#Abhijit Abbot Mattu

[thebardanon]

DAY 2

A familiar silence fell over the two as Abbot began to navigate. Normally he’d have the radio on, a wide grin over his face. Normally Ann would be wondering if Abbot would shoot her if she threw his CD’s out the window. But the Rangers had them nervous.

They drove south, turning due north on the county road 20. Ann’s eyes wondered towards empty trailers and houses that appeared and vanished. She felt torn by them once, afraid of their loneliness. Now she just saw reminders, like crosses on the highway these empty houses marked only the dead.

Abbot, he prayed. His father’s Sikh traditions had long vanished, along with his turban and Kangha. He still combed his hair, but the wooden heirloom sat inside the worn leather vest that he’d sewn Abbot into. The ever silent prayer was a habit, when things were quiet, when an enemy was near, or when the sun sunk low he automatically felt drawn to prayers. The empty world slipped by slowly as they drove.

Eve was a collection of small shacks and what would have counted for sheds not long ago. But a Large plywood sign with green hand-painted letters read “THE LAST OASIS BEFOURE TEXAS! Water, Gas, and Food!” the U had been poorly stroked over,  and several young folks had set up a form of a market on the northwest of the 412 and 20 intersections. A couple took to the road when the van came close, a girl in a green sundress, darkened by dust and lack of proper washing, and a boy in a denim jacket and overalls, shotgun held behind his head making him look like some manner of a scarecrow. He smiled, She glared, or her face might have just been like that, as a half smile appeared on her face when Abbot pulled the van to the side.

“Strangers from a strange land.” the Boy called walking to the driver door. “You Texans?” Abbot stared, shook his head and made a quick show of hands. “Sorry man, I don’t sign, got anyone in there who talks?”

Ann opened her door and slid out. Stretching and pulling a baseball cap from the dash she fed her hair through. “I’ll translate.” Ann put thumbs in the loops of her jeans and marched around the van, meeting the girl at the grill. “Excuse me.” Ann nodded, tipping the bill of her cap as she walked around and leaned against the hood facing the other. “He’s from the former Arkansas, I’m from the former Kansas.” 

“Former? We-hell, that’s fine. Don’t see many people coming from the south. Glad you’re here!” His smile faltered for a second. “I’m Cody, that young lady is Francis. I’m the impromptu greeter and shooter here seeing as I don’t have much a skill for writing signs.” 

Abbot showed his hands and pointed to himself before signing out a resume. Ann nodded and smiled at Cody. “It’s a pleasure. He’s a mechanic and I’m good at hunting and butchery, though I can’t say I’m so familiar with this area.” Cody’s grin picked back up realizing the two would trade labor. “Fine, fine! Park on over by the red barn there and we’ll talk tradin’.”

Ann stood up and slapped the hood. Abbot nodded and drove past towards a small drive and a large red shack. Walking back with Cody and Fran she asked; “So how often do the Border Rangers get up this way?”

Cody shook his head. “No, they gave up the county roads on account of the painted.” 

“They’re on all the county roads?”

“Just about, least all but the 20, we give em food and they stay off north or south. Bet they’d jump a BR humvee if it tried to roll up though. They’re not easy to talk down.”

Ann nodded. She’d had to deal with groups like the tainted in the past. Tribal groups that formed and seemed to recreate some ancient society, but the Painted were different. They were the reservation kids, united for survival they had traditions and a bond that most had lost. They lived modestly, looked tribal, but they were more organized and collected than most. 

“We’re looking for a safe route off the panhandle. Maybe into the old New Mexico without getting raided by Painted or worse, Texans.”

Cody nodded, “I’ll show you the way some of the traders take when going west. Apparently, they went and preserved the greater part of Gallup, somehow trades all over the southwest. Even got boys out here.”

Ann took a deep breath. Gallup was a long way away. Far away. Perhaps far enough. 

Abbot sat in the back of the van, looking at the Turban he quit wearing years ago. Rolling it up he placed it in a small box under the driver's seat. Grabbing one of his toolboxes he slid out and began to drop the hog trailer, his mobile shop. Sitting on a folding chair he sat a small radio down and pressed play. A country song started wailing out a yodel as he placed up a sign; “Traded my voice for ungodly skill, will work for food.” and waited.

