East Highland Hills: Town

Yollie's journey back to East Highland Hills proper was short though hot, hot enough to make the rabbits and ground squirrels hide in their burrows.  Not a single breeze riffled the tall grass and the heat haze on the oilfields made them shimmer like a mirage.  The sounds of the Travel Stop faded behind her, and by the time she reached the ruins of the old town by the canal a trio of hawks circling lazily in the sky were her only companions.

A pair of old men waved to Yollie from the shade of their lookout post atop East Highland's earthen rampart overlooking the canal when they saw her draw near.  It was a short walk through the fragrant orchards before she passed through the rampart's big gate.  She found her way through the rough but sturdy cabins until she reached home.

Yollie walks at an almost carefree pace now that the life and death adventure was behind her. She held her bow in her hands with the Remington slung across her back as its weight was distributed much more evenly there.

The sun beat down on her well-tanned skin. A "child of the sun," as her grandpa used to call her, she truly lived up to that name. Platinum blonde hair cut straight across her forehead, yet which hung down to her shoulders on the sides and back lay almost motionless. The dark red band tattooed across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose when she was still young helped keep the sun out of her eyes and she hummed lightly as she walked.

The gates were manned twenty-four seven, with men and women walking the walls at intervals inbetween. Everyone took a rotation on the gate between their regular work schedules. East Highland Hills had been hit hard several times in the years after the War and they had paid dearly for laxity during those times. However, they were a hardy people, destined to deny history from repeating itself could they help it.

And while it may have been considered "boring" to some of the younger men and women who took their turns on it, manning the wall and the gates was easy work in all reality. Even some of the elderly, long past their farming days took to the watch as a full-time occupation. Perhaps no good in a stand up fight, the elderly who made the gates their own personal crusade were some of the best shots in the township.

Yollie waved to one such soul as she passed through. Old Mr. Garcia sat in a well-used lawn chair on the perch of a two story "guard tower." In actuality it was little more than a higher portion of wall with a shade to keep the sun at bay, but it served its purpose.

"Afternoon, Yollie." He said with a wave and a smile that was missing more than one tooth. He finished rolling a cigarette and popped it into his mouth.

"Hey, Mr. Garcia. Any action?"

"Saw a hawk take a snake. Could be a bad omen. Could be a good omen."

"That's the thing about omens - they can be bad or good depending on your mood." She gave a big grin, lest old Mr. Garcia think she was teasing him... which of course she was.

"Si mon, that's a bit true." He took out a match and lit up his cigarette. Yollie breathed in the residual smoke as it wafted down toward her, immediately a concerned frown coming over his features.

"You sure you should be communing with the spirits while sitting watch in the tower?"

Mr. Garcia waved her off and gave up a chuckle. "I'll be seeing the spirits soon enough. I need to talk with them as much as I can and get to know them before I get there. 'sides, whether in the spirit realm or here, I am still the best shot this side of the fence - and probably the other side as well."

That was no lie. Yollie had seen old Mr. Garcia pop a snake with a .22 mag from a hundred yards. She didn't even know how he had seen it much less put the hollow point in its head.

With a wave he was back to his cigarette and Yollie made her way home.

Home was as it always was, the dusty brown adobe resting on a foundation of bricks that Yollie's father salvaged from the ruins of Lost Hills in that time of blood and fire that he and her mother never talked about.  The chickens and rabbits rested quietly in the shade of their hutches.  Yollie's mother was taking the laundry off a rope of knotted leather.  She startled when Yollie came into the yard, then dropped the wicker basket of laundry.

"Yollie!"

She ran to her daughter and hugged her.

"What happened?  Why did you need your father's gun?"

Yollie smiled as her mom came out from under the timber porch awning that her father had built when she was still just a girl. After the time of steel and fire, there had been tons - literal tons - of scrap left in heaps and piles. Those who remained alive after the raids with the skills to build were immediately put to work reconstructing the town. They were paid in food and water and free reign at whatever scrap they wanted to reconstruct their own homes.

Needless to say, among the adobe and bricks, Yollie's father - a burly man named Grant that everyone simply referred to as "Biggun" - had found a way to put as much woodwork into the house as possible. From the animal pens to the porch to the furniture inside, he had made the Guevara domecile as homely as he could under the circumstances.

