He put Peaches in place at the edge of the property first, then walked the perimeter once, taking it all in. The fence had barbed wire all the way around, but nothing electrified. He was about fifty-fifty that there was a sniper’s nest in the attic, but it might have just been a bird. Easy to forget that even with the massive burden of humanity, there was still wildlife on Earth. The house itself was prefabbed or else printed in place. Hard to say which. He also saw three tubes coming up out of the ground that looked like they could be ventilation. There were bullet holes in the bark of the trees at the property’s edge, and one place where it looked like there was blood on the leaves of the dying bushes.
This was where he wanted to be.
He started by standing at the edge of the property, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting.
“Hey! In the house! You there?”
He waited a long minute, alert for signs of movement. Something behind the curtains of the front window. Nothing in the sniper’s nest. So maybe it was just sparrows after all.
“Hey! In the house! My name is Amos Burton, and I’m looking to trade!”
A man’s voice came, shrill and angry. “This is private property!”
“That’s why I’m out here fucking my throat up instead of ringing the goddamn doorbell. I heard you were prepped for this shit. I got caught with my pants down. Looking to trade for guns.”
There was a long silence. Hopefully the bastard wouldn’t just shoot him, but maybe. Life was risk.
“What’re you offering?”
“Water recycler,” Amos shouted. “It’s on the back of my rig.”
“I’ve got one.”
“May need another. Don’t think they’ll be making more anytime soon.” He waited to the count of ten. “I’m going to come up to the house so we can talk.”
“This is private property! Don’t cross the line!”
Amos opened the gate, smiling his biggest goofiest smile. “It’s okay! If I was armed, I wouldn’t be trading for guns, right? Don’t shoot me, I’m just here to talk.”
He crossed the line, leaving the gate open behind him. He kept his hands in the air, fingers spread. He could see his breath ghosting before him. It really had gotten cold. That wasn’t getting better soon. He wondered if he maybe should have said he had a heater.
The front door opened and the man came out. He was tall and thin with a stupid, cruel face and a long-barreled assault rifle aimed at the center of Amos’ chest. It had to be illegal as shit under UN gun laws.
“Hey!” he said with a wave. “My name’s Amos.”
“You said.”
“Didn’t get yours.”
“Didn’t say it.”
The man walked forward to take cover behind his pretend military transport.
“Nice rifle,” Amos said, keeping his hands up.
“Works too,” the man said. “Strip.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me. You want to trade with me, prove you’re not hiding any weapons. Strip!”
Well, that was unforeseen, but what the hell. Wouldn’t be the first guy he’d ever met who got off on feeling powerful. Amos shrugged off his shirt and heeled off his shoes one at a time, then dropped his pants and stepped out of them. The cold air bit his skin.
“Okay!” Amos said. “Unless I’ve got a pistol up my ass, we can agree I’m not carrying, yeah?”
“Agreed,” the man said.
“Look, if you’re still worried about it, you can get someone to come out, look through the clothes here. You keep the gun on me, make sure I don’t try anything.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
That was a good sign. Made it seem more likely that the fella was on his own here. He glanced up at the attic. If there were a second person, that would be the place to put them. Tiny gray-brown wings fluttered into the attic like the answer to a question.
“Where’s this cycler?”
“About three miles down the road,” Amos said, pointing with his thumb. “I can have it here in an hour, easy.”
“That’s okay,” the man said, lifting the rifle to his shoulder and sighting on Amos. The end of the barrel looked as big as a cave. “I can get it myself.”
Before he could pull the trigger, something moved through the field of his yard like a gust of wind. Only this wind had teeth. The man staggered back, then yawped in confusion and pain. With her chemical hormone blockers having faded in the days since they left the Pit, Peaches moved too quickly for Amos’ eye to follow. It was like she’d become an angry hummingbird. The man fell to his knees, his assault rifle suddenly gone and one of his fingers broken and bleeding. As he curled to grasp his broken hand, the gun stuttered, opening the man’s chest along the side.