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@ikilledamanimeanwhat

[thebardanon]

DAY 3

The summer sun sank into the arms of distant nothingness as Abbot turned the key on the third ATV that day. The engine wurred to life and a lanky boy smiled and quickly shoved an IOU in the calloused Punjabi hands. Abbot slipped the boy his own note. “Oil it, trade for a spark plug, and change/clean air filter once a month.” The boy stared at the note before stuffing it into his pocket. “Yeah, You got it, man!”

As the boy drove off Abbot wiped his hands and sat back in his seat. A Spanish song mourned over a lost love beside him as he sipped water from a flask. Annette had gone to the ‘Hunter’s cabin’ and now Abbot prayed as darkness covered the world. Candles and a few electric lights flickered into life here and there. Abbot had set out solar lanterns earlier and now was lit from the ground like a statue or display.

“Flask, hard work, and is that El Bebeto on the radio?” A dark-skinned young lady with a barrel in one hand and a basket against her hip. “I’m Kenya, If you’re looking for something strong to refill your glass I’ve got a stall in town. Only booze in a hundred miles.”

Abbot smiled and shook his head. There wasn’t any point in telling her he didn’t drink, so long as she kept the offer to a sales pitch it was easy to decline. She nodded in turn and walked towards the larger collection of stalls and sheds that made up the town center.

Annette found that the ‘Hunter’s Cabin’ apparently had evolved from its induction. A single-wide trailer, transformed into one half dried meat storage, one half armory with a large table around which sat several young men. They were sun-burnt and scarred, looking older than most of the villagers and traders who worked the town. Two women carried boxes of dried meat into the room and dropped it on the table. “I’m Ellen,” the first and taller one said with a large grin. Her face was pocketed on one side, and a thin scar, much older than any of the fresh ones Ann had gained in the last five years, ran along her neck. “I’ve got the best Bison you’re gonna find here. Dried it myself, try a woman’s labor!” She seemed to laugh with her words as she grabbed a large jerky from the box and shoved it in Ann’s hands.

Ann nodded and took a bite. Salty and strong. Nodding slowly with each chew she smiled broad and agreed. “Damn fine. You hunt Bison? How?”

Ellen pointed to the quieter girl in the back. “She does it.” “Damn right she does. She’s better than half of us in one.”  one of the younger men cut in. The bison hunter looked away then back, her long back hair parting, to show a small Asian face, reddened by the sun. “I’m Netra, I’m originally from Colorado.” she reached out a hand which Ann easily took and shook hard. “Nice to meet you, Call me Ann from Kansas.”

“Whooo Annie Oakley here to show us up?” Barked a larger boy who’d been staring at Ellen and Netra’s since they were brought out. “It’s Ann, not Annie.” Ann said coolly as shifted to stare down at the Boy who held his hands up in mock surrender. “Yes’m” muttered between teeth.

“So, How’s it done, and Where do you find Bison around here?” Ann returned to the girls. “And more importantly, can I tag along?” Ellen slapped Ann on the back with a bark of a laugh. “Can you? Sure, ride along with me, I gotta bring the meat back. We’ll head out in a week, think you can last that long?”

Ann puzzled, running the timeline in her head. “Sure, why so long, though?” Netra answered this time as she handed over the second box of meat she’d held on her hip. “Because I only hunt on Sundays. We clean and prepare the meat for the rest of the week.” “Alright, I’ll come back Sunday. Thanks for the meat.”

Ellen gave a large wink. “Oh I saw you brought a mechanic, that’s just the down payment. I’ll see him tomorrow.”

Eve at night was a lulling of jet-lagged traders and the smells of cooking food. Annette and Abbot sat outside the van and chewed on the bounty of bison. “One week,” Ann said distractedly. She drew out the days in the dirt with her boot. “Might be pushing it.” Abbot wrote in the dirt to respond. “No. We’re far enough ahead.”  a soft melody played from somewhere in the town. Ann sighed. She’d have to find a job, waiting was one thing, idling was another. “I think I’m gonna see if that lodging place needs help, noticed lots of the clothes aren’t clean.” Abbot raised an eyebrow. “Laundry?” he wrote. She agreed, “I always said I’d make a good housewife.” “To a lion.” he signed as he finished his jerky. Ann punched him in the arm before climbing on top of the Van with her serape and rifle. “I know we’re in company, but I’ll take first watch.”

