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Deadman Ch 2: Kind Place
🕑 Added 2022-02-01 14:30:01 +0000 UTCWhen I reached the center of town I opened the led containers and let people come and get their packages, they would’ve received notifications that they’d arrived. I waited off to the side, not wanting to scare anyone, but was surprised to find many of them passing directly by me, some even managed thank yous with smiles. It made me uncomfortable, but luckily there were still plenty of hateful looks in the small crowd that gathered to even things out.
After everyone had gotten their packages, I walked up to my cart and addressed the short man again.
“Let everyone know my next delivery is to Boon, after that I loop back around. I’ll be here to take the packages and letters tomorrow morning.”
The man nodded. Seemed to struggle with something for a moment, then offered his hand.
“I’m J.D.”
I blinked a few times. This town just kept getting weirder. Still, I reached out and took his hand.
“Donovan.
He retrieved his hand just a little too quickly, but I didn’t fault him for it.
“There’s a bar in town. Tim’s place. He’ll take ammo, tobacco, fruit, or PP of course if you’d rather not barter. I have a feeling he may cut you a deal, whatever the case.”
“Where?”
“Toward the back wall,” he said, pointing. There’s a cantina before that one, but uh… the kids eat there.”
“I understand. Thanks.”
I readjusted my goggles and bandana and headed in the direction he pointed. Walking through the town I could tell that it was a middling settlement. Not too populous, not too prosperous, but getting along fine. Most of the buildings were made from kinds of scrap and all of them were clustered closely together. I saw small farms here and there that led me to believe the main thing they tithed to the Iron Horde was food. Toward the center of town I noticed a large central building made up of half an old cesna with paper lanterns strung up outside, unlit in the daylight, and the sounds of people enjoying breakfast. I gave it a wide berth, and kept moving toward the edge of the town.
A lone building sat halfway between the town and the wall. I saw a couple men and a woman in a pile outside the door, sleeping off, from what I could smell, a legendary amount of hooch. I stepped over them and walked in. The place was sleazy, but I had initially expected to sleep outside of the walls after making my delivery, so I decided not to be choosy. The lighting was dim, and the seating was mostly chairs ripped from cars, though the bar had a few actual stools, though none matched. I sat at one and wrapped my knuckles on the bar twice.
I heard some shuffling and a man emerged from the back room. I immediately understood what the difference was in this town. He was short, maybe a head smaller than me, his skin the color of exposed muscle tissue, and his eyes a watery yellow. Unlike me he had a full head of brown hair that he’d grown long and was using to cover his face, but I could still tell what he was immediately. He was more handsome than me, but that’s a relative statement. His yellow eyes lit up a bit when he saw me, and he approached the bar.
“Welcome,” his voice was raspy, like he’d been a pack a day smoker since he was two, and he smiled at me with yellow pointed teeth, only a bit smaller and less sharp than my own.
I looked him over for a second before asking the question I’d wanted to ask since I entered the bar. “Got hooch?”
His smile flickered for a moment, that hadn’t been the one he’d wanted to hear, but he recovered quickly. He must have a high Customer Service rank.
“Sure, first rounds on me,” he reached behind the bar and I heard a scoop and pour before a cup of foul smelling liquid was placed in front of me.
I sniffed it. “This what you serve the… regulars?”
He nodded.
“What about what you drink?”
He shook his head. “I uh, don’t drink.”
“A bartender that doesn’t drink? That’s almost as strange as a deadman living somewhere besides Pott’s Field.”
He gave a small smile. “Drinking’s what killed my pa.”
“Well, just a heads up, what gets them drunk is barely a tickle for us.” I slammed the glass he gave me back, lifting my bandana over it, and swallowed it quickly. “Thanks for the drink though.”
We sat in silence for a bit, the young deadman shuffling on his feet as I took out my gun and began cleaning it. I didn’t want to get involved, but the way he was staring at me eventually forced me to say something, if only to settle him down.
“I’m Donovan,” I said, reaching out a hand for him to take. He was startled, but shook it.
“Tim, nice to meet you.”
“So, how’s a deadman become a bartender?”
Tim smiled. “Well, I was born here. My ma was Boss’ sister, my pa was his best friend. He made the town keep me, and kept them from exiling ma. She went missing a few years later though and just a while after that the drink took pa. Boss wanted to discourage folks from drinkin too much after that so he made me a bartender, helped me get the Job on the RAS an everythin.”
I chuckled. “He uses you as a deterrent?”
“Well, that’s how it was at first, but now almost everyone comes in fer a drink sometime.”
I wanted to explain to him how dangerous all of this was for him, but he seemed like a sweet kid and I hoped I was wrong.
“You must be good with people.”
