Chapter 2

Every night was the same. The same workers with the same attitudes. The same girls with the same ratty clothes and ill applied makeup. The same dusty, mangy mongrel dogs trying to scratch their way through the kitchen door to where all the tasty smells were coming from. The bread was the same, the soup was the same, the ale was the same. But it was the only place in town where people were allowed to gather in large numbers. Without building their own still it was the only place where the workers could get drunk.

The only things that changed really were the rare travelers that happened across the town. Some of them were returning from work visas. Some were homeless, wanderers, vagrants. They came through at their own risk and most of the time very few of them left with their hide intact. All of them were supposed to register with the Boss within 24 hours of arriving but very few of them lasted the night.

No one said anything...but any new women were immediately taken behind the building and used til there was nothing left. The children could sometimes be saved from the horrors of the worst of the workers. The men either challenged the pecking order or became the pecked.

Those workers that were registered in the town didn't have to pay or trade for meals, housing or booze. They all had tabs. They were registered parts of the government. They were to be provided for. They had to show their identification tags until Rachel or Sasha or one of the other girls could easily recognize them, to get what they wanted.

The strangers in town could trade. The trades could be mundane or extraordinary. During the day very few traders came in because they didn't make it past the loafers that lay about just outside of town. At night the loafers were in the restaurant drinking away what they did nothing to earn.

The first trader of the night came in very quietly. Rachel recognized him immediately. He had been living in the distant mountains for almost a full year. He managed to grow some green things, foraged others, and he had opted to trade with Cookie and Rachel instead of the boss.

The relationship they had developed was a good one, based on what little trust a person could have for another person without being related.

He called himself Nathaniel. He was young, Rachel's age, but the sun, and the wind, and hard living had made his hair gray, and his head to wrinkle. He rarely shaved, and his long beard reminded Rachel of the old traditions. Of Santa Claus at Christmas time. As she led Nathaniel back behind the counter with his bag of trades she realized that Christmas had passed by a month ago. She had completely forgotten it.

Just as Rachel came into the kitchen, Cookie headed out, an unspoken exchange of responsibilities. Cookie didn't get along with Nathaniel for reasons that Rachel never understood. After all, Nathaniel was generally the source of the good green things that Cookie loved to eat.

"The winds are up." Nathaniel said, putting his bag on the table. Rachel could see where the weight of the bag had created long sweat stains over his shoulder and down his back. The tan coat he always wore smelled horribly of unwashed skin and campfire smoke. Nathaniel's teeth were rotting worse too and she knew that he had to have run out of the brushing powder that she had sent with him. That or else he'd simply given up on brushing all together.

"Another sand storm is coming. Cookie says she can feel it in her bones."

"Could use some water up in those hills. Haven't got much green for you today."

Rachel felt some of her hopes falter a little. But she knew Nathaniel. He never came down unless he had something good to trade. Together they opened the thick canvas bag.

Inside there were bundles of dried herbs, roots, and berries still clinging to the branches that had birthed them. Enough to enrich the soup and bread that Rachel made especially for Cookie and Micah for a month or so.

Beneath these were several articles made from animal bone. Needles and knives, and buttons of various sizes. Rachel spotted a few that were thicker than they should have been and had only one hole. She plucked them from the stack, drawing in a breath to tell Nathaniel that she couldn't take them. Before she could the bearded man smiled. "Wheels...for young Micah."

"Oh how clever. He will love those Nathaniel."

"I wasn't down for Christmas, had nothing to give him. Took down a wild dog. Took me some time to make these." He never really met her eyes as he spoke. His speech pattern was simple and steady. The words of a man who rarely talked, and when he did it was most often to himself.

Rachel beamed, resisting the urge to hug him. Pestilence was hard enough to combat without welcoming it with open arms. She didn't want to speculate on what kind of bugs used his body for a hotel.

"They are perfect, thank you."

"I woulda liked to give 'em to him maself but...I know how you like him to stay up in the room when you've got a full house. Other than this here basket, I haven't got much else to trade. I'll take whatever you can give me. I don't want no charity. Just like always."

The basket he pulled out was small, in the shape of a box and decorated on the top with several semi-precious gems woven tightly in. It reminded Rachel of a jewelry box she had owned as a young girl.

"It's lovely. You've been finding more and more gems."