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@ikilledamanimeanwhat

[thebardanon]

Day 1

The red hair mixed with the sandy dust that danced in the wind. Her green eyes watched through tinted lenses. It was quiet in the borderlands once called Oklahoma. Bringing a gun scope to her goggles she watched a cloud of dust rise in the distance. Too far to make out any details, the scope only helping slightly her own eyesight. Slamming her hand on the roof of the van she’d been sitting on she grabbed the worn serape that had kept her skin from the heated aluminum roof. “Abbot,” she called, her voice cracking from its lack of use. “Wake up, border patrol to the east I bet.” 

A brown-skinned young man had already been looking in that direction. A clap of his hands to assure her attention and he responded. “They’re early if so. Could be some from the north looking for a way in. Could be Painted kids.” Nodding Annette climbed into the passenger seat. swearing under her breath as she grabbed the burning seat belt. “None of those sound like friends of ours.” “We have friends?” he thought to himself as he started the large van and pulled it and the hog trailer onto the road. Annette, who would expect to be called Ann even by those who don’t know her, was white as a sheet or she was once. Now her skin kept a rosy blister that cracked into a barely tan paper before blistering again. Her partner in crime was named A- or as he had carefully sewn into his jacket last winter; Abbot. A thin and tall boy with long uncut hair and dark oak bark eyes to match the almost chocolate skin that the sun had only taken to darken since his tenure with Ann.  As he drove into the long empty town, once called Goodwell. Most of the buildings had been ruined, fire, wind, what might be called a war. Passing the gutted Fifty Four Gas and entering the small ‘downtown’ Abbot pulled the van and trailer behind an old post office and parked. Ann had taken her time in the ride north to load a hunting rifle. It was on its last legs, oil had been hard to find and ammunition was getting even harder than that. Only this one remained, and she’d cared for it like a child ever since she found it traveling south. A soft clap. “Any chance these people are friendly. Might trade some labor for food.” “Maybe, but the last three friendlies sure wanted to trade bullets for shells.” “Yeah.” Abbot’s sad face was something that Ann had become used to seeing, the fact that there was less guilt than usual knotted in her stomach. “It’s okay, Abhijit.” using his name that now only she knew, “We’ll find a safe place a little further west. Texas ain’t it.” She said softly, then as if in afterthought. “And If they’d been friendly...they’d have kept going.” A loud motor rumbled throughout the town, shaking the charred walls and long empty houses. “ATTENTION VAGABONDS. THIS LAND PROPERTY OF THE GREAT STATE OF TEXAS,” a megaphone echoed louder than the motor. “WE DO NOT ACCEPT TRESSPASSERS, YOUR ENTRY INTO THE STATE IS ILLEGAL AND WE ASK THAT YOU TURN YOURSELF IN OR FACE THE FORCE OF THE BORDER RANGERS.” silence. Abbot sighed as the Megaphone started again repeating the same message, a recording most likely. Ann slipped out the passenger door and into the post office through a broken wall. Abbot was not long behind, pulling a large knife and a pistol with him.  It was a tan Humvee, a long-faded seal of Texas on its side. A young face watched outside the passenger window as they drove by slowly then stop. found herself in a corner, rifle laid on what had once been some manner of a shelf. Abbot was flat under the trailer, waiting for the truck to turn. It did, slowly it turned towards the south. Ann quickly moved back into the van, Abbot held the key waiting... Then the sound they’d been waiting for filled the town. Gunshots. Abbot pulled onto the road, cut back up the main street and nearly fishtailed the van and trailer as he pushed south on the 54. Ann started giggling. “You know...you’d have thought that they’d know that the Painted had taken over that old college, seemed common knowledge when we entered the panhandle.” Abbot smirked, too focused on driving to reply. Ann pulled an old paper atlas from behind her seat, resting the rifle carefully barrel down. “Take county road 20, not 21. They said the Painted use it as a trade route.” Abbot nodded. “There’s a town, Eva, it’s near the 412 north a way. They’re outside the Tex-ass border and we can resupply there.” Abbot nodded again, he looked calmer. “Hey Ab...” Ann started but stopped. She wanted to tell him that everything was going to work out. That the Traders had helped fill out her map all the way to the Rockies. She wanted to tell him that surely there’s somewhere out there he can settle down and actually help people. But she didn’t. She needed him. She needed him because she couldn’t stop yet. Not while everything was still wrong. Not when she heard that there was a man burning his way west. A man with a golden eyeball.

[thebardanon]

Super Short Day 10

It’s raining so I’m gonna paste this then unplug my PC.

