More silence. Dalton grumbles now, but I catch the faintest whisper of fabric. I touch Dalton’s arm and direct his attention left, where a figure stands in shadow, watching us as cautiously as any wild beast. It’s a young man, late teens, maybe twenty. He carries a bow, but it’s lowered, and he’s just watching, reminding me of that wolf the day before.
“Hello.” I resist the urge to say we come in peace, though I doubt this young man would get the reference. “We just need to speak to someone from the Second Settlement. My name’s Casey. This is Eric.”
He keeps watching us with wary curiosity.
“And this is Storm,” I say, nodding down. “She’s a dog, not a bear.” I smile. “She gets that mistake a lot.”
No reaction.
“I’m holding her by the collar,” I say. “She’s big, but she’s friendly, if you want to come closer.”
He doesn’t move.
“May we speak to you from there?” I ask.
When he stays silent, I’m beginning to wonder if he understands English. Then he says, “Yes.”
“Before we do,” Dalton drawls, “I’d appreciate knowing if we need to watch for anyone jumping at our backs. I’m sure you aren’t out here alone.”
Silence, and even from here, I swear I see the boy considering.
Finally he says, “The others are close. They’ll come if I call them.”
“Fair enough,” Dalton says.
“I’m going to remove my pack,” I say. “I’m getting something out that I want to show you.”
I take the remaining piece of Ellen’s parka from my bag and hold it out. “We’re told this was made by someone in the Second Settlement.”
He squints. Then he eases forwa
rd, until he’s about five feet away. He reaches out, and I pass him the material. He peers at it and then shakes his head as he returns it.
“It’s not ours.”
“You sure?” Dalton asks.
The young man’s eyes flash. “I know the work of my people. I don’t know what you’ve found, but if that was what led you to think it is ours, then someone has made a mistake. Or someone is trying to cause trouble for us. We don’t want the kind of trouble that comes with you.”
“Me?” Dalton says. “Who am I?”
“It’s not who you are. It’s where you’re from.” His gaze travels meaningfully over Dalton’s clothing. “Rockton. My people separated from yours, and we ask only to be left alone.”
“And you’re not missing anything?” I ask. “Missing anyone?”
“No, we are not.”
“You sure?” Dalton says again.
He gets that same flash of annoyance, stronger now. “If we were missing a person, I’d be out here hunting for him.”
“Maybe you are,” Dalton says.
“Then I’d be more interested when you said you found something of ours, wouldn’t I? We have no quarrel with Rockton. If we had someone missing, we’d be grateful for your help. If we found one of yours, we would return him.”
Despite those flashing eyes, the young man keeps his voice calm. He’s well-spoken. Polite. I get a distinctly different vibe from him than I do from the First Settlement. There’s no challenge here. We’re just two groups occupying the same region, and this one would rather keep those lines of separation clear. Like an introvert neighbor who thinks it’s very nice that you’re throwing a BBQ and hopes it goes well, but doesn’t want to attend, and would politely request that you stop asking.
“You have any idea where this came from?” Dalton says, pointing at the fabric.