Nathaniel shook his head, a dirty finger with a ragged, tooth-worn nail resting on the lid, inches from the largest of stones. "Those are the last of what I could find. I gotta move my camp soon. Might be movin' it pretty far. North, probably."

Her stomach dropped. She knew what it meant. Fewer visits, a loss of the nourishing roots and berries that couldn't be found in the desert, a loss of a lot of the trade items that Rachel needed in order to keep Micah out of sight of the government, the boss, the people that meant to take his talents and twist them.

She swallowed and nodded her head, her fingers tightening around the box. It was valuable to someone who could afford pretty things. Someone like the boss. She would show the box to Cookie. They could decide how best to trade it later. She set the box down on the counter and quietly collected the herbs and berries and the stone wheels into it.

"We'll miss you greatly Nathaniel." She said before she held out her hands to him. Reluctantly, in the manner of a man who already had nothing, he released the strap that he hadn't let go of since he came in. Rachel took the bag and moved to the back, filling it with the things they could spare. Cans of powdered milk, meat and snails, something no one would eat but that came from the government in spades. Nathaniel never complained about receiving them so she always saved the cans for him.

She put in several loaves bread, most of them left over from the day before, a large box of matches and a bag of tobacco that she had been saving for months. It was as valuable as oil and gasoline, if not more so, and very few were able to get their hands on a bag. It had cost her a lot of time and careful trading to get it but for what Nathaniel provided, and for the friendship and loyalty that he had offered Micah and herself, it was worth it.

When she returned she smiled at Nathaniel, who had characteristically helped himself to a bowl of soup. She let him eat, leaving his bag beside him. Even before she could leave the kitchen he had unconsciously slipped his hand back through the strap of the bag.

"He gone?" Cookie asked quietly, turning briefly from the bar full of hungry men and women. Rachel shook her head, smiling softly.

"He's eating. But he says he's moving on. Further north. Perhaps you should make amends-"

Cookie scoffed and turned to walk down the bar and tap another keg. Rachel walked away from the counter, taking up her rag and moving to clear and wipe down the tables. As she worked she dodged exploratory hands, both male and female, ignored comments and ducked at least one thrown piece of crust.

Nothing was ever good enough of course. The soup was too thin, the ale tasted like dog spit and the bread was too hard and too tasteless. The insults bounced off of her like the bread did. There had been far worse things, far harsher climates that she'd weathered.

By the time she returned to the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes, Nathaniel had gone. He always ducked quietly out the back door when he was finished. It was safest for everyone that way but Rachel felt a pang of regret that she hadn't actually said good bye.

The mid-afternoon rush of workers filed out. Some to return home to what semblance of families they might have, others returning to the wells and mines. The worst of the worst, especially Rex and his crew would be in later. There was work to be done but Rachel was excited to show Micah the present Nathaniel had brought him. It would give him something to do for the rest of the evening and keep him from coming to the top of the stairs to listen too closely to the conversations below.

She was mere feet from the stairs, when a voice behind her caused her to pause. With the restaurant quiet it was hard to miss. A man had entered. Someone she had never before seen. He looked to be her age, but like Nathaniel he had some gray appearing at his temples. He wore traveling clothes and was covered in the dust of the road. The black jacket and hat looked almost tan. His face was covered in unkempt beard and framed with long, wavy brown hair.

She would have dismissed him immediately if it hadn't been for his eyes. Clear blue, crystalline eyes.

"Do you own the place?" He asked her, craning his neck to one side to scan the few occupied tables, then looking the other way, toward the door that led to the kitchen.

Rachel automatically followed his gaze. "No." She said, carefully hiding the box behind the curve of a hip. "But I work here. If you'll give me a moment...I..." She gestured vaguely up the stairs, waiting until the stranger nodded before she took the steps two at a time.

There was something about his face. Something about the way his hair hung near his cheekbones. And his eyes. It was as if she had met him before, and yet she was certain that she didn't know him. Halfway up the stairs she realized that Cookie was in the back of the kitchen, likely occupied with another batch of bread. She wouldn't be able to hear if the stranger decided to take advantage and steal something from behind the bar.

Rachel wouldn't have immediately labeled him as a killer or a thief but she had no real way of knowing his intentions. It wasn't safe to leave him alone in the restaurant longer than a minute or so. At the top of the steps she paused in consideration then tucked the box up against the base of the banister and went back down the stairs.

