Deadman

The first day back on the road was uneventful. Now that I knew what made the deadzone dangerous I was able to collect some dry wood and oil that I could use to drive off mosquito swarms if I needed to. Sure they dropped dead when they bit me anyway, but that didn’t mean that was something I wanted to encounter anytime soon. I took a brief break about halfway through the zone, and took out some gecko meat I’d collected the last time I was through.

I sat down on a stump, and ate. I was still going over everything that had happened in the last several days. I’d completed the first set of deliveries on my new route, picked up a new job, and fought 30 raiders and won with that new job. I had always sought strength, and it seemed like I'd found it. The new job felt natural, like what I was supposed to be doing. This was perhaps the biggest leg up life had ever given me, and I was only just getting started. I bit into another piece of gecko, crunching through some bone and tasting the marrow.

“How’s the local fare?”

I jumped down, pulled out my pistol and aimed it in the direction of the voice. I saw a figure leaned against a tree. She wore a slim black suit that covered her entire body and face, along with a gas mask, thick goggles, and a long brown coat. A rifle, almost as tall as she was, rested on her back and a pistol at her side. Her hands were up to indicate that she wasn’t armed, but in spite of that I felt an immediate sense of danger. Like prey sensing a predator.

I kept my gun trained on her. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Good reflexes. Solid response overall despite the fact you assumed you wouldn't see anyone in here with you.” She sounded amused. Her voice was like that of a person that blew all their tobacco on themselves, ragged and wispy.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t have to.”

I felt a sudden weakness come over me. I tried to pull the trigger of my gun, but it was like my finger was stuck. I looked down at my hand, then back at her, and in that brief moment she’d managed to draw her pistol and point it at me.

“You actually tried to pull the trigger.” She cocked her head to the side and I heard her neck crack. “I like that. Good instincts all around. Not trusting like some of the other idiots I’ve encountered.”

While she talked I kept straining against my trigger finger. I could feel it slowly giving, letting me get closer and closer to pulling it. I kept it aimed right at her chest.

“You can put the gun down. It’s impossible for you to pull the trigger. It’s an ability you receive as a Marshall.”

That made me ease my trigger finger. “You’re a Marshall?”

She nodded, her body language was relaxed in spite of the fact that she was pointing a gun at me. “Yes. I work mostly in STAR territory. I came here to see what had happened to Hammond.”

“Hammond?” I asked.

“The one you got your job from. I just finished burying him. What was left of him anyway.”

“I didn’t know his name.”

“It doesn’t matter. He wasn’t up to the job he was given. Never was.” Her tone was dismissive. “You on the other hand.” She gestured at me with the pistol she was holding, causing me to twitch. “Seem to have what it takes. Though I can’t say you would’ve been my first choice. Oh well, the R.A.S. can be unpredictable sometimes.”

I took a moment to pull my bandana up and lower my pistol a bit. It was theater at this point. If she’d wanted to kill me she already could’ve. “Do you want something from me?”

She lowered her pistol as well. “To meet you, and offer a primer on the job I wish I’d been given.” She holstered her pistol and held out her hand. “I’m Leah.”

I holstered mine and took her hand. I had just a moment that I considered killing her. I was definitely stronger than her, and my teeth would likely reach her throat before she could stop me. I didn’t like to use my teeth though, and besides I wanted what answers I could get. “Donovan.” We shared a firm handshake.

“Donovan the Deadman? Your parents enjoyed alliteration I guess.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well Donovan Deadman, welcome to the Marshalls. We’re not an easy group to join.”

I gave an affirmative grunt.

“This job is unique. You’ll be granted abilities that let you affect others, as you’ve just experienced. How does it work? No clue, but it does. You can gain PP by completing investigations. What’s interesting is that you can declare an investigation yourself, but it won't always be approved by the system. You can't just say, ‘I’m going to investigate where my left boot is’ to farm PP for instance.”

I hadn’t thought of that. It was a shame I couldn't exploit it that way.

“You’ll also be assigned investigations and objectives directly from the R.A.S. itself. Don’t ignore them.”

I nodded. I’d already experienced that.

“Finally, some advice. The Iron Horde runs this whole area. Go to them and tell them what you are.”

That made me nervous. “Why?”

