking softly and facing the other direction.

I rubbed my eyes, ushering myself back to reality, and sat up.

“G’morning chaps.” I greeted in a good-humored attempt at a pathetic British accent.

“Well ‘ello ol’ sport!” Lacey said over her shoulder, in a significantly more accurate accent.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Not sure really.” Kevin said flatly.

“By the sun, we are headed west, maybe northwest.” Lacey added.

“Well, I’d like it to be more west than north. We don’t exactly have a GPS.” I said.

Phil spoke up from under the brim of his hat “We ’bout 6 hours out of Lynchburg.”

“We got enough fuel for that?” I asked, hanging on to my pragmatism.

“Dunno, current seems a bit heavy today, and but I reckon we’ll make it.” Phil seemed confident as he held on the the control rod of the small motor at the back of the raft.

Lacey stood up to stretch her legs and I exchanged spots with her next to Kevin at the bow. She detected we were going to have some private talk, and seemed perfectly content with lying down across the boat to bask in the sunlight. She removed her denim overcoat and rolled up her T-shirt to expose her midriff to the sun’s rays. I wasn’t sure if she noticed Kevin and I experiencing a brief moment of carnal distraction over her very well-maintained physique before pulling ourselves back to reality.

The cicadas were chirping loudly now off the river banks, and with the sound of the motor, we had enough acoustic cover to exchanged a short conversation in privacy without seeming conspiratorial.

“What are we doing when we get to… Lynchburg?” I asked Kevin softly.

“I don’t know what to expect.”

“I haven’t seen any signs of civilization around here in a while.” I said.

“That’s probably a good thing.” I couldn’t argue with that. “We are going to need to plan for a few different situations.”

Kevin nodded. “First, this could all be a trap, he could be taking us to a Hub prison. Second, he could be taking us to a place devoid of any witnesses before he rapes and murder us.” I was expecting a laugh from Kevin about that notion, but it  never came.

I thought for a moment. “He could be actually be taking us upstream without complication, but it doesn’t mean we’ll have a way home. I fear this day will end up in Harrier territory.” I feared.

“Or we could just be lost in the woods.” Kevin said with finality.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to ask Phil what was going to happen at the end of this boat ride.” I said suggest. Kevin didn’t protest, but I saw him slowly check the position of the pistol under his arm.

I turned around, engaging my diplomatic drive. I could turn it on and off as if it were a simple flashlight. At my will, I could suppress the idiosyncratic parts of my personality. I could fetch a new vocabulary that would make the conversation a comfortable one. I could adjust my posture and body language in a hundred different ways, from standoffish, to impatient, to consolatory, to friendly. Half of the skill required to be a good diplomat was being able to read situations dynamically and adjust yourself to accomplish your goals. I’ve taught myself to avoid danger, to appear respectful without appearing intimidated, and most of all, I’ve taught myself when to shut up. A diplomat leads a conversation towards a goal while making it appear as though he’s not in the drivers sea. It’s a facade, a front. It’s equal parts of deception and honesty, and it is volatile.

On this particular occasion, my subject was Phil. He was simple, not very well educated, confident and cocky about his independence form higher thinking. Just as his southern, country accent reeked of stupidity to mean, almost anything I would say to him would come off as snooty and condescending. He wouldn’t be receptive of it, especially since Kevin has raised his rifle at him.

I turned over my shoulder so I could only make eye contact with one eye, and said friendly: “Hey Phil.” Hey is a word to be used carefully, and in diplomatic settings, it’s almost always used incorrectly. Hey is a cocky, ineloquent and unrefined word. But it just so happened that Phil was all three.

He tipped the brim of his hat up. “Howdy.”

“Dave didn’t fill us in very well, where we going?” My style of diplomacy all rests on using the word we alot. We makes the conversation seem mutual, that outcomes are shared by all parties, and for a single syllable, carries a trove of subconscious trust.

“Depends. Dave said you need out of the Hub, and the only way I could gitcha out safely is up the river. What you do after that is up to you.”

“D’you know where the Roadhouse is?” I asked cautiously, hoping not to insult his knowledge of post-apocalyptic American geography.

“Yea, sure. North a few hundred miles.”

“What’s the best way to get up there from here?”

He thought for a moment, grasping for an answer. It was almost as if the man hadn’t thought that far ahead. Kevin and I exchanged a glance to each other, speaking volumes silently to each other. “Well…. I reckin’ y’all follow the ol’ interstate up. Them harriers been a lil’ rowdy lately, but it shouldn’t be nuthin’ ya can’t handle.”

Lacey cocked her head sideways. “Harriers?”

I shrugged sardonically. We’ve seen Harriers before. She still looked concerned, so I naturally went and took a seat next to her. Meanwhile, Kevin continued to probe Phil for solutions on how to get home: “Phil, how long you think the hike North will be.”

He shrugged. “Guess about two weeks walking pretty quick.”

Lacey didn’t seem thrilled about the figure, but she kept it to herself.

