It Was 2052 (2 page)

That's when Eric stood up, his straw colored hair poking at all angles from his head and waved a large hand to him. With a very slight hint of a foreign accent, his voice rose above the noisy breakfast diners, “Heh---come over here. We have a seat.” The young woman seated at the table with the inviter, flashed him a sweet smile and motioned him to join them.

Jackson had never been a shy person but he did feel a bit inadequate to make urban chit chat. He made his way over to the small round table and pulled up a chair.  “I'm Jackson,” he extended his hand. 

“I'm Eric,” said the friendly young man, “and this is Rose.”  Funny, a whole generation had been named rather old fashioned family names. Their survivor parents seemed to have a need to preserve some remnants of the past. 

By the end of the day Jackson had some new friends and he need not have worried about them being sophisticated city dwellers, if there was any such thing.  Rose had been left with only her uncle and he brought her into the city so they could work and survive.  She worked in the pub in the evenings and her uncle worked on the maintenance crew of the village. Eric, whose heritage was German had left a rural farm community comprised of nearly exclusively family. Like Jackson, he wanted to explore life in the newly emerging world. He worked in the distillery.  Of course, both being very near his own age, they resided on the fourth floor. 

When Monday morning came and the newcomer sat in front of Mayor Adam's desk, he had regained some of his enthusiasm for his new adventure and he very much wanted to be accepted into the Village.  The old man that had sent Jackson obviously was a respected friend of the mayor and once his name was mentioned, he was readily welcomed to the village.  The mayor rather frustrated, held a stack of papers in his hand and seemed to be searching for a place to put them.  “Damn, I've got to get some shelves or something in here---don't have a spot for anything.”

“Um-m, sir, I could build you some shelves. I'm a respectable carpenter,” said Jackson.

“Is that so?” the mayor peered over thick glasses with tape on the bridge.  “You have any tools?”

“I have a few basic things.”

“Oh, never mind.  There's a big maintenance area in the basement. You might even find some shelves or materials---I just don't want the blasted things falling over on me.  Probably some tools, if not we'll do some trading and get what you need. There's always repairs to be done and things to be built around here.”  He continued to shuffle piles of things on his desk and then stuck out his hand, “Welcome son, looks like Brewer's has a new carpenter.”

“Thank you very much.  I'll try to do a good job for you.” He accepted the hand shake and stood to go.

A bit dismissive, the mayor said, “Sure, sure.  You go on down to the maintenance area. If you need some help, go over to the distillery and ask the supervisor who he can spare.”

“As a matter of fact, I met a man yesterday. His name is Eric. He said he came from a farm and presently works in the distillery. I don't know if he would be interested but I think he would be capable. Maybe...”

“Sounds fine to me.  Go along now. Nice to meet you, Jack. I'll expect those shelves in here in the next couple of days.” The mayor had ended the interview.

That evening, as Jackson slid onto the wooden bar stool in the pub, he found himself thinking,
this thing needs to be repaired, tightened up.
Eric sat next to him and Rose put two small shot glasses in front of them and poured in a splash of Brewer's Bourbon. They were having a celebration. The tall new friend was a good natured guy and he didn't mind work at all. Still, getting removed from the rather repetitive job in the distillery was more than fine with him.

There had been beer and wine and whiskey brewed and available in his hometown, Jackson just never seemed to acquire a taste for it.  Now, he felt the fire of the amber liquid every inch that it traveled from his mouth to his stomach. He tried not to choke. Eric gulped down his shot and let out a loud laugh, “Has to grow on you, friend.”  

They talked about building the shelves and perhaps getting out to barter for a tool or two that they hadn't found in the basement.  When Rose came back behind the bar, Eric said, “This time, girl, add a splash of water and an ice cube to our drink.  She fixed them a mixed drink and since no one presently demanded her service, leaned on the bar and talked to them. Her hair piled on top of her head,  small silver hoops in her ears, she wiped her delicate hands on her apron and said, “Hey, ya'll going shopping? I wanna go, wait until the afternoon, okay?”