He smiled proudly. “I got my customer service rank up to twenty two.”
“Respectable,” I said, cleaning my gun. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the deadman penalty for customer service put that closer to two. No other deadman I’d spoken to had the Virus readout on the citizen sheet, so he likely wasn’t aware of that himself. Still, the fact he’d gone that far was impressive.
“What do you do mister?”
“I’m a courier. I travel between settlements, carrying letters, and packages.”
“You seen a lot of places?”
“Yes.”
“Anywhere extra special?”
I thought about it, picturing the places I’d been. Green tinted wastes crackling with odd electricity, a city of deadmen in the middle of the tear that divides east from west, a river filled to the brim with gators the size of cars, and a stretch of road where reality itself seemed to bend and fade. I looked back at him.
“Not really.”
…
Tim had a spare room, which is to say he had a shack attached to the side of the building with a bare mattress on it. I pulled out a worn paperback and read for most of the day before closing my eyes. After that I slept just as restfully as I would’ve if I’d been outside the walls, with a gun in my hand and a knife under my pillow. I was woken up by rays of light pouring through holes in the shack's construction. I assessed my surroundings before I opened my eyes. No unfamiliar smells or sounds, so I opened them confirming I was alone. I sat up and made my way to the bathroom, a blue bucket that I popped outside the door once I was done.
I made my way back inside the bar and saw Tim just starting to drag a few patrons outside to sober up. He was holding too at once and I held the door for him to toss them outside. After that he poured me a drink and slid me a bowl of some kind of oats. I removed the bandana around my mouth and noticed that even Tim’s eyes widened and my teeth. I took some dried meat from a pouch and tore a few pieces into the oats before tucking in.
Tim looked at me questioningly.
“It was a deer. Attacked me on the road a ways back, had teeth like razors. Radiated meat like this tastes better to us.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I broke off a piece of the meat and handed it to him.
He nibbled at it tentatively, but then immediately shoved the entire thing into his mouth, chewing ferociously.
I handed him the rest of what I had in my hand. I found myself feeling a little responsible for him. It was clear he’d never encountered another deadman. At the same time, I couldn’t stick around, and when I’d seen this kind of thing in the past, it had never gone well. I finished eating before deciding to speak.
“You should leave.”
Tim swallowed a piece of meat he’d been chewing. “What?”
“Kind, you should leave the town.”
“Why?”
I sighed. “Because eventually they’ll turn on you.”
“No they wouldn’t. I’ve been here since I was a kid and they’ve always treated me well.”
I looked around the shitty bar. Treated well was quite the overstatement. ‘Tolerated and found a use for’ seemed more fitting.
“Listen kid, I’m just telling you how things are. The next time something goes wrong, food runs low, someone goes missing, a raider slips in, they’ll be looking for someone to blame and you’re the only one that doesn’t look like them.”
He glared at me. “It’s not like that here. Uncle Boss’d never let that happen.”
“I just… I felt obligated to warn you. Do what you want. I’m not sure if a Gravedigger ever comes this way, but I know one hits Davis a short way east. Pott’s field ain’t a perfect place, but you’d be safe.”
“I’m safe here. In all fairness mister, I don’t even fucking know you.”
I nodded. “I’ve said my peace. I’ll leave you be.” I covered my mouth back up with my bandana. “Thank you for the room and the breakfast.” I sent fifteen PP his way. He hadn’t made me pay for the food and room, but a tip felt fair.
I left the bar, feeling Tim’s yellow eyes bore a hole in the back of my head as I did. It wasn’t my desire to ruin people's days, but it seemed to happen pretty often.
When I reached the center of Kind there was a line of citizens waiting with letters and packages. A lot of people had kin that were spread out across the area since before the tearing. Regular caravans and traders could handle goods, but I mostly wound up transporting gifts and letters that were meant for those distant relatives, or quick communiques between settlement leaders.
I started taking packages and letters, ignoring the clear trepidation they felt handing them to me. I’d initially let people load their items themselves, but I’d been screwed by collapsing towers of boxes too often, besides there were other benefits. I noted that there was a new notification as I loaded the second to last box.
Congratulations Citizen! You have earned a rank in loading/unloading! Even the statue of liberty was shipped here one piece at a time!
I felt a small amount of shame for the warm feeling I got from improving that trivial skill, but I did have a fundamental love of seeing ranks go up and numbers improve. Besides, at least it wasn’t walking.
“I’ll probably be back through in two or three weeks depending on storms, or if I get killed.”
J.D. spoke up as the other Kind folk dispersed. “How could that happen, aren’t you already a deadman?” he asked with a rye smile.
I looked at him through my goggles for a few long seconds. “Ha.” I said in monotone and started walking toward the gate.
