My Life as a Roamer
Chapter One: My Life
I grunt as I pull on the plank of wood fixed onto the wall of the decrepit house. My eyes shut tight with effort, and I finally let go, wiping a sweaty hand across my face. I swing my arms from side to side in an attempt to loosen them, while I look around the interior of the house.
It is a good find. It's located in a remote area of the Empty Lands and is hidden behind the blackened remains of a burnt-up house. I almost missed it, but I happened to notice the chimney sticking up from behind the rubble. Luckily, every other roamer had missed it, and it's full of quality goods.
Rubbing my sore hands on my pants, I put my hands underneath the stubborn piece of wood on the wall and pull upwards. This time, I hear a creaking sound as some wood shavings fall to the floor, and the board detaches itself from the wall. I find myself holding a decent-sized solid plank of wood.
I carry the wood out to my wagon and place it on top of the growing stack. The demand for woods has gone up recently, so I 'm trying to stock up on it. First, I had stripped the shelves and cabinets in the house of anything useful. There was nothing great, just some cans of vegetables, though I found only three that were still edible, a few rolls of paper towels that might be worth something, and some silverware. The main value of the house was in the wood.
My hands still sore, I pick up my water canteen and take a long drink. The cold liquid fills my dry mouth and I gasp in relief. I swallow and, although I know my water is running low and there isn't a body of water near me, I can't resist pouring some on my hands. The soreness is somewhat alleviated as I rub my hands together. I decide to take a break from pulling up planks of wood and take out my shovel. Hopefully, the ground won't be too dry.
My eyes are locked onto the ground, looking for any sign of plants or roots. My heart jumps as I spy a small green patch a few feet from me. Letting my shovel fall to the ground, I kneel down in front of it and run my fingers through it. It is definitely some sort of vegetable. I dig into the soil a little and spy the top of a tiny potato, still growing. Excitedly, I jump up and grab my shovel. Finding any food that the ancients had planted that wasn't destroyed by the Disaster is an extreme rarity. Usually I only dig up some plant or root for medicine. I plunge my shovel into the soil and extract some dirt, which I deposit on the side. Thrice more I do this, until I can see the root from which the potato is attached. Then I kneel down again and pull the potato off the root. It's much too small to eat or sell to someone as food, so I stand up, brush some dirt off my clothes and walk over to my wagon. My knife is conveniently sticking out from the huge pile of supplies and goods. Rummaging around for a container, I find a small leather sack. Not ideal, but it will do. Positioning the potato over the sack, my knife swiftly cuts the potato into four quarters. The pieces fall into the sack, which I tie together tightly. Potato crop isn't exactly struggling, but most people will gladly trade for some more potato to plant.
I grab my shovel and walk back towards where I found the potato. Some quick, shallow digs reveal that no more potatoes have survived. I walk around the house, my eyes trained on the ground, but I see no other signs of plant life.
My arms are still sore, and my hands still raw, but I've no other use for this house other than the wood. Sighing, I walk back to my wagon and dig out a traveler's cake I've already cooked. My throat struggles to get the dry food down, but I take a swing from my canteen and it manages to force the cake into my stomach. Now there's no delaying any more. I sigh and crack my fingers together. My hands still sting from before, but they're much better. I move back into the house and survey what must still be done. To my relief, there is only one more usable board of wood. The others are almost unrecognizable: burnt up, twisted, and broken into splinters. Let's get this over with, I think. My well-trained hands (I have ten boards from this house only!) grope the bottom of the board, finding a strong hold. Then I pull upward as hard as I can. Luckily, this board is attached to the wall rather weakly, and I soon get the wood into my arms. Relieved, I stack it on my truck. I have finished stripping this house of anything valuable. True, I haven't looked under the beds and on top of the cabinets, but ten years of experience tell me not to bother.
My oxen give a start of surprise as I load the wood into the wagon. It balances precariously on top of the stack, so I take off four planks and make a new pile. I hope that it will last for the trip. Once, I had all the wood in one pile and when I stopped in a village to trade, the pile fell and the wood was all over the wagon. It didn't do too good for business.