Jackson took a sip of the drink. It went down a bit smoother, still was a scorcher.  He shook his head, “You know, I was so intent on just getting work and staying that I didn't even ask
how much---when do I get paid---how do I get paid?
Hope I don't get paid with this fire water.”

Eric and Rose both looked amused.  “You only get paid once a month, on the first and it's not a lot. Doesn't seem to matter much.  Silver is the main currency but folks mostly would rather trade for something they want or need,” said Eric. Someone raised a glass and called for the waitress.  Before she moved away, he said, “Hey babe, I'll see you in the room later. Jack and I are going to get some supper.” She blew him a little kiss and moved away.

When Jack stretched out on his narrow bed that night, he was still feeling a bit mellow and he had many things on his mind other than home.

The next morning, he met Eric in the pub that would be closed until later and they worked on tightening and repairing the bar stools and a wobbly table or two.  He went to the mayor's office and told him that he had found some shelves in the basement that he thought he could rebuild for the office.  He also told him that he discovered a thing or two in the maintenance area that he didn't need but thought might be good trade items. “If it's okay, mayor, Eric and I will go out this afternoon, take the barter items and see if we can locate some more tools and perhaps some bolts and paint for the shelving. This morning we did some maintenance down in the pub, some of the stools and tables were in pretty rickety shape.”

“That's good, Jackson.” He reached in his desk and took out a small pouch of coins, “Here,” he tossed the pouch to him, “you might need some more funds.” Shuffling piles of stuff on his desk again, “Can't wait to get some shelves in here.” And without looking up, “Keep your guard up out there, son. The streets can be a little rough.”

In the fourth floor rest room, he washed his hands and face. To his surprise, there was some filtered glints of sun visible through the window in his room.
That's better already.
He put the coin pouch and several tools that he had found in an old metal toolbox, into his pack and secured it to his back.  Hand tools had been thrown into the case for years and at least one of many assorted ones could easily be spared. A tap on Eric and Rose's door and the three of them quickly walked down the four flights of stairs. 

Rose gave him a kiss on the cheek and he thought what a lucky guy Eric was.  The young woman wore jeans, a bulky yellow sweater, a small pistol in a case at her waist and what seemed to be a constant smile. Rose was quite a girl. He had never really felt a special attachment to any girl, never been in love.
Must be great to have that connection, exchange those electric looks that I've caught between the two of them.

On the third level, the door swung open and a man dressed in coveralls, around age fifty stepped out. “Hey, Uncle John.” Rose hugged the man. “Have you met Jackson?”

“Yes, I met him down in maintenance.  Glad to have him and Eric working, I'm sure no carpenter. Where you three headed?

Eric said, “We're going to see if we can trade for some supplies. The mayor is wanting his shelves built. 
Right now
, it seems.” He flashed a wide smile.

“Want some lunch before you leave?” asked the Uncle as they traveled down.

“No thanks,” said Rose, and enthusiastically, “We're going to eat at one of the other village cafes.”

They reached the second level, making small talk. A gray haired couple emerged, nodded to them all, asked the uncle if he was going for lunch.  The small group had reached the ground level. The cafe, pub and market to their left and the distillery works was to their right.  Uncle John got a serious expression, “You men take care of my girl,” then he smiled and gave the red head a pat, “Have fun and...”

Rose cut him off, “I know.  Shoot first, ask questions later.”

Jackson thought how he had heard that around his family and hometown, all his life.  Even though he was well trained, he personally had never been in a confrontation where shooting another person was a consideration.  It hadn't been all that long ago that things were much more dangerous. His grandparents had lived through very perilous times and even his parents had experienced some bad situations.  He did remember an incident when he was a young boy, a man had climbed over the fence of the family compound where he grew up with sometimes as many as twenty kin folks in residence. 

