About twenty yards out, the apparent leader called out, “What do you want with the fine town of Carver?”
“Passage,” Cooper called. “That’s all.”
The man bellowed, “That’s all? I’m betting that’s everything to you. That’s why you’re on the road at a time like this.” Posturing. That’s good. That means he’s getting ready to bargain.
“We have a Plan B, but passage through would be easier,” Cooper retorted, keeping his voice calm, in control. The words of his father echoed in his mind: never let the other guy know that he’s the only game in town. Once you do, you’re stuck and dependent on his charity—which means you are no longer negotiating.
“I’d like to hear your Plan B.”
Cooper shuffled his feet easily and held a steady gaze, “Well, I could tell you.” He paused for effect, “But, then I’d have to kill you.” Make the other guy laugh whenever you can. People at ease are better negotiators.
The other man let loose a howl of laughter, “A joke. I like that. I haven’t heard a joke from anyone on the other side of this barricade since all this started. Just a lot of moaning and crying.”
“Well, we’re not like the others you’ve seen.”
The man stopped laughing slowly, “I see that. Shall we get down to business?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Cooper said lightly and the other man smiled again.
“The cost of passage is either ten gallons of gas, a hundred pounds of food, or a functioning rifle with one hundred rounds of ammunition,” the man paused to let his words sink in. “Per vehicle.”
Cooper purposefully let loose a guffaw, “Good one. I haven’t heard a good joke like that since before all this started.” Whenever possible, ridicule the other’s position and watch closely how he responds. It will tell you a lot.
The other man spoke quickly, “I’m not joking. That’s the price.” There it is, his voice sounds not nearly as sure as his words. The trammel gave him away.
“I’ll give you a few choices. First, we’ll give you a twenty-five pound bag of rice or one hunting rifle that we have a handful of shells for. Second, we can have a little dust-up right now that probably leaves half on each side dead or wounded.”
The man paused for several seconds before responding, “I don’t like your threats, so why don’t we knock that shit off?”
Cooper pursed his lips, “Agreed.”
“You’re gonna get me fired, but I’ll do half our normal rate. One hundred pounds of food or the rifle and one hundred rounds. I like you; you made me laugh.”
Ah, now we’re negotiating. Just a matter of time now before a deal is reached. Cooper breathed easier.
It took five more minutes of relentless back and forth, blustering, and moaning, but he finally agreed to give them passage in exchange for the rifle, the handful of rounds for it, and a six- pack of canned peaches. The rifle was the one that Angela had used when they’d attacked Ethan Mitchell’s compound. With just a few rounds left for it, it was nearly worthless to them. Fortunately for Cooper, he learned this group had an ample supply of ammunition of this caliber, foraged from a hunter’s stash after the hunter had fled with the rifle and they had yet to find a replacement.
As they drove past, the man called out to Cooper, “When things get back to normal, you wanna sell my used car for me?” Peach juice dribbled down his bearded chin as a wide smile crossed his face, revealing several missing teeth.
“If it doesn’t have too many bullet holes in it, sure!” He called back.
As they drove through, they noted the town looked more like a small military encampment than the friendly hamlet they recalled from before the Brushfire Plague had struck. Very few children ambled about. The ratio of men to women appeared to be about two to one. The biker bar that had hugged the right side of the road was burned to the ground. Cooper noted boarded up windows and bullet holes on the other buildings on the flanking streets. Cooper imagined the bikers may have made a play to control the town, given the strategic location of their hangout at the crossroads. I guess the bikers lost this contest of power. I wonder what force rallied them to do so? Cooper had already seen that organized groups had an enormous advantage over scattered individuals as society unwound. Maybe the local church?
As they continued, he saw further random destruction. Some houses alongside the road looked just as before, pristine as ever. He marveled at those with blooming flowerboxes, probably planted just weeks before. The contrast with others was startling. Next door to one such house, Cooper saw another burned to the ground, only a lonely chimney scrambling skyward remaining. As the wheels on their vehicles slowly churned through Carver, he saw another house that had been subjected to a bitter firefight; hundreds of bullet holes scarring the home’s walls and shattering its windows.
Then, it struck him. About a fifth of the people could see in Carver wore yellow armbands. Unlike the others, each of them looked downtrodden and was engaged in some form of manual labor: hauling wood, doing laundry in large open kettles, dressing an animal, or cooking. Cooper felt his stomach churn. While he could guess, he had to know. When they pulled alongside the barricade on the eastern edge of Carver, he called out to one of the guards.
“Hey, what’s with the yellow armbands?”
The guard smirked, “They are our workers.”
“What’s that mean?”
“People that got into trouble or couldn’t pay their debts to the town. They gotta work it off.”
“How long does that take?”
“Depends on what got them into trouble in the first place. Some just a few months. Some we’re thinking a few years.” He spotted the tight look on Cooper’s face and continued, “I’m surprised you didn’t ask about the pink armbands.”
Cooper cocked an eyebrow, as he hadn’t seen any of these, “What are those for?”
“Heavier debts or crimes. The sentence is shorter, but you gotta be a looker, if you get my drift,” the guard’s smile became a leer. Cooper grunted and his face flushed. His lips curled in disgust. Next to him, Angela clawed her fingers into his leg and bit down on her lips.
“Disgusting,” she breathed through tightened lips. Calvin banged the side of his door with a loud whack.
The guard saw it all and called after them, “Sure, get all high and mighty. You’ll be doing the same in no time!” The man’s leering smile made Cooper’s stomach turn.
Cooper felt powerless to do anything except gun his motor and put as much distance between himself and Carver as possible.
“Don’t hot rod. Save gas,” Dranko scolded over the walkie talkie. Cooper cursed, but let the pedal off of the floor.
East of Carver, they made good time. Carver had been a chokepoint. Cooper guessed that few cars could afford their ‘toll’. After driving through that despair, the road was mostly clear. They only encountered the occasional abandoned or destroyed vehicles.
As they drove, the implications of what they had just seen sank in. Someone, or some people, in Carver had already made the leap that things were not ever going to return to ‘normal’. And, they had already organized themselves—albeit in an exploitative way—to deal with it. Within weeks of the outbreak of the Brushfire Plague, they had set up a system of indentured servitude and pressed women into sexual slavery. He wondered if some of the ‘armbands’ were working off their passage through town? They just might all become slaves, permanently working there to survive. The thought chilled him. How could this happen so fast? I know things have unraveled but I still believe the remaining threads can be rewoven. Cooper’s mind struggled to maintain his optimism but what he had seen in Carver struck at the core and made his stomach feel hollow.