The Walker

Walker strode down the hill, the early midday sun stretching his shadow behind him. The girl had caught up and was walking easily by his side. Some of her colour had come back and she had started talking again. He had learned her name too; Daisy. Not that it would matter.

He had decided to see what she knew about the Walkers, and the Order, and would ask questions that might help jog his memory as to why he had given her the book those ten years ago. Small talk first.

“Your brother died a good death.”

She didn’t reply, and for a while they walked in silence, the comment hung between them like the bloated corpse of a criminal.

He had thought she would react to some praise for the wastrel. The only sound was of the crickets underfoot, chirping angrily as their boot steps interrupted whatever it was crickets did.

Eventually, she replied. “He was just simple. He tried to help.” She looked quickly towards Walker. “Thanks, I guess.”

They walked along quietly for a few more minutes. Walker was enjoying stretching his legs after the cramped, sour smelling cart journey, as well as being away from that foul horse. Damn thing had nearly bitten him; could’ve taken his fingers off. He mulled his next question over in his head.

“You did well, back at the church. Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

She merely shrugged. Walker rubbed at his chin as they strode through the brush. “Not many people can shoot that well girl.” He coughed when she didn’t reply. “You should be pleased. Took me some time before I learned to use a weapon like that.”

Again, she didn’t respond, so Walker lapsed back into silence. He needed to know what she knew, but this idle chat was getting him nowhere; he decided on the direct approach.

“So, girl, what did your pappy tell you? About the Order, and the Walkers?”

She turned to him as they ambled down the hill, her visor reflecting the rising sun ahead. “Not much,” she replied, “only that you work to gather knowledge.”

Walker scratched his chin, “So, do you know why some people say Walkers, and others say Philosophers?”

Daisy carried on alongside him, thinking. “Well, I’m not sure. I always assumed there wasn’t a difference. Just some of you call yourselves Walkers, and some of you say the Philosophers. I assumed it was a rank thing. Although,” she added, tilting her head slightly at him, “my dad did tell me some of you were good, and the rest of you were bad. He always said it was the bad ones that came to our village and...” She trailed off.

Walker smiled to himself; the girl still thought of things as ‘good’ or ‘bad’. And she obviously knew little about the Walkers, and the Order. He plucked another apple from a pocket sewn into his cloak. They were sour, but he quite liked the sharpness.

He took a bite, chewed, and pulled the rest of the worm from his apple. Unperturbed, he continued, “So, you don’t know a lot of our history then? You don’t know about me?”

She shook her head. “Why would I know about you?”

He shrugged, so she continued. “Well, no. I only know about the Walkers from my Dad. So... No, I don’t really know.”

He nodded, satisfied. The less she knew, the better. “And what is it you’re doing, then?” He looked down at her.

She certainly looked healthier for the rest in the cart. She had been hungrier than he had realised.

She patted the front of her jeans as she walked, thinking. “Well, you’re the one that gave me the book. I thought you were taking me to the Order. Aren’t you?”

Walker said nothing, continuing to chew, so she pressed on. “You can get me in, so I can start training. You’re a Walker. Hence the name, right?”

Walker swallowed and looked out towards the horizon. “I never said anyth...” he trailed off.

Something had caught his eye. He flung the apple core from him and stopped abruptly, the girl carried on a few steps. She paused ahead of him and turned.

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

There was a truck headed towards them from the town, dark smoke billowing from its exhaust. He flicked the switch on his visor and zoomed in, Daisy’s questions going unanswered. The truck was all black, spattered with mud and dust from the road. It looked fairly modern; more modern than anything the locals could afford. The sun gleamed from the convex windshield covering the bubble cockpit as the four heavy wheels at the back churned up the ground, spraying dirt and debris behind it. He swore and dropped to a crouch.

“Bookmen. Coming up the road. Quickly, down.” He pulled her down, ignoring her protests. He began to move to his right, along the hill and away from the road they had been walking down, dragging the girl along behind him.

“Why are we hiding? Can’t you just talk to them? Hey!” she pulled free of his grip and went to stand.

“If you stand,” he growled, “Those men will be the last of your worries.” She looked down at him and flicked her visor up, worried eyes scanning what she could see of his face. She stayed crouched, obviously deciding that he wasn’t playing around.

“Come on.” He motioned and led the way, the rumble of the truck growing louder as it clambered up the hill.

Luck, as usual, was on his side; he had found a ditch, probably some remnant from old farmland. He pulled her down beside him and placed a finger on his lips. She nodded and hunkered down. Walker removed his hat and gingerly peered over the top of the ditch.

The truck was just reaching the spot they had been standing, and was coming to a stop. Walker could hear voices from the cab. The nearside door opened and a man, clad in modern power armour, dropped lightly to the ground. He stood straight, his full black suit gleaming darkly in the midday sun. Most of his face was hidden by a rounded full faced helmet, the visor a material similar to the girl’s visor, silver and shining, compared to Walker’s older dulled gun metal grey; his jaw sat proud of the visor, grim mouth assessing the landscape.

“I’m telling you,” he was saying to his companion, who had remained in the truck, “I saw someone, I’m sure.”

His companion sighed audibly. “It’s not our job to harass people farting about in fields though, is it mate?”

The first man turned from his examination of the ground and pointed at his colleague. “Maybe, whoever it was, was wearing Order clothes,” he tapped his helmet, “The hat and that.” He turned back to his colleague in the truck, ”And I told you about that! When we’re working, its Sergeant, got it?

“It’s just us two, there’s no need for that is there?” his companion wheedled.

The first man waggled his finger “It’s called discipline, Corporal, discipline is what makes this organisation strong. Besides, what if someone heard us? What if that person I saw was of the Order? It’d be fraternising, or something.”

The corporal leaned over from the driver’s seat. Walker could see all of the man’s ratty face, he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “Come on, sergeant,” he moaned sarcastically, “There’s no one here, sergeant. We’ve got places to be, sergeant.”

The sergeant had been moving closer to the ditch, but turned angrily and, to Walker’s relief, began to climb aboard the vehicle. “Less of the sarcasm, you little wan —“ His voice was cut off by the slam of the door. The bass of the engine rumbled deeply and the truck trundled off up the road.

Walker exhaled. He placed his pistol in its holster and thumbed tobacco from his pouch, rolling himself a cigarette.

“They’ve gone,” he grunted.

Daisy stood slowly, looking towards the road. “Why did you hide from them?” she asked him.

He licked the paper on his cigarette, and put it between his lips. He lit it, shook out the match and climbed out of the ditch. As she scrambled up behind him, he turned and watched the truck disappear over the crest of the hill. He turned and started his way back down the hill, avoiding the road.

“Well?” she pressed, “you can’t just ignore me, you know.”

He didn’t stop as he replied, “They might be what you would call the ‘bad guys’”.