Market Theocracy

4. The Quiet Place


Peace surprises.

Before the sun set on that same day, Faith would find use for her gun, and — as a result — change her name.

It was, in her opinion, the hottest day since she’d begun her journey. A few hours after the confrontation with the boneman, she had stumbled across the trickle of a creek merging with the ditch.

Relieved, she had dug a shallow little pond with just enough drainage to allow it to clear. After drinking her fill, and refreshing her canteen, she had cleaned herself as well as she was able — even washing her hair. The lack of soap was unfortunate, but she couldn’t deny the improvement in mood her quick bath brought.

Refreshed and in better spirits, she and the cat (who had drank upstream as she bathed) had set off again, grateful that the dropping sun heralded a cool breeze.

A few miles up the road, just as the sun was touching the horizon, trouble found them.

It was the same dilapidated Cadillac that had passed them two days before. It came at them from the opposite direction, first dashing Faith’s hopes, then filling her with uneasiness. Rather than pass them by at a crawl, it stopped.

Two men and a woman emerged. All were skinny to the point of emaciation, all were filthy, and all were armed. The woman had an axe. The two men toted baseball bats.

"Get inna damn car." the lead and largest of the men, said.

"Get inna car or we’ll break ya damn legs and drag ya in!" screeched the woman. The smaller man just laughed, keeping a wary eye on the cat, who once again hissed and stood his ground — placing himself in front of Faith in a show of courage and loyalty.

Faith’s reaction surprised her. Instead of freezing or stiffening up, she felt suddenly loose and easy. The center of her mind now seemed to be riding on her hip. The weight of the gun became the most important facet of existence, the absolute zero point of the universe.

The Cadillac crew moved toward her, but in lazy slow motion. Even the woman’s threat emerged as a slow and dragging mumble.

They were a foot closer to her when she marked them as range points. They had ceased being people in her calm new state, they were nothing but vectors of mass and motion. She could see the x marks on each, denoting her best targets of opportunity.

She found herself in a warm and quiet place. A peaceful bubble between decision and action, where she could take her time and do things right.

At last.

The smile that flicked across her face was noticed by none but the woman. But the sight chilled her so suddenly and completely that she tried to halt in mid-step.

Too late.

Faith’s hand dropped, drawing the gun and leveling it with such speed that the motion was a blur.

Faith’s last thought before hell broke loose, aimed by her, was:

I wonder if it’s even loaded?

Finger squeezed. Pressure acted. Hammer fell.

The gun roared. The larger man’s head exploded, a flower of gore blooming on his shoulders in the dimming sunlight.

Arm shifted. Eyes tracked.

Another roar, and the woman toppled, her heart blasted into shreds and soup. From her mouth spewed dead air and bile.

Fractional shift, a step backward to reclaim balance.

Third roar, and the smaller man’s neck ceased connecting head to body. He died with the same idiots laugh on his tongue, decapitated by the tooth of a shark moving at the speed of sound.

All three bodies hit the road within the same microsecond.

Faith dropped her arm, the gun finding its holster with new-born instinct, just as it had taken her to the quiet place and guided her hand and eye.

Of course it’s loaded. her mind answered. The sentinel was a responsible sort.

The cat turned and looked at her. The gunfire had not scared him. The look on his face could be read as approval.

Faith smiled at him. "You got balls, cat."

The cat yawned. Good shootin’, lady.

After a moments consideration, Faith dragged the bodies from the road and stretched them on the hardpack. The idea of burying them was ridiculous. Let the animals of the land have them, since they had chosen to be animals of their own will.

The car presented another problem. A search of it turned up nothing of value, and it stank horribly. The idea of driving it made her nauseous.

Still — the fact that the crew had went west and returned was evidence that a town existed somewhere past the horizon. That she was nearing whatever might be considered civilization in this place.

The car could be a worthwhile trade good.

So, before setting off, Faith recovered enough blood from her attackers to scrawl a message on the windshield:

She took the keys from the ignition and locked the car. She chuckled at her cold message in dripping blood.