Abbot and Gambia sat with their backs to the van. Gambia had advised against a campfire in case Rangers came near, and against staying in the van in case the Painted did. “It will be easier.” he signed. “If they see my face.” As the darkness fell over the land, soon they couldn’t even chat with each other. The became shadows in the night. An hour of silence seemed to erase them before Gambia spoke. “I do not like talking anymore.” He whispered. “I should not envy you, who did not have a choice. But I think I should tell you that I do.” Abbot could say nothing. Only look with pity into the shadows that could not see him back. “The last thing I said to them. Was that I hated them, their home, their lifestyle. What a dumbass.”  His voice picked up a little as he adjusted and pulled a hide blanket over himself. “I’ve done more work, been through more hell, taken more beatings. I don’t even have their picture anymore. Lost it when I became a Totem. Burned my old things to accept life as a Painted.” The silence returned. Abbot watched the shape of Gambia having taken his confession in the dark. “My real name was Jamal. They let me pick Gambia, maybe because they had enough kids named after Colorado and Arizona towns, but probably because I was black.” Gambia shuddered, Abbot told himself it was the cold. It was kinder than to assume the struggles that his friend might be fighting in his own mind. “I had to burn everything I owned and take a new name, but you can’t burn away black. Even when everyone who hated you is dead.”

@ikilledamanimeanwhat

[thebardanon]

DAY 9

Gambia sat across from Abbot in the back of the van. A painted scout lay between them. Gambia touched the holes that had bled away the young man’s life. “Not very accurate.” he signed. Abbot nodded. 

“We need to find the others.”

Again Abbot nodded. “We need to not get shot doing so.” Abbot began to feel like a bobblehead. “We need to get them all buried too.” Abbot reached out and patted his new friend’s shoulder. “The girl can use sign language.” he wrote before climbing into the driver’s seat. Gambia nodded this time, “Their camp is about a mile west, you can take the next drive and you’ll find a path that’s easier to drive on. An old farm road maybe.” The turnoff was the former driveway of a small burned farmhouse. Abbot continued on, keeping slow with the rough road. The Painted camp was made of several small tents, a few were canvas survival tarps, the rest roughly made hide. The camp was abandoned. “They must have left on patrols. There’s no telling where they could be, Lets wait here.” “Okay,” Abbot agreed. removing the dead body from his van and grabbing a fold out shovel from the door. “Where?” Gambia looked around, finally, he pointed a few yards westward, The patrols would come from east and south, west would be closest to home. The two took turns digging and burying the body. Gambia laid a stone he found over the grave and drew the symbol that had been painted on the scout. A turtle.

Annette listened as the leader of Eve, Cody, and Boulder Whiteowl,  the taller Native-American leader of the Painted made plans and outfitted the men of Eve. They figured it was an inevitable fight, but couldn’t decide if meeting the Texans would be better than just letting them roll into the town.   “If we move forward we can catch them from surprise, use some of the burned out houses for cover, and move along the ditches where they’re still deep.” Cody had a point, the scout said the Texans had made an encampment at the parallel intersection. They’d not be prepared to be attacked. “The ruined buildings are rare and fragile, not good for sheltering anything. The bullets will tear through those walls like clothing. It will be safer to form a defense here.” Boulder also had a good point. The Rangers will attack hard and fast, but they don’t know the town or the area. Lukas, his face swollen from his brawl the night before kept his eye on Ann several times. But more than that, he watched his wrist. Ann could feel the tension. While the cowboy and the indian argued, the Rangers could mobilize and be on them at any moment.   Finally, Ann stepped forward. “What’re the odds they don’t attack? Eve’s a trading town that sees fair traffic, why wouldn’t they just annex the town?” A hush fell over the factions. “Because they done told us to leave once.” Lukas was glaring at Ann. “Because they have closed border, and they’re just creeping along trying to find holes, and this open land is just a shit load of holes.” “They came through about four months ago,” Cody added “They claimed that they were uniting all of former Texas. We informed them that this wasn’t part of Texas, but Oklahoma.” “And the bastards burned the town.” “Eva that is, the original town.” Cody continued. “We’re just what’s left. Figured they’d move on. Land’s wide. They’d have no reason to come back.” Ann shook her head at the naivete. “Then there’s really only one option. Y’all got to leave.” A chorus of shouts filled the room. “Even if we did, where would we go? We can’t go to the Painted.” Cody said after the room quieted down. “We can’t just refugee into Elkhart or Black Mesa.” “What about Trinidad?” Colorado was smiling. “Trinidad Colorado, They sent lots’a folks up to Wyoming to chase down more Bison. Ended up making a new town out of the old capitol Cheyenne. They need farmers and the like.” Bolder nodded. “They’re also part of Black Mesa’s Ranch union, and under the protection of Painted Country.” Cody looked at Francis and then at Lukas. “How far is it?” “On foot? Two and a half days if we make poor time and carry all the luggage. If you  have some cars it can be made in a few hours.” Colorado did the math in his head. “You can rest near Black Mesa too, so you don’t have to camp in the wilderness.” Cody sighed. “Alright. Painted, Traders, Step out. Time for a large town hall. Prepare for defense just in case.” He directed the last statement to Bolder who shook his hand and stepped out. Ann watched as the town set to work and herself went to the hog trailer and checked her gun and ammunition that she kept when Abbot decided to race after the scout rescue. She loaded and laid the gun to the side when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She spun around right hand already half pulled the knife from her side. Lukas stood there, he looked a mess. Bruised and swollen, Ann was almost disappointed she didn’t actually break his ribs. “Listen,” he said. His voice was less gruff. “I want you to take Kenya to Black Mesa.” Ann stared at him “What?”

