The Oracle Trilogy Book One Ohm's Node

The Stranger

chapter 27

part 2

Trash and leaves blew down the center of Main Street towards the lake. Fletch looked out of the only clean window of the Hole, squinting into the storm of windblown dust and debris at a dark shape sitting on the steps of the town hall. Stranger was his first thought. Even though the town had remained safe to date, the locals knew when the best times were to go out. Rumors were rife during these days of MD and international instability, especially if you lived in a small town protected by a ragtag voluntary militia. Yeah, of course it was protected by the military, but stuff seeped through the so-called impenetrable fence. And the rumors didn't help.

The scuttlebutt during prime hours consisted of only a few topics; one of the three enterprises of Lakes town cooperative, maple syrup, cannabis or eggs, the face of apocalypse or can you beat this rumor. Book One of the Oracle Trilogy had just been added and already Fletch had reached his saturation point. Once you heard the go round a few times anything new that slipped by was to many like a hot shot of rum from a girl's navel. Monday morning, he was still stuck back in the hot desert ruins the natives called towns, sheltered in stinking bunkers encased in v-glass and camo-shields taking out killer bugs.

The unmoving mound of clothes and flying hair bothered him. It was like one of Leggy Peggy's omens. Since Lake had been placed in the protected enclave of the military and was off the beaten path, they hardly saw anyone from the outside. Leggy Peggy came in at two every day and swore on a mountain of Gideons that no shit, everybody better shut their pie holes because if they didn't fathom the import of her latest augury, they'd be dead before Shit Head the Holes Rooster, crowed at least once. So, unlike the sheep who cried Wolf one too many times, they all allowed Leggy her due only because the odds were stacked in her favor given the mounting chaos in the outer world and that it was a good bet that she'd hit pay dirt eventually.

The rumors of late were ferocious. They came from a family member of a resident who happened to make it through all the roadblocks and check points and drone surveillance or from the adventurer who found the town by accident. The few in the last few months had near religious experiences likening finding Lake to Shangri-la. The last had been Oksana, a Ukrainian freelance reporter who had worked for FreeNet and had found an abandoned cabin and began raising vegetables for barter.

Fletch knew they were living on borrowed time despite the installation. There were millions of people with enough resources who were desperate enough and ruthless enough in their primal drive to survive, to do anything to acquire safety for themselves and their families. Nightmares of a tsunami of armed humans churning through the mountain gaps and flooding the remaining hamlets haunted the locals in their dreams and chatter. He had a bad feeling about that heap out there. There had been a certain devolution of hope with each new outsider. They brought with them new horror and fears to the locals. As if they weren't infected already, it was as though with each ghoulish story told, a new hybrid form of the contagion found a willing host. He and Socrates had posted a new rule of the road. Don't bring your fears and hates into our sanctuary!

Most ate up all the stories like meth addicts. It fed into the apocalyptic feeding frenzy of humans caught up in their own tv realty show. It was a bitter pill you had to swallow to be ready for what's to come, they said. It's like the priest reading scripture warning its members of hell. To know your enemy was to be prepared. Except as had been discussed ad nauseum, the enemy is inside us not outside. The proverbial moth to the flame, Socrates had said. But this windblown morning as Fletch watched the unmoving figure on the steps, he knew what had to be done. He was certainly not going to have his homecoming tainted by a dump of fear into the hearts of his greater family. Out there, he knew in his gut, sat the vanguard from hell. A resting scout with an iron will who knew the power of story, always waiting for a hungry audience.