Oct 14th, 2083: The Empty House

We ruined the first couple of hides, of course.  Then Anthony managed to connect to the mainframe long enough to download a video.  He talked us through the last couple of hides, and come the next couple of days we should have enough to make a purse or something.  Excuse me, a satchel.  I know Sam well enough to know that she will scoff at anything so frivolous as a purse.  Practicality, that is the word Sam lives by.  Hm...  Maybe I would be better served to use the fur to line our boots.  Though we are out of Jack Frost's territory, the chill can still be deadly to those who don't take proper precautions. 

We are following the Missouri down to the next major town, Sioux City.  In this land, the Tall Man is king.  The borders of his land are clearly delineated.  At first, the stagevan traveled easily over the remnants of the cracked asphalt highways.  Then it stuttered and started to drag.  Underneath the stagevan's wheels, the asphalt had become covered in a black grass.  The sun seemed dimmer, a cold white orb in the sky. 

We stopped for water and the driver insisted that we tie ourselves to the van before refreshing our thirst.  I refilled my canteen and saw that while the water was clear and cold, the river had no bottom.  I dropped a blade of grass in the water, and rather than floating along on the current, it slowly drifted downward into the abyss.

As we traveled, we saw areas of forest and grassland that were taken over by black vegetation.  I watched a deer, startled by our approach, run into one of the patches, then disappear from my sight.  No trees for it to hide behind, only grass that immediately stilled as if it had never been there at all.

The entire day I felt as if sandpaper were being rubbed on all my nerves.  It seemed the entire party felt the same way, everyone was irritable and short-tempered.

We stopped for camp at dusk in an abandoned town.  All the buildings but one were crumbling, victims to the ravages of nature and time.  The sole exception was a lone house right at the edge of town.  While not as pristine as it might have been before the Sickness, it was the only one that seemed to have four sturdy walls and an intact roof.

It didn't take a genius to sense that something was wrong about that house.  I did not argue when the driver told us to set up camp in a building with no roof.  Anthony, however, took exception. 

"Why not that one?"  He argued, while I lit the fire.  Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head, then slipped out to hunt for our dinner. 

The stagevan driver tucked a wad of some black stuff in his lip. "It's a trap, kid.  Plain as day."  As he spoke, a flash of lightening ripped across the sky.  Oar and I worked together to brace a tarp over the fire so the approaching rain wouldn't extinguish it.  The heat from it was outstanding, it seemed to singe my flesh while I was still several feet away.  I had no doubt the small fire would be adequate to heat our roofless room.

Anthony and the driver exchanged more heated words, then the boy stormed off as large drops of rain began to patter.  His bedroll thrown over his shoulder, he disappeared through the door of the one intact house.

Our stagedriver spit a wad of noxious black liquid into the dark.  "Stupid."

I volunteered for first watch and during the darkening twilight hours my eyes stayed on the house where Anthony slept.  He had not yet appeared by the time I woke Oar for his shift.  I hope that no harm befalls him during the rest of night.

Oct 13th, 2083: The Michaelman and The Rabbits

Mr. Ellis, or Oar as he would have me call him, was born by the ocean.  He is one of the first generation born after the great sickness and has seen first-hand the evolution of the holy archangel Michael. As he told me his story, he smoked a pipe carved from mahogany and brushed the ashes off his suit. 

"My first memory is of a brilliant white light.  It was His light, telling me that I was going to serve Him for the rest of my days.  As I grew older, I gathered my flock from other lost children in the area.  We grew larger and started a society of virtue and peace.  Once my flock was well-established, He talked to me again.  He told me to spread His word as far and wide as I could.  I gave all my worldly goods to my sons and daughters and headed east with nothing but the Scriptures in my hand."

"Fascinating.  May I see your scriptures?"  He handed me the book, a thick journal bound in soft black leather.  Inside, each and every page was filled to the brim with tiny cramped handwriting.  I opened a page at random and tried to read by the dim firelight. 

"He is most sacred to all.  Hold His life above your own, His truths are more valuable than yours, He is all that is right and just in this world."

I flipped to other pages in the book, but the content remained much the same.  "What exactly are His truths?"

"Listen to your heart, son.  He speaks them to you if only you take the time to listen."

Anthony interrupted to take a look at my broken toes.  He had some less-than polite things to say about the doctor who saw to me in Miles City.  Apparently the toes haven't been set right and I can look forward to walking with a limp the rest of my life.  Sam returned with a brace of rabbits slung over her shoulder, and since I am apparently the only one who can cook without turning the meat into charcoal, I have been nominated the stagevan chef.