She could show Micah later.

"Have you tags?" She asked as she crossed the floor to the bar. The stranger had already seated himself on the stool and set a bag on the counter top. It had to have been one that he carried on his back because she hadn't seen it before.

"Tags?" He asked, and his eyes flickered toward the door that led to the outside.

Rachel gave a humorless smile without parting her lips and said, "Then if you'd like a meal or a room you'll have to trade. I can tell you our prices are stiff. There isn't much to be had in the desert."

"I've noticed that." The man said and pulled the bag off the counter and into his lap. Rachel heard the sound of a zipper being pulled back. She didn't like that she couldn't see into the bag anymore and she took a step or two away from the counter, watching for his hands.

When both came up forming fists she arched a brow in confusion then stepped forward again. Several objects made plunking sounds on the counter. He pulled his hands away and she blinked in surprise.

"These can't possibly work!" She said, picking up one of the two inch cylinders and turning it in her hands.

"They do...but only when combined with this." The stranger said, pulling another object out of the bag. It was made of metal, about four inches long, and four inches high. It felt heavy when she lifted it and underneath she could see a spot for the batteries that he had produced first.

She fit two of them into the slot and set the object down on its wheels. It didn't move at first and she looked back to the traveller. Pulling his hand free of the gloves he had been wearing, the man reached out a single finger, poked at a small button on the top of the cab and set the small train engine into motion.

It took off slowly, chugging away down the counter top.

"Send it back down this way." He said and Rachel picked up the toy, feeling it pulse in her hands. As it returned to him the stranger put out a hand to halt its course, and quickly attached three cars of similar design behind the engine, then let them go.

"Where did you find these?" Rachel asked, her mind working through the possibilities.  He didn't look government but there were always rumors about spies sent out to test the workers. To make sure that all trades were going to the bosses.

He paused, looking after the toy. "I made them," he said turning the train with the practiced ease of someone who had handled it many times before. He let the toy run a few more moments before he stopped the engine and removed the batteries.

Micah would love them, Rachel thought. He would be excited for days. There would be hours of taking apart and rebuilding. Hours of learning. And this man had created them? She was getting ahead of herself she knew, but could he be another Nathaniel? Could she persuade him to stay there in the town? She didn't think he was lying. No one lied about having the ability to create things. It made him valuable, and it would be dangerous for him to misrepresent such an ability. Did she dare trust him with her knowledge of Micah?

"What...what is it you want exactly?" She asked finally, her eyes latching onto his, wanting to see how his irises reacted when he answered. She only caught a glimpse however because the stranger had looked down to his bag again. He was pulling out something else and Rachel instinctively backed away.

He must have caught the movement because he paused as well and glanced around the room again before setting something hard and flat down on the counter. When Rachel stepped closer she could see that it was an old metal picture frame, turned upside down. The metal around the outside had been reshaped and the black cardboard backing faced upright. When she turned it over she found another backing where the glass should have been. She looked askance at the stranger who grinned awkwardly and slid one of the cardboard pieces free.

"Glass never lasts long on the back of the...well...in the desert, you know." He said then tilted the frame up for her to see, his grin disappearing. An old photo, taken before the end. Just before the end according to the date in the corner. The subject was an infant, a boy judging by the clothing.

She met the stranger's eyes then looked back to the picture.

"I'm looking for this boy." He said. "It might be my son, or my nephew maybe...I don't really know...but if he's you know..." The stranger brushed at his face hastily. He might have been scratching his face or wiping a tear, but the air between them thickened when he did. "If he's alive I think he's mine."

Rachel looked from the face in the photo to the stranger and back again. "He looks like you." She said, feeling something horrible starting in the pit of her stomach. The stranger smirked awkwardly again and nodded.

"Yeah I get that a lot."

The boy also looked an awful lot like someone she knew. The photo was faded and cracked. She could see why the stranger had chosen to hide it in the frame. She couldn't know for sure but the longer she stared at the photo the more she felt her heart clench.

"If I don't know him...I mean if you can't find him here...I can't really take this." She said, pushing the toy back towards him. She wanted him to take it back. She wanted him to take his photo and move on and look somewhere else. So she could forget the sinking feeling, the feeling she had been dreading all of Micah's life.

