August Comes to Yesterville [A Tale of Yesterville]

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

[url=https://postimages.org/][/url]

 

August Comes to Yesterville

A tale of Yesterville

By Hippin_In_Hawaii

 

August squinted into the setting sun. At best, they had maybe two hours of good light left. He sighed, then waved to Kevin, who was riding on the adjacent wagon. “Make camp,” he shouted over the dusty gap between them.

 

Kevin gave a thumbs-up, then turned to Stacy on the bench next to him. August watched as Stacy climbed into the back of their wagon, pulled down the green flag from the mast, and raised in its place the yellow with a green bend.

 

August returned to steering. If memory served, and memory always served, there was a lovely site just a few miles down the road on a high bank near the river. It was encircled with trees, which would form a nice windbreak, and there was easy access to fresh water. Plus, it would give him and Squint time to check out the old bridge and the fording options.

 

He reached out to the muscular oxen pulling his tram. They were moving smoothly and not showing any real fatigue. It was a shame, pulling over so early, but crossing the river after dark wasn’t a safe proposition, and neither was splitting the convoy. Even this close to Yesterville, so long as they were outside the box canyon, attacks by scavengers or mutants were a real possibility. 

 

August let his awareness sweep back over the length of the convoy, identifying each dray beast in turn. Most were fine. One of Santos’ horses was showing some inflammation in her right fetlock; August turned up the healing and made a mental note to let Santos know. 

 

Behind him, the other wagons of the caravan began slowing. As August’s wagon pulled slowly ahead, Kevin dipped in behind him. The caravan usually traveled in a V formation, with August at the point, in order to keep people out of the dust trails from the wagons ahead of them. Ending the day’s travels, the formation would slowly collapse into a single column, which would then form a defensive circle when they reached their campsite. This was the way settlers had originally colonized the north American continent, and to this expedient they had been forced to return. 

 

As the campsite came into distant view, August ran up a yellow flag on his wagon’s semaphore pole, the signal for the following wagons to slow. He slowly sang two verses of the Song of Waiting, and as he did so, he began to reach out into the surrounding area, feeling for whatever animal life he could sense. Finding nothing alarming, he pulled the yellow flag down and swapped it for the yellow-and-red for “orderly stop.” The signal would ripple down the convoy. When it reached the last wagon, they would stop. Then the one in front of them would stop. And so on, until August would finally stop. He used his extended awareness to track the oxen behind him rather than twisting awkwardly in his seat as the others had to do. When he felt Kevin’s team slow to a stop, he gently tugged the reins for his own.

 

“Larry,” he said softly, reaching his hand back through the canvas opening to rest on the shaggy flank of the wolf sleeping there. “Time to wake up.” He gently shook the sleeping beast until a low growl informed him that Larry was not ready to awaken. “Come on, don’t be like that. We’re here now. Time for you to go to work!”

 

August spoke to the wolf, a habit he’d developed in his life Before. August had been an animal trainer. He wasn’t someone important, just a line-level trainer for a large company which catered mainly to Hollywood. August’s biggest claim to fame from Before was that he’d helped on that Kevin Costner film, working with Teddi and Buck, the two wolves who had portrayed the character Two Socks. Larry, Curly, and Moe had been rescued from an illegal circus which, sadly, had castrated them to help ensure their domesticity. They had been new acquisitions by the company before the Winds of Death had swept the lands. August suddenly found himself the sole survivor of the company, and with a newfound ability to see, and to some degree, control, the inner workings of animal life.

 

The wolves were not tame, but neither were they wild. August had already formed a bond with Teddi and Buck in the more traditional way of humans and beasts; his newfound abilities were surprisingly helpful in accelerating that process with Larry, Curly, and Moe. So it was that August had become the alpha in a pack of six. That status, in the first few years following the apocalypse, had accounted both for August’s continued survival and his early success. Now, all these decades later, the wolves were still in fantastic health. Just like people who had survived the Winds of Death, animals now had much longer life spans. Even if they didn’t understand English, they and August shared an understanding of what each expected of the other.

 

A series of growls and yips from the wagon told August the pack was awake. “Get up,” he said. Swiftly and silently, five furry bodies slipped from under the canvas flaps draped over the wagon’s frame. His wagon was now surrounded by wolves shaking their manes, stretching their legs, testing the air, and relieving themselves. He let them enjoy a few minutes of waking up before saying “Go. Scout.” Spreading out, the wolves headed into the treeline and disappeared.