The wood safely in my wagon (I triple-check to make sure), I climb onto the front and slap the oxen with my feet. They slowly begin to move. I sit back and think. The next village in my route is Sparks, a solid three hours. I'm not going to any more houses, for I'd looked at all of them on my journey towards the isolated house. And I doubt I'll see another roamer for at least an hour, when I'll get back on a main route. It's still late morning, so I'll get to Sparks at noon or early afternoon. That's a good trading time for wood. Right after morning work, people will be able to estimate how much wood they'll need. Unfortunately, that's not a good time for food trading. Whether it's psychological or not, I've noticed that people are less likely to buy food right after they've eaten.
I lean back in my seat and twist to check my food supply. It's rather low. I have just three more travelers' cakes, and a handful of berries. I'll need to trade for food before I reach Sparks. Absentmindedly, I reach for some berries and pop one in my mouth. If I don't chew, I can make them last quite a while.
The oxen's feet make choppy rhythm on the hard ground. It is the only sound I hear besides the wagon's wheels turning and occasionally the supplies moving around with the wagon. The sun beats down on my skin, making beads of sweat form on my face. I suck on the berry, drawing sweet juice from a tiny hole in its skin, which I let drip down my throat before swallowing. This does not help the heat much, but it distracts me somewhat.
After about half-an-hour of traveling, the ground beneath me changes from brown to green, covered with grass. I am leaning against the side of wagon and have just started my third berry when my eyes open and I see the change. I raise my head up. This means that water is closer. My canteen has been running dangerously low, so I am happy for a way to re-fill it. Scouting the land, I search for any sign of water, but all I can see is green grass stretching endlessly in all direction. I lash my whip at the oxen. They jump in surprise, but speed up. The sun beats down on me and my mouth is dry, so I reluctantly take a sip of my water. I swish it around, trying to make it last, hydrating all parts of my mouth. Finally I swallow, letting the water run down my parched throat. I put my canteen away, hearing the meager amount of water left splash emptily around, and vow not to drink until I find water.
This vow turns out to be unfulfilled. An hour later, I regretfully pick up my canteen again. I've been on a main route for thirty minutes, yet I haven't found a body of water or another roamer. I take a tiny sip of water and quickly set the canteen down. I hold this water in my mouth for a while and pick up the reins again. As the oxen's feet clatter on the ground beneath me, I keep my mouth shut and feel the water splash around in it with each step.
Ten minutes later, I swallow in relief. A gorgeous blue lake sits in front of me. And, even better, another roamer is busy filling his canteen, and I see his wagon. It's mostly empty, but I spot a few things I might be interested in.
The roamer looks up in surprise as my wagon draws closer. I pull back on the reins and the oxen stop.
"Hello," I greet him.
"Hi," the roamer returns.
I dismount. I mean to be civil and keep conversing, but thirst takes priority. I run to the lake and submerge my head. The cool water feels blissful on my faces. I open my mouth and take a long drink before I run out of air and come up gasping.
The roamer is watching me in amusement. "Been on the road long?"
I shake my head. "Just a few days. But I went out to one of the really remote houses," I gesture towards where I came from. "No water out there."
"Oh," he says. There is a long pause.
"So, where did you come from?" I ask to break the silence.
"Sparks," he replies, nodding his head to the right to the lake.
"That's where I'm heading," I say. "What's happening over there?"
"Things are okay there," answers the roamer. "They have a lot of food and lumber, and I just sold them some tools."
My hearts sinks. "Oh."
The roamer eyes me curiously, catching on to my disappointed tone. "You planning on selling lumber or tools?"
"Lumber," I answer dejectedly.
"I heard Pine Gap is struggling in that department," he says.
I frown. "I think I'll try Sparks first. Pine Gap's too far away.
The roamer shrugs. "Suit yourself."
"Thanks." The sun is directly over our heads now. "Do you want to trade?"
"I don't need anything right now," the roamer says. "You?"
"Just water," I take out my canteen and fill it.
The roamer chuckles. "That's always free." He stretches and yawns. I walk back to my wagon and take out some more canteens. Suddenly, the roamer asks, "Are you running low on food?"
"I thought you weren't interested in trading," I say in reply, walking towards the lake with an armful of canteens.
The roamer nods affirmatively. "Just wondering if you need anything."
"Well I don't," I say, somewhat irritated. I fill up one of my canteens. "I would've said so if I did." I finish my statement by shutting the top of canteen.
The roamer holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay." He grins.
I finish filling my canteens and load them into the wagon. "Goodbye," I say, and climb up onto my seat.
"Goodbye," he says.
I grip my reins and head off towards the village of Sparks.