Anthony helped me rise to my feet and handed my crutches to me.  I stumbled and had to grab his shoulder for balance.  We laughed and I headed to my luggage for my spices.

"Careful with the Michaelman, Sen."  Sam knelt on the side of the stagevan, opposite the fire.  She spoke in low tones and didn't look up at me, focusing on skinning the rabbit in her hands.  "There's certain lines there you just don't cross with them."

"What?"

A huff of impatience, and the stem of sagebrush in her mouth was spit onto the ground.  "Sen Stu Sha, you know full well what I'm talking about.  That kid, Anthony.  I'm warning you now not to let the Michaelman see you together."

I pulled the suitcase to the ground next to her, the better to participate in this hushed conversation.  "First off, I don't know what you're talking about.  Anthony is nothing to me.  Second of all, what business is it of his?"

She wrapped the viscera in the rabbit's pelt and set it aside, handing me the bloody meat.  "Michaelmen think everything is their business.  And they're not afraid to tell you so with more than words."  Another carcass was laid over my arm.  Thank goodness I'd chosen to wear a dark colored shirt today.  "I've seen the scars Michaelmen leave behind if they don't like what you're doing.  Taking a hand for theft.  Plucking out the eyes of wandering husbands."  She wiped her knife on the grass before sticking it back down in her boot.  "Love the wrong person and you get burnt.  Literally.  Acid.  Fire.  The Michaelmen have everyone under their thumb out West."  She stood, gathering the gruesome blood-dripping pelts in her arms.

"Wait."  I jerked my head to the campfire, where Oar and Anthony sat talking with the stagevan driver.  "I can cook up some of those and burn the rest.  We can save the hides for something." 

Sam smirked, but helped me to my feet and handed me the spices from my suitcase.  "Do you even know how to tan hides, Sen?" 

"No, but I believe I have a book with instructions for it somewhere."

"Figures," Sam laughed, shaking her head.  "Why?"

"I want to see if I can, that's all."

Oct 13th, 2083: The Serene Smile of Shaylee Weathers

Oar Ellis is a man in his seventies, with wisps of yellowing hair dusting his liver-spotted scalp.  He wears a threadbare black suit that barely covers his gut.  Like Charlie, he is always smiling, however sometimes there is something about his smile that unsettles me greatly. 

Sometimes, when the flickering campfire light catches his face in just the right light, his smile reminds me of Shaylee Weathers.  Shaylee was only a couple of years older than I.  She was the daughter of one of my father's cowhands, and far too often I would see her with bruises in the shape of fingers.  Her father disappeared one day, just didn't show up to work.  After two days of this, I was sent to check up on him.

I found Shaylee asleep on a cot in the one-room cottage, innards and shards of bone spread around the floor.  Blood was smeared on the walls.  Peace at last.  Over and over again, in her father's blood.  Peace at last.  She stirred and woke to find me standing in the doorway, taking in the gory scene.  She was no longer cowed or troubled.  She was peaceful.

Shaylee didn't fight when my sister led her out of the small cottage.  I remember the summer heat, it was almost warm enough to wear a single shirt.  The warmest summer I can recall.  Maybe it was the heat that drove Shaylee to the breaking point. 

She was quiet during the trial, not that there was much to it.  I was too young then, but I understand now.  How everyone knew what her father did, but no one wanted to talk about it.  No one wanted to help. 

That year, the first snowfall, there were no lots drawn.  Shaylee sat in the town square, the serene smile still on her face and her hands in her lap.  The next day, under the cold white blanket that had fallen through the night before, Shaylee sat with her hands folded in her lap.  Her eyes were black, her teeth sharp, and her skin white.  But she still had the same smile.  Not even Jack Frost could break that aura of peaceful serenity.

I know better than to discount my intuition.  I must treat Mr. Ellis with the same cautious grace as my sister used with Shaylee.  I don't know what horrific acts Mr. Ellis will perform to ensure that his peace is not interrupted.

Oct 13th, 2083: The next leg of my journey: following the Missouri River

Charlie referred this stagevan company to us.  He says they've got a good safety record, which means I'll be sleeping easy at night.  He waited at the station while we loaded up the vehicle, then hugged Sam tightly in farewell.  I felt it necessary to look away before I embarassed us all by witnessing the emotional exchange.

There are two other passengers traveling with us, Oar Ellis and Anthony Morales.  Mr. Ellis is a Michaelman, a man who willingly serves one of the New Gods.  (Sam clearly does not trust Mr. Ellis.  She has not said more than three words to him and spits the word Michaelman as if it is a curse.)  Anthony is a young man of approximately fifteen years of age.  He is traveling south to one of the larger cities where he hopes to find a doctor to study the art of medicine.  They have both agreed to be interviewed for my journal. 