 

August reached beneath his seat and pulled out a rifle. This was a known campsite for caravans, and the period between stopping and making camp was when a caravan was most vulnerable. If trouble was waiting for them, this was its opportune moment to emerge. August knew that the other wagoneers were ready. Weapons would be in hand, all bodies awake and on the lookout.

 

August reached out to his wolves, getting a sense of where they were, and what their state was. He couldn’t see what they saw or smell what they smelled; how great would that have been? But he could sense their level of excitement, the spikes in their adrenaline, any responses to pain, aggression, fear, or arousal. Decades of experience allowed him to differentiate between the thrill of chasing a rabbit versus the fury of fighting a rival. 

 

After half an hour with no signs of alarm or hostility, August twisted in his seat, leaning out to shout around the side of his wagon to Kevin and Stacy behind him “Make camp!”

 

“Make camp!” He heard Stacy repeat to Gordon’s family behind them.

 

“Make camp!”

 

“Make camp!”

 

“...ake cam...” Fainter and fainter down the chain. August flicked the reins, and the two oxen lumbered forward. August led the caravan into the campsite and, with the expertise of decades, guided his wagon in a circle exactly large enough for them all to fit snugly.

 

Setting up was a flurry of activity, again orchestrated by the long familiarity of most of the participants. Of the 17 wagons present, ten were regulars on August’s caravan. Each wagon had its own preparations, of course; a team of dray beasts to be tended, individual sleeping accommodations to make. There were also community functions to attend to: a communal fire for gathering, a collective kitchen to be unpacked and made functional, defensive posts to be manned, recreation to be organized. 

 

Once preparations were well underway, August went looking for Squint. He found him underneath one of the wagons, wrench in hand. “The suspension bracket is pulling loose again,” Squint grunted. “I’m pretty sure the holes are stripping out. When we make Yesterville, we should pull this whole assembly and remount it.”

 

August nodded. “Will it make the rest of the trip?”

 

“Yeah, she’ll do fine. So long as we don’t have to run, she’s got a coupla hundred miles left before things start falling off.”

 

“The tunnel’s just 30 miles away,” said August. “We’ll be there tomorrow evening, if the crossing is good.”

 

“Let’s go see,” said Squint, climbing out from under the wagon.

 

The road to Yesterville crossed a respectable river. There was a bridge from Before, which had been sturdy and magnificent, a mixture of modern technology and medieval styling, with two lanes of traffic in each direction. After close to a century of disrepair, decay had brought the once mighty structure to a pitiable state. Spalling of the inter steel supports had shed huge chunks of concrete; water had penetrated the cracks to be frozen in the harsh winters; plants had found rootholds in the crevices. The bridge hadn’t fallen yet, but when the caravan had last been here, crossing had been sketchy. That was two years ago. Or was it three?

 

As they approached the bridge, August found a spot to sit while Squint began his inspection. Squint’s eyesight, since surviving the Winds of Death, was far keener than anyone else’s August had ever met. The man could literally read a paperback book from a hundred yards away, if the book was still and the light was good. Between his eyesight and his engineering knowledge, August was confident that Squint would know what was best. He plucked a nearby weed to chew while he waited.

 

Squint took his time, and the sun was almost gone before he walked back to August, shaking his head. 

 

“That bad?” asked August.

 

“There’s a core of strength left in that bridge. Any number of people, even the oxen, could cross it safely, but in single file. The surface is so cracked and treacherous, it’s mighty doubtful we could get a wagon across. Likely it’d get stuck in crevices several times, and getting it free would be dangerous. Almost as likely an edge could crumble out from under the wheels, and we’d lose it over the side. There’s no way we get 17 wagons across without losing some.”

 

August sighed. They’d known this day was coming. Since it was summer, the river was low, and the current was mild. There were a few spots nearby where fording was an option, but it would cost them a day at least. The soft bottom and banks meant they’d be constantly freeing stuck wagons. It was going to be a long, grueling ordeal, and probably take two days.

 

Well, it was what it was. He’d talk with Ralphie the Magnificent once they reached Yesterville, see if maybe they could be persuaded to make a new bridge. It really was in everyone’s best interests for caravans to be able to access the area.

 

The next two days passed as expected. They were long, hot, muddy, and hard. The work was brutal; almost half of the wagons got mired to one degree or another. But the crossing was otherwise uneventful, and after another day’s travel, sundown found them approaching the tunnel to Yesterville Valley.

 

August had a caravan meeting that evening. “Those of you who have been here before, you know the drill. Those of you who are new, here’s what you need to know. Just on the other side of that tunnel is a lovely place called Ely’s Last Chance. It’s a trade post, run by Ely and his wife Mo. They’re honest traders, and fair. Anyone that tries any underhanded dealings with them, if word gets back to me, you will be invited to leave my convoy. But that’s not all you need to know.