@ikilledamanimeanwhat

[thebardanon]

Day 7

The boy who lead the Painted horsemen looked only forward as he rode past the signs of Eve and into the center of the intersection. He had long black hair, tied back in a tight braid. He used hand signals to guide his troop of fifteen mounted men around himself before they dismounted as a whole. Abbot had made his way around the van, keeping his vehicle between him and the newcomers. Ann collecting and laying out her rifle in plain view watched them. In most of the Painted groups she’d seen there was a nomadic appearance, like from some cheap movie. They had been dressed in bent reused leathers and rusty armor. These, however, were dressed in fresh hide and obviously hadn’t spent the last five years waiting to reuse the former bounty. These people were settled. The leader shook hands with Cody, though neither smiled or seemed to be comfortable. Two of the Painted made their way to Ann and the Hog Trailer mechanic shop. “We don’t service horses.” She said flatly, the taller one, his chest bare with a red bird painted on his left breast laughed. The other, a more squat black-skinned boy with a yellow-white band around his left arm and a green snake painted onto his hide top, did not. Redbird smiled broadly. “We have some farming equipment, ol’ Cody said there’s a fella who does good work.” The cheerful voice and open demeanor didn’t relax Ann as much as the fact neither seemed to have a gun or ax did. Abbot had already made his way around, making a show to put his pistol inside a large toolbox as he reached out his hand. Redbird shook it heartily and patted his stone-faced companion. “This is Totem Gambia.  I’m Totem Colorado.” Ann put a thumb towards Abbot. “He’s Abhijit,” then shoving the thumb in her own chest. “Annette. I hope I can refer to you informally?” “Yes, ma’am.” Colorado nodded, his own dark hair shook against the wind. Gambia quickly began moving his hands. “Does she sign too?” Abbot shook his head and replied. “No, I have to write everything for her.” Gambia smirked then whispered something to Colorado who only shook his head and looked back towards the group of horses. Turning back  Colorado asked, “So, Annette, What is it you do?” his voice still cheerful and disarming. “I tend to shoot things.” she replied, the easy tone had begun to grate on her. “What about you? Put down some Rangers I hope, you from the Goodwell tribe?” For a brief moment, darkness filled the eyes of Colorado. Leaning back he looked south and east for a moment before replying. “Naw, We’re out of Ya-Aash. It’s about a day and a half’s ride from here.” “Never heard of it. Out west?” “Oh yeah, we formed it after, well, everything. It’s the second largest city in the Painted country.” folding her arms Ann shook her head. “The world sure moves on. Sounds like my kinda place, so long as I didn’t get shot on the way.” “Don’t you worry, I don’t think that’ll be too big a problem much longer.” Ann didn’t know if that was some sort of inside truce or a threat. Before she could ask a commotion came from the south and a new horse flew into the area, it’s rider half jumping half falling from the back of the animal he called out to some of the Painted still in the middle of the street. “That, Annette, is a bad sign.”

END OF CHAPTER 1

TAGS @ikilledamanimeanwhat

[thebardanon]

Day 6

Francis nodded with Cody “Alright then, I’ll show you where I’ve set up shop.” she then looked to Cody “You’ll finish setting up the stall, alright?” Without waiting for a reply Francis waved over her shoulder and was walking off. 

