Chapter Three: Propagation - 2.2

As it turned out, Alex spent most of the trip walking. He didn't mind walking, it didn't tire him and had he ridden the wagon with the others it might have never left Pottsfield. The draft turkeys were strong birds, but not that strong.

In the wagon rode the two Pottsfielders, Peters and a straw haired (literally of course) woman who'd politely introduced herself as Miss Clara Deen. As secretary of the Pottsfield Chamber of Commerce and one of the few citizens willing to socialize with outsiders for extended periods, she was the natural leader of their current expedition. To Alex's puzzlement she wore a short veil over her face once they left town, hiding her actual facial features beneath a second all-concealing layer. Alex didn't ask.

As they left town, thick woods swallowing the road behind them, there was a moment when the Pottsfielders shivered in unison. Following behind, a few steps later Alex felt the same chill. Curious, he stopped and took one deliberate step back. Instantly he felt just a touch warmer, a bit safer, and knew what he had found. It was the boundary. Another step forward, and Pottsfield was behind him again.

Peters manned the reins, hollow eyed vegetable gaze aimed unerringly ahead. He was almost completely silent, only speaking when he needed Alex to do something for him. The road was rough, and more than once Alex earned his keep dragging fallen trees off the path. He didn't bother hiding his strength now; the Pottsfielders were apparently used to much weirder. Still, in contrast to their quiet comradery the day before, today the farmer seemed tense. Alex wasn't the best at reading people even when they weren't covering their faces with vegetables, but Peters was definitely uncomfortable with something.

Miss Clara, on the other hand, seemed positively cheerful about the whole business. She spent the first hour or so double checking the wagon's inventory, then went over their itinerary for the trip aloud for Alex's benefit. Their first stop was to be an old grist mill, owned and operated by the extended Evans family. Once the corn was ground to flour they'd continue towards a large tavern where they were to trade away most of their pumpkins. From there they'd loop back to Pottsfield, maybe stopping at smaller homesteads along the way if there was time, and hopefully by nightfall they'd be back in town again. The mill apparently wasn't that far from Pottsfield at all, because by the time Miss Clara finished explaining this to Alex it was just coming into sight.

Similar to Pottsfield, the millhouse looked almost like something out of an old painting. Most prominent was the waterwheel turning slowly in the passing stream, but the small connected house was particularly quaint as well.

Of more immediate interest than the architecture, however, were its quickly approaching inhabitants. Perhaps he'd spent too much time in Pottsfield, but Alex had half expected any other people they met to be wearing produce on their heads as well, maybe watermelons or squashes or something. The tide of redheads in dated but clearly non-vegetable clothing was not that.

As the wagon slowed to a stop, redheaded children of all ages swarmed around it. On foot as he was, Alex didn't stand a chance. The kids were yelling, a dog was barking, and it was all Alex could do not to flinch as they just kept touching him, but fortunately for their sake a stern call to order stopped the mob in its tracks.

"Just what do you think you're all doing?! Get! Bernard, get the little ones out of the way. And you, Billy, go get your father. We've got a mill to run for these nice people. Beatrice, don't think I don't see you back there! Come over and help me greet our guests!"

The matronly woman paused for breath, and when the children dispersed only she and a young woman in a blue dress remained. The young woman looked mostly annoyed, but Alex caught her glancing at him and the obvious ball and chain on his ankle with a bit of interest. Alex glared at her, and to her credit she glared right back.

"Why Miss Clara Deen, it's been a while since you folks came to see us," said the older woman, helping Clara down from the wagon as she spoke, "How are things up in Pottsfield? Was the trip safe? There've been awful dark tales about the woods these days, oh you wouldn't believe."

The two women got to talking, and while he listened with one ear Alex didn't give up on his ongoing glaring match with the younger woman, probably the Beatrice mentioned earlier. Alex caught from the conversation that the other woman was Mrs. Evans, though Miss Clara called her Barbara. When they started talking about crop yields he stopped listening.

After some time, Miss Clara and Mrs. Evans retreated to the house with Beatrice in tow, ending the staring contest as a solid tie. Peters and Alex were left to help the father and other older children of the family by carrying the heavy bags of dried corn. It should have been hard work, so Alex limited himself to one bag at a time. Peters gave him a look, but didn't call him out on it.

The milling itself was the family's job, for which they would be paid with a percentage of the product. Peters returned to his seat on the wagon, but Alex lingered by the stream, uncertain of what to do with himself. He was staring into the woods, vaguely entertaining the thought that he'd actually travelled back in time to find himself in such a place, when soft footsteps came up behind him.

He lashed out, shattering something with a sweep of his arm, and turned to find Beatrice staring at him open-mouthed with half a broken mug in her outstretched hand. Shit, he thought, she's going to start screaming. He was partially correct.

"Cheese and crackers! What the heck was that for!" she yelled, waving the broken mug at him, "I was trying to give you a drink, not murder you!" She paused in her tirade, glancing from the shattered pieces on the grass to his hand. "Jeez, there's not any of those stuck in you, are there?"

Alex looked at his hand. There were quite a few ceramic shards sticking in it, though they were quickly being removed by small black and red tendrils. He palmed the shards and put his hand in his pocket. People generally didn't react well to that sort of thing.

