Life on the outside wasn't that bad—once you got past the rapists and thieves, the looters and pillagers, the rebels and the Baldies. It was a chance to start over and shed the baggage of your previous life. For Charley, that was easy—it wasn't like she had many friends, and her family had abandoned her long before the nanobots. She was a bland girl living a bland life as a clerk at a bland gas station. She kept her straw coloured hair in a short bob that framed her circular face and little stub of a nose. Her square shoulders made her look more like a tomboy and she rarely received interest from men. That didn't bother her, although when the world went to shit she saw it as an opportunity to reinvent herself.
What a joke that had been.
She sat on the trunk of a car next to a busted left taillight. The front of the car was submerged in a foot and a half of water, which was part of a puddle created by a half-excavated construction site. Back-hoes and dump trunks loomed behind her, once used for modifications to the highway, now they provided shade for a family of rabbits.
A beast of a man lumbered out from behind a support pillar. He zipped up his fly and grabbed a long pool skimmer leaning against the pillar. He had thick, dark hair, with matching patches on his exposed forearms. His face looked squashed and pinched, like it was too small for his body. He was Skillet. He earned the name from a combination of his size and the fact he was dumber than a bucket of nails—or whatever phrase you used to describe someone who's IQ can only dream of hitting the triple digits. But he was lovable and loyal. One time, some traveler catcalled Charley and Skillet open-hand slapped him. The site of contact turned bright red, as if the man had been hit with a frying pan. Or a skillet.
Her other companion was Righty, although it was a rather recent designation. It was not because he was her right-hand man—that was Skillet, no doubt—but because he only had his right hand. Before Righty he was Zippy, because he could never contain his enthusiasm—and keeping him focused on a task longer than a handful of seconds was tougher than teaching Skillet the six times table. But circumstances changed and Righty just fit him better. She enjoyed Righty's company because he was like her—an outsider. His faded green mohawk would need another dying soon and he appeared more tattoo than skin. The tattoos didn't concern her, but his piercings did, the one in his nose making a particularly easy target in a fight. But he refused to remove them; he liked his body the way it was. The way he made it. Minus the left hand, of course. She was there when they cut it off—some poisonous insect bit him and it ballooned to twice its size. He refused to explain what the insect was or why he let it bite.
To keep things fair, she let them call her Plain Faced Charley. There were worse nicknames in the world. And she was no beauty queen.
"Well, what do you think?" Righty shifted his weight beside her, causing the car to dig deeper into the muddy ground.
He raised a badly photocopied image in front of her face. Scan lines blurred the image and a lack of toner washed out the colour. But Charley could make out the important details: a large man sat beside a pool, a massive drink on a wicker table beside him with a little umbrella poking out one side. His gut spilled over his swim trunks, threatening to crush whatever manhood hid between his legs. His face was round and puffy, his eyes locked on his hand as it shovelled a forkful of chocolate cake into his mouth.
She lowered the paper and peered across the Delaware Expressway at a fenced in construction yard. There was a trailer parked along the eastern side, its windows shattered. A cement mixer sat by the gate, facing south. Behind the mixer, a car had fallen off the expressway and landed upside down, its nose crumpling part of the fence. It created a ramp along its underside leading into the yard, but would require climbing skills in order to get out. And Baldie's weren't known to climb.
All this worked in their favour with the Baldie trapped inside. It was almost naked, stripped down to a pair of underpants. This was not an uncommon sight, especially among people that were previously obese. Their waists would shrink as the nanobots digested fat and their clothes would slip off. It also lived up to its nickname, its head as smooth as a bowling ball, although it hadn't turned that long ago, judging by its infantile movements. It peered at the busted bumper of a car as if it were some shiny toy, occasionally whacking it and then jumping back at the sound.
"But it's got no belly. Look how skinny he is!" Righty pointed out the most damming piece of evidence against the picture.
"You know that's what the nanobots do. Have you ever seen a fat Baldie?" Charley challenged.
Righty cast his eyes to the ground.
"Look at the tattoo, it's the same," Charley added.