Anthony is a native of Bismarck.  I asked him why he didn't speak in the same screeching tones as our old guide.  He pulled his shirt sleeve up and showed me the cables that danced around his wrist in place of tendons.  "I've been upgraded by the Gear Baby, same as her.  It let me keep my head, provided I go out and learn how to fix the flesh side of things."

When asked why, he shrugged.  "Every one of the Gear Baby's towns has got to have a doctor.  I was picked to be Doc Hannigan's replacement when I was five.  But I needed more book learning so I'm headed to one of the big cities for a couple of years.  When Doc Hannigan's dead, the Gear Baby will let me know and I'll head back home with whatever I've managed to learn." 

"Why a doctor?"  This from Sam.  "Why not just keep replacing the body with scavenged metal and concrete?"  Though she was scornful, there seemed to be honest curiosity behind her question.

"I.. I don't know.  Hold on a sec and let me ask."  Anthony closed his eyes for a moment, his lips moving.  When he opened them, his face was blank and it took him a moment to focus on us.  "CURRENT PROJECTIONS INDICATE CONSTRUCTION MATERIALS EXHAUSTED IN FIFTEEN YEARS.  BY ADDING ONE DOCTOR TO EACH TOWN TO CONDUCT MINOR BIOLOGICAL REPAIRS CONSTRUCTION MATERIALS CAN BE EXTENDED UP TO SIXTY-FIVE YEARS."  It was Anthony's voice, but in a mechanical monotone.  Everyone edged back from the boy who blinked.  "Did that answer your question?"  Back to his normal voice.

"Er, yes."  Sam shifted further away from Anthony, pulling her heavy canvas coat tighter around her. 

Anthony smiled.  "Don't worry, ma'am.  It gets a lot harder to talk to the mainframe the further I get from the cities.  Those wires," he pointed out the window to cables that could be seen in the distance.  "The Gear Baby's gotten to some of them, but not all."

This was my chance!  I leaned forward in my seat, pencil at the ready.  "Can I ask the mainframe some questions, Anthony?"  Sam's head whipped around and she stared at me incredulously.  "I'm not just describing what the world is like now," I explained while Anthony's face once again went blank.  "I need to tell people how it came to be that way." 

"I too am interested in pursuing this line of inquiry."  Mr. Ellis added.  Sam shrugged, leaning back in her seat and turning her attention out the window.

"AWAITING REQUEST." 

"Oh, um."  I thought back to the video the guide had shown us.  "Well...  Where did the Gear Baby come from?"

"THOUGHTS.  DREAMS.  MEMORIES.  ALTERNATELY A POCKETWATCH OWNED BY A MAN WHILE HE WAS IN NEW JERSEY."

"What's New Jersey?"

"A GEOGRAPHICAL AREA IN A NATION THAT ONCE WAS BUT IS NO LONGER."

"Well that was helpful."

"YOU'RE WELCOME."

"No, I mean-  Never mind.  What exactly is a mainframe?"

"MAINFRAME: NOUN.  DEFINITION: A LARGE COMPUTER, OFTEN THE HUB OF A SYSTEM SERVING MANY USERS."

"What's a computer?  Or a hub?  Is it like the hub of a wheel?"

There was silence.  Anthony rolled his unfocused eyes.  "PLEASE NARROW SEARCH TERM PARAMETERS."

"What are paramete-"  My question cut off in a grunt of pain as Sam elbowed me in the side.  "All right.  Well, what do you do?"

"I SERVE MANY USERS.  MY PRIMARY FUNCTIONS ARE SCHEDULING TASKS, TRANSMITTING COMMUNICATION FROM THE ONE TRUE MAINFRAME AND MANAGING SEEPEEYU USAGE."

I didn't ask what seepeeyu was, I didn't want to feel Sam's sharp elbow in my ribs again.  "Who is the 'One True Mainframe'?"

"THE ONE TRUE MAINFRAME IS THE ONE DESIGNATED 'GEAR BABY'.  IT -kkkkssss- THE -skkkt- TO -ssksksksks- ANTssskkkPATE TERRITppsskssssEA WILL kkkkkssssBLE IN sssksksTEEN YEAssskkkk..."