She could see the traveler's eyes dull immediately. He was already giving up on his quest and she got the feeling that he had been searching for a very long time.

"I saw that you have rooms to rent upstairs. I could use a place to sleep for the night, some food."

Rachel folded her hands together, pressed them lightly against the place where her stomach was threatening to rebel. She wanted to tell him that there were no rooms available. She would feed him and get him out as soon as possible, but she couldn't risk him going up stairs. Couldn't risk him seeing...no. That picture wasn't of anyone she knew. It was too much of a coincidence. Too far fetched.

"We don't have any rooms." She said, her voice freezing and her pitch dropping. "I have some soup in the back, some ale, but the bread is cold."

"I'll take just about anything." He said and opened his mouth to say more, but Rachel wouldn't let him.

"You can have the food just this once. You can keep your toy and your batteries." She told him then turned and dissappeared through the kitchen door. Once she passed through that threshold she planned to gather food for the stranger as quickly as possible, let him eat and rush him on his way. Her body rebeled before she could and she was soon bent over the bucket she had used for mop water hours before, wretching.

Cookie rushed over to her, then moved away and Rachel could hear water running. Moments later there was a cold wet cloth pressed against the back of her neck, while Cookie pulled her hair away from her face.

"Was it the ale again? Have we got a bad batch.  I knew I couldn't trust that Nathaniel. He's poisoned the soup hasn't he?"

Rachel trembeled, her stomach muscles still clenching while she tried to take deep breaths. Her throat felt raw, her eyes stung with tears. She was able to shake her head before she leaned back against Cookie's strong arms, gulping air.

"It wasn't one of the workers was it? I saw that traveler out there. Didn't recognize him though."

"I don't know him." Rachel said softly, her voice congested and raw. She pulled the rag away from her neck and wiped her face with it, then accepted Cookie's help to stand. "He needs soup and bread and to be on his way."

Cookie guided her to the stool the older woman had been seated on before and walked only a few feet away to pull down a glass bottle from behind several sacks of flour. She poured a small measure of the amber liquid into a wooden cup and set it on the counter.

"You take slow slips of that then. I'll take care of this one."

Cookie's hand rested briefly on Rachel's shoulder, warm and strong, before it slid away, leaving a gap that seemed to expand and swallow the entire kitchen in seconds. There were no more sounds or smells, only a terrible black hole that threatened to take away any hope left in the world.

Rachel had long ago forced herself to forget the truth. Forget anything that didn't help to keep her sanity and her family together. There were too many other things to remember. How to survive, how to stay tough, how to hide a small genius and still allow him to grow and breathe and be as close to a normal boy as he could be. His name was Micah, he had to know that. He was only seven, he had to know that too. He was loved...that was the most important part.

What hadn't been important at all was how exactly he had come into Rachel's life. He had been so small and young when she first held him in her arms. It didn't matter that he wasn't of her womb. He needed a mother...she desperately needed a son. Needed him.

Seven years ago, mere months after the chaos had began, no one cared to dispute her claim of motherhood. An infant was extra baggage, an extra mouth to feed that no one else wanted. He had already been discarded once.

Rachel had been so wrapped up in finding this new life that it had taken away the pain of the loss of...

A sudden gust of wind beyond the walls of the kitchen pressed grains of sand against brick. The sound, so often reminding her of the rain storms of her past, brought her back from the brink and her hand closed around the hand carved cup. The centimeter of liquor inside was from before the end, a bottle that Cookie saved for special occasions only. No one but Rachel and Cookie even knew about it. Sometimes it was all that got them through the day, just knowing that a part of the past still existed.

Rachel sniffed at it and knew she couldn't keep it down. She would let Cookie drink it later, but the rough hewn nature of the cup was grounding her.

She had clung to Micah for so long. Fighting to keep him alive when he was little, fighting to feed and cloth a rapidly growing boy with little more than rags on her own back. Fighting to keep him hidden from a developing ruling power that wanted every asset at its beck and call, promised a bright future but only returned more nightmares.

But this traveler. She couldn't trust him, it would be foolish to assume so. He hadn't been to the town before, and he had managed to enter it without injury to his person. Maybe he was a survivor, maybe he was a spy. Maybe...

She couldn't deny what she had seen in his eyes and in the photo. The boy in the picture and the boy that she had taken as her own, they were one and the same. And Micah looked an awful lot like the stranger.