“The jobs we get from the system. There’s only one thing they’ve all had in common for me. They’re about ensuring things don’t get out of control. Weapons people shouldn’t have, upstart nations disturbing an area's stability, individuals with strange abilities appearing. The best way to stay on top of those, is to work with the people in charge.”

“I don’t think they’d be very welcoming.”

“You managed to kill an entire raider encampment. Figure it out.”

I nodded. It seemed like good advice, assuming what she was saying was true. I’d had a few encounters with the horde. Gotten spat on and roughed up a few times, but mostly left alone since I was a postman. Overall I’d consider my experiences with them neutral. “Anything else?”

“No. You’re on your own from here. If you get killed, try not to die in a deadzone. It’s a pain in the ass to find bodies in them.”

I think she was expecting a laugh from that, but I just nodded.

With that she faded into the swamp and left, heading west. I kept my ears and nose on her as she walked, making sure she was gone, but also trying to recognize how I hadn’t noticed her to begin with. It was like she’d been a blank spot in my senses. I wondered if that was something to do with the job, or something specific to her.

Once I was certain she was gone, I went back to my stump and finished my meal. I'd neglected to answer her first question, but It was good. The sheer amount of rads in the meat was satisfying in a way I hadn’t enjoyed since I’d hunted the northern zone. I finished the one I was eating, and decided to catch a few extras, setting one aside for Tim, the bartender deadman back in Kind. After how things had gone in Boon, I was thinking it may be possible I’d been unfair in giving the warning I had to him. There may actually be some places that could tolerate living with a Deadman, and Boon seemed like it may be one of them. Maybe a gift of more radded meat would decrease the sourness I’d left him with.

After I finished these deliveries I’d be due to take a break. I’d been going non-stop from my last route to picking up this new one. Gus probably needed feeding, I’d need to check the power on the boat, and make sure none of my books or tech had been damaged while I was gone. I also may have some messages from the Undertakers. That could be how I make my way to Fette safely to meet with the Iron Horde. The undertakers went from one community to the next to collect any deadmen that had been born so that they could be raised at Pott’s Field. They were one part heavily armed and armored convoy, one part babysitter. Most communities were more than willing to give their mutated spawn over to them. Saved them the guilt of killing them themselves, or the trouble of raising them. If I joined up with a group of undertakers for a while it would be good cover. I knew that they’d let me join up too. I knew a lot of them since they’d raised me through my teens.

I could try to get a route with deliveries to Fette, but they were competitive. More than one courier had been killed to try and secure it, despite the fact that killing messengers or caravans was punishable by four wheels and a rope. No, undertaker would definitely be the best cover for me.

I finished chewing my meal and my thoughts at about the same time. It was dark in the swamp aside from a few fat fireflies shining green around me. I walked over to my cart and double checked that the boxes and bags were secure. No change since I’d stopped. I tightened the straps again anyway and started making my way to the edge of the zone, stopping just before it stopped getting dangerous and leaning against my cart to catch some sleep before I kept going to Kind. I was running late by my own schedule, but that was usually a ways ahead of what people were expecting anyway. I would’ve stayed where I was, but I didn’t enjoy the idea of sleeping in an area where someone who’d demonstrated the ability to kill me knew where I was.

I laid down against the cart, tilted my hat over my eyes, and placed my hand near my pistol. I pictured myself walking in an endless expanse of orange sand, counting the steps as I went. After just a few minutes, I was asleep.

…

I woke around noon the next day, the sun beating down hard on me. If it weren't for the humidity of the swamp I’d have felt like I was baking alive. Luckily the swamp helped by making me feel like I was baking alive while also covered in sticky water. I did my usual scan of the sounds and smells nearby before standing up and drinking some water. I pulled a dead lizard out of my pack and bit into it. The meat was still fresh.

The rest of the walk to Kind was as easy going as a trip between slices of civilization full of radiation could be, and left me more time to think and plan. By the time I’d reached Kind I had an idea of sorts ready, but before I could start anything I’d need to finish my deliveries.

I approached the gates with my hands up and my cart in sight, approaching the same way I had the last time. I saw a couple of people pop up and point guns at me, the same as had happened before. Then a couple more popped up on the other side, and a couple more stuck guns through the windows of the cars and buses that made up the wall. By the time I was close enough to really make out faces, I was looking down the barrels of more than a dozen guns. Things had clearly changed since the last time I was there.