*  *  *

Several hours had passed, and the late afternoon sun was pounding on our shoulders. I had already taken the clothing off of my upper body, leaving myself on in jeans and my boots. Even after I stripped down, I could feel the constant flow of sweat down my back. I would need water soon, but not bad enough to drink the river water. Kevin had followed suit, only leaving his two button leather vest on, drooping over his shoulders. Lacey had rolled her shirt up above her navel and tied it in a knot modestly, though I still caught myself staring at her when I thought she wasn’t looking.

Phil, on the other hand, left most of his clothes on, and surprisingly, he was very dry. The man had gotten used to this dank summer heat, and casually meandered the boat up the channel.

At around 8pm, as dusk began to grab hold of day, we saw a small dock ahead. Phil gracefully slipped the boat in to the dock and tossed a rope over to the dock poles.

Cautiously, never taking eyes off of Phil, we took our turns dismounting the boar, standing on the dock to help each other out. Phil was the last to step out of the boat. And there we stood, the three of us facing him, unsure of how to end our small excursion with the mysterious Phil.

Phil was the first to speak as he lit a cigarette. Kevin’s mouth watered at the site of the tobacco, having run out of cigarettes hours ago.

“Boys… ma’am, I had half a mind to kill you when I laid eyes on ya.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kevin check for the presence of his pistol, expecting Moore’s law always.

I replied cautiously, “Why is that, Phil?”

“Well, you just don’t know who to trust anymore.”

“You’ve lost some faith in humanity?”

Phil thought for a second. “No, I half expected you to be Hub informants.”

“Trust us, Phil, we are no friend of the Hub. Not anymore.”

He smiled. “Then it’s true what they say?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do they day?”

“That a war is coming. That the Roadhouse is choosing sides.”

“Phil, I can’t tell you whats going on because I honestly don’t know. That’s why we are heading back now.”

He was silent for a second, than fished a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, tossing them to Kevin. “Take ‘em.”

Kevin nodded and smiled genuinely. “Thanks! So we are heading up that road?” Kevin indicated the direction of the interstate, speckled with car carcasses of world’s past.

Phil nodded. “Strait until you get to Maryland, than you should know your way from them.”

Lacey reached out to shake Phil’s hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure” said Phil. And with that, we headed North.

It turns out that ‘Our Rooms’ weren’t the lavish guest suites we had been privileged with, but rather damp, underground cells with iron gates. All the comforts of home.

Knowing better than to resist, we allowed the guards to grab us by the backs of our collars and search us again for anything that could be used as an improvised weapon, including my precious mechanical pencil and Kevin’s hidden blade in his tube socks. They threw Kevin in a cell as he landed with a big “Ouff’, and threw me in the cell next to him.

The guards, seeming content with their hostility, slammed the doors and left without comment. As the guards footsteps disappeared around the corner, Kevin gave me a look. It wasn’t a facial expression I recognized, it was full of anger, disillusion and resent. He seemed ready to defend any sort of sardonic statement I threw his way, and I knew that during times like this, it was best not to poke the beast.

Kevin nonchalantly examined to the hinges. “Rising-butt barell hinges” he grunted.

I didn’t bother to confirm, I just agreed with a simple impassive “Yep.”

“Any way to break them?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nope.”

We heard the guards slam he door to the corridor and with that, we were left in the complete dark.

“Kind of them.” Kevin said acerbically.

*  *  *

We sat in quiet speculation. Questions flew across my mind like a swarm of locusts. Were they talking about us right now? Were they going to exalt us? Were they going to make us martyrs? Would we just ‘disappear’ the way Sandrin did?

Finally, it was itching to much: “Well that…” I stopped myself. I was going to give my two cents about Kevin’s attempt at the oil power-play, but there had been a degree of tension in the rapport between Kevin and I ever since we got to the Hub, and I didn’t want to instigate. “Well that was unexpected.” I left which that I referred to ambiguous.

Kevin thought for a second. “You think they’ll keep us here long?” He sounded gloomy.

I had heard horror stories of the Hub’s torture tactics. If they wanted information, they would get it or kill us trying. “No, I think they are just making us tired” I said hopefully. “They might just want to talk about it, oil is enticing.”

“Not my idea of a fun sleepover.”

“I think they may starve us, actually. They think we’ll exchange information for food.”

“Not a particularly bad way to  go.” said Kevin. Was he being glib?

“I think I’d rather take a bullet.” I said all to honestly.

“Too messy. Bullets are too expensive, they won’t waste them.” Kevin retorted, considering all of the other options.

“Drowning”

“Not for certain.”

“What’s not for certain?” I asked.

“Drowning may not finish the job.” said Kevin.

“Electrocution?”

“Nah, how?”

“Poison?”

“Not enough spectacle. They won’t let it look accidental.” Kevin’s cynicism was dripping.

“How about fire?”

Kevin thought for a second. “It would draw a crowd. Also, it smells like shit. No one, not even the Hub, wants the smell of death looming in the air.”

“True.”

A soft, feminine voice came from the darkness. It was confident, but with repose: “They’ll probably just beat you for talking so much.” The voiced echoed around the long hallway, cloaking it’s source. We hadn’t realized there was another person among us.

