Bridger: a Dystopian Serial

Taylor Bay

"Yeah, perks of living with government folks." Seth glanced sheepishly at her.

"Hold your hands over here, Charlane," Will pointed to the stove. "It's shit-cold out there, yeah?"

"Your trees are coming along pretty well," she said.

"Yeah, seems they're making it." Will pulled two miss-matched mugs out of the cupboard over the sink. "We'll put in some more in the spring if we can."

They made small talk over cups of black coffee and gluey mass-manufactured bread with cheese spread. Sometime during the conversation, Seth made mention of going to visit the grave. A strange sense of dread came over her.

Charlie and Lisa Thompson had always been good to her. She wasn't sure they liked her, but they'd been good to her when she and Seth came to visit. She had good memories of sleeping with him under real down duvet in their guest bedroom and waking up to open gifts on Christmas morning. Charlie had given her a hand-tooled leather belt that she still wore occasionally. Real leather cost a fortune these days.

"So now..." Will got up, threw two more slices of bread into the toaster and depressed the creaking springs. "This ring planet that you mentioned."

"Yeah, do you remember the story?"

Uncle Will sat down and steepled his hands beneath his chin. "Well, the whole ring planet thing didn't ring a bell." A grin split his weathered face. "But I was thinking about a totem pole I saw down in Handler Falls. It has this creature with kind of big ears and a smooth face like you said. We could go down there and speak to the elders."

"Yeah, we should," Char said. She glanced at Seth. "Right?"

Seth took a gulp of coffee and nodded. "Once Char's thawed out."

Char flexed her toes down in her thick socks. "I miss the military-grade socks. They have those filaments in them that keep you warm."

"Private security can't afford that?" Seth asked.

"The military hoards the material," Char said, bending down to examine the developing hole in her toe. No wonder a chill had snuck in. "What don't they hoard? They won't even guard their own goddamn research base. Too busy fighting."

"Wasn't you in the army?" Uncle Will raised an eyebrow.

"I was, yeah," Char said. "I, um..." she glanced at Seth. "I couldn't do it anymore."

The toast popped. Uncle Will got up to get them. "Who could blame you."

Who could blame her? Just a few parents of a few dead kids, that's all. Char glanced to the side, only to catch Seth's kind eyes.

She felt a prickle of anger.

"I'll finish my toast," Uncle Will said. "Seth, you go on and start my snow machine."

It took them another forty-five minutes to leave the village. As they got on their snowmobiles, a cousin of Seth's walked over from the house next door.

Like Will, if he was surprised to see her, he hid it well.

"Hey, Brett," she said as he came over, hand extended.

"You still shoot?" he asked, his grin a flash of white teeth in his deeply tanned face. A braid like Seth's was slung over his shoulder against his parka.

"Better than you." Char grinned. Yep. That was how she'd bonded with Seth's cousins—by outshooting them at any distance with any weapon the day she'd first come to Taylor Bay.

"We're going on down to Handler," Uncle Will said. "I guess we'll be back around dark."

"Come on in for supper when you get here." Brett waved to them and disappeared back toward his house.