Kismet: A Game of Fates

Chapter 2 - Dan Sets Camp

Dan had a feeling of unease he couldn't quite place.

The air was thick and uncomfortable, a humid sweat stuck to his skin. He knew rain approached, but it wasn't what gnawed at him.

It was quiet here. Even the bugs stopped biting and the birds shut up. Cramped with a sudden hush, the stillness was tense. Made the entire City feel like he'd walked into a room where he was just being talked about.

He passed a hand through his muddy hair. Didn't even realize he was doing it; didn't know it was a quirk of his, either. His unspoken nerves expressed themselves without his consent: table-tapping, hair-passing, nail-biting– It was all the same. Those who knew Dan understood the quirk for what it was, though Dan himself stayed oblivious to why he kept his hands busy. Dan was not good at cards.

It couldn't be just the silence.

Something else chewed at him. He prayed to the Fates it was not the slow-boiling realization he might not make it back home.

He'd brought his scavenging crew past usual territory, past the Don Valley and the Tower, but nothing they found was yet worth the risk of leaving the Still. They'd spent four nights in the City already; the longest any crew had survived was six.

The City was claimed by the wild. A shroud of soft green moss covered the rubble, the ruins, and whatever else it could grow on. Tallgrass, lush trees, and fireweed sprouted from the cracks of most streets while in others, whole rivers flowed between the fallen carcasses of buildings.

He'd picked the Red Gorge to camp for the night. So close to the lava, the ground was warm, a respite when heavy rain was on its way tonight. He ordered the crew to stop, and everyone was quick to work. Rash-hands Saim kept a lookout, while Crook set a fire, and Pot-Belly Phill chopped carrots into a black pot. With a belly larger than anyone else in the Still, he was the only one trusted to cook. The others kept a lookout, pacing the campsite with weapons ready.

"Hey, Danforth!" A voice, unaware of the stillness it broke. It was Crook, racing over. Dan preferred if people didn't use his full name, but when it came from the mouth of the man who wanted his job, it pricked his ears like crawling silverfish.

When Pa died, the future of his crew had been uncertain. Pot Belly Phill was the oldest, but more often drunk than not, Rash-Hands was the butt of every joke, and Dan– he was still too young to understand the sacrifice of being someone dependable.

The obvious choice had been Crook.

Pa's second-in-command, Crook was loyal, smart, and respected by the others in the crew. Maybe Dan would have let the crew go to someone else until he was ready to take over. Maybe– but not to him.

Everything about Crook irked Dan: the way he stated his opinions freely, how much he liked to floss, how he flaunted his morals like a flag on higher ground, and the worst of it all– how he spoke down to Dan like a little brother.

Dan hated being spoken to like a kid.

Crook brought his arm around Dan and leaned towards him. Dan braced himself. "Hey– you sure we don't want to keep heading home? I know we were hoping to catch a deer tomorrow, but having Kid with us–" said Crook, pointing his chin to Dan's little brother, Kid. Everyone in the crew kept busy, rushed by the thought of sleeping without food or cover for the rain. All except Kid. He just stood around the tents, moping. "It makes me nervous, you know," said Crook.

Dan felt that unnamed feeling rise up in his throat. He sighed and pushed it back down, where it should stay.

"Do you want to be the one to tell Chief we don't have anything for him? I sure as shit don't want to empty the stash house to pay our dues when winter's around the corner." Nothing came in through the Wall that wasn't inspected and checked by Chief and his Wasps. Obsessed with fattening the Still's Reserves, Chief pushed the crew's quotas higher and higher, till they just took most of what they inspected and checked, leaving the rest as petty payment.

Pa changed everything.

His philosophy for business was simple. "Business," he'd say, "is whatever you can get away with."

Fed up with watching the Wasps become more powerful from the work he risked his life for, Pa formed a stash house outside the Wall. When the shelves were good and crammed with Old World books, trinkets, and whatnots, Pa crafted his own hidden gate through the Wall. Free from the prying hands of the Wasps, Pa made wealth for himself and his crew.

In the end, it didn't matter that Dan wasn't the crew's first choice. He had the only thing the crew truly needed: the key to the hidden gate and its secret location.

"I know, it's just–" said Crook, keeping his voice low. "If something happens to Kid, the whole town will riot. Maybe we should take the heat from Chief if it means Kid'll stay safe. Without him, we have no future." His eyes were set on Dan, urging him to consider something he'd already thought through.

"You don't think I know that? He's my brother, Crook. My responsibility. Tell me what's the point in outliving us if he can't fend for himself– can't even pitch a tent? I won't let him die of being 'safe'."

"He's the only Kid we've got, Danforth. The only one. "

"This conversation is over, Crook."

Dan walked to the bare tent poles; fleshless bones, erect in all the wrong directions. How could Kid be so useless, especially as Crook watched?

"Kid, if you don't finish up that tent soon you'll be the one to start a fire in the rain." Dan hoped the thought of sleeping in the wet, freezing cold would push him to finish.

"Dan, I don't know what I'm doing and–"

His anger exploded.

"And you want someone else to do it? No–" he took the tent pegs from Saim's scaly, red hands and threw them at Kid's feet. "Finish up the tent so we don't catch our end."

Kid's eyes welled up with tears. Dan shook his head. Pathetic.

"Now Kid," said Pot-Belly Phil while throwing unknown meats into a pot, "don't you let 'em tears fall yet. I haven't even started to cut the onions. If you cry before I slick 'em, I'm not sure what's'ill happen to ya– and I'm in no mood to find out." Pot Belly Phill hiccuped a hearty laugh to a joke only he seemed to understand. A small smile broke out on Kid's face.

What would Kid do without them, when he'd be the only one to take care of himself? There was nothing more pathetic than a man who gave up before he even tried. Fuming, Dan walked to the Red Gorge. A massive rip in the ground where a crimson river of lava clotted and spilled; blood from a cut.

He was going to piss.

He dropped his pants and craned his neck. He was relieved to nothing in the distance.