A couple yards behind the stalls and shops the smell of metal filtered in the air. Two metal buildings stood out, they were large shops and one was clearly an outfitted as a metalworking shop. Two boys Ann had not seen were working a kiln and checking the gas. The other had a small dark-skinned boy sitting out front in a weathered and worn desk. 

“Francis you brinin’ new people around? who’re they?” His voice was deep, but the ill-fitting clothes and dirt covered hair only made it comical. “Auh, Isaiah, this is Ann, Ann meet, Isaiah, he’s taken to rebuilding a library and history of Eve.” The boy nodded, his eyes were dark and despite his young face, he seemed tired. “Nice to meet you, Ann. Listen The entire ground floor is mine, so if you’re helping Francis out, all is good, but don’t touch the books.” He opened the door to the building behind him showing the dimly light room. “It’s hard to get them nowadays so just let them be. If you need something I’ve got a catalog and we can look together. I support reading, but well...these are considered nonessential.” Ann agreed. “I’ll make sure to be careful, I’m just going to see if I can help with the looming and maybe some cloth repair. Thanks, Isaiah.”

The inside of the room was covered in books, all manner placed upon shelves, thin sheets covered the windows near the roof and a second ceiling of tarps draped between shelves only parting to allow the hanging cables with dim bulbs lighting the room. Along the back wall, a metal staircase lead to a large office loft. Where the fragile loom sat surrounded by cloth and a large basket of wool.

“I haven’t traded for more wool yet, I mean, there’s still a lot left and I’ve just been fixing or reusing fabrics.” Ann looked over the loom. “I’ll see what I can do.” The loom itself was not made for clothing. It was probably a prop and an inaccurate one at that. Most of the native people used hides and didn’t need such a loom design. This one was some hybrid of a classical European and a beading loom. After a few tries though, the threaded wool began to spin and the yarn was finally gathering. Most of the wool though was not ready to be spun, and Ann began stuffing it inside a large canvas bag for transport. 

The room was hot, although the air did move more easily in the loft, the heat also rose and stifled any breeze that might find its way. After spinning what she could on one end of the loom Ann did her best to prep it for a large shirt. There was not enough thread. Sighing she ended her craft and made her way back out of the library maze of the first floor. Isaiah was still there. She saw now that he had a large binder and was carefully writing the names of books being added and their sections. “So if they don’t think the books are essential, why are you keeping them around.” Isaiah looked at her pitifully. “It’s not books, it’s the fiction ones.” he corrected stiffly. “Of which I have very few in there. And as for the why?” A gleam in his eye seemed to erase the tiredness. “Because many of these fictions tell us things that the textbooks can’t. Because they take us to better places, and I don’t know what you’ve been through but these last five years have defiantly shown me we need to escape sometimes.” Ann only shrugged a shoulder as she passed him and made her way back towards the marketplace. Francis sat on a small stool, sewing a patch into a shirt. “Any luck with the loom?” Ann sat beside her, pulling a needle from a small pile of supplies set inside the crook of the stall. she began to thread and patch a pair of jeans. “It’s unconventional, but it functions. I’ve never seen one like it honestly but it works the same.” They sat sewing for a minute or so when Francis took a deep breath. “Ahey, I’m glad you knocked the hell outta Lukas.” She said softly her hands still moving through the fabric. “But I think you ought to avoid them. Lukas, he’s been through a special kind of hell. Kenya too.” Ann didn’t reply. She really couldn’t. Everyone seemed to agree that she’d made the wrong choice. Everyone but her. Ann finished the patch and patted Francis on the shoulder. “I’ve got to check on Abbot, I’ll be back after lunch.”

Abbot had fixed two more ATVs that morning and was being recruited for a tractor job about half an hour north of Eve when Ann returned. He shook the farmer’s hand and looked to her expectantly. “I hate this place, and I think I caused it.” she said leaning against the trailer. Abbot only gave a quiet smirk in reply before looking west down the 412. Ann followed his gaze. 

Horses.

HMU if you want in the tags.