“Who are you?” I asked the vacuum of dark.

“I’m Lacey”

“Are you in a cell?” Kevin asked.

“No, I just hang out in dark hallways at my leisure.” Everyone was a comedian. “I’ve been here for two days.”

“In the dark?” I asked,

“Yep, no food or water either.” Her tone was surprisingly light, considering the circumstances.

“What did you d….” I began but was interrupted by another sound. Footsteps approached down the hallway, accompanied by the warm, orange glow of a small cigarette lighter. It was David, and inside I rejoiced at this realization.

He was panicked, and spoke in a rushed whisper: “You guys, we have to go. They are coming. They are putting you to death!” He was succinct and terrified.

David quietly fished in to his pocket and produced a large ring of keys. Selecting the appropriate key, he slid it as quietly as possible in to Kevin’s door, and with a sharp clank, the door freely swung open. He turned to my door and did the same, and I saw the fear in his eyes. “Hurry.” Panic almost overtook him as he shooed us towards the other end of the hallway.

“Lacey, where are you?” still not able to determine the source of her voice.

“Turn around” the voice suggested with hint of sarcasm. All three of us looked over our shoulders as the faint orange glow of David’s lighter cast a wash light on a womanly figure inside the cell across from Kevin and I. She was sitting in the rear of the cell, hugging her knees. Most of her features were camouflaged by the dark.

David held the keys in his hand for a second considering the notion. He apparently wasn’t familiar with this prisoner. The woman could see the consideration on his face, so she spoke up, “I’m here for the same reason as you. The council has no sympathy, only power.”

David leaned in close to the bars and whispered. “You are a rebel, eh?” Was David taunting her?

The woman slowly unraveled her limps and stood up. She approached the cell door and grabbed the bars with her very delicate hands. She leaned in to meet David’s penetrating gaze. “I am no rebel. Don’t make accusations.” The flames from David’s lighter reflected off of the woman’s dark brown eyes.

David was still rushed. He backed away from the cell, we followed suit. “We don’t have time for this.”

Lacey’s hand flew through the bars and struck my arm like a viper, her fist clenching my wrist. “They will kill me too” she said with more prudence than plea.

David was already trying to shoo us down the hallway, but something inside of me manifested, a feeling of regret. Some qualitative response to Lacey’s plea had made me hesitate and I couldn’t move my feet. I’ve always been plagued by the fear of making decisions I would later regret, and I knew I’d regret leaving Lacey to be killed by the same thugs that had intended on killing me. I grabbed David by his sleeve and stopped him.

“David, let her out. No person deserves what the Hub is going to do to her.” I pleaded with little tact.

Kevin was already moving down the hallway. “Nick, shut up, we don’t have time for your heartfelt bullshit.” Kevin was being the the typical id to my superego, forcing self-reliance in a manner that he often described as ‘pulling one’s head out of their ass.’

Davis stood with the key ring in one hand and shrugged as he lost his words. I put my open palm out as if to say ‘give the keys to me’. He considered but yielded and a moment later I had unlocked Lacey’s cell door. Kevin cursed at me, but we all fell silent as we heard a door creak at the other end of the hallway.

David’s voice fell to the quietest of whispers as he pulled all four of us in to a circular huddle. “Shit, they came quick. There is a carriage out back, go jump in. The driver knows what to do. I can’t be seen with you” With that he turned around, extinguished the lighter and disappeared in to the black.

We felt our way down the hallway as we heard the jovial guards approach from the other end. They were laughing about some crude joke one had told, and were utterly unsympathetic of their duties to bring an individual to their execution; heartless as the council themselves.

Moments later, we found an unlocked but very narrow door at the end of the hallway. From behind, I pushed Kevin’s massive frame through the door to the exterior and pushed Lacey ahead of me as we landed in the next room. We closed and locked the door behind us, hoping the guards hadn’t heard.

There was a little light in this room and it appeared to be foyer. We felt the warmth on the next door, excited knowing that the late summer daylight was on the other side. We quietly made our way in to the burning sunlight, our eyes painfully meeting the sun and the gaze of a large brown horse, a small carriage and a tall driver with a bowler hat.

The driver said nothing, only smiled and opened the carriage door as if he were a refined, cavalier chauffeur. He seemed surprised to find a third fugitive in our group, but the sunlight had revealed that Lacey was surprisingly alluring. Her dark eyes and freckled nose were bordered by her jet-black, straight hair, all on top of her lean but curvy frame. Her gray denim overcoat and jeans had blotches of oil and dirt, reminding me of a very sexy mechanic, but her face was soft with delicate features.

I think even Kevin was pleasantly surprised by Lacey’s beauty despite his fervor for getting far away from the Hub. I cherished these brief, fleeting moments where Kevin seemed human. His experience with war and diplomacy had made him in to such a machine that I often wondered if a grease-pump had replaced his heart ages ago. But he was still my friend and I relished seeing him break facade one in a while.