 

“What’s most important is that the Last Chance sits in the middle of a dead zone. Magic don’t work there. It runs in a circle about 300 yards from the building, so even going through the tunnel, we’ll be in it. I know most of you can’t work magic, but if you are old enough to remember Before, you understand that we’re all living longer and stronger than we did back then. That’s magic, keeping us young and healthy. And when you get close to the Last Chance, that magic won’t be there for you. 

 

“Some of you are sick, and don’t even know it. Many of you have seen more than 40 years go. And some few unlucky ones of you are in both categories. So long as you stay in the dead zone, you’ll learn the hard way just how much magic has been helping you. If you have a hidden sickness, cancer is a common one, it will begin to act up. You’re going to start feeling old in ways you’ve never experienced. You’ll get tired, and have aches, and just not be yourself.

 

“The longer you stay, the worse it will get. The people who live there, they don’t live much more than 60 or 70 years. They stay because they’re afraid they won’t survive outside that dead zone, that the Winds of Death are still waiting to pounce on them. They’d rather accept a short life than gamble on death.

 

“You can stay a day or two, and not notice much difference. The longer you stay, the more you’ll feel the change. But once you leave the dead zone, most folks get back to normal in about the same time. 

 

“So here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we’ll break camp and head through that tunnel. Those of you who want to trade at Ely’s, there’s a fine campsite right next to it. About half of my train is gonna stop there. I’ll lead the other half farther up the road, straight on to Castle Yesterville. We’ll be there for two weeks, so those who stop at the Last Chance will have plenty of opportunity to catch up and take care of business in Yesterville.”

 

“What about Oldtown?”

 

August peered at the man across the campfire. He was one of the newcomers. What was his name? Funny name, started with an R. Ruger? Rutger? August couldn’t remember.

 

“Those of you who want to brave Oldtown, your best bet is to set it up through Ralphie the Magnificent. The folks who live in Oldtown, well, they operate on the shady side of what most folks consider decent. You are free to go there as you like, but it never ends well when first-timers decide to go it alone.”

 

“How’s that?” asked the man. Rutner. That was his name. Rutner.

 

“Best case, you get swindled. Worst case, you get dead. S’best you arrange it through Ralphie. Most times he’s willing to take a few wagons there under his protection.”

 

Rutner didn’t seem like the kind of man who listened to good advice. Probably, in his head, he was seeing the benefits of being the first wagon there, imagining getting all the best deals from the Oldtowners. August would be willing to bet that, come the morning, Rutner would head straight to Oldtown as soon as he cleared the tunnel. Well, so be it. He’d told the man how things were.

 

In the distance, a wolf howled. It sounded like Curly. August reached out his senses, feeling the heart rates of his pack all increasing. Adrenaline, anticipation. They were on the hunt!

 

Smiling, August headed back to his wagon to sleep. He was really looking forward to tomorrow; his visits with Ralphie were always rewarding, if challenging. 

 

Mahalo (thank you) for reading; I hope you enjoyed! This story is part of a series. Information on the series, and links to the other stories, can be found here.

[Person_Random 4,991]

Approved.

I don't think I have the right to edit such a beautifully written story. It's been quite a while since the last post of this series, so I'm excited to see that the Yesterville series is continuing!

[Pythor 1,354]

Dang I completely forgot about this cooperative saga... 

 

Nice job Hippin

[Lose 881]

It's been a while since I've seen both the writer and the series... you nailed it though!

 

EDIT: Does the discord server still exist? If so, please notify me -- my old discord account got deleted.

Edited April 17, 2020 by Lose

[Gauss-Hornet 489]

Wow, the anthology thing is still alive!

[printing_now 59]

Haven't seen a story that's so well written!

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

On 5/20/2020 at 10:48 AM, printing_now said:

Haven't seen a story that's so well written!

Thanks!

[Venerable 2,967]

Can I read this story without having to know any background info?

I really don't understand where this series actually begins..

But I want to read Hippin's works!

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

7 hours ago, Venerable said:

Can I read this story without having to know any background info?

I really don't understand where this series actually begins..

But I want to read Hippin's works!

This story really IS part of the beginning. My idea for the Yesterville project was to create a shared-world anthology, and have other authors here participate. However, that didn't pan out. Only one other writer (Pythor, I think) contributed. I wrote 3 stories, of which August is the third.

I've assembled my forum writings here. You can catch up on the Yesterville anthology, and explore my other tales as well.