"No," he lied, "I'm fine." Beatrice looked unconvinced. "Really, you can go away." She gave him a look, close enough to his sister's 'I know you're lying' face that he nearly winced, but stood firm. He wasn't going to be intimidated by a teenager.

"Look," he said, taking the hand back out of his pocket to show her. The shards were left behind, absorbed through his 'jacket' into the mass of his body for later disposal. The hand was a sickly pale color, but unblemished. "I'm sorry about that, you just surprised me."

Beatrice huffed indignantly, but didn't berate him further. Instead she started picking up the broken pieces of mug, and a bit to his own surprise Alex began helping her. For several minutes they worked quietly, the sound of falling water and turning gears louder in their silence, until Beatrice finally turned to him and spoke.

"I only really came out here to ask you something," she said, gingerly depositing another shard into the broken cup, "You're not from the Unknown, are you?"

He didn't respond, but she pressed on.

"I mean just look at you," she said, gesturing to all of him, "You don't exactly fit in mister 'I'm going to wear thirty layers of clothing and keep my hood up all the time'. Weird stuff is pretty normal around here, but you're a different kind of weird."

"Your point?" Alex growled.

"You're lost, right? No idea how you got here, just realized all of a sudden you weren't where you should be?"

Alex narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"

"Cool it for a second, bud," said Beatrice, waving an open hand, "I've just seen this sort of mess before. How long were you wandering before you ticked off the pumpkin patrol?"

"Only a few hours," Alex admitted, "Does that happen often?"

"Maybe? Most people around here don't travel much, but they're really touchy about trespassing so who even knows. Speaking of, I could cut you loose if you want. I'm pretty handy with a bobby pin," Beatrice offered.

"It's fine," said Alex, who'd honestly forgotten about the ankle weight, "How do you know then, if you don't travel?"

"I never said I don't, just most people. I'm not most people. Ran into their weird town a while back, did a couple hours of hard time for the outrageous crime of following a couple of dorks into their stupid party. They're pretty harmless, even if they're creepy as heck." Beatrice shrugged. "No offense. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is you're definitely not from around here, and I'm assuming you don't want to stick around."

Alex frowned. "What exactly are you offering?"

"Advice, but first you've gotta tell me one thing. Have you ever heard of a town called Lee? Supposed to be in, uh … Massachusetts I think?"

That got his attention. In all his time here he hadn't heard a single place name he'd recognized. He'd never heard of a Pottsfield before coming here, and he certainly didn't know of any real place people just called 'The Unknown', but Massachusetts was real. He'd consumed people from Massachusetts; mostly soldiers, some scientists, and a few that had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Memories of forests not so different from the one he was lost in bubbled to the surface, flashes of a small town and train tracks by the river, and immediately he sought answers.

"You know how to get there. Tell me," he ordered. Beatrice, however, was unimpressed.

"Nope," she replied, "I'm not telling you nothing unless you do me a favor."

"A favor," he repeated. What kind of favor could she possibly want from him? Still, it wasn't like he hadn't traded action for information before. At least she probably didn't want him to ferry around his mortal enemies in a helicopter.

"Alright," he said, "What favor?"

"If you really find the way out of here, I want to know it too."

Alex blinked. "But I thought you knew-"

"It's complicated. I've just seen stuff like this before, and I'll tell you what I do know if you agree."

"Fine. I can do that." Alex couldn't think of a reason not to.

Beatrice offered a hand. "You have to shake on it," she said gravely.

Alex hesitated. Then slowly, delicately, he took her hand. He gave it a single firm shake. He let go.

Beatrice's hand fluttered back to her side.

"Jeez, I was just messing with you. It's not that serious. Anyway, here's what happened …"

Beatrice proceeded to spin the tale of two brothers lost in the woods, their only guide a helpful bluebird. She had been that bluebird, though how that was possible apparently wasn't important. They'd been named Greg and Wirt, Wirt being the older of the two. Together they'd adventured around the Unknown for a few days, committed horse theft, defeated a Beast, and successfully went home. Also Wirt had a crush on a girl named Sara. That was it.

"That's it?" asked Alex disbelievingly, "How do you not know how they left? You were right there."

"Hey buddy, I had my own issues to deal with," she replied defensively, "Wirt figured something out, took his brother, and he left. I didn't follow. I'm not sure I even could've followed him. Where it happened wasn't far from here, just off in the woods a little bit, so it wasn't like he found a road or something. I live here, I'd know if there was some stupid secret road."

"Fine," said Alex, disappointed but not really surprised. Of course there wasn't an easy answer. "Is there anything else?"

"Oh, uh, there is one thing," Beatrice said, glancing away, "It's just that I kinda miss the dorks, so I've been writing them letters. Wirt told me where they live but of course there's no way to send mail there. I'll do it myself if I can, but in case that doesn't work out do you think you could deliver one? It's kind of stupid, you're just some weirdo whose name I don't even know, but I don't know what else to try." She looked at the ground, then back at him. "So, you'll do it, right?"

Alex thought about it for a second. It wasn't a lot to go on, and the info she'd given him had been next to useless, but he still owed her something. It didn't hurt that she reminded him a little of Dana.

"I'll try," he said, "And the name's not weirdo. It's Alex."