there, we’d see it from a mountain top.
If we found it we’d mark it on our map, get cleaned up, make our way there and beg for them to let us in. No wait, not beg, impress them enough to let us in.
It was our second day in Miles City when Bentley and I had our typical Utopia pipe dream conversation while sitting on a rooftop of a three story building. Roof tops always gave us the best protection for incoming attacks. They were also a safe place to fire from.
It was there we hung out and talked.
We were afraid, you know, that we weren’t good enough. That we had nothing to offer. After all, it was Utopia. What could we give them that they didn’t already have? They wouldn’t be Utopia if they needed anything.
“Dan, they don’t have a barber. I’m telling you,” Bentley said.
“They have to have a barber, Bent. It’s Utopia.”
“Then they don’t have a stylist.”
I snickered.
“Seriously, Dan, if they do, he or she isn’t as good as me. I’ve created some good styles back at Gray.”
I nodded with a condescending look.
“And my colors.” Bentley winked. “Are second to none.”
“You know what? You kick ass on inventing hair care stuff. You really do. In the old world, shit! You’d have been rich if you and I had hooked up.”
“In the old world, I wouldn’t have been inventing colors.”
“True.”
“I bet they haven't even thought about dying hair.”
“Bent, it’s Utopia. Of course they did. They may not even know of the plague.”
“They know of the plague. They grab survivors.”
“OK, you've got a point.”
“You know what it is? You can feel how close Utopia is.”
I nodded. “You’re right and I’m getting excited.”
At that moment, in the middle of our roof top talk, my tracker went off.
I looked down. Four black dots. They were moving fast, as if in a vehicle.
That wasn’t right, the soldiers never moved fast.
Four dots. They never traveled in packs of four, so there had to be more.
I peered over the roof.
I expected to see more, I didn’t expect to see only four men.
There were soldiers. Wearing camouflage. They were in a jeep and they stopped. A couple of them were laughing.
“Over there,” the one said with a point. “Just get what you can. Ben can make adjustments.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Bentley reach for his weapon. I held out my hand and stopped him.
“What are you doing?” Bentley asked.
“They aren’t the same,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“One, they’re laughing. Two, there is no CS patch. Three, they are wearing the American flag. Four … they’re going in a tux shop.”
“What’s Beginnings?” Bentley asked.
“What?”
“Beginnings. Instead of US Army, the plate says. Beginnings. Look.” He handed me the binoculars.”
“Bent,” I gasped out. “They’re from Utopia.”
“No.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I’m telling you. Look at them, crisp, going in a tux shop. Happy. They’re …”
I was silenced by the vibration of my tracker. I looked down. Six red dots.”
“See.” Bentley said. “I knew …”
“No. They aren’t with the putes.”
Putes was the name I had given the soldiers with the computer chip.
“How do you know?”
“The putes are aiming at them.”
The four men from the jeep, the ones with a Beginnings plates, weren’t even aware they were targets.
I watched as the putes raised their weapons.
“Shit,” I said. “Bent, get ready.”
He was.
Before the putes could fire off a shot, Bentley and I took them out.
The Jeep guys immediately raised their weapons.
I saw the look on the one’s face. I’d venture to guess he was leading the four man group. He saw the dead Pute. “Thanks,” he said to another one of his men.
“For what?” His man asked.
“For taking him out.”
The guy shrugged. “I didn’t do it. I thought you did.”
They began a round and round between the four of them on how each of them thought the others had shot the putes. I
If we found it we’d mark it on our map, get cleaned up, make our way there and beg for them to let us in. No wait, not beg, impress them enough to let us in.
It was our second day in Miles City when Bentley and I had our typical Utopia pipe dream conversation while sitting on a rooftop of a three story building. Roof tops always gave us the best protection for incoming attacks. They were also a safe place to fire from.
It was there we hung out and talked.
We were afraid, you know, that we weren’t good enough. That we had nothing to offer. After all, it was Utopia. What could we give them that they didn’t already have? They wouldn’t be Utopia if they needed anything.
“Dan, they don’t have a barber. I’m telling you,” Bentley said.
“They have to have a barber, Bent. It’s Utopia.”
“Then they don’t have a stylist.”
I snickered.
“Seriously, Dan, if they do, he or she isn’t as good as me. I’ve created some good styles back at Gray.”
I nodded with a condescending look.
“And my colors.” Bentley winked. “Are second to none.”
“You know what? You kick ass on inventing hair care stuff. You really do. In the old world, shit! You’d have been rich if you and I had hooked up.”
“In the old world, I wouldn’t have been inventing colors.”
“True.”
“I bet they haven't even thought about dying hair.”
“Bent, it’s Utopia. Of course they did. They may not even know of the plague.”
“They know of the plague. They grab survivors.”
“OK, you've got a point.”
“You know what it is? You can feel how close Utopia is.”
I nodded. “You’re right and I’m getting excited.”
At that moment, in the middle of our roof top talk, my tracker went off.
I looked down. Four black dots. They were moving fast, as if in a vehicle.
That wasn’t right, the soldiers never moved fast.
Four dots. They never traveled in packs of four, so there had to be more.
I peered over the roof.
I expected to see more, I didn’t expect to see only four men.
There were soldiers. Wearing camouflage. They were in a jeep and they stopped. A couple of them were laughing.
“Over there,” the one said with a point. “Just get what you can. Ben can make adjustments.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Bentley reach for his weapon. I held out my hand and stopped him.
“What are you doing?” Bentley asked.
“They aren’t the same,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“One, they’re laughing. Two, there is no CS patch. Three, they are wearing the American flag. Four … they’re going in a tux shop.”
“What’s Beginnings?” Bentley asked.
“What?”
“Beginnings. Instead of US Army, the plate says. Beginnings. Look.” He handed me the binoculars.”
“Bent,” I gasped out. “They’re from Utopia.”
“No.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I’m telling you. Look at them, crisp, going in a tux shop. Happy. They’re …”
I was silenced by the vibration of my tracker. I looked down. Six red dots.”
“See.” Bentley said. “I knew …”
“No. They aren’t with the putes.”
Putes was the name I had given the soldiers with the computer chip.
“How do you know?”
“The putes are aiming at them.”
The four men from the jeep, the ones with a Beginnings plates, weren’t even aware they were targets.
I watched as the putes raised their weapons.
“Shit,” I said. “Bent, get ready.”
He was.
Before the putes could fire off a shot, Bentley and I took them out.
The Jeep guys immediately raised their weapons.
I saw the look on the one’s face. I’d venture to guess he was leading the four man group. He saw the dead Pute. “Thanks,” he said to another one of his men.
“For what?” His man asked.
“For taking him out.”
The guy shrugged. “I didn’t do it. I thought you did.”
They began a round and round between the four of them on how each of them thought the others had shot the putes. I
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