Needless to say, the driver wasn’t opposed to the beautiful addition to our party, and we crammed in the back of the carriage. The driver started the horses before we could even get the door closed. “Duck down!” Kevin whispered as he pulled a blanket over the three of us, now crammed in the foot wells of the passenger compartment.

The carriage swayed and rattled over the cobblestone alleys for over 15 minutes, rocking back and forth with tranquility and in my weariness, I almost feel asleep. I was abruptly plucked from my haze as the carriage slowed to a stop. I began to stretch my limbs, but Kevin grabbed me by the hair and forced me back to the carriage floor as we heard muffled voices.

Though mostly indistinguishable, I heard the words ‘fugitive’ and ‘escape’ very clearly and I surmised that the man hunt for us had already begun. The driver appeared to sound calm and play dumb. A few panicked moments later, the cart began to move again. We all breathed an audible sigh of relief which was short lived as Kevin’s foot was lodged in my back and Lacey’s shoulder was burrowing in to my stomach as we all crammed in the small foot-well of the carriage.

After another short period of the carriage rocking back and forth, we felt the it come to a halt. We held our breaths in anticipation of another checkpoint, but instead, the tall, lanky driver with an impressive mustache turned around and pulled the blanket off of us. “We’re here”.

‘Here’ wasn’t terribly descriptive, but we were definitely in a covered garage. Kevin rolled out of the cart, his legs having fallen asleep. He shook them vigorously, trying to call them back in to function. Lacey followed suit from the other side with a little more grace than I, and I rolled out on to the floor much as Kevin had when he was thrown in the jail cell an hour ago. The driver closed the carriage door with a certain level of chivalry and broke the silence: “Go inside and make yourselves comfortable. ”

“Where are we?” Kevin asked.

“This is Mr. Shield’s private residence. His wife is ready to receive you.”

“Are you his personal driver?” I asked.

He nodded. “Of sorts.”

The door from the garage led to a modern-style kitchen with white tile floor and aluminum counter tops. At the kitchen table sat Joy and her son Davey. We had met before.

“Nick, you look tired.” she approached me and gave me a hug. Davey ran up to me and looked up. I put my hand out and he jumped for a high-five. I was genuinely happy to see them, they were long-time friends. I was informally Davey’s godfather and although I never felt cut-out for fatherhood, I always shared a special bond with Davey.

“Joy, you’ve met my partner Kevin?” I asked.

“No, I don’t believe I have, but nice to meet you.” They exchanged a firm, diplomatic hand shake. “This is my son Davey.” Kevin gave Davey a warm, masculine nod. I rolled my eyes, the machine was back online. Joy looked over at Lacey, who was still stretching her limbs as she recovered from our journey. “Who might you be?”

“I’m Lacey.” The exchanged an awkward handshake. “The man that rescued those guys rescued me too.”

Joy smiled. “That man is my husband, David. He’s the Secretary to the Grand Council.” Lacey had a brief moment of fear flash across her face. Joy gave a motherly smile. “Don’t worry dear. He’s one of us. How did you get wrapped up in all of this?”

Lacey took a moment to phrase herself. “Suffice it to say, I’ve had some grievances with the council.” she said with humor but with conviction.

Joy laughed comfortably. “Haven’t we all, dear.”

I finally introduced myself to Lacey. With little reservation and great gratitude, she threw her arms around me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for the rescue.”

“Twas my pleasure.” I gave an awkward smile, realizing that I sounded more like a limerick than the sophisticated Victorian poet I was channeling. We exchanged a smile at the awkwardness, and I appreciated her tolerance. She felt oddly comfortable.

Kevin found no need to a polite introduction. It was clear that he already saw Lacey as unnecessary baggage. Avoiding any more discomfort, I pointed to him. “That’s my partner Kevin.”  The machine nodded, but he was, if nothing else, civil.

Joy poured a round of coffee and we all sat down at the kitchen table. Coffee was rare these days, usually reserved for guests, and we all appreciated the gesture. Kevin and I sat at the end of the table. Lacey hesitated, and then pulled a chair up next to us. I supposed that in her head, she was committing to whatever battle Kevin and I were fighting. “That will be all Joe, thank you very much” and with that, the driver left through the door to the garage. Joy continued: “I don’t know how much David told you.”

Kevin sipped is coffee, finally relaxing a bit. “He said we have been sentenced to death, we didn’t get much else out of him.”

“David thinks they are doing it to send a message, but they are doing their secret motions, so it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Well, us not showing up in a few days back at the Roadhouse will send a message itself” I said with a degree of threat. I always counted on Mike and Adam to be my pocket aces in dangerous situations.

“True, but there are some things you don’t know about.”

“Like what?” asked Kevin.

Joy sipped her coffee, “I should let David explain them.”

“Fair enough.” No reason to prod. “They’ve started to search for us, so how do we get home?”

“We don’t know. It’s only a matter of time until they come search here. We have to get you out somehow. David already wrote a letter to your pals.”

“Michael and Adam?” She nodded. “Well, hopefully we’ll get out of here long before there’s any need for them, we can’t risk your family like this. Not with Davey here.”

