Tales from the Wasteland | The No Leaf Clover

Chapter 5

Mid-morning comes and goes as Rod and Eric continue east toward Mercantile. The majority of the morning has been spent in silence, Eric doing his best to keep the nightmares from last night at bay. He just stares out of the passenger window, silently counting the dead shrubbery. "72, 73. Is that 74 or two bushes?" Eric mutters. Rod looks over to him. He's not one for trivialities and feels small talk is nothing more than wasted breath. He can tell, however, that Eric wants to talk but doesn't want to come off like a child asking twenty questions. Rod decides to break the silence. He points to the glove compartment. "Any more cigarettes?"

Eric flinches from Rod's voice. He gives a slight glance to Rod before opening the glove compartment. "Yeah. At least there's that," Eric answers with a bit of animosity. He's still sour about the rations Rod ate while he was asleep. It quickly passes as the thought of the Sirens comes rushing back. If it wasn't for the hunter there's no telling where Eric would be. Probably a carcass for the buzzards once those demons were finished with me, Eric thinks as he grabs two cigarettes. He hands one to Rod, then holds the lighter out for the hunter to light the cigarette's tip.

"Thanks," Rod says. Eric replies with an indifferent "sure," and looks back out the passenger window. Rod takes several drags trying to find some common ground for discussion. At least something they can discuss that would be interesting to both of them. Eric, on the other hand, goes back to counting the wilted bushes that pass by. His glum demeanor changes sharply as he loses the count of shrubbery. Though the whole matter was trivial, to say the least, it kept his mind off the horrors of the previous night.

"That's it," Eric whispers. The silence has gone on for too long so he decides to talk about what he knows best, life in the Dark City. "I wonder who fought last night," Eric says aloud in hopes to pique Rod's interest. The hunter catches the bait and questions with an inquisitive hum.

"In the Coliseum. Last time I was there, the summer season was drawing to an end. Kraken, Man from Lyn, and Ragnar were the only remaining fighters. My money is on Kraken. Ragnar's been fighting for, shit," Eric stops to recall the first time he saw the champion fight in the Coliseum. "It's gotta be like twenty years or something like that. He's flippin' old at this point. Really surprised he's lasted so long."

"So how long have you lived in the Walled City?" Rod asks. The hunter has never stepped foot in Orgrimdeare, so he's intrigued by any insight into the city.

"Shit, all my life. I never knew anything else. Like most people, I drew the short end of the stick," Eric reflects aloud, looking out the window.

"How so?"

"I was born in the Slums. The city is sectioned into four different quad- rants. Quadrant One is where the upper crust live. You know, the ruling class basically. If you're lucky enough, you can at least get a job there and afford to live in Quadrant Three. Which is the living district. Quadrant Two is the industrial district and good ole Four rounds out the Slums. Home sweet home."

"What did your parents do for a living?" Rod asks, flicking the cigarette out the window.

"My dad worked for the tax collector. I guess he earned a good wage, not enough to move out of the Slums though. He died when I was pretty young. Don't remember much about him. I don't remember him beating me, so I guess he was a good guy."

"I'm sorry to hear," Rod says lighting another cigarette. "You mind me asking what happened?"

"Not at all. The most I can give you is what I was told. My mother tends to think there was more to it." Eric stops, the memory of that day comes back. A moment so long ago. He was no more than five when he saw his father ripped apart in the Coliseum. "He was accused of treason. Apparently, skimming off the top from taxes. The charge was conspiring against the crown. And treason is dealt with the highest penalty."