Settlement: WOLF CROSSING

United Republic of the Globalist America 2089 Duncan Gates steered the team of geldings into the corral behind Freedom's Place; the biggest house in the Wolf Crossing's settlement. The pen sat between the farthest point of Freedom's backyard and stretched to the sawmill's property line; just short of the river running through the settlement. Donal Perkins, proprietor of the sawmill, used the river as his power source. He cut planks for new buildings in the settlement or sold to local masses who lived outside the confines of the settlement. But most of his hard labor went to government contracts and, hearsay, the wages were pittance. The outlanders; as they were known, who didn't have homes inside the settlement waited for their chances of being selected to relocate inside the protected walls of the settlement. The only probability of being chosen to move into the settlement was when someone within the ambit of the colony either moved, passed on or was banned. Hardly anyone chose to move and few passed away from age. Most that left the established population were forced to because of laws they had broken. And the jurisprudence of Wolf Crossing; just as with all government operated colonies, was strict and intolerant. Duncan had seen entire families forced to leave with only the clothes on their backs in the middle of the night because a young child had attempted to snatch a few apples from the trading post's barter tables. He had seen father's stolen away from their children because the dad had stood firm and refused to denounce an urban legend of a revolt and resistance that was known to attempt a government coup. He had seen every scenario and each occurrence left him feeling angry; but he refused to out his own livelihood in jeopardy. It was best to turn away, get on with your own business and let the civil patrol officers execute their orders. Duncan pushed the lever down, engaging the brake of the wagon, and stood. His legs struggled to gain strength after sitting for the last twelve hours; with only brief moments of standing to extend his tired muscles. Brushing his palms across the tense muscles of his upper thighs. He always dreaded the trip from Erie City through Blight Town before arriving at Wolf Crossing. Although he was more or less a drifter, he considered Wolf Crossing home. He had come upon Wolf Crossing early on in his calling as a messenger and, since it was centrally located between all of his stops, he decided to take a room as Freedom's Place every time he traveled between The Divide and the Blight Town settlements. He had come to appreciate seeing the thoroughfare oil lamps from a distance as a beacon welcoming him home. Wolf Crossing was one of the largest establishments in the territory; and from what Duncan had learned from old-timers, it had once been a fairgrounds in the Saginaw Valley of what was decades ago known as Bay City. He clambered off the buckboard and unhitched the geldings. He had a longstanding agreement with Donal to board his equine when he arrived; no matter the time of day or night. Donal always kept a stall open for Duncan and he was much obliged to the man. In exchange for the use of the stall, Duncan always brought Donal unusual trinkets or much sought after delicacies he'd come across in his travels. Tonight he had a half-pound of cacao he had bartered for on a rare messenger journey south of Blight Town to Erie City. In all of his travels, Duncan learned more about the settlements he traveled to. Blight Town had once been the heart of the region where motorcars and machines had been produced. While he had never seen a machine that had been described to him, he did wonder how much faster his deliveries would be if had such a contraption. One night while settling in a tent city on the outskirts of Erie City, Duncan had joined a conversation with other travelers. He had learned about the motorcars; and he was full of questions about what a motor was to begin with. The mossbacks talked about fuel, steel and horse power that would thrust the motorcar faster than any gelding ever could. Duncan recalled how mystified he was hearing about such nonsense; but he was still drawn into the chatter. He drifted off into a slumber envisioning rambling down the decrepit stone routes he frequented in a motorcar. After getting his geldings situated with feed and water buckets, he ambled across the corral and field towards Freedom's. He saw an oil lamp in the kitchen window and knew Freedom would be awake. It was as if she knew when he would be arriving; or the woman never slept because no matter the time he arrived, she was shuffling around the room preparing some meal, cleaning or sipping the herbal brew she swore would ease aches and pains. As soon as he stepped onto the back porch, the door swung open and Freedom Carlton smiled down on him. “Well, I reckon you'll be wanting a hot meal.” “Don't go to no trouble, Freedom.” He whispered more from being tired than for the reason of waking anyone. “Ain't no fuss. I always have food here and ready.” She held the door open as he passed by her. “Got some leftovers biscuits and ham gravy from supper. Or I can whip up some eggs if you'd rather?” “Either is good. Not even sure I can chew I'm so exhausted.” “I'll reheat the gravy and later after you've had some rest, I will cook up fresh for you.” She began bustling around the room; putting a few more logs into the fire on her cookstove, as Duncan slumped into a chair at the opposite side of the room. “Any interesting tales to share?” Duncan shook his head. “Naw, never saw a single person since leaving Blight Town.” “No one?” Freedom opened two biscuits onto a ceramic plate and slathered them both with bits of smoked ham and thick gravy. “Seems odd considering the weather is starting to break. And you know what that means.” “Yeah, sure do. But not a soul wandering on any of the roads or trails for hundreds of miles.” Freedom set the plate before Duncan then poured him a cup of water from a metal pail. She slid into the chair adjacent from him and continued sipping her tea. “They'll be descending upon us any day now I suppose.” She sighed and Duncan looked at her. Her eyes squinted as she recalled the choler from past experiences with the wanderers from years past. Nomads were what they actually were. People who traveled from settlement to settlement, bartering goods, wreaking havoc and causing strife among the inhabitants. Every spring and into the warmer summer months, the nomads arrived whether the settlements wanted them or not. Generally they brought great bounties for trade, but they also swarmed upon the establishments and caused ruckus beyond belief. Duncan, as well as others, wished the civil patrols would control the wanderers better, but they never did. It was as if the government was bringing the consternation onto the people purposely to test them. Duncan never could understand such thinking; but again, he steered clear of controversy and minded his own business. As he was taught from childhood, it was best that way. Freedom wanted to refuse business to the nomads, but civil patrol and the government forbade it. Businesses and settlement people were ordered to accommodate the nomads or risk being banned and losing all their worldly possessions and place within the settlement. “Freedom, it won't be so bad. They will come and leave before you know it. It's only for a short time.” Duncan said in between mouthfuls of food. It wasn't a hot meal, but Duncan delighted in something other than hard bread and dried meats that he often ate while traveling. “I know.” She set her cup onto the table and leaned closer. “But I am not going to allow those people to destroy my property again. I just finished repairing the smoke house out back.” “I'll talk to Donal about being more vigilant, if you'd like.” He scooped up the last bite on his plate and chewed it. The salty pork tasted more savory then the first bite and he wanted to ask for more, but he knew Freedom had an early morning creeping up and he needed to sleep. He had to reload the buckboard and head out by noon. Glancing at the wind up timepiece hanging over the cook stove, Duncan figured he'd have maybe five hours of rest before his own day started. He pushed away from the table, stood then carried his empty plate the wash basin and finished drinking the water in his cup. “I'll talk to him before I leave the stable in the morning.” “Thank you, Duncan. I'd appreciate the words.” Freedom stood, joined him at the wash basin and tilted up to kiss his cheek. “You are quite the find.” They parted ways and both headed to their awaiting beds with hopes that slumber would reach them quickly.