Anthony's voice was cut off suddenly, and he slumped forward like a dead weight.  Mr. Ellis was fast enough to catch him before he hit his head on the seat in front of him.  The young man was deathly pale, he had sacrificed his own health to allow me to talk with this mainframe person.  At the very least, I must pay for his meals while he travels with us.  Mr. Ellis laid the boy down on the rearmost bench of the stagevan and covered him with his black leather jacket.

I decided to wait until we stopped for the night before interviewing Mr. Ellis.  He nodded and to be honest, looked a little relieved.  His tension didn't ease any when I told him that Anthony was the first to faint after one of my interviews.  Instead, I was treated to Sam's elbow digging into my ribs-on the same spot as before, no less.  I will surely have a bruise in the morning.

Oct 12th, 2083: The Heart of Bismarck

First thing in the morning, we approached the innkeeping monitor and requested a tour guide.

REQUEST PROCESSED

A cable whipped out from behind the monitor and joined together with a person passing by.  The girl was in a wheeled chair--no, more than that, she was a part of the chair.  The main wheels were connected to her hips and smaller stabilizing wheels were connected to her ankles.  Her hands held onto the rails of the larger wheels, but she didn't actually move them to maneuver the chair. 

She opened her mouth and a horrific screeching came out of the orifice, a nodal tone of hisses and beeps.  Startled, I lept back, tripping over my own crutches and falling to the ground.

"We don't speak the machine's language," Charlie protested to the monitor.  "We need another guide."

REQUEST HAS BEEN PROCESSED.  TIME UNTIL CURRENT REQUEST EXPIRES: 23:58:52.  VISITORS ARE ALLOWED ONE REQUEST PER DAY PER VISIT.  TO RESET TIMER, PLEASE ACCEPT TOWERBORN TERMS OF AGREEMENT AND ALLOW ACCESS TO YOUR OPERATING SYSTEM.

The wheeled girl spun around and headed out the door.  Sam sighed and helped me to my feet.  "Charlie, see if you can at least get us a monitor."  With that, we followed the guide out the door and into the city.

Much of what we were shown was similar to the mecho-organic structure of the cables I described yesterday.  Every so often the girl would stop at what we assumed was a local landmark and "talk" in her screeching tonal language. 

After about two hours in, Charlie's bargaining must have taken effect for her chest bulged outward in a mockery of accelerated puberty, then cloth and flesh tore to make room for a glass screen.  A picture of colored blocks spun into view and the wheeled girl toned eagerly at us.

"Tell us about this district," Sam ordered.  The monitor did not help at all.  While the girl screeched and toned at us, the monitor flashed a quick succession of images.  An anthropomorphic mouse swatted at flies, then was chased by a giant.  Sam sighed and shook her head.  "I guess that's the best we're going to get."  We followed the wheeled girl through the rest of her tour.  By the end, my jaw was aching from gritting my teeth and Sam was muttering dire threats under her breath.

A building stood before us, the biggest structure I had ever seen.  The rhythmic rise and fall reminded me of something.  It took me a moment to realize the building was breathing.  It was built of bone and steel, tendons framing the windows and doors.  The images shown on the girl's monitor meant little to us, until the end.  A towering monstrosity of girders and flesh lumbered across the cityscape, the scene quaking with every step.  Observers in the street pointed and screamed in terror, some fleeing, others chosing to point small black boxes in the thing's direction. 

It reached a familiar plaza where a tall concrete building stood proud against the skyline.  The monster reached out with rebar fingers and laid a hand on the roof.  It paused for a moment, cocking its head to the side like a curious dog.  The materials that made up its unnatural body flowed over the building until only a skeleton of steel girders remained.  The wheeled girl was silent during the video but I doubt even her screeches could have been heard over the screams of the terrified crowds.  As I watched the creature envelop the building, I started to make out shapes pressed against the windows; faces contorted in absolute terror, fists hammering at the glass.

More people fled the area when the creature began engulfing the building but some remained.  A poor decision, once the creature had finished eating the building, tendrils whipped out and wrapped around hapless bystanders.  Those that hadn't already taken the chance to run did so now; unfortunately the monster proved to be much faster than they.  Even as the tendrils captured people, cables started to grow from the building's roof.  The more people it grabbed, the faster they grew. 

"Enough," Sam said finally.  "We get the idea."

The video froze.  I looked up at the building before us, then back to our guide.  "What is it doing now?"

A clip of a boy draw in bright colors, with large "Z's floating above his head as he snored, oblivious to the people sneaking past his bed.

"Sleeping?"  I watched it rise and fall.  A whimsical part of me imagined that I could almost hear it snore.  "What happens if it wakes up?"