Joy smiled, “Nick, some of us still believe in doing the right thing. Even if it means a little danger.”

Days after staring at the infinite horizon roll in and back out of our view, the semblances of society became to show themselves once again.

At first, there were just little circles of yurts around camp fires. The small family units eyed our strange rail car suspiciously as it drifted slowly and silently across the landscape – but ultimately they looked with more indifference than contempt. Business as usual.

The landscape, speckled with Hub outliers gradually became more populated as the forest gave up its footing to human rebirth.

It was noon, the August sun was beating down on our shoulders and we knew the poor horses needed a break. Kevin pulled the reigns and the lead Greenbroke succumbed to the command and I slowly applied the rail car breaks to prevent the horses from falling victim to momentum.

“Make it quick?” Kevin suggested, I nodded.

We had come to a stop near a small village of plebeians, probably farmers. I met the gaze of one of the older men who nodded back in a silent gesture of peace. He approached.

Kevin, quick to anticipate the worst, checked for the presence of his pistol in its concealed holster, but he continued to empty the last of our canteens in to the horse trough.

The man, tall and unshaven, but still cleanly, stepped up on to the railroad tracks, his low, crackling voice greeted: “m’names John. You guys headin’ to the inner Hub.”

Kevin nodded with an uncomfortable lack of trust, but I hopped off the car and pleasantly replied. “Yep, it’s that time of year again. I’m Nick”

“Yea, we’ll be takin’ some of our corn down tomorrow for the small trades fair. You guys from out west?”

“Nope, Roadhouse.” Kevin said, still a small flavor of skepticism in his voice, but it was fading.

John stopped walking with an abrupt shifting of gravel at his feet. “…Roadhouse?”

I grabbed a chunk of deer jerky out of my satchel as I approached John. “Yea, why?” I tore off a piece of the jerky and offered it to John. His mouth watered at the sight of the salted meat, but he hesitated.

“I’m not so sure I should be talking to you, sir.” He stammered.

“Why, we are here to trade peacefully, we mean no harm.”

“It..it’s not that. It’s just… we heard about that ambassador. We’ve heard about a lot of things.”

“So have we, we hope to sort a lot of that out while we are here.” I offered the meat again, he accepted cautiously.

“Thanks for the jerky, haven’t had it in a while.” I nodded, he continued. “They aren’t happy with you guys down there. I don’t know if I’d even continue if I were you.”

Kevin let the horses drink, and walked over to John and I.  “Hi, I’m Kevin.” They exchanged a handshake, colloquialism I forgot to do. “Can you explain a little more?”

John took another small bite of jerky but continued talking, albeit with a very full mouth. “Out here on the outskirts, its all about rumors and lore. T’aint never hear anything official, but there’s alotta talk about you guys, they say you guys want Hub resources without playing by Hub rules.”

I thought for a moment, and softly said. “You’re leadership council has become very powerful. What do all men with power want?”

John nodded in agreement. “You’re Smarto, aren’t you? And your Mason?”

Kevin tensed up, obviously replaying our close encounter in his head again. “You’ve heard of us.”

John reinforced again: “Yes, as I said, there is always a lot of talk.” He said it some finality, I knew we’d have a more complicated trade summit than usual.

“Well, Kevin and I are here to do some talking of our own. We mean no harm at all, we’re all just trying to rebuild and survive. I would appreciate it if you try to spread that word around yourself.” I handed John a final piece of jerky, but he refused.

“You guys seem alright. I’ll do my best, but be on your guard as you get closer to the inner Hub. They aren’t as reasonable as we farmers are.”

I smiled, but Kevin asked one more question. “John, does the name Peterson mean anything to you?”

He thought for a second, and cryptically said “Another person who talks a lot, though I haven’t seen him in a while. Last time I saw him, he was heading up the tracks where you came from.”

“Anything else?”

“No, he passes by here a lot, but we aren’t really sure where he goes. He stops in for water about once a month, and that’s about it. We figured he was going to see you guys actually.”

*  *  *

The sun was getting lower, but we were close so we continued. Slowly over the horizon, we saw a large wall come in to view, with large french-style doors where our rail tracks would intersect. Two guards stood on either side.

Kevin pulled the rail car to a halt.

“Name?” one of the guards said with authoritative indifference.

“Nicholas Smarto, Council Secretary of Faction Affairs for the Roadhouse, former Westmoreland, Pennsylvania.” I had the long introduction well-rehearsed.

The guards lip curled, he whispered something suspiciously to the man next to him, and then looked back at me. “We’ve been expecting you.” I had no appreciation of the dramatics.

I had expected them to take our weapons, but as usually, they let us through. This time, though, there was a different feeling in the air. We felt the gaze through gun-sights upon us as the familiar metal-on-metal creaking accompanied the opening of the gates.

Inside the wall, we were greeted with the same skepticism.

Every person we passed gave us an unsettling look, even without our conversation with John, we would’ve been able to detect the unpleasant sentiment towards all things Roadhouse.

We arrived at the rail depot and, having no other options, trusted that we wouldn’t be looted as we made our way to the council chambers. The officials at the rail depot seemed a little more pleasant, and greeted us with our titles.

