The Age of Scarcity
It took a little time to clear up the misunderstanding with Mr. Curtis.
Thanks to that, the Rangers seemed to have earned themselves a chance to sit down and rest.
"...It's a Nightcrawler."
I nodded at the sketch. It had been drawn well enough to recognize at a glance.
Hartwell's drawing skills seemed pretty solid. Maybe putting her on illustration work as a side job later wouldn't be such a bad idea.
"Nightcrawler? What kind of name is that... No — who even comes up with these names in the first place?"
Encounter a new lifeform and its name is naturally added to the encyclopedia. But given the nature of the apocalypse, communities could always slap their own nicknames on top of the 'common' designation.
"They're mostly found in dark places, or at night... and they crawl flat against the ground to stay out of their prey's line of sight, so they got the name Nightcrawler."
"Yeah, I get it. They're the ones that closed the distance on us while we weren't looking."
"Looks like a cat that crawled straight out of hell. And it's furry and black — Hellcat?"
"Hellcat ought to have more fire on it, I think. I don't mind Nightcrawler."
"Does the name matter? Anyway... at least six of them came pouring out all at once from the far end of Passage One. Just keep that in mind — here. Rough map."
I took the paper she tore free and handed over. It was simple, but good enough to grasp the layout itself.
"Passage One opens into additional living quarters. Three rooms that look purpose-built to billet soldiers, one warehouse with unopened weapons crates still on display, and one room with electronic equipment still in packaging — like it was meant to be designated a base camp."
"...Then."
"The computer parts were there too. Problem is... they were all disassembled, still in pieces. We didn't even get every crate open. You'll want to send people to recover the boxes."
It was that simple. When Mr. Curtis and I had pushed into an unexplored zone alone, we'd had to carve the way open while taking injuries from the cannibals.
"...It's just catching on the shoulder, she says."
"That's why I'm telling you not to sweat it, Doc. Just a little muscle strain. First time getting jumped by a weird-looking cat."
Angela was there now — head wrapped in white cloth, mask on — quietly checking only on Carlos.
Spearhead. Or... the Ranger members.
The way each of them sat cradling a rifle in both hands or resting it across their knees made you think they were worth staking a life on. And yet there were people who thought that day's choice had been wrong — or who had come to believe that day's choice had been wrong.
"...There's nothing wrong with the members' condition. Well then."
After hurriedly speaking to me, Angela fled as if escaping, and I watched her back recede. There was a lot to worry about. Strengthening the defenses. Easing the friction.
"Hey — Lisa, and Matthew."
"Yes!"
I called the two who had been busy hauling water.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you both to move some cargo."
"Cargo?"
"Specifically, gathering the electronic-component crates from the zone the Rangers found."
"It's a one-way passage anyway, so as long as we stand guard blocking the corridor, it should be safe enough."
Cole nodded and backed me up. So the two accepted the instructions without trouble.
"I'm not sure how much I can carry while moving... but okay."
"They're electronic parts. Nothing should be too heavy."
The moment the words left my mouth, I stopped the Rangers from rising off their seats.
"You just got back — don't head out right away. Um... rest a solid thirty minutes first."
"Ten. If those things decide the ruckus is over and reoccupy the place, that'll be a problem too."
"And it's easier to move while your body's still warm, if you ask me."
Far from looking lazy, they were so eager you could call them workaholics. In the end I nodded, and Hartwell and Cole started stripping off their packs to adjust the straps.
"Alright, let's see. Fit okay?"
"Sits better against the body when the balance is right."
Leaving the easy camaraderie behind, I checked the time. The Rangers had returned at three in the afternoon — well past the original expected arrival around 2:10 p.m. So it really did take a lot of time to come back uninjured and with detailed intelligence.
Still, that was enough. Everyone surviving safely and happily. Even if the methods changed, the goal did not.
In that sense, there was someone I needed to meet this evening.
Wheat... I'm not sure about. Wheat is a specialized farming field. But potatoes I know. I've planted them before.
I felt around the 'eyes' of the particularly large potatoes with my fingers. You need at least two, ideally about three, she'd said.
Once you've found them, carefully divide the potato. Like this — mark it with a pen — yes.
After carefully cutting along the marked sections with a dagger, I quartered one potato. Three potatoes quartered that way. Twelve pieces ended up in my hands.
"..."
It would have been so much better if Sara were here. The situation where I couldn't even properly speak to her right now was deeply uncomfortable — but you reap what you sow.