On the photocopy, it looked nothing more than a blur on his shoulder, could even have been a defect in the printing. But the Baldie displayed a similar shaped mark in the exact same position.
"Either way he's one ugly fucker," Righty said.
"What do you think?" Charley asked Skillet. He was leaning against an old package truck with deflated tires. His broad shoulders spanned over half the truck's width.
"Yeah, what does the big guy wanna do?" Righty asked as he jumped off the car and sauntered over to Skillet.
"When we gonna eat?" Skillet asked. He rarely got in the middle of arguments. He knew his place.
"After we get him," Charley responded, motioning toward the Baldie in the pen.
"Then let's do it," Skillet said, pushing off the back of the truck. It rocked back and forth on a rusty suspension.
Charley hopped off the back of the car and crouched to pick up a black duffel bag beside the wheel well. She then joined Skillet as he weaved through the stalled vehicles on the highway.
"Idiots. I'm workin' with idiots," Righty mumbled and shook his head, but scurried to catch up.
Charley and Skillet climbed the hill to the construction yard and paused in front of a padlocked gate. The Baldie inside finally noticed them, but it gave no more than a passing glance—they held no interest to him.
"You ever wonder what they're thinkin'?" Skillet asked.
"Probably more stuff goin' through his mind than yours," Righty commented, jostling between Charley and Skillet to snatch the duffel bag.
"Careful!" Charley protested, supporting the bag to ensure it didn't fall to the ground.
"Why? I wrapped the Jammers up real good last night," Righty said as he opened the bag to survey its contents.
"And would you know how to fix one if you broke it?"
"I know where to buy one."
"They're three hundred credits each! It's gonna take us forever to get into New Philadelphia as is, you wanna be out here your whole life?" Charley asked.
"It ain't that bad." Righty unzipped the bag and opened the flap, removing two small packages encased in bubble wrap. He unwrapped one of them, revealing a small motherboard with an antenna sticking out the top. It ran off a battery pack containing a couple triple A batteries. When he flicked a switch on the Jammer, a red light started blinking. The Baldie inside the cage let out an audible moan and looked their way, but took a step back.
"See?" he said.
Charley resisted the urge to slap the smug smile off his face. "Just set them up by the entrance. Don't want him running away."
Righty unwrapped the second Jammer and did as she asked, placing one on each side of the gate. Charley scanned the contents of the duffel bag and pulled out a pair of zip ties and a half-used roll of duct tape.
"All right, we'll do it clean this time, okay?" Charley started, surveying the area as she formulated a plan of attack. "Righty, you'll climb the car over there and jump into the pen to attract the Baldie's attention—"
"—By waving my arms in the air going ooga booga booga—"
"—I don't care what you do. I'll cut the chain on the gate." She reached into the side compartment of the duffel bag and pulled out a pair of bolt cutters.
"Meanwhile, Skillet will hold the Baldie with his pole."
Righty burst out laughing.
"What?" Charley asked.
"You said his pole," Righty snickered.
Charley sighed. "Once he has the Baldie at a safe distance, I'll zip tie his arms. Righty, you put tape over his mouth and the hood over his face—don't need him doing something stupid. Got it?"
"And then we eat?" Skillet asked.
"Yes, then we eat," Charley replied.
"Seein' as I'm the one about to risk my life by jumpin' into a pen with one a them, I get the biggest portion!" Righty said as he started to round the pen, stuffing a black mesh hood into the back pocket of his pants.
"If you do your job right, you can eat my spam too," Charley added. She had a feeling she wouldn't be fulfilling that promise.
It was the black mesh hood that almost ruined everything.
When the car fell from the expressway, the concrete barricade ripped through its bumper, leaving behind a shredded mess of twisted plastic and metal. Righty managed to climb its underbelly, but it shifted under his weight once he reached the nose. When he jumped into the pit, the mesh hood caught on the jagged bumper and the other end caught in his pants' pocket. While it had no reason to stay in his pocket, it snagged on his clothing and threw him off balance. He landed in the mud on his face.
"Well, shit," Charley said, watching as the Baldie turned toward Righty.