There was a horse-drawn cart awaiting us, another sign of good will, but Kevin and I still felt nervous as we hopped in and greeted the driver. He had little to say in return.

We weaved our way through the Richmond thicket of brick and dirt streets until we arrived at the familiar council chambers. At the front door between four guards, stood my old buddy David Shields, Secretary to the Grand Council. “I got your letter” he said with a smile.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Dave, good to see you”. We exchanged a handshake and one-armed hug. “You’ve met Mr. Mason?”

“Once upon a time, good to see you Mr. Mason.”

“Kevin” he smiled.

“Well good, good, lets go inside and get you guys something to eat.”

Inside the council chambers, there was a aura of reverence, flamed torches lit the paths speckled with paintings and portraits. It seemed like a cathedral more than a political epicenter. It was quiet and any sound we made echoed through the chambers, the sounds of my satchel hitting my hip and Kevin’s neck-piece oscillating against his shoulders reverberated.

“I made sure you guys had your typical rooms available.”

I whispered “I hope they have locks on them.”

Dave gave a little smile, “I guess it was obvious that there has been talk about the Roadhouse around here lately.”

I continued to whisper, not trusting any off the other officials passing by us as we walked. “Anything I should know about?”

“Nothing you already don’t. People are ticked about Sandrin but that will pass, there is no definitive proof and I personally trust your testimony. I should have enough pull around here to calm things down.”

“I’m glad somebody trusts us.” Kevin said.

“It’s not you Kevin. It’s not the Roadhouse really. I mean…” he paused to phrase himself  “…people here think the Roadhouse is up to no-good, that they are planning to formally succeed.” Now he was whispering too.

“You’re being frank, I appreciate that. Buy why would we succeed? That’s ludicrous.” I asked.

“We can’t talk here. Let’s go to your quarters.” I appreciated his discretion.

*  *  *

Arriving at our quarters, we were feeling a little more comfortable. We sat down in the common room between Kevin’s and my suite, and all three of us pulled up a chair.

“Okay, explain it to me.” I said, realizing afterward how demanding I sounded.

“Well, let me be blunt. The Hub wants to grow.”

Kevin said “Grow how? Power? Resources? People?”

“Yes.” he smirked sarcastically. He continued “The council means well, they want to rebuild and grow for good reasons. This isn’t as terrible as it sounds I assure you, and you would be playing a positive role.”

“That’s fair. Where do we play a role?” I asked.

“Well, there are many unknowns. We have to plan our resources accordingly.”

“You didn’t answer my question” I said.

David thought for a second to rephrase himself. “You’ve admittedly been a little distant lately, at least in the council’s eyes.”

I was getting a little stressed “Dave, we are over 300 miles away. It took us over a week to get here, what does the council expect?”

“They expect your allegiance. After Sandrin died, there has been speculation of a revolt.”

Kevin was silent. I spoke “Dave, it’s been over 10 years we’ve cooperated. There is peace. Sandrin was probably killed by Harriers like the rest of them.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t isolated. People are still worried that you’d try to pull another Charleston.”

I was so tired of trying to cover up that mess, I damned Adam and Mike. “Well, we are here to trade, to offer peace to the council. We are allies.”

“The council talks about reigning you in. Often.” David asked humbly.

Kevin broke his silence “The Roadhouse? Are you saying a forced invasion? There would be so many casualties.”

David hunched over the table and whispered “You don’t think the council would like it that way? You’d be tamed and incapacitated. You’d need us again.” David was sympathetic for this notion, he was truly one of the good guys.

Kevin was silent for a second. He was fooling with his necklace as his brain churned.  “David, will you be free tomorrow? I’d like to speak with the council.”

“Yes, I’ve been on Roadhouse duty so I’m yours for the week. You guys need a friend around here. But I warn you that the council has been simply locking people up that contest their decisions. You have no amnesty in that room.”

I felt a bit undermined. “Kev, what do you expect to say?”

Kevin said “I can’t allow a war on my soil. I’ll say whatever I have to.”

At this, David stood up. “I have to be getting home, I can arrange a meeting with the council tomorrow if you are sure you want to go through with it.”

Kevin nodded with certainty, I obliged.

David sighed “Alright. I’ll be here tomorrow to take you guys to breakfast.”

We thanked him, and he walked to the door. As he opened the door, he looked over his shoulder and said softly “think carefully about what you want to say to them.”

Kevin said slow: “I have.”

It was dark now, nearly pitch black except for the cherry on Kevin’s cigarette and the soft gray glow of the sun’s last futile attempt of illuminating through the overcast summer skies.

Kevin and I leaned against the rear bogie of the rail car, shoulder to shoulder. The cold steel felt cool on our backs. After a few minutes of silence, I whispered: “You know, if we leave him alive, he’ll probably follow us.”

Kevin reminded me: “He hasn’t shot our other horses yet.”

“I’m sure they’d look real good in his stable.”

Kevin took another drag. “He hasn’t come for us yet.”

“We only have 5 horses. We’ll be slow. Can we kill him?”