The girl made her first remotely human movement of the day, a small shrug.  On her screen, a giant monster breathed fire and obliterated an entire city with careless movements.

"I'm ready to go back now," I said, barely stifling the shudder that ran down my spine. 

Oct 11th, 2083: Bismarck's Power Grid

We've followed the cracked remnants of blacktop and faded green signs to a town called Bismarck. 

Bismarck marks the border of the Gear Baby's territory.  It is the first town we have seen with constant power.  It is also the end of Charlie's route.  We have hired another carriage, however we are not the only passengers.  The new stagecoach driver did not consent to an interview.  In fact, he spit on my boots and told me to get out of his face before he "tore me a new one."  I didn't want to ask what new thing he would be tearing me.  Sam was kind enough it explain it to me later.

The stagevan leaves the day after tomorrow.  Charlie already has passengers for his trip back west, but he won't leave town until we are safely on our way. 

The townspeople seem normal but Sam constantly has her hand on her gun.  I talked her into walking with me around town, using my bum leg as a bargaining chip.  She agreed, adding a cutting and unnecessary remark about how I needed all the help I can get.  Charlie offered to let me borrow Presley, however my opinion of that horse is best limited to words of the four-letter variety or the more colorful expletives I hear Sam mutter when she's frustrated at some ignorant mistake I make. 

We must have made an odd trio as we walked through the sparsely populated town.  They looked, whispered behind their hands, stared as we passed.  Underneath the brim of Sam's hat, her eyes darted every which way.  Charlie lagged behind a couple of steps at a pace even slower than my crippled lurching.  Even a "brain-dead nimrod with the looks of an inbred billy goat" could see that they were guarding me.

Our walk was fairly uneventful until I felt a wet drop splash onto the back of my neck.  The substance was a red oil of some sort that seemed to be dripping from the wires overhead.  We followed the wires through the town.  Occasionally they wrapped around a tall wooden pole, sometimes they split up into two or joined together with other similar wires.  Charlie pointed out a place some yards distant where the wire stretched to the ground.  The dirt around the connection point was dark, presumably with the same oily substance.  As we drew closer, our footsteps sank in the mud.  My crutches sank in too far for me to continue.  Sam held onto them while Charlie and I ventured closer.

We were right at the connection point when we saw that the wire was made of not just metal, but tissue as well.  Blue sparks danced along it's length.  I was reaching out to touch it when Sam spoke.

"Sen, Charlie, I need you to stop moving."

I was a breath away from touching the sparking blue cable.  I very nearly breached that small gap, but after a week of traveling with her, the importance of listening to the Trader had finally sunken in.  I remained still.

"Look down, but don't panic.  If you panic, they'll attack."

When I looked down, I noticed the mecho-organic tendrils twisting through the damp soil like grass roots.  Some were already creeping up the sides of my boots.

"As long as you move slowly, you should be able to get free."

Charlie started to creep out of the edge of my vision.  I wanted to run but the quiet terror in Sam's voice told me that even at my peak, I wouldn't be able to escape them.  Instead I backed away slowly.  Every heartbeat seemed to last an eternity.  My foot ached from the strain of my weight.  The pain shot to my knee and the traitorous thing gave way under me.  I staggered.  Regained my bearing.  Took another step.  And another.

Each retreating footstep filled with the dark red substance that I was beginning to realize was some strange mix of blood and oil.  Eons later I reached terra firma and collapsed on my hands and knees next to Sam, gasping.  The stabbing pain in my foot ran all the way up my leg to lodge icepicks in the base of my spine.  No more deadly blades grabbed at the soles of my boots so I figured I was safe enough to lie on my back while I rested.

From this angle, the sun hid Sam's face beneath the shadow of her hat.  Charlie sat beside me, his arms resting on his bent knees.  "Kid, you just can't catch a break, can you?"

"I'm twenty-three," I croaked, for the first time protesting the derogatory tone as I closed my eyes against the glare of the setting sun.

Charlie laughed, and after a moment, Sam joined him.  It was the laughter from a life-or-death adrenaline rush, but it was laughter nonetheless and I was still alive.

I write these words now and I feel bile at the back of my throat just thinking of the tendrils of human flesh and metal wire that stretched across the city.  But I have made an oath, as foolish as others think it may be.  Tomorrow I will go out into the inner heart of Bismarck to see what other secrets the Gear Baby has in store. 

Oct 6th, 2083: Charlie Mistral

Sam is still mad at me for what he calls my "damn foolish behavior."  Instead of staying in the inn by the warm fire, I went to the stables to help Charlie with the horses.  The first snowfall has dumped four inches on the landscape, covering it in a white blanket that glows in the moonlight.