Night found her before she found the town. Faith and Cat camped and enjoyed a dinner of rabbit. When full dark came on, she noticed the glow on the horizon.

Tomorrow, she was sure.

And so it was.

Faith arrived in Summertime City in midmorning, as the town was starting to stir.

The place was odd. Wood shacks and long cinder block bunkhouses mixed self-consciously with jury-rig repaired office buildings. Every building seemed to have its own generator. Solar cells decorated the roofs of many. Along the less than impressive river, water wheels had been constructed.

There were cars, but they mingled with horses and mules pulling wagons and dredges. She even stood and, amused, watched a steam vehicle motor by, it’s fat driver decked out in ragged top-hat and a monocle.

The pedestrians she passed minded their own business, despite the fact that there was a palpable curiosity directed at her. Most of it centered on the gun. The rest on the cat, who strode through the town with the air of a king on parade.

Faith was the opposite, studying the townies openly. Their clothing and manners were as mixed as the rest of Summertime City. Homespun and crochet mingled with Levi’s and Ralph Lauren. Hand sewn moccasin material mended ancient Converse sneakers. She saw men bow to women and women flipping the bird to people who laughed when they passed.

The children smiled and stared at her. They seemed to have the run of the town, traffic dutifully stopping for them as they played and ran along the streets on secret errands. The cat even paused and allowed a few to pet him briefly.

A half mile down the main street, Faith came to what she was looking for: a well constructed wood building with a nice tin roof and a hand painted sign:


Inside the store was bright and cool, the air circulated by a row of ceiling fans. The space was used to maximum effect, shelves stocked with goods of every imaginable type.

Along the back wall, behind a tidy oak counter, stood a tall thin man with a shining bald head and a high wattage smile.

"Morning, ma’am!" he said as she stepped up. "Always good to see new faces walk through that door. I’m Thomas Fowler, proprietor!" He thrust out his hand for a shake. Faith complied.

She dropped the keys on the counter. "Would the car attached to these be something you’re interested in?"

When Fowler brought his eyes up from the keys, his smile had faded somewhat. He glanced at the gun before meeting her eyes again.

"I know the car." he said. "Hell…I made this set of keys."

"Friends of yours?" Faith asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fowler snorted. "Hell, no!" He appraised her carefully. "They don’t have friends around here."

"They’re dead." Faith informed him. "They picked the wrong person to be unfriendly to."

Fowler just nodded. "Bound to happen, sooner or later." He scratched his chin. "You got the Caddy with you?"

Faith shook her head. "It’ll have to be picked up. What could you offer?"

"It’s worth 500 for parts. I’d go 600 as a friendly measure…seeing as you did the town a favor." His high watt smile was back in place.

Faith asked for quotes on a few items, to give her an idea of the economy. Finally, she nodded. "A deal."

Money and keys changed hands, the deal sealed with a nod and a shake. She examined the currency. It was coins rather than paper, but the noble looking dog was the same.

Faith inquired about a room to rent.

"Mizz Castleberry up the street runs a clean place and sets the best table in town." He glanced at the cat, who had curled up in the sun by the door as Faith dickered. "And she likes cats." He hesitated, then said: "That gun…I assume you can use it?"

Faith smiled. "I manage. Why?"

"Sheriff is looking for some steady hands and eyes for some tricky work. Pay is good, and he’s a dependable fella."

Faith shrugged. "Something to think on, I guess." she admitted. "If I decide to stay a while."

Fowler laughed. "Won’t find a better place for a long stretch. Summertime City is a good town. A quiet place, and the people are decent."

"Seems that way." Faith patted the pocket with the coins. "I’ll be back later for supplies, once I settle in and see what I need." She turned to go.

"Open till dark!" Fowler called after her. As she pulled the door open, he asked something else.

"Ma’am! I didn’t catch your name."

Faith paused. She turned slowly. The words that came surprised her. The most surprising thing about them was the truth she felt in them.

"Hope." she told him, knowing her faith had paid off and left a finer thing in its healing, quiet place.

"My name is Hope."

And, with a final smile, she was gone.