Tags @ikilledamanimeanwhat

[thebardanon]

Day 5

The red sun rose in the east. Abbot had awoken with the false dawn, as had several of the town folk it seemed. A small fire was built at the head of the van thin smoke raising up as Abbot began the cooking of thinly cut meat and beans. Meager and rationed he watched the food cook while watching the town come to life across the street. They seemed to share a kitchen near the Hunter’s Cabin, the smell of meats and spices quickly filled the air. Ann slammed the door as she rolled out, the heat of the sun slowly melting off any hint of the previous night’s chill.

“Guess I’ll wait till after breakfast before I go asking for work. Assuming if they’ll hire me now.” She watched as Kenya brought a plate of food into her shack and turned away in disgust. Abbot handed her a small plate with meat and beans. “Was it justified?” he signed. “Absolutely. She’s got some trash in there I tell ya.” “You know him?” “I know him well enough, you’re not thinking of defending him, are ya?” Abbot smiled and shook his head slowly. “He’s a stranger. I don’t know why he’s like that.” “It’s inexcusable.” she snapped chewing hard on the meat. “Yes. But she excuses it.” Ann softened. Abbot was right and she knew it. “I hate that. People like him are dangerous. I can’t just watch.” “You don’t have much of a choice. You didn’t give justice last night.” Ann stared at him, choosing to sign instead of shouting. “What the fuck was that?” her arms violently demanded. Abbot did not change his expression. He knew Ann had her own justice. It had taken her great tragedy to learn to act on it. Now she had to learn when. And Abbot, he did not know how to say that. “You didn’t have to attack him. You could have brought her here.” “She would have come?” Ann snapped, her hands falling to her sides. “Not the point.” Ann only shook her head. “I know I should have kept my cool. I get it. I shouldn’t have attacked a stranger in the night.” she paused as if saying it was a deeper confirmation of the act. “What was I to do though? Just watch? Shoot him with my rifle? Look the other way? He might have killed her and the whole town had just ignored them. How was I to know this is normal? How should I know he wouldn’t kill her?” Abbot nodded. “I do not know.” his hands feebly answered as he took her plate and his and carried them to rinse at the back of the van. Ann spat into the embers. She was angry. Angry at Abbot for his devil’s advocacy. Angry at Kenya for seeming to rely on her abuser. Angry at the abuser for existing. And Angriest at herself, for not knowing how to solve anything. Even after all this time she was still too young to know anything and too old to have any excuses. She helped Abbot clean his tools and took stock of their inventory. They had a few days left of fresher meat and nearly a month of jerky. A tank that had been attached to the hog trailer before they’d taken it was half full of water. It would last another six weeks if they didn’t get greedy. Ammunition was fair. She had about two hundred shells for her rifle, plenty if she didn’t have to hunt the most dangerous prey. Far too few if there wasn’t a safe way into the Painted country. Abbot’s stock was just as well. Though he hadn’t used his revolver since they left Arkansas. 

Abbot resumed the position, cranking a small hand crank on his radio, soon the Mute Mechanic was serenading the entire area with the sound of some country song that praised some lover’s eyes and kind manner. Ann took her cue and cross the intersection. As she stepped into the market, several hunters had set up to show their bounty of wild rabbit and porcupine. Francis, the girl from the previous day, had set out quilts and a few poorly loomed shirts. She wore a different dress, less worn but still dirty. Cody was there, same denim jacket, same grin as he clung to the shotgun. 

“Woo heard ya met Lukas.” He said nodding towards the shacks for houses they collected in. “Sorry about that. Shoulda warned you about our residential werewolf.” 

Ann shook her head. “I should have minded my own. Sorry if I caused too much commotion.” There was no apology in her voice as she turned to Francis. “You’re the tailor here?”

Francis shrugged and smiled weakly “Ayeah, I’ve got a loom I found on the res out west, Tried to learn it but all I’ve got is a few books...never been to clever at learning from reading, yeah?” It was the first time Ann had heard her speak. She didn’t sound local, she lacked the sharper drawl of the Kansas and Okies, and the words were too quick for  Arkansas or Texas. Ann looked around. “No one else tried to help you?” “Ano. No one really has the time, not really. I mean there’s maybe eighty of us all an such.” Ann was shocked at this. She’d seen plenty of small remade towns, but most had at least two or three hundred kids. Eve seemed to have several more temporary residents than it first gave off. Clearing her throat Ann smiled and pointed to one poorly sewn quilt.“Well, I’ve got some sewing knowledge, and I had to work a loom not too long ago. lemme get a look and I’ll see if I can make heads or tails?” Francis seemed uncertain, but Cody slapped Ann on the back and laughed. “Take her up on it Franny, if she can make heads or tails of it then all the better!”

