Chapter 8

He remembered when they went into town the next time, to ask for razor blades. He got them, and a few other things. Sadly, no watch batteries. The little jar of gold he’d panned had gotten them a lot of coins which had bought many things at the store. And they had more than enough for dinner. Way more. As they started to leave the store he remembered something.

“Mr. Peck,” the man straightened, attentive.

“Mr. Peck. I am not asking this to get you in trouble. But a man I know mentioned you might know ... you might know where I could get some .22 ammo...”

Mr. Peck seemed nervous. He hemmed and hawed a bit. At last he looked outside the window, as if he was seeing if someone were coming. Or listening.

“Mister...” he stopped. He didn’t know Clipper’s name. Clipper would give him that, at least.

“Clipper.” Clipper said. “No mister. Just Clipper.”

“Ah, yes, ahem. Clipper. I am taking a risk, you understand. The legality of this item ... is in question, at the moment. To possess the weapon itself is a death sentence, I’m sure you know, in the wrong area. Here, in the wilds, the law is a bit more ... lenient. But I’m still taking a risk.”

Clipper nodded.

“I know someone who might have a few boxes, back on a shelf somewhere, stuff that he hasn’t gotten around to turning in yet ... but you understand, this item is pretty pricey.”

“How pricey would that be, if some hypothetical person were to want to buy a box?”

Mr. Peck named a number. It sounded pretty high to Clipper. Dammit, he still didn’t understand the money. And he’d always thought he was good with money. Jeezus. He turned to Girl. She nodded solemnly, and held up a coin. The biggest coin they had.

“We can buy two boxes,” she whispered, getting into the covert feel of the conversation. He nodded his thanks.

“Mr. Peck ... I have a friend ... who would like to purchase two boxes. If your source would place them on the counter, I’m sure my ... mysterious friend would leave the money, plus a tip for your trouble.”

Mr. Peck laughed and nodded. They wandered up the aisle, careful not to look at the back of the store. When they went back to the counter, two boxes of .22 hollow-point long rifle lay on it. Mr. Peck was gone in the back somewhere. Clipper had a hurried conversation with Girl about what a slightly more-than-reasonable tip would be, and they left two coins on the counter. Clipper put the boxes in his pocket and they left.

The diner was buzzing. Ableard was there, and he came right over to Clipper and Girl as soon as they walked in.

“Clipper. You just come from your side? You been home since last night?”

“No, we been here all night, on this side,” he wondered if Ableard was testing him. He knew that it was a full days trip, if not more, to the far side of the mountain.

“Skipps burned last night. Just wondered if you guys had heard anything.”

“Damn. No, first I heard of it. That’s bad news.” said Clipper.

“Refugees will be pouring in before long. Good people, and bad.” said Ableard.

It was never good when a major metropolitan area fell. The people just poured out, into the countryside, hungry and upset. This just meant lots of visitors. Lots of hungry, angry, homeless visitors. Shit.

“Thanks for the warning. You think they’ll come this high? Or go down the mountain?” he said. He felt a kinship with the man, for some reason. He felt like he could trust him. They hadn’t eaten yet, and he motioned Ableard outside.

“The smart ones will go down. We’ll just get the idiots and the crazies,” Ableard said, snorting.

“Ableard. I know I can trust you. The honest truth is we don’t really live on the far side. We’re about three miles northwest of here, up the mountain in a cabin I used to hunt out of. I want you to know the truth.”

Clipper felt like if he gave the man something, he might get something back. He did, but not something good.

“Oh...” Ableard had nodded, and seemed deep in thought. “Are you in the old Kymes place?”

“Yes!” Clipper remembered that name from what seemed like a thousand years ago, when he used to hunt and fish out of the cabin.

“I see ... that’s kind of what we thought, John and I ... Clipper, that’s actually Mr. Simmons property ... I’m not sure what he might think of you living there...”

Oh, shit. Well, if it was his property he didn’t monitor it too closely.

“Shit. I hope he doesn’t mind. I guess I need to talk about it with him someday.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to do that or not, actually. His hold on the cabin suddenly seemed tenuous.

“Mr. Simmons is a ... peculiar man. He might mind, or he might not. As far as I know, he doesn’t know you’re there, yet. He said nothing about it last week, when we hunted with him. Don’t worry, we won’t tell.”

“Isn’t land ownership, in large tracts, a little difficult any more?” Clipper asked.

“Unless you’ve got lots of money. Clipper, some things never change. Society has gone to shit, but the rich still have privilege. And the rich still get richer.”

“Yeah. True.”

“Well.” Said Ableard. “I didn’t mean to rain on your parade. But the sooner you know something like that, the better. And, thanks for telling me where you actually are.”

“Yeah, thank you. I needed to know. Do you guys often have ... refugee problems here?”

“Not really, not since the last big convulsion. But this thing in Skipps, it means a lot of people will be on the road. We’ll get our share, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“The greatest fear is it might bring the law into town. And that’s one thing that nobody wants, Peacekeepers on every corner. People always die, when that happens. Good people, as well as bad.”