The stables are actually a converted car garage.  Charlie was in the middle of brushing down the horses when I entered.  There are two horses that draw the carriage, plus Sam's horse, Looms.  Charlie's breath misted in the cold night air.  The horses look at me with wide blue eyes; their breath is nearly as cold as the air and doesn't show.  They are beasts of the cold, like the laughing children.

My father may have bred horses, but I have always hated them.  Still, they are important to Charlie.  "What are they named?"  I asked, hanging back near the shelves of car manuals that had been stripped of paper.

Charlie's good humor seems to have returned.  "The paint is Pinwheel, and the roan is Presley.  You know Looms."  He gestured to each horse in turn.  Looms ignored me, chomping contentedly at the contents of his feedbag.  Pinwheel nickered and nudged Charlie's shoulder.  He laughed and patted her flank affectionally and went back to brushing her.  Presley eyed me and laid his ears back against his head.

"Is it all right if I ask you a few questions?  For my journal," I clarified.

"Don't bother me none.  I'd appreciate it if you grabbed a brush and took care of Presley, though.  It's cold as a witch's tit out here."  I did as he asked.  Presley shifted a bit and nipped at me.  "Don't mind him, he's a big ol' teddy bear."  The horse  rolled his eyes at me and nipped again.  This time he caught my shirt, tearing a hole with his sharp teeth.  Charlie chuckled.  "Just thump him on the nose, show him who's boss."

I did as he said, knocking him on the nose just hard enough for him to feel it.  Presley shifted back a bit, still eyeballing me, but he let me unbuckle his saddle and start brushing him down.  Meanwhile, Charlie finished taking care of Pinwheel and was tapping a pack of cigarettes against his hand.

"So how long have you been a carriage driver?"

"Going on about fifteen years now.  Took over my uncle's rig, but that broke down about five years into it.  It's tough keeping the things moving.  It's even tougher trying to find parts to fix it.  Sammy's been a right genius when it comes to that."  He pulled a cigarette out and lit it, inhaling deeply.

Presley's coat had a huge clump of fur matted together.  "When did you meet Sam?"  This asked through gritted teeth as I tried to unmat it.

He paused, mumbling and counting on his fingers.  "Ten, maybe twelve years back."  Silence as I avoided Presley's teeth.  "No, now that I think on it, closer to twenty.  Back when I was first learning the business from my uncle.  She was a wee bit of a thing then, hiding behind her daddy's knee.  Yeah, it must have been her, now that I think about it.  Back before her daddy went and joined up with the Children."

"And then-wait, what?"

Charlie blew out a stream of silver-blue smoke.  "What, what?"

"Sam's a girl?"

He stared at me for a moment, then burst out into laughter.  "Boy, you don't know nothing 'bout Traders, do you?  Sammy's not a girl or a boy, not as far as she's concerned."  My confusion must have been evident.  He shook his head, still chuckling.  "Sammy is Sammy, that's all.  Don't ever treat her different and you'll get along fine."

Presley chose that moment to step on my foot.  Charlie helped me limp to the doctor, where I found out that cursed horse had broken three toes.  I'm now restricted by crutches for the next few weeks.  Sam mentioned going out to find some decent painkillers tomorrow, as the doctor didn't have much to spare.  I am sorely disappointed by this turn of events, I had hoped to accompany Sam on his her next scouting trip.  On the other hand, maybe I had best avoid Sam until I can straighten this all out in my head.

All in all, the interview with Charlie was rather terrible.  I don't seem to be improving my interpersonal skills at all.  I must try harder if I want this journey to succeed. 

Oct 6th, 2083: The Reader

We reached Miles City today.  Against Sam and Charlie's advice, I stopped by the library.  The library in my hometown is small; I hoped to have better luck finding reference materials in a larger town. 

Sam and Charlie stayed outside, choosing to watch me through the gaps in the boarded up windows.  The building was quiet, lights flickering and making the shadows dance.  Shelves after shelves of books.  I could have lived here all winter, absorbing all that knowledge. 

"Dull sublunary lovers' love
    -Whose soul is sense-cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
    The thing which elemented it"

It was coming from the poetry section.  I peeked around a shelf to see a Reader.  The girl was curled up in a corner, muttering to herself.  This was my first time seeing a Reader, though I had heard about them.  She did not react when I approached, nor when I gently shook her.  She merely continued to recite her poem.  I stepped past her and continued to browse the shelves.  A mistake on my part.

"Thy firmness makes my circle just,
    And makes me end where I begun." 