"It's OK, momma. Everything is OK. There was this guy who came into the T-Stop in a panic. I was pettin' Dog and overheard him say his wife was in trouble and needed help. So, naturally I-"

"You decide to throw away everything we taught you about safety and cautiousness to run out onto the Slow Ride for some story that may not even have been true? Girl have you lost your damn mind?"

"No, momma. Wasn't like that. He said his wife got hit by bandits and was stoved up in his car. I couldn't just-"

"You couldn't just what? What if there'd been no wife, Yollie? What if he was playin' you to get you and whoever else was foolhardy enough to go out there in a pickle just like he was sayin' he had got in? Huh? What if-"

"Well he wasn't, momma!" Yollie said louder than she intended. The words came out of her in an uncharacteristic show of frustration. It didn't phase her mother at all. In fact, she looked calmer now that her daughter and talked back to her in such a manner... which could only mean a backhand was being primed.

"Look, momma, I'm sorry, OK? I wasn't bein' stupid. That's why I got Remmy here," She said tapping the 12-guarge Remington on her back.

"And the man wasn't lying. We saved his wife... for the time being at least. You're always tellin' me about all the bad in the world, momma. That's why I had to go. I had to make some good in the world..."

Yollie looked as though she might be on the verge of tears, and if there was any anger left in her momma, it flew out of her sails as quickly as Yollie's bottom lip began to pout.

"Come here, baby." Her mother Maria said while pulling her into a hug for a moment before looking into her eyes. "I know you did good. You always do good. You got the best heart out of anyone I have seen and that's a fact. You just gotta stay aware of the bad that is out there. You gotta be smart, Yollie-girl. Who did you go with?"

"Lucas and the weird guy he runs with. Crow was there to patch the woman up. I helped him... umandchristmas." She knew that last name would draw a strong look from her mother and perhaps even a scolding.

Maria's eyes got wide and then she spoke very evenly. "Well, then I will make a bowl of stew for everyone who helped look out for you. And Yollie-girl, I don't want you hangin' around Christmas. She is bad news as there ever was."

With that, Maria released her daughter and walked inside, muttering about needing help with dinner. Yollie stayed outside for a moment, thinking on everything that had transpired. She knew why her mother didn't want her spending time with Christmas. Christmas was from the Road and with that came a reputation. And yeah, maybe she wasn't the most clean cut girl this side of the Slow Ride, but who was? Yollie knew there was more to her than her gruff exterior. Christmas was... her friend?

Yollie sighed and walked inside into the bear hug embrace of her father... which inevitably led to hear having to repeat the same story she had just told her mother.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 06:35, Mon 01 Aug 2016.

The afternoon passed peacefully for Yollie.  The noise and dust of Alpha Company's occupation of the Travellers' Lot died down to a dull roar in the distance across the bridge, and the birdsongs and insects' buzzing reasserted themselves.  There was a reassuring sameness in East Highland Hills; the Travel Stop held a hint of danger but the town proper and its fields and orchards inspired a sense of tranquility along with the scent of lemons and oranges.  A plump ripe orange dangled from the highest branch on a thick old tree that was tall when Yollie was young.  The rustle of footsteps in the soil sounded behind Yollie; it was her father and Old Man Garcia.

Yollie listened as the insects and birds spoke to her from all around. Their entire existence but the blink of an eye compared to hers were all things to work out as the All-Mother wished. But rarely was that the case.

But Yollie never concerned herself with such mature thoughts. To the young, impulsive ranger from East Highland Hills life consisted of nothing but adventure. One after the other. Whether it be the boring adventures about town, the peaceful ones in the hills and valleys around her, or the more exciting ones like she and Christmas had been on, there was always something. To her, she would always come out unscathed and ready for more.

She climbed the orange tree in three movements. Hands and feet found branches long since explored and the orange was in her hand before she landed on the ground with a soft thud.

She crouched low under the shade the tree provided. Her white-blonde hair pulled back into a bun that then hung down. Cut high above her forehead, it never got in the way of her eyes which was good when it came to archery and keeping a look out. She had peeled the first of the orange when a twig snapped behind her.

A few sniffs of the air told her who was behind her.

