don’t know about the secret of eternal youth, but if this Babyville has a stash of ibuprofen and acetaminophen it will be a miracle worth visiting.”
Jak just smiled, choosing to keep his wisdom to himself.
Standing in the lee of one of the tall truck cabs, Krysty was telling Ryan a tale from her days as a child in Harmony. Ryan had heard the story before, but marveled at the way that Krysty related it, the idyllic, carefree existence she had had in her early life in contrast to his own, more formal upbringing, in Front Royal as the son of a baron. Midstory, Krysty inclined her head subtly and, in a low tone, informed Ryan, “They’re here.”
Ryan looked up, and saw Jeremiah Croxton leading his mismatched crew—now grown from twelve to fifteen—into the sunlight from the weather-beaten shack that served as an inn for travelers.
The bearded old farmer looked satisfied as he approached the one-eyed man. “Bright an early as promised, sir,” he bellowed. “I like to see good timekeeping in a man. Shows a determined spirit, sure as hell.”
“Said we’d be here at dawn,” Ryan reminded the man. “You’ll find me and my people keep our word, Croxton.”
“I am sure you do.” Croxton laughed. “Now, we got us five wags and there are six of you. How you see splitting this? I’m seeing a man on every wag.” He turned his gaze to Krysty for a moment. “No offense, ma’am.”
“None taken,” Krysty assured him, the rising wind catching her long hair and blowing it across her face for a moment before she swept it back with her hand.
“You have room for us scattered like that?” Ryan asked.
As Ryan spoke, J.B. sauntered over to join the discussion, the cigar wedged in his mouth. “He’s right,” J.B. added, talking around the stub of cigar. “Some of these wags look pretty worn.”
Croxton nodded favorably, smiling at the Armorer. “The wags’ll hold up, and we’ll make room,” he assured them. “We’ll be moving out in ten minutes. You okay with that?”
Ryan nodded. “The sooner the better.”
Croxton looked thoughtfully at Ryan, picking his words with care. “It’s mighty gen’rous of you to accompany us like this,” he said. “We’re just sod busters. No real money worth speaking of, nothing much of value. Can’t pay you for what you’re doing.”
Ryan remained emotionless as he listened to the man relieve his conscience.
“But mebbe you’ll find something you need in Baby, too, right, Mr. Cawdor?” the farmer continued. “I don’t rightly know what the healin’ properties of this spring are, but mebbe it’ll be able to fix your scars. Not so sure it can replace that there something what you have lost.”
Ryan realized that the round-faced farmer was looking not at him but at the leather eye patch he wore over the empty socket of his left eye. “I’m not much of a believer in miracles,” Ryan told Croxton shortly. “I’ve seen too much horror with the one eye I have.”
“Then what you are doing is that much more brave, sir,” Croxton said gratefully, before turning to organize his own people.
Shaking his head, J.B. turned to Ryan. “This whole setup stinks worse than a gaudy on threesome-special day,” he muttered.
Ryan agreed, but all he said was, “Doc’s been a good friend to all of us.” It served to remind J.B. of where their loyalties had to lie.
R YAN HAD CONSIDERED how to distribute his people the night before, lying in bed with Krysty sleeping in his arms, his lone eye staring at the ceiling. Like J.B., he was skeptical of the miracles that Babyville promised. However, he held a great deal of respect for Doc, and he could see that this was a dream that the old man needed to follow. Indeed, Ryan suspected that Doc would have gone alone with the travelers, rather than miss the incredible opportunity that Croxton had presented.
Before dawn, Ryan had taken Mildred quietly aside while Doc busied himself with his morning ablutions.
“I trust
Jak just smiled, choosing to keep his wisdom to himself.
Standing in the lee of one of the tall truck cabs, Krysty was telling Ryan a tale from her days as a child in Harmony. Ryan had heard the story before, but marveled at the way that Krysty related it, the idyllic, carefree existence she had had in her early life in contrast to his own, more formal upbringing, in Front Royal as the son of a baron. Midstory, Krysty inclined her head subtly and, in a low tone, informed Ryan, “They’re here.”
Ryan looked up, and saw Jeremiah Croxton leading his mismatched crew—now grown from twelve to fifteen—into the sunlight from the weather-beaten shack that served as an inn for travelers.
The bearded old farmer looked satisfied as he approached the one-eyed man. “Bright an early as promised, sir,” he bellowed. “I like to see good timekeeping in a man. Shows a determined spirit, sure as hell.”
“Said we’d be here at dawn,” Ryan reminded the man. “You’ll find me and my people keep our word, Croxton.”
“I am sure you do.” Croxton laughed. “Now, we got us five wags and there are six of you. How you see splitting this? I’m seeing a man on every wag.” He turned his gaze to Krysty for a moment. “No offense, ma’am.”
“None taken,” Krysty assured him, the rising wind catching her long hair and blowing it across her face for a moment before she swept it back with her hand.
“You have room for us scattered like that?” Ryan asked.
As Ryan spoke, J.B. sauntered over to join the discussion, the cigar wedged in his mouth. “He’s right,” J.B. added, talking around the stub of cigar. “Some of these wags look pretty worn.”
Croxton nodded favorably, smiling at the Armorer. “The wags’ll hold up, and we’ll make room,” he assured them. “We’ll be moving out in ten minutes. You okay with that?”
Ryan nodded. “The sooner the better.”
Croxton looked thoughtfully at Ryan, picking his words with care. “It’s mighty gen’rous of you to accompany us like this,” he said. “We’re just sod busters. No real money worth speaking of, nothing much of value. Can’t pay you for what you’re doing.”
Ryan remained emotionless as he listened to the man relieve his conscience.
“But mebbe you’ll find something you need in Baby, too, right, Mr. Cawdor?” the farmer continued. “I don’t rightly know what the healin’ properties of this spring are, but mebbe it’ll be able to fix your scars. Not so sure it can replace that there something what you have lost.”
Ryan realized that the round-faced farmer was looking not at him but at the leather eye patch he wore over the empty socket of his left eye. “I’m not much of a believer in miracles,” Ryan told Croxton shortly. “I’ve seen too much horror with the one eye I have.”
“Then what you are doing is that much more brave, sir,” Croxton said gratefully, before turning to organize his own people.
Shaking his head, J.B. turned to Ryan. “This whole setup stinks worse than a gaudy on threesome-special day,” he muttered.
Ryan agreed, but all he said was, “Doc’s been a good friend to all of us.” It served to remind J.B. of where their loyalties had to lie.
R YAN HAD CONSIDERED how to distribute his people the night before, lying in bed with Krysty sleeping in his arms, his lone eye staring at the ceiling. Like J.B., he was skeptical of the miracles that Babyville promised. However, he held a great deal of respect for Doc, and he could see that this was a dream that the old man needed to follow. Indeed, Ryan suspected that Doc would have gone alone with the travelers, rather than miss the incredible opportunity that Croxton had presented.
Before dawn, Ryan had taken Mildred quietly aside while Doc busied himself with his morning ablutions.
“I trust
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