Kevin pondered this for a second. “Maybe. And if he’s not alone?”

I shrugged, not having an answer. I felt a subtle patter on my shoulder, I turned to see the drop of blood that had dripped from the rail car. Jason’s blood has pooled above our heads on the flat wooden bed of the rail car.

“Nick, I have an idea.”

+ + +

This had to executed perfectly. The satchel with Kevin’s guns rested right behind the crates of milk, it couldn’t be accessed from our side of the car without reaching around.

Kevin laid on his belly and reached for a long stick that was laying on the track bed a few feet away. He grabbed it and retracted it back to our ‘bunker’. We rested a second and waited to hear a gunshot, but it was silent. After feeling like we had gone unnoticed, he swiveled around and faced the rail car and our aggressor. It was dark now, and only the silhouette of the large hulking building could be seen.

He poked his eyes over the platform and carefully raised the stick until he could place it on the rail car. He did so silently, I was amazed. He used the stick to slowly reach to a loop on his satchel. After a few attempts of hooking the pack, he finally got a length of the stick through the loop. I hung on the stick as a counterweight to beat the overwhelming leverage as Kevin slowly drew the stick back, and with it, our guns. The satchel plopped on Kevin’s lap, the stick fell on my head, but we had our firearms.

Kevin’s plan continued, and the stick wasn’t done its duty.

He withdrew a rifle from the satchel, and old M1 Garand. I patted him on the back and said “See you in a few minutes bud.”

He disappeared away from the bogie towards the dark forest, and I saw him begin his arc. He walked slowly, on the outside of his feet, and I could barely hear him.

“Psst” I signaled to him. He turned to look and I motioned for him to put out his cigarette. He did, and a moment later, he was part of the forest.

Now, my role had to be executed. I reached up slowly over the top of the rail car, hoping that I wouldn’t get a bullet to the fingers. I felt around for a moment until I found what I was looking for: Jason’s lifeless, cold hand.

I tugged hard, but Jason wouldn’t budge. After I brought my feet up on the rail wheels, I achieved the force I needed and Jason’s body toppled on top of mine.

I slowly buttoned his shirt, praying that the shirt wouldn’t rip with what I was about to do. I slid the stick up Jason’s back and lodged it in Jason’s collar.

Now the hardest part, I had to lift Jason’s body up. I planted my feet in the ground, along with the bottom end of the stick, a hoisted the stick and Jason’s body upright. Driven by pure fear and adrenaline, I managed to stand the 200 pound man and the stick up on its end so that most of Jason’s weight was carried by the now-bowing stick and I was just keeping it balanced.

Jason’s body was perching over the rail car, and dark was our advantage. After waiting a few minutes for Kevin to circle around, I executed.

I shouted. It came out guttural and unintelligible, but the sniper heard it. A moment later, several bullets came flying through Jason’s lifeless body, spattering me with a cold rain of blood. Three bullets, but I heard four gunshots.

I released the stick and Jason fell to the ground.

Now I waited, I had given Kevin the distraction he needed. I prayed that the fourth gunshot that I heard had been from Kevin’s Garand. The 30 seconds dragged on for hours, and then I heard another 3 muffled gunshots that sounded as though they came from inside the building.

Now time had stopped and I was sweating with fear.

Over the hill from the factory, I rejoiced as I heard a distant: “Smarto! They left dinner on the table for us!”

The oil was dripping in thick drops, making tiny puddles below the white, vinyl siding.

“Harrier?” Skip said after a moment of silent staring.

“Nah, not a typical one anyway. They wouldn’t be so subtle, and they wouldn’t have been able to sneak through any of the main gates.” I said pragmatically. Muffled murmurs reminded me that a small crowd had gathered. “Please leave us, friends.” I said shallowly and the crowd dispersed. Randy had lagged.

“Hey Nick” he greeted me. “You need anything from me?”

“No…. well actually, I would like to have a PACE walk-around inspection of some security equipment around the inner compound. I’m probably over-reacting, but someone is obviously inside the compound without the best of intentions.”

“What needs inspected, sir?”

“Don’t call me sir.” I said tersely. “Just have a look at hinge pins on the main gates. Maybe check out the concrete supports of the inner wall, anything else you can think of. I just don’t want to take chances.”

“That shouldn’t take long, can I take a few of the men off duty then?”

“Yea, take Bridges and Hynes. They were structural guys right?”

“Nick, we’re all structural now, not to many computers to tinker with. Though Hynes is out at RH-3-15 fixing their water tower.”

“Ah. Well take Dale, he’s bored now that we fixed the log splitter.”

“Okay, good call.”

“Can you file a report when you’re done? I’ll want to show the others when they return.”

“No problem. I’ll stick it on your desk.”

“Thanks.”

I remembered that Skip was standing behind me. “So what do think?” I asked.

“I think its dangerous. Fear mongering works.” he said rather gravely.

“I think it’s dramatist. Might even be some kid skipping out on the learning center today.”

“A kid with access to crude?” Skip asked.