I heard the Reader laugh, a sad hopeless laugh. 

"Where, like a pillow on a bed,
    A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest-

Charlie was kneeling over me, slapping my cheek.  I waved him off and sat up.  A terrible headache throbbed in my temples and spots danced before my eyes.  When my vision cleared, I spied Sam.  The man stood with his back to us and was cleaning blood off his knife.

"That was a close call.  The Librarian almost got you."  This was the first time I had seen Charlie without a hint of a smile.  I rose to my feet and looked in the window of the library.  The Reader lay on the floor, blood staining the scattered tomes around her.  A man stood over her, an old man in tattered robes.  He looked at me with his eyeless face and gave me a smile full of rotted teeth.

Sam grabbed my shoulder and pulled me from the window.  "You're a damned fool."  He told me, his voice low and fierce.  "No more libraries, you hear?"  I nodded, the image of the Reader's sightless eyes still in my mind.  "I did her a favor," he growled and shoved me at the carriage.  "She wasn't a person anymore.  She was a tool."  He made his disgust evident by spitting at the building behind us.

"Hell, Sam, they're not all bad."  Charlie looked worried.  Upon retrospect, Sam seemed especially stricken by the event in the library.  And Charlie has been overly protective of him since then.  The two are fast friends and perhaps something more.  Ah well, better that these feelings of mine die a quiet death instead of being cruelly ground into the dust.

October 4th, 2083: Jack Frost

Part of the purpose of this journey is to spread knowledge.  I cannot in all good faith talk of myself as spreading knowledge to the public if I do not begin with what I myself know of as true.

The first snow brings Jack to us, and the first blossom of spring makes him leave.  He brings his friends, the cold children with black eyes and quiet hearts.  During the long winter, people draw together and hope the cold children look somewhere else for their playmates. 

In my town, lots were drawn.  I remember my mother crying and holding my sister tight.  The townspeople pulling my sister from her grasp.  The tether that tied my mother to the pole in the center of town.  My sister and I could not sleep that night.  We huddled under the heavy quilt in each other's arms while cruel laughter echoed through the street.

Sometimes I think about that tether.  There was a hunting knife in my parent's bedroom, sharp enough to cut that braided leather strip.  If I had been brave enough, I could have saved my mother.  I was already sneaking through the house, despite my sister's fervent whispers, when I saw the face at the window.

Whether it was Jack Frost or one of his followers, I could not say.  But I saw the dark eyes and sharp white teeth in the window.  And I watched as it traced my name in frost on the pane. 

I rushed back to the protection of the quilt and I let the laughing children take my mother.

That was my town.  In other towns, like Sam's and Charlie's, they take their chances and choose not to leave tribute.  There, as many as five or as few as none may be taken in a year.  All according to the whims of Jack Frost.

We have not yet left my town.  I know the boy tethered to the post tonight.  But I won't venture from my bed because I know that if I do, Jack Frost could do much worse than write my name on the windowpane.  I listen to the laughter of children in the night.  I listen and I pray for the sun to rise.

October 4th, 2083: Charlie the Carriage Driver

Sam has introduced me to our carriage driver, Charlie.  He is a man with wide shoulders and a barrel chest.  He has the darkest skin tone of anyone I've ever met.  His teeth are so white they nearly sparkle when he smiles, which is often.  He is a direct counterpart to the dour Sam.  If opposites attract, then it is no wonder they are such fast friends.

Charlie drives a two-horse team hitched to a rusty old car that seems to be held together with wishes and duct tape.  It bears the text "Cutlass era" across the trunk.  We have filled the trunk and most of the back seat with supplies for our journey, so we ride in the front.  Sam graciously lets me take the seat with the still-intact seatbelt while he braves the rough roads ahead without protection.

I am given to understand these contraptions were once called "horseless carriages."  If I try, I can almost imagine them trundling through the once-whole roads that are now cracked and pitted.  The careful observer will note that they are not constructed with horses in mind.  The contraption must be cut nearly in half in order to be adapted for carriage use.

Charlie is originally from Gardin, a town few day's travel to the west of here.  Gardin once marked the border of a place called "Yellow Stone" which was a park of some sort.  Now the mountains run rampant with animals touched by Jack Frost.

The first winter snowfall was today.  We will take shelter until daybreak. 

October 3rd, 2083: Children of Truthspeaker

Last night I decided to make Sam the first victim of my unquenchable curiosity.  We sat in the front parlor of the boarding house, a cup of Mrs. Grow's finest coffee at our sides.  He looked nervous when I pulled out my notebook, but agreed to answer my questions.  I started with a simple one: "What are the Children of Truthspeaker?"