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[thebardanon]

Day 4

The dusty hills and low vegetation seemed more visible to Ann after the last lanterns were doused and Eve fell into darkness. She watched small things, creatures that thrived in darkness and shadows. Rabbits and foxes appeared and vanished in the sparse brushes and thin grasses. Watching the wildlife was calming. The armadillos walking through the intersection of the highway unafraid of being seen by the slumbering population. 

Ann might have fallen asleep herself as the cold desert night air blanketed her world. If not for a sudden and sharp crack. Muted, it came from inside one of the buildings. Ann adjusted. Northeast was the market, only a few people had shacks for living there, including Cody. Southeast and Southwest were reserved for traveling folk. Traders and Strangers, like her and Abbot. Northeast, Residential. Another crack. Ann watched across the road, trying to judge by the sound which of the small shacks was being damaged.

All at once a young woman tumbled out of one of the homes. She was a darker girl Ann didn’t recognize. A jar flew from the home hitting the dejected girl in the back as she rose, knocking her back into the dirt. Ann leaped from the van rolling onto the hard ground as she stood into a run her right hand felt her hip. Knife. She didn’t draw it. Left hip. Nothing. She ran between two houses and caught the second jar on her left shoulder. 

The young man who leaned on the door was an older boy, possibly Ann’s own age. His hair had grown out where able, but a burned scar had scalped him on the right side. It was a familiar scar on a stranger’s face. Ann weighed her options. She was still a stranger and didn’t know what had led to the fight. No one else had left their homes. 

“What do think you’re doing?” Ann ignored him. The other girl had stood, she’d picked up the two jars, neither broken and began to walk towards the house. “Where’re you-” Ann started but stopped. The abused woman stared at her, straightening herself and shaking her head. “I got him.” was all she said. The boy was drunk, standing only by the mercy of the ramshackle door jamb. The woman walked up to him, he leaned back as if to let her pass only to bring his fist and punch her in her unguarded face. She fell back. The jars shattered. Ann was on him in an instant. Right hook, duck, stomach, shoulder, nose. He fell, Ann pounced, tackling him into the back of the small room. Wheezing his eyes focused on her in a glare that might have scared her not many years earlier. Now it only made her angrier. Her hand went to her right pocket. 

A gentle hand grabbed her armed shoulder, she paused before relenting. Abbot looked down at the young man who’s vision began to wander. Abbot too let his eyes wander. The house was a little more than a shed, sleeping bags in one corner, trash in another, a crate of jars. It was the jars Kenya had offered him the evening before, and it was Kenya who was leaning on the door now. 

Ann never took her eyes off the boy on the ground, even as she walked out the door and made her way to the van. Abbot bent over and pulled the young man up and steadied him on the wall. Broken nose, not severe. The still semi-drunk shoved off Abbot and fell back to the ground. Abbot left him and turned to 

Kenya. She was staring towards the departing Ann, only to turn her eyes onto Abbot. “You can leave now.” She whispered, voice shaken. “And I’ll appreciate it, if the two of you didn’t do this again.” Abbot stopped in the door. He was already a head taller than the young woman, who seemed even more like a child with the bruising he hadn’t noticed earlier showing on her darkened skin. He shrugged and tried to make an apologetic expression when signing “Sorry” seemed to have no effect. per usual.

The door shut tight behind him, and he again realized when his boots crunched the broken glass. He’d not fully realized she had been cut, her hand on her side. He wanted to make sure she cleaned the wound but too much had already happened.

He’d followed Ann, having heard her hit the ground. He only wished she hadn’t been in such a sprint. Though it was odd, he was the only one who seemed roused by the commotion. The sound of snoring filtered between some of the shacks and sheds. Ann was in the passenger seat. Her face was red, but not from the sun.

“He’s not hurt.” She spat as Abbot leaned against the door, he said nothing. “Is she?” Abbot shook his head before signing. “She doesn’t like you. We’ve been banned.” Ann looked at him stupidly. “Well fine, banned? From where? That kid couldn’t say two words and she just took his fist..ugh.” Abbot only stared impassively. “Should we leave?” he wrote with his fingers, slowly. “No, forget them. Whole town should’ve heard that, damn. Not our problem now.” Abbot nodded as he walked to the back of the van and pulled himself to the roof. The night continued.

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