Ain't Talkin'

Coming down the 80 West was easier going than they’d thought it might be. The choke-point in the road proved passable, and barring a bit of falling asphalt and a shower of dust from beneath the road, there was no incident as the larger trucks went through.

Roche rode ahead a mile or so, scouting out the lay of the road in front of the caravan. Not for any reason, no one had asked him to, it just seemed like a thing to do while they crawled along the 80, and Lucky wanted to get moving.

It occurred to the walker that he could have made New San Fran some time ago, traipsing through the ether, he knew a number of doorways and holes that tunneled beneath Terra 1 to closer places. His way was with the caravan now, though. Again, not for any reason in particular. He had no contract with these men, he could have come and gone as he pleased. But the statement that Doctor weaving had made, talking about the ‘made’ girl, it was intriguing to say the least, and terrifying to say the most.

A few miles further on Roche fell back in step with the caravan. The trucks moved at maybe only thirty, thirty-five miles an hour, and the horse kept pace with them easily.

They’d gotten an early start, and the sun hadn’t hit the midpoint of the sky just yet, and they were nearly clear of the Sierra’s.

A truck pulled up, evened it’s pace and Kendall Miner, the resident Lieutenant of the Resistance brigade stuck his pasty head into the sunshine out the passenger’s side window.

“We’re making good time, Mr. Roche.”

“Seems that way. Couldn’t have hoped for better passage really.”

“Though I suppose you could’ve made this trip in half the time or less if you were on your own.”

“Yep, probably. that’s not why you stopped to chit-chat though is it?”

Miner smiled. “No, not at all. It was rather to ask if you’ve felt anything since we breached the midpoint of the mountains.”

Roche understood now why the Res had wanted to take the 80. It crossed the mountains where they were at their thinnest point, and it was a major road. If push came to shove there was a better chance of fallout and busted pavement that the trucks wouldn’t be able to pass on the smaller roads that wound through the mountains at a leisurely clip. Seemed a dullard’s choice to head north in order to go south at first, now it was making better sense.

“What do you mean?” Roche asked, though he knew. He just wanted to hear the old man say it.

“The way you walkers can feel each other. I’m aware that you all have a cognitive sixth sense for each other, that sometimes you know where each other are before you’re in company. We ought to be nearing the meeting place for one of the other walkers whose joined our cause. Is he present?”

Roche hadn’t mentioned a word to anyone about it, but he had felt the walker some time ago. It had been a linchpin sticking in between his shoulder sat first, growing to a thick feeling beneath his sternum. A pull, a gentle tug. Flip-switch to nagging, and there it was. The hunter wasn’t as old as Roche was, he knew, and this one had a penchant for spending more time out of the white than in, he had a softer feeling to him, a watered-down coffee kind of soft. But he was there, ahead and nearby, waiting.

“Aye. I’ve felt him. What of it?”

“Well you didn’t mention it so I thought it better to save some stumbling and just ask you right out. How far away is he?”

“Can’t tell that. Just know he’s ahead.” Roche narrowed his eyes beneath his sunglasses and stared down the length of the 80 West in front of him.

“Ah. Well good to know at the least that he’s on time and in place.”

“Yep.”

“I should think you and he will get along well.” Miner chuckled.

“And why is that? Because we’re both walkers?” There was a tone of acid in Roche’s response.

“Oh, of course not. I’m not as small-minded as that, Mr. Roche. I meant only because from what I’ve known of the two of you, you seem to be similarly minded men. I thought you might get along.” Miner puffed.

“Ain’t likely. Most folk I don’t like, and the ones I do like I expect don’t like me much, though they’re way few and far between.”

“Interesting. Had I known that there were actually people whose company you did enjoy I should have put money into the betting pool?”

“Betting pool?”

“Word is that a number of the men in the company had pooled some cash as to whether you were a constant solitary loner or if there ever was a time that you ever had anyone you could call friend.”

“I would’ve bet on that.” Roche smiled.

“Well it wouldn’t have been a fair wager then, would it?”

“Might have. I’m not even sure myself if I’ve ever had people like that.” Roche cut the conversation short, spurring his mare and galloping to the front of the caravan, leaving Miner and the transport he rode in well behind him, choking on the dust kicked up by Lucky’s hooves.