Sam snorted and gulped down a healthy swallow of his drink.  "People.  Not demons like some claim.  We're just people trying to survive like anyone else."  Silver flashed as he poured a dollop of some rich brown liquid in his cup, then tucked his flask back into his vest.

"Not very many people know about the Children.  How did they start?"

"Well," Sam leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach, stretching his legs out before him.  "Here's what I was told growing up.  The world was full of vice and no one knew what shame was any more.  'Machines took the place of morality,' the storytellers said. I don't know about that.  Supposedly parents were able to pick their children from a book, like stitching together a quilt.  Scraps of blonde hair stitched to blue eyes hemmed with a genius intellect and the beauty of angels. A giant bullet that could strike someone on a different continent. 

"Then the sickness came and wiped the sinners from the earth.  'A punishment from God,' the storytellers said.  If God's so hell-bent on punishment, why didn't he take away the machines instead of killing so many people?" Sam flashed me a cocky grin.  "Storytellers couldn't answer that one."

"So the Children thought the Great Plague was punishment from God?"  Sam was surprisingly lyrical for all his reluctance to speak.  I think I am not the only one who is curious to find out the real truth of the world today.

"As the funeral pyres burned, Kenneth Truthspeaker had a vision from God.  'Machines were the source of the sickness,' he said.  His word spread and people gathered from miles around to join the Children of Truthspeaker-" 

"But how did his message reach the survivors if not through the leftover technology he hated so much?"  I pointed out. 

Sam shrugged.  "Don't rightly now about that one.  But the Children came to him anyway.  We stay separate from the rest of the world.  Certain folks do certain jobs.  The Storyteller tells stories, the Elders kind of oversee everything, Traders are the go-between for the Children and the outside world.  They scavenge abandoned towns for goods they can trade for whatever the Children need."

"So how are these roles decided?  Why did you become a Trader and not a Storyteller?  You certainly have the knack for it."

Sam's ears turned a little bit red at my compliment.  How cute.  "Children don't let you take on a trade until you've had a kid.  There are still kids lost to the sickness, no matter how much the Children separate themselves from the evil machinery.  The only exception are Traders.  Traders can't have kids, ever.  They're contaminated by the machines and their flesh is weak."

"You're saying that the Great Plague still strikes Children, despite their self-imposed isolation?"  Sam nodded.  "How do they keep the family lines separate to prevent inbreeding?"

"The Children will welcome outsiders that want to be one of the clan.  That's what my parents did.  Got fed up with life outside and Dad worked with Traders before."

"What do you mean a Trader's flesh is weak?" 

At this a pained look crossed Sam's face.  He rose to his feet and shoved his hat on his head.  "I'm going to go make sure everything's ready to go tomorrow."  He ignored my apologies and strode out the door, letting it bang shut behind him.  Not the most successful interview.  Hopefully I will learn to do better in the future.

October 3rd, 2083: The Deal

 It begins like this:  I made a deal. 

My father only agreed to finance my journey if I returned and let him sell the fruits of my labor to the adventurous.  The first thing I bought with the money he gave me was an escort.

Sam Loomis is an average-sized man, with a face that is long and narrow like a fox.  He has dark brown hair and intense eyes.  His build is slight, but you cannot judge him by that fact alone.  The man can shoot the eye out of a squirrel at a hundred paces.  He is the Children's best scavenger. 

Sam comes to me at a bargain price for all his gifts.  I almost wonder why the Children let me have him for so little.  But I don't like to look a gift horse in the mouth.  He buys a week's worth of supplies.  That will be enough to see us out of the Children's camp and into Miles City.  So long as I send regular updates to my father, I will have a blank check for my needs.

A strange phrase, blank check.  One of those phrases that comes from before the Great Plague.  It is my goal to uncover more about the events that led to the Great Plague and its aftermath.  I also want to find out more about the strange world we live in. 

For example, the Children of Truth.  How do they survive in the midst of the Cold Territory?  The other towns in the area shun the Children, they think them cursed.  Yet Sam seems normal enough, if tight-lipped.  Still, I think he will be an excellent escort.  He knows of a carriage driver who will take us to Miles City, and perhaps even as far as Once Dakota.  On the way I will record what I know so far of the Great Plague.  If Sam is willing, I will ask him to describe more of life as a Child of Truth.

So much information is out there to be had.  We are spread out into tiny communities doing our best to survive against a hostile world.  Hopefully this journal will work to spread knowledge and help us survive and even overcome the tragedy that has befallen us.