Her papa had that distinctive smell she had known since she was a baby. It was a mixture of clean and dirty. Relaxation and hard work. Familiarity and protection.

And then there was the smell of the spirit-world. Mr. Garcia and had been comuning again.

"If you were a bucks, I would have shot you two hundred yards ago and we would be feasting tonight." She turned around and gave a playful grin. Her grandpa had been fond of saying that. She missed grandpa.

Old Man Garcia smiled, but Yollie's father barely grimaced.  His face was devoid of its usual expressions. No frown turned his lips downward and no furrow creased his brow.  Her father's face looked as though it were carved from a block of walnut.  Finally Old Man Garcia broke the silence.

"You're a child of this world, Yollie Guevara.  I expect nothing less.  So does the world."

The Old Man motioned toward a tree stump and began to sit down, slowly and stiffly.  Yollie's father waited by his side, ready to assist him.  Old Man Garcia had always moved with a deliberate patience for all the years Yollie had known him, but now it was obvious that his walking stick was truly a cane.

When he finished seating himself, he drew out a ripe orange from his pocket and cut it into slices.  He ate one slice and savored it, looking around at the semi-wild orchard.

"Do you know what's under the soil, Yollie?" His voice was soft and quiet, in harmony with the breeze.  "Pipes.  Plastic pipes.  They bring water to the trees.  So they can live.  The Old Men buried them under the trees, before you were born.  Your father and I, we just cleaned them out and connected them to the water tanks."

He nodded approvingly at the orchard and ate another slice of his orange.

"The Old Men left a lot of things buried.  Most times they're buried in the soil.  Sometimes they're buried in other places.  They're harder to find then, but men are the same now as they were ever, and all things come to the surface in time.  Sometimes, they still have a power in them."

Yollie's father shuffled his feet and turned over a dirt clod with the toe of his buckskin boot.  His hands rested on his belt, just in front of his knife and his pistol.  He frowned a long deep frown, one Yollie almost never saw.

Old Man Garcia continued unperturbed.

"It's about time, Yollie. Buried things might be coming to the surface.  You don't have the years to see, but I do.  Man never changes."

He rested his hands on his walking stick and looked up at Yollie from underneath the brim of his straw hat.

"What know you about the soldiers, Yollie?  What do you know about Aplha Company?"

Yollie caught the look on her dad's face and it made her uneasy. He was always loving, and she had only seen him angry a handful of times, but this was something different.

When Old Man Garcia started speaking about the piped beneath the ground she refocused on him. He was speaking in riddles, but she knew that every riddle was built on truth. Sadly, she didn't really know what that could possibly be.

"The soldiers? Yollie repeated rhetorically. "Well, they're from Bakersfield. But people say they don't get along with whoever runs Bakersfield. Something about that if they could take power, they would. But that's just what I heard."

She took a seat opposite the two, staring at her father more than Old Man Garcia, trying to discern what could be bothering him so much.

"It's no secret that they have made the area safer. Less raiding and all that. There seems to be two groups also - the young ones and the old ones. The young ones are like me, born after the fires took civilization. The old are like y-" She paused, slightly embarrassed.

"Well, they were around before the fires. The older ones, the sergeants, keep the younger ones in line. I also know that the ones who been comin' in lately are a lot meaner than the ones who've been here for a while at Fractionation Station 4."

That was about all she knew. She waited for a minute, looking between the two men, then asked the obvious.

"Why?

Yollie's father gritted his teeth and looked out across the orchard.  Old Man Garcia remained as calm as ever.  He finished his orange and let the rind fall to the ground. His eyes went in a sideways glance to Yollie's father.

"New ones, Yollie.  New ones.  No more raids, no more gangs, but plenty of new ones.  Why Yollie?"  "¿Por qué hay tantos soldados nuevos?", he muttered to himself.

The Old Man shrugged and focused his attention on Yollie with a subtle intensity.

"Men still walk outside our fields and trees.  There is life out there beyond what we know.  Maybe old, but maybe new.  Your father and I, and the elders, we have to find a way for our town, and so we must know.  We must know why so many soldiers, why so many tanks and guns."

Yollie's father suddenly turned.

"Enough of this bullshit.  It had to happen sooner or later."

He took Yollie gently by the shoulders.

