I can’t move. Finally Garret and the fire team from Croton
drag the massive meyka off me and help me to my feet. Garret grabs my shoulder
and puts his face mask against mine, yelling over the howl of the wind,
“Are
you okay?!”
I nod and pat his shoulder in confirmation.
Still with his mask still up to my
face he smiles and nods back. “Let’s get inside!”
We head inside escorted by Croton’s five man fire team. The
big iron doors roll shut behind us with a low boom, shutting out the wind and
cold. It’s dark inside, and we’re standing in a wide hallway, almost a tunneled
road. This hallway leads straight to the hospital, which serves doubly as the
Registry. The Registry is how Croton authorities keep account of everyone who
has visited and his currently in the outpost. The fire team escorts us into the
Registry office where we are directed to log into the system. I tap my name in
on the screen and my record pops up showing my name, origin, affiliation, and
number of visits. The record looks something like this:
NAME: OWEN STRONG
ORIGIN: BETHEL
AFFIL: FREELANCE
VISIT#: 11
Below that would
be a legal record list of past infractions, but since we’ve managed so far to
avoid any trouble during our visits, it’s blank.
Once Garret and I
have finished, our escort welcomes us to Croton, and the captain, seeing that
we’re not newcomers, spares us the customs rundown.
We head into the
infirmary to check on Kelly. The hospital infirmary, unlike the rest of Croton,
is well lit. The walls and floors are a clean, light grey steel material.
Several curtained beds line the wall on the right and left, all of which are
empty except for the one which holds Kelly. She’s out of her trek suit and in
her wool overalls lying on the bed with her broken leg propped up and in a
brace. The doctor is standing over her and John is sitting in a chair next to
her, holding her hand. They all look up when we come in. The doctor steps
around the bed to shake my hand, and it isn’t till then that I realize I don’t
recognize this man. Apparently Croton got a new doctor.
“George Newton,” says the doctor
with a smile, and shakes my hand. He’s a young man, maybe late twenties. His
face is narrow, with kind, round eyes and a largish mouth, and pale, thin hair.
“Owen Strong.” I like him
already.
“Our patient’s doing
wonderfully,” he says, resting a gentle hand on Kelly’s leg. “It’s only a minor
fracture. She should be up and trekking in a month.”
A month is a
short recovery time, but I’m not surprised. Kelly heals remarkably fast, we all
do. In our genes I guess.
“You plan on staying long in
Croton?” continues Newton.
“Just as long as it takes her
leg to heal. We’re headed home.”
“Bethel, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“Oh, I just read it on Kelly’s
ID card, but I would have known anyway. Bethel breeds gentle people.”
I can’t help but laugh at that
one. “If that’s the case, then Kelly’s the exception.” But now that I think
about it, it’s true, really. Bethel people are gentle people. John is the
perfect example, and even Kelly, though she’s probably the most violent
individual in Bethel, has peaceful roots. And there have been times when I’ve
never known a gentler person. I remember the day we found an elk calf in the
woods outside the valley. Its leg was broken and it had been mauled by a
bearcat, but it was breathing and alive. Scared as all get out but still alive.
And Kelly just whispered soft to him, talking to him like he was a sleeping
baby. She got down on her belly and inched toward him till he let her touch his
nose. And then slowly, and so so gently, she picked him up and carried him
home. I swear, he might as well have been floating on cotton the way she picked
him up and carried him. She nursed him back to health and raised him, named him
Kimble. He would come when she called, eat out of her hand, sleep with her.
Then one day he just up and left. I’ve never seen Kelly so sad as those next two
days after Kimble left. But only for two days. After that she was back to
fighting Garret, and building forts with me (out of which we would shut Garret,
which made him angry). But I’ll never forget that day she carried Kimble home…
Garret and I take our leave of
the infirmary and go to the dorms to get a room. In our room we de-suit into
the clothes we wear underneath the suits. Kelly and Garret have wool-lined overalls
and jackets. John and I have what’s more like a jumpsuit. It zips up in the
front and has a fur collar. I keep my fingerless gloves on, reach into my pack
and pull out my Magnum .45 and shoulder holster. I like that gun. I always wear
it when I’m out of my trek suit, especially in Croton. You never know when you
might need a side arm here. I strap it on, with the gun under my left arm and
we head over to the pub for some food. The mainstreet is fairly empty. I few people
meander about, and some workers drive by on a mule with what looks like
building materials. Garret says what we’re both thinking.
“We’re kinda early for the home
drive. Guess that’s why nobody’s here.”
Usually when we
come here, Croton is practically bursting with trek teams from all over. It’s
hard to get the supplies you need, and even harder to avoid trouble. But it’s
good business for Croton. The outpost is pretty much half way between anywhere,
and the only major one out in the Wasteland.
The pub is just
down the street to our left, marked by a little orange neon sign. We’re their
only customers and they treat us like dukes. After we scarf down some warm
food, with full bellies, we sip our drinks and lounge in our chairs with
nothing but time to kill. Garret kicks back with his boots on the table and
falls asleep in no time. Now that he’s asleep, I can think freely, and his
snoring only annoys me slightly. I think about what I always think about when I’m
on my way home.
I think about
Sophi.
That black hair,
those big green eyes, that laugh…
When I get home I’ll
see Sophi. And that will make the trip worth it.
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