It took twenty minutes to warm the man to the point where he could speak. He was wrapped in Capelli’s sleeping bag with his back against Susan’s pack as he told the story.
“My name is Shaw. Roger Shaw. Amy and I were thrown out of a community called Tunnel-Through. They left us with nothing more than my pocket knife and the clothes on our backs,” he said.
“We spent the first night huddled in a hollow between some big boulders. I managed to start a fire the Boy Scout way, with a bow, a stick, and a fireboard. I knew the light could attract trouble, but we needed the heat, and it worked out okay.
“When the sun came up, we set out to find a place where we could do some scavenging and wound up here. The house was pretty well picked over. There weren’t any clothes. But I found a can of peaches in the back of a cupboard, and was still searching the place, when two men arrived out front. They looked rough, and were well armed, so I figured we should hide.
“I knew they’d search the house and I was right,” he continued. “As they came in the front door, we went out the back, and made straight for that truck.”
The man was pointing towards the jumble of rusting farm machinery northwest of the house. There an old flatbed truck was sitting on blocks. Capelli nodded. “Then what?”
“Then we got in, closed the door, and got down on the floor.” Shaw shrugged. “It was a good hiding spot. The men never came close. But rather than leave the way I hoped they would, the men set up camp. And as night fell it got colder. A lot colder. I gave Amy the peaches and juice a little bit at a time. That got her through.
“Eventually morning rolled around, and the sun came up, but I couldn’t stop shivering. I began to feel dizzy, and was about to pass out, when the men finally left. I got out of the truck, stumbled over to where the campfire had been, and realized that I was going to need some firewood. So I was about to go find some when the lights went out. When I woke up you were here. Thank you, by the way—I’m very grateful.”
Capelli stood and made a beeline for the truck. Rowdy went with him.
Shaw frowned. “Where’s he going?”
Susan was sitting cross-legged, trying to comb the tangles out of Amy’s dirty hair. “I’m not sure. But, if I had to guess, I’d say he’s going over to check on rule six. Or is it rule seven? No, that’s ‘pee when you can.’ ”
Shaw, who was completely mystified, watched Capelli return.
“So,” Susan said, “what did you conclude?”
Capelli held an empty peach can up for her to see. “I found this in the cab.”
“So they can come with us?”
“Yeah,” Capelli said evenly. “They can.”
The walk from the farmhouse to the outskirts of Haven was eerily quiet. It was open country, with occasional groves of trees, and lots of flat farmland. All of which appeared to be deserted. But Capelli knew that appearances can be deceiving as they entered the town. It looked as if a Chimeran hunter-killer team had taken a stroll through Haven and leveled most of it. “I saw a flash of light from the direction of that tower,” Susan said. “Somebody’s watching us.”
Capelli looked, saw a three-story structure poking up out of the ruins, and nodded approvingly. “As they should.”
“What do you think they’ll do?”
“I don’t know. If it was me, I’d let people stroll through. But if they began to poke around, or set up camp, I’d scare them off.”
That made sense to Susan as the group made its way down what a sign proclaimed to be Grand Street. It wasn’t so grand anymore. The Chimera had left a broad swath of destruction through the town and no effort had been made to repair the damage, which made sense.
One thing was strange, however. Or so it seemed to Susan, who had a sharp eye for details. There wasn’t very much lumber lying around. Of course, it takes plenty of wood to shore up tunnels and keep them in good repair. So if the locals were living underground, then most of the available materials had been put to use somewhere under her feet. Is this the place? she wondered. The kind of community she was looking for? Maybe. It was too early to tell.
Grand Street delivered the group into the center of town, where they found themselves facing what was once a park. The tower they had seen earlier was off to the left. Shattered storefronts, piles of rubble, and wrecked vehicles surrounded the square, the exceptions being a library, which looked to be intact; a whitewashed church; and a partially damaged bank.
Shaw had caught up with them by then. Amy was perched on his shoulders. “Are you sure people live here?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” Capelli responded. “But yeah! I think people are watching us. Let’s see if I can flush them out.”
Capelli took a dozen steps forward to ensure that he could be seen from the tower and all of the other structures around the square. The sky was blue and the afternoon air was still. He took a deep breath and shouted as loudly as he could, “I’m a runner—and I’m here to see Terri Locke! If Terri Locke is here, I would like to speak with her on behalf of her brother Alvin.”
No response. Not even an echo. Or so it seemed until Rowdy began to bark and an elderly man appeared. He was wearing a knit hat and a blue overcoat, and he walked with the aid of a cane. Capelli took hold of Rowdy’s collar as the man drew near. “Hello! My name is Capelli. Joe Capelli. And you are?”
“Expendable,” the man answered with a grin. “That’s why they send me out to talk with people.”
Capelli laughed. “Well, you have nothing to fear from us. I’m a runner and I have a package for Terri Locke.”
The man nodded noncommittally as he turned to Susan and smiled. “Welcome to Haven, my dear. My name is Frank Potter.”
Susan took the opportunity to introduce both herself and the Shaws. Amy was hiding behind her father but came out when Potter offered her a piece of peppermint candy.
Capelli watched with interest. Potter might describe himself as “expendable,” but his blue eyes were extremely bright, and they never lingered anywhere for very long. Capelli had the feeling that in a matter of three or four minutes the entire party had been evaluated, inventoried, and categorized. Whatever happened next would depend on Potter’s judgment.
And that was clearly the case. After a few minutes of seemingly idle chatter Potter turned to Capelli. “Let’s go over to my office and discuss the matter further. Please leave your pack and weapons here.”
So Capelli shrugged the pack off and gave the pistol, Marksman, and Bullseye to Susan for safekeeping. Then, with Potter at his side, he walked east towards the bank.
“My grandfather founded it,” the old man explained, “and it has been in the family ever since. It has seen better days, though. Watch your head as you pass through the front door.”
Capelli had to duck under a sagging support beam in order to follow Potter into a generously proportioned lobby. From there the old man led him past a row of teller’s cages to a damaged door. Broken glass and other bits of debris crunched under Capelli’s boots as they entered an office that was open to sky. Weather had taken quite a toll, but the banker’s huge desk was still there, and a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman was perched on one corner of it. She had brown hair and a full face, and was dressed for a winter day. “I’m Terri Locke,” she said as she stood, and offered a gloved hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Capelli said sincerely, as they shook. “My name is Joe Capelli. Alvin hired me to escort him from Burlington, Colorado, to Haven. He said this is a wonderful place to live and it was his intention to settle here.”