Deadman

After Deux left I started getting ready for the journey. I grabbed my freshly cleaned and oiled pistol and rifle along with some rations and some dried tobacco and other things to trade. I threw any meat I knew would spoil while I was gone into the usual spot for Gus. After that I took a final look at the map, grabbed the notebook I kept to give updates to the guides in Jasper and Pott’s Field, and headed out.

It was a little over a mile from my boat to get out of the deadzone and on the road to Jasper. I left my cart behind, and felt oddly uncomfortable without the soft noise of its treads to keep me company. It made me feel a bit more twitchy and paranoid than usual. Still, the path I took to Jasper was well worn, and the familiarity of it mixed with the discomfort I felt without my cart evened out into my usual levels of paranoia and caution.

The windmill was always the first part of Jasper to come into view. I watched its lazy turn as I walked, finding the sight oddly entrancing. After that came the towers. There was a circle of settlements around Jasper that tended to absorb any raider attacks and trouble, so they didn’t bother with walls. That said, the guard towers had some of the best marksmen I’d ever seen, so even if trouble did come, they’d send it running.

The rest of the town was the usual ramshackle homes, but with lots of farmland and wider roads to allow trade to pass through. I’d chosen to live outside Jasper primarily because of its existence as a central trading area for a number of other settlements. Easy place to pick up a route, or even just the odd single item delivery job. With my last attempt at a route, specialty jobs were likely all I’d be able to get from now on, if I kept doing courier work at all.

I didn’t approach with my arms raised, they were relatively used to me here. Not enough to walk around with my face uncovered, but enough that I could walk around with only dirty looks instead of bullet wounds. I even got a curt nod from one of the guard tower snipers as I walked in.

I walked the streets a short while, until I came to the seediest establishment. There were bullet holes in the walls, the door was halfway open, and an old neon bar sign saying ‘Murphy’s’ was lit green along with a smattering of four leaf clovers that surrounded the word. I walked in and saw various goods arranged haphazardly around. I gently stepped over a few old ammo cases and made my way to the counter in the back. At the counter sat a skinny man in patched up jeans and a flannel. His eyes were covered by thick mirrored aviators and an old baseball cap covered his sunburned bald head. He was working on what looked like a small radio, and didn’t look up, even when I was standing at the desk towering over him.

“Bill.” I said.

“Name’s Murphy when the sign’s on,” he responded, still not looking up.

“Murphy.”

That got him to look up at me, showing me my own face through his mirrored lenses. As always, it was easy to see why people were scared of me. Even covered up I was still a six foot seven figure wearing all black who clearly had no ears or nose. Bill didn’t flinch though “Donovan.”

“Going on a trip. Just wanted to see if you’d managed to find a good trade on those guns for me, find a good route trade, or get me anything on my list.”

Rolled his chair back a few feet and started rummaging through one of his many piles. “No good news on the route. You managed to turn it from easy points to a potential death sentence.”

“It wasn’t me,” I lied.

He paused to give me a look that told me what he thought of that statement. “Sure it wasn’t. Only nibble was from Nico, and once she found out what happened… Let’s just say she’s happy with her current route.”

I nodded. “Can’t blame her.”

“Your guns are gone. Did you want points or credit?”

“Credit. That way you actually give me what they’re worth.”

He nodded unashamed. “Smart.” He finally stopped digging in the pile he was in, stood, and walked to another one, “Ah, here we go.” He walked back to the counter and placed a well worn book in front of me. There was an image of a man with the head of a dragon, wielding a massive claymore and fighting off a lion while a maiden clutched to his leg for protection.

I smiled from behind my face covering. “You found a new one for me.”

“Yep, number twelve. ‘Gavain and the Thousand Trials’. A trader with a trunk of books passed through just yesterday.”

I held the book to my nose and flipped through the pages, enjoying the sweet smell of the decaying paper. “Take it out of my credit.”

“Already done.”

I looked down at the radio he’d disassembled. “Why’re you fixing that? I thought the only radios that worked were short range.”

“Fella named Dave came through the other day. Bit of a weirdo, reminds me of you. He says there’s different tones to the type of static he gets depending on where he passes through, so he keeps about a dozen radios playing when he travels. Says he enjoys the music they make.”

“Sounds like his brains are mushed from rads.”

“They certainly are, but he’s a good source of scrap and nice in his own way. Anyway, he said he was traveling East between settlements and instead of the music, he heard a voice.”

“A voice?”

“Yeah, a man talking.”

“What about?”

“He wasn’t sure. He was really just complaining to me that he couldn’t hear the music in that spot. He even said he’s been in a few other spots that had the same problem, same voice too. He’s really missing his music.”

“So you’re repairing your radio to try and hear a voice a man who listens to radiation noises heard?”

He nodded, unfazed by my implication. “Yep. Not fixing it though technically, just trying to boost it a bit.”

I put my hand up under my bandana and scratched my chin. “Got any you’d like to sell?”

…

After I was done in Jasper I made my way to the Undertaker caravan. They weren’t inconspicuous. Three massive wagons made up of wood and scrap with a massive black canvas top draped over it all. The wagons were in a triangle and I saw two of the deadmen on guard as I approached. They were dressed in all black like me, except their outfits were looser and billowed with the strong wind that came across the plain. They shot me a wave as I got close. I nodded in return and slipped through into the center of the triangle. There was a camp in the center, with a breakfast fire, and some sleeping bags scattered about, and I could see the massive forms of the wagon pulling mounts. They had a lot of names, but I usually defaulted to ‘horses with teeth’, and kept my distance at feeding time. I counted a little over twenty other deadmen. My guess was that the caravans would separate here and each hit different settlements, meeting up at certain points to check in and exchange any supplies. There was no one I recognized outside, but that wasn’t unusual. Pott’s Field was a big place, and I was never one for meeting people. Didn’t help that I didn’t arrive until I was fifteen.

Deux appeared from one of the carts “Donny!”

I nodded my head at him. “Deux.”

“Ready to do your civic duty?”

“For selfish ends? Sure.”

That drew a few frowns in my direction, but I noticed at least one smile too.

“We’re headed southeast first to Tilly. Then we swing by a wild settlement, I’ll brief you on that one along the way,” said Deux.

“Any little ones yet?” I asked.

“A couple we found northwest. Twins actually. A real blessing.”

“Glad we could gather them.” I was. Pott’s was the only safe place for Deadmen, and I knew how bad things could get for them when they didn’t wind up there.

“Oh, let me do one thing before we get underway.” He turned and faced the group. “Everyone! This is Donovan. He’ll be taking Randall’s place at least down to Fette.”

That stirred up some whispers, but only one of them was bold enough to ask the question the others wouldn’t. A woman, dressed in the same black robes as the others with a rifle slung over her shoulder and small circular sunglasses. “Is he that Donovan?”

Deux hesitated to answer.

I didn’t. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

That drew another stir, but the woman who’d asked just shook her head.

Deux took control of the situation. “Let’s keep our minds on the job everyone. The little ones can’t afford for us to be distracted.”

That drew some nods, and people dispersed to get to the work of readying the wagons to move. I had hoped to keep a low profile, that’s one of the reasons I didn’t stay in Pott’s. Hard to stay unknown when the first thing people hear in town is that you were found on top of a pile of corpses covered in blood.