In an instant, the child-like wonder it exhibited as it roamed around the pen disappeared. Charley heard it had something to do with survival instincts kicking in, viewing everything as a threat. Whatever the cause, it meant trouble for Righty. Righty, still unaware of the change in the Baldie's behaviour, pushed himself to his feet and dusted himself off.
"I'm okay," he said, but Charley was already at the gate, placing the bolt cutters against the metal hook of a padlock. She squeezed. Nothing happened. She squeezed again.
"I think I got its attention!" Righty screeched, his voice rising a few octaves as he noticed the Baldie. His eyes widened as the Baldie lunged forward to grab him. Luckily, its movements were slow and cumbersome and Righty backpedaled away.
"Stop, drop and roll!" Charley said through gritted teeth as she squeezed the cutters again.
Righty obliged, falling to the ground and rolling under the cement mixer. The Baldie shambled forward, colliding with the bumper. "Get away!" Righty shouted, pushing himself as far away from the Baldie as he could.
"I need help," Charley said, giving up on the padlock.
Skillet dropped the pole. It rolled down the hill, back to the road. She chased after it as Skillet grabbed the bolt cutters from her and squeezed them shut. "I did it!" Skillet beamed.
She returned with the pole, glancing inside the pen. Righty was curled into a ball beneath the mixer. The Baldie made guttural shouts as it swiped at Righty, but couldn't figure out how to reach him. She yanked on the gate but it was still bolted shut.
"That was a link in the fence, Skillet. You gotta cut the lock." Charley pointed at the lock.
"Oh," Skillet replied, and snipped the lock in one effortless gesture.
Charley peeled off the lock and opened the gate. It rattled and squeaked over the pebbled dirt.
"About time!" Righty shouted.
The Baldie gave up on running at the cement mixer and now hunkered on all fours to crawl beneath the car.
"Here," Charley handed Skillet the pole and took out a zip tie as she and Skillet approached the Baldie.
"Easy now," Charley ordered Skillet.
The Baldie's attention remained on Righty, for now. Skillet lowered the noose over the Baldie's head, but the dangling rope touched the Baldie's forehead. It reared up, registered Skillet, and in one quick motion swatted the pole away.
"Oh shit!" Skillet gasped. He dropped the pole and fled the pen as the Baldie jumped to its feet and dashed after Skillet. It stopped once it reached the gate. The Jammers did their job of keeping it contained.
"Well fuck," Charley muttered.
She snatched up the pole and ran after the Baldie as it stood just inside the gate, occasionally stepping forward but then scurrying back as if there were an invisible force field. As she neared, she slowed to a crawl and waited until it stopped moving. It was staring at the Jammer on the ground. She placed the skimmer over its head and pulled it back. The Baldie choked with the force of the movement and fell on its back. Charley pounced, grabbing its flailing arms before it even registered her presence and zip tied its hands together. This only angered it more.
She rolled off the thrashing Baldie and removed the piece of duct tape she had on her pants, holding it in both of her hands and beckoning the Baldie to approach her like a matador. It ran at her and she deftly held the duct tape up in front of its mouth, muzzling it with its own force. The duct tape had an odd calming effect and the Baldie slowed its movements as it tried to figure out what was affixed to its mouth.
Heaving, she stepped away from the Baldie to check on Righty. He remained huddled beneath the cement mixer, scared. She shook her head as she snagged the mesh hood from his pocket and returned to the Baldie. She pushed the hood over its head and picked up the pole, the end still wrapped around the Baldie's neck.
"All right guys, we did it," Charley said, out of breath.
Righty poked his head out from under the car, a smile spreading across his face. Skillet popped out from behind a support pillar, eyes wide with fear.
"It was gonna g...grab me," Skillet mumbled.
"Yeah, yeah. Just take this." Charley handed him the pole.
She returned to the black duffel bag and collected their supplies.
"Next time, you get to take a trip on the cement mixer of death," Righty said, joining them as he wiped dust off his pants.
Charley resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Let's just get this guy to the checkpoint," she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder.
"Let's hope he's the right one," Righty pointed out.
Charley punched him in the arm. His right one.