"Yollie... your mother and I, we prayed this day would never come, but in this world... damn near nothing comes easy."

He took a deep breath.

"Your brother, he got sick and died when he was just a baby.  The next time your mother miscarried when we were on the run.  All we have is you."

He looked out at the orchards for a moment, his face twisted with grief, before locking eyes with Yollie.

"You need to go out there, Yollie.  Your mother and I, we don't want you to go, but we all have to fight in this world.  You know the land, the animals... go out with Alpha Company.  Find out what's got them all riled up.  Find out what's out there, if there's people out there.  Find out if there's good soil, where things grow.  Find out if the water is clean, if people can live.  And don't tell anyone what you're about.  They're human snakes, rattlers on two legs.  If they don't like what you're up to, they'll kill you before you even know they're there."

Suddenly her father held her close.

"You're a woman now.  Be strong, be smart.  Come back."

"I... what? You want me to just go with Alpha company? How? When? Where?"

She couldn't process what was being said to her. It was like she heard it all, but it had all been jumbled and poorly spoken. They were both obviously scared. Not overtly or alarmingly, but in their own ways they were scared. That made Yollie scared.

"Who is going to let me go out with Alpha company? I'm not one of them. And, and, and why would people want to hurt me just because I was scouting the land and checking the water and the soil? I don't understand."

She looked to her father for answers. Even if she got none, she followed up with: "And what about mama? What do I tell her?"

Yollie's father slowly parted their embrace.  His eyes bored into Yollie's.

"Your mother knows.  She doesn't like it anymore than I do.  But she knows it has to be done.  Someone has to go."

His fingers tightened on Yollie's arms.

"You're the only one who has a decent chance of coming back.  If you don't go, one of the other kids will... and they probably won't make it.  Now you listen to me.  Keep your knife sharp and if anyone tries to put their hands on you, you use it.  You don't need to know why.  If you don't know, no one can beat it out of you.  It's just... good land is food, Yollie, and water is life.  Food and water, that's power.  Men will kill for power.  They've always killed for it.  If there's a storm coming, we have to know."

Finally her father loosened his grip and his hands fell to his sides.

"If anyone asks, just tell them you're a scout and that you can tell if the animals are natural or not.  They don't need to know anything else.  Nothing else."

Old Man Garcia broke his silence.

"It's time to go."

He nodded toward the distant buildings of the Travel Stop.

"Your father and I, we'll walk with you to the bridge, then you go on alone.  I know you want to say goodbye, but all anyone needs to know is that you went hunting and you haven't come back.  When you get to the Travel Stop, you go to the old Days Inn, the hotel where the soldiers stay.  Just go up there, bold as a hawk, and tell you want to talk to Sergeant Douglas.  Bold as a hawk, Yollie, bold as a hawk.  When you see Sergeant Douglas, you tell him you're the scout that I'm sending him."

He rested a gentle hand on Yollie's shoulder.

"Do you understand?"

Yollie stood dumbfounded as the information rolled in. Land is food. Water is life. Food and Water is power. Her immediate reaction was to cry. It wasn't becasue she was weak, or not even because of how scared she was.

It was because of how scared her father and Old Man Garcia seemed to be. But she knew that to crying now wouldn't help anything, so she used all of her mental fortitude to keep her wits about her. She couldn't think of mama. She couldn't think of her friends. She only had to think about making it to the bridge and from the bridge to the Travel Stop.

One step at a time. One step.

She had so many questions but nothing came to her, so she simply nodded and muttered that she understood. Before she knew it, they were standing on the bridge.

"I will do like you said." She realized that she was squeezing her father's hand and had to make an effort to let it go.

She crossed over and looked back at her papa and Mr. Garcia. They looked as though the fate of the world was resting on her shoulders, though she still didn't really understand why.

Water. Food. Power.

She smiled and turned quickly, hiding the tears on her cheeks.

++++++++

She found the Travel Stop easily enough. She had taken the long way in order to have enough time to bawl her eyes out and calm herself down. Once she had gotten a grip on herself, she made a bee-line to the hotel.

Bold as a hawk, Yollie. "I need to see the Sergeant. Er, Davis. Yeah. Sergeant Davis." She stood as tall as she could, chin up and eyes sharp.