The man looked pitiful, starved and attempted to steal some eggs.  When the alarm was raised and the thief caught, Jackson was certain that his grandfather was going to shoot the man. His mother had intervened.  It was raining that day, too. Bouncing along in the old truck, he sat between his grandmother who drove and his mother. His grandfather in his dark rain slicker, sat with the man in the back and never took the big rifle off of him. The lightning flashed and the rain poured from grandpa's hood and soaked the captive.

They had driven more than thirty minutes away from the town of Unity.  His grandfather tapped on the back window of the truck and his grandmother pulled to a stop.  The man was unloaded from the pick-up bed and he stood beside the road. Jackson's mother took a bag from the floorboard that had a few days of food and water in it and handed it out the window.  Over the noise of the thunderstorm, he heard grandpa say, “You should've asked us for food and work. If I ever catch you on my property, stealing again, I will shoot you.” He handed the man the bag. His mother swung open the truck door, squeezed her small son in closer to the driver and his dripping grandpa slid in beside her. They rode in silence back to the family compound.

A day or two later, he asked his grandmother, “Wasn't the man just hungry? Would grandpa have shot him?”

His gram said, “You never steal from anyone, Jack. And you never allow bad or evil behavior to go unpunished.” She had pulled him to her and kissed the top of his head. The incident was never discussed again.

***

The three new friends burst from Brewer's Village into a near bright day and a noisy chaotic street scene.  Jackson had been so head down intent on finding the Brewer's Village when he arrived, he really had no time to notice the bustling and crowded city life around him. The sidewalks were clogged with all kinds of people, all diverse cultures of people and all ages of people. 
Hello---hello! Can you hear me? 
He tried to see who was speaking and said, “Hello?”  Eric slapped him on the back, he and Rose laughed out loud.  “Who was that guy?” said Jackson.

Eric said, “He wasn't talking to you, he was trying to talk on a cell phone.  Haven't you ever seen a phone, country boy?”

“Oh-h,” he said, a little embarrassed.  “There were some phones around town. Damn sure not something you could walk around with. We could usually reach someone within the town. We had these short wave radios that we talked on with folks farther away sometimes.”

“I understand, I don't remember having anything like a phone, back at home.  Uncle John says there are evidently still satellites orbiting around up there in the sky,” said Rose and looked up at the hazy yellow colored heavens, visible between the towering village complexes, “and something he called cell towers. He said people are able to talk to each other on those small gadgets.  Seems to me they mostly just
try
to talk on them.”

“Well, who knows,” said Eric, “lots of stuff that I don't exactly understand.” In the middle of the twenty first century, three young people should be as familiar with phones and amazing electronics as with their own face but in this post catastrophe mid century, these were only things they might have read about in an old book. 

A steady stream of slow moving vehicles clogged the streets, not what could be called a flow of traffic, more of a jerky stop and go spurt.  There were no traffic lights, an occasional stop sign that might as well have been invisible for all the heed that was paid to it.  The rule of the road was the dominance of the biggest and quickest and a raucous chorus of honking horns and expletives echoed between the buildings.

Jackson was captured by the sight of an enormous screen high on the side of a building, colored images, both still and moving flashed across the expanse. A car screeching away and
Shop for everything your auto needs at the Hot Wheels Village....Eat at the Fresh Market Village Cafe
with a gigantic picture of tomatoes and vegetables....a clear bottle with amber liquid and a glass with ice beside it,
When it's bourbon, Brewer's is the Best. 
Just as he was wondering what those huge red lips below exotic dark eyes were going to say, Eric spoke in his ear. 

“Jack, pull the bag around to the front and be on your toes.” Jackson followed his friend's look to three men weaving their way towards them.  The men were older, heavier built and didn't have friendly looks on their faces.  As they got closer, they effectively cleared a path and moved menacingly forward. Trusting in Eric's street savvy, he moved the bag to his shoulder, between himself and Rose, who Eric had maneuvered between the two of them. One of the men gave a sneer that fell short of a smile and said, “Who-o-ee Red, aren't you a sight today?”