“No, I’m not disagreeing that it’s worrisome, but what can we do. Sweep every hut for a can of oil and interrogate?”

“I’m more worried that it was someone we trust blindly.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” I said with finality. “Now, we haven’t heard back from the Hub yet, right? We are scheduled to go to the Free Trade Summit next week. You wanna roll with me?”

“I think it’s better that I stay”

“Yea, especially with Adam and Mike back out.”

I nodded and patted Skip on his shoulder. I approached the oil on the wall and gave it a smell.

Oil, real honest-to-God oil. None of the corn derivative crap we’ve used around here. It smelled positively sensual to me, it smelled to me as it must have to oil tycoons of centuries ago. It smelled like success and lust and all things coveted. Oil, the petroleum pheromone,  the thick, black aphrodisiac.

I tasted it. It had been a long time since I’ve seen oil this fresh. This was not from an old Chevy engine block nor siphoned from the dank bottom of an old locomotive. This had been made after the Crossing, it smelled like a gas station, fresh and pungent. There were no metal filings and engine flakes, this was virgin.

Somewhere in this vast, baron landscape… there was a refinery.

+ + +

Free Trade Agreement Summits are volatile.

Everyone has something and wants everything; the fundamental and powerful law behind countless killings, heists and micro-revolutions.

Some years, Texas Commonwealth will demand vegetables by threatening to hoard water from it’s coveted desalinization plant. How they made the plant is one of the closest-guarded secrets of New America. Some say it doesn’t even exist and the Commonwealth just bottles spring water and sells it for whatever they need. Last year’s FTA summit turned bloody over this accusation when a Texan ambassador lunged over the conference table and a fist fight broke out amongst 50 members of the summit. I’d like to say that the Texan ambassador was simply banned from the summit, but unfortunately he went to sleep in his sleeping quarters and never came out the next morning. He is still missing.

Some years, the Georgian Federation will sell timber by the acre in pursuit of gold; a currency they intend on re-valuing after capturing all of the gold from the former Fort Knox. This was widely accepted as a joke, as New America never settled on an official currency, and refused to revert to the gold-backed dollar under the knowledge that the Georgian Federation had most of it. This infuriated the Federation entirely, and in 2021 led to an argument between Georgia and the Hub that ended with a spilled glass of Scotch, an ambassador’s black eye, and the suspension of admittance to the FTA Summit for 5 years. Rumor also had it that the Georgian Federation’s President’s wive had to sell a certain privilege to a Hub ambassador to regain rights to participate again, which led to the a terrifically bloody and brief battle between the two sovereigns that ended in 124 deaths and 8 pregnancies.

It is for these reasons, and dozens more, that inter-commune politics are bloody, irreverent and unfair. The commune with the most coveted item of the year makes the rules, but often pays for their greed in blood. This makes thin-ice for an ambassador for a successful and isolationist colony like myself. The Hub always offers protection in the form of their numerous foot-soldiers present at the FTA summit, but will oppressively tax any major trades that occur at the Summit in exchange.

Like space-race of a century ago, the name of the game this year was ‘who can find oil first’.

Refineries of the past were complicated and the process hadn’t been quite perfected yet. Some places like Texas had a few in-tact oil wells, but no capability of filtering and refining the thick sludge with the small quantities they could pull up. Some communes boasted refining capabilities but it is largely accepted that these are ploys to gain access to the very sludge that couldn’t be used by other communes.

This year was bound to be as bloody as usual.

+ + +

I had done all of my preparations. This included a detailed inventory of what we had and didn’t have.  Our corn-oil engines were always very coveted. So was our milk and meat. Our cows were healthy and surviving well off our grain farmers. Though, we always needed things. Talking to the executives of communities within the Roadhouse, the following items were in high demand: antibiotics for our doctors, some form of toothpaste or fluoride for our dentists, and an electric generator for a wind-turbine PACE was working on.

The week before I left for the FTA summit, I was everyone’s best friend. “Nick, I need a pocket watch. Nick, I need bag of vanadium power ’cause I’m trying to make steel. Nick, I need Qtips.” Everyone had a shopping list, and while I listened, everyone knew that I simply wouldn’t have time or trading supplies to make everyone happy. I had to focus on what the compound really needed.

Years ago, we outfitted a old flatbed rail car for travel and cleared the tracks systematically all the way to Richmond. The rail car had a small awning on it to sleep under which could comfortably sleep three. The car was drawn by six horses, so we had to pack food and water for all 9 of us, as well as all of the trade supplies we needed. It was a big operation, and worst of all, it was slow.  The horses needed to rest every few hours, and barely made more than 40 miles a day – it takes about a week to go one way.

After I organized the loading of the rail car, I spoke briefly with Kevin. He would bring himself, Jason and a handful of firearms. It was important that we protected our horses, should we loose more than one or two, we would be stranded somewhere between the Hub and Roadhouse, a dangerous territory filled with the infamous Dixie Harriers.

With about 1500 pounds of cured meat, 1000 gallons of milk on ice and 100 small corn-oil engines, we departed the Roadhouse Inner Compound at daybreak.