The two-story edifice took up most of the lot. Inside the front door were two fine tripwires spaced a foot apart. I bypassed them easily as I had set them, but I checked to make sure they were still functional. I moved through the house, going to the kitchen in the back, and then I paused, something just wasn’t right.
I scanned the room. Everything should have been covered in a thin film of dust, settled airborne particles. I figured it had been close to two years since I’d been here, but I wasn’t quite certain. That’s the problem with head injuries: they really fuck with your time sense.
The kitchen was too clean. The floor could use a sweeping, but otherwise, everything was in order: cutlery and glassware put away, no dishes in the sink, and a tablecloth on the small kitchen table. It was almost as if… I froze at the sound of someone moving. Someone else was in the house. That was impossible, I thought. The tripwires were still in place.
When I spun to face the hallway leading into the living room a young man came into sight. Reflexes took over and he raised his hands in alarm as my two .45s were pointed in his direction.
“Whoa! Wait a second,” he exclaimed. His dark blue eyes were wide with fear and it didn’t look like he was acting. His hands, held high above his head, were trembling.
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked, my aim as steady as my nickname.
“Kel,” he said, “Kel Reed. I live here.”
“No. I live here,” I stated.
“I know,” he replied, the emphasis on the last word. There was something strangely familiar about this guy, but I couldn’t place him.
“Explain,” I ordered. He began to lower his hands. In response, I shook my head and gestured with the pistols and he resumed his former position.
“I thought you were dead.” There was a plaintive note in his voice that piqued my curiosity even more.
“That’s not a very good explanation. I’m not dead, but you’re getting mighty close.”
“Rock,” he said. It took me by surprise. How did he know my name? “You don’t remember me? We’ve met a few times. Over in Arizona? You were with Derrick. Your uncle.”
I thought about it. Yes, maybe he was familiar, but my memory was still fucked up. I didn’t trust him. Rule number one: never trust anybody. Ever. This guy didn’t look like much. He was thin, but not starving. He wasn’t carrying a weapon that I could see. Of course, that meant very little. I thought for a second. There was nothing in the house with my real name. That might be a good test.
“What’s my real name?” I asked. His eyes narrowed at the question.
“Hell, I don’t know. You never told me. It never came up. I only know you by Rock. I do know your last name is Watson, though. Derrick did say that much. Where is he, anyway?”
“Who?”
“Derrick. Your uncle.” Kel looked at me as if I were crazy. I wasn’t too pleased with his expression.
“I’m asking the questions. Where are you from?”
“Arizona. We covered this already. What’s wrong with you?”
“I got hit on the head. Random scavengers. Assholes fucked up my memory.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. I’ve run into a few of those, too.”
“Then why are you still alive?” I asked, the irritation at the situation leaking into my tone. Kel couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me and he sure didn’t look like the warrior type. Then again, these days looks could be deceiving.
“I can take care of myself,” he replied, his tone offended.
The suppressor on the .45 muffled the noise of the shot as the bullet ripped into the molding just beside Kel’s ear. He was down on the floor, hands over his head before the slight blue breath of smoke cleared from the end of my pistol. I laughed out loud. “Right,” I said, placing the weapons back into their holsters.
“What the hell was that for?” Kel asked, staring up at me with wide, frightened eyes. If I’d seen one ounce of calculation in those eyes, I would have shot him. Instead, I moved over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Just double-checking. Get up. Have a seat. Let’s chat.”
“You’re a bit of a loon, aren’t you?” he asked, moving carefully around the table to take the opposite chair.
“No. Just careful,” I said. “What’s your story, Kel?”
“My mom died during childbirth. My father, like most folks, died during the pandemic. I was nine. Pretty much been on my own ever since. After I met you and Derrick, I headed east from Phoenix, until I found your place. More or less by accident, really.”
“How so?” I asked. This place was unique in that it had a very viable and productive garden out back. Uncle D had seen to it that we would never die of hunger. “You can’t see the garden from the streets. And I doubt that we gave you our address.”
“Wow. You really don’t remember me, huh?” He appeared genuinely stunned, and somewhat miffed, by this as I nodded in the affirmative. “When I met you and Derrick the first time you were about fourteen. You guys had been exploring the Tucson area. It was tense at first because, well, let’s face it, you never know what kind of freaks you’re going to meet these days. It turned out all right, though. We hung out for a couple of days, but then Derrick was eager to get back here. All I knew was it was in the White Sands area. No details.”
“You said we met a few times?”
“Yep. We met up again a couple of years later, near Clifton. Southern end of the Apache National Forest. Derrick was a pretty good hunter. He’d bagged a nice good sized doe.” He looked at me with a smirk. “You were really coming into your own, then.”
“What do you mean by that?” He was telling a good tale, but I still couldn’t remember him clearly. Some of the things about him did ring a bell and I felt a hint of familiarity. The way he talked with his hands, waving them around, using them for emphasis or pointing out direction. There was something else about the way he talked that gave me pause, but I couldn’t figure out why.
“You’d taken to wearing dresses over leggings like you are right now. Derrick always said he hated that style. You said it gave you better range of movement, but he wasn’t buying it.”
I knew what he was talking about, now. When I became a teenager, I had developed a rudimentary sense of style, along with a sense of my femininity, and I liked the look and feel of loose fitting dresses. Of course there were downsides to being caught unawares while wearing a dress in this fucked up world, so I usually wore thick leggings and combat boots, as well. What can I say? It was a look.
“The last time we met was about two years ago. You painted an even more striking figure. You were wearing those custom holsters Derrick had made for you.” He indicated the leather belt that held Wilma and Betty, my two Sig Sauers. “You and he had also taken up the whole swordplay thing. That was just before you and Derrick disappeared.” He shrugged at my questioning expression. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in almost two years. Where the hell did you guys go? And, where’s Derrick?”
I felt that damned stone in my gut again. Now that I had most of my memory back, I could see it all replay in my mind as if it were yesterday. I held my breath as I felt the pain and tried to distance myself from that tightness of chest, that itching in my eyes.