— Thunk. Scrape. Scrape.
Don't plant them right after cutting, okay? Potatoes have moisture in them, right? If you just plant them like that, they'll rot. Hehe... annoying, isn't it? Complicated. But... that's the world for you. People, animals, plants... all picky. Each with their own personality. Ah — wait, that's not it. So...
I dabbed the potatoes thoroughly into ash made from burning only clean wood. I set each ash-coated piece gently into the dug earth. Finally I covered them with soil and sprinkled water.
Once I'd planted every piece that had been in my hands, five whole potatoes remained in my arms. I considered just planting all of them too, but...
The line In a hard world, there's something moving about a warm meal floated up in my mind, and in the end I tucked the generously received potatoes into my coat.
"Hey there."
"...Mr. Curtis."
I walked past Curtis on guard duty as if nothing were wrong and stepped into the kitchen. Everyone was resting, talking, or out on their own. I dug through the supplies and pulled out aluminum foil.
— Rustle, rustle.
Every potato I'd been given was a good size. I wrapped them carefully until the brown skins turned silver, crumpled the foil closed, and nestled them into the firewood glowing with deep red heat.
— Crackle, crackle.
I used a poker to bury them well in the ash, then took a step back from the intense heat.
"..."
I planned to split them in half and give a piece to each of the people who'd been living on crackers and overly salty preserved food every single day. Ten people — half each — and everyone would be happy. Sara too. Angela too.
But I'd never actually baked potatoes before. Now what...
"Something interesting you're up to?"
"Ghk!?"
At the calm voice from behind me, I turned to find Curtis approaching the fire with his rifle slung over his back. He sat down and rubbed his hands together.
"Baked potatoes, huh..."
"Everyone's been through a lot."
"You left enough to plant? Those are the potatoes you risked your life for. Of course... you risked that much, so I don't particularly care what you do with them."
When I nodded, Curtis smiled at me. He patted the spot beside him, inviting me to sit.
"Thanks to you, I get to eat a real baked potato instead of those dry crackers. Still — back in my war I could at least eat potatoes to my heart's content. After this war started, even that got hard."
"It won't be like that anymore. Once I figure out exactly how to plant the wheat seeds, we can make bread, noodles..."
"Somehow you're granting all my last wishes before I die. Hahaha."
A loud laugh burst out of him, but then Curtis looked at me with a distant expression.
"There are many ways to be loved, but sacrifice isn't one of them."
"..."
"I told you, didn't I? Look at me. Look at my son. Didn't you feel something even then?"
When we'd passed the place where the cannibals had been, he might have mentioned it in passing. Only now remembering it made my chest feel tight.
"That said, I have no intention of not being grateful for it. Failing to recognize a sacrifice is the most rotten thing a person can do."
"..."
"I'm grateful for everything you've done for us. Sincerely. And... that kid — whatever that kid said, it wasn't because they hate you."
"I know... that."
"Knowing and understanding are different things. There are things you come to know but still can't understand. Just like what that doctor did. Yes — saving people is important. But what about the people who go to save them?"
Holding the poker, Curtis rolled the potatoes around. The practiced way he tended the fire eased the tightness in my chest somewhat.
"Idealists lack experience. But being inexperienced doesn't make them bad. If the situation had been better, I'd have wanted to run and save my comrades too. But I'm too old for that, and asking someone else to risk their life isn't an easy thing, is it."
"I don't think Angela was wrong. It was about saving people. It's just—"
"Right. In the end the doctor learned her lesson. But she paid too high a price. A price too big for someone with so little experience to bear. Nearly killing someone. And because of her own stubbornness, at that."
That was why I was baking potatoes. Sara was Sara, but the person I needed to look after right now was Angela.
"There are too many times when her eyes have no focus. Honestly, it wouldn't be strange if something major happened. I never dreamed I'd see those eyes again, but... what can you do. Life isn't filled with only sweetness. Especially in an age when everything runs short like this."
Angela, who had screamed after me as I left when she finally came to regret her choice. And her reaction when I returned.
"You dropped a nuclear bomb called reality on a flower garden that knew nothing. How is a gardener who tended that garden supposed to live on? She thought she was carefully raising her flowers — what does a gardener feel when she nearly snaps the very first flower with her own hands?"
"...So."
"Every person needs something to lean on. And most of them cling to their own convictions."
Curtis stood up.
"A person who said she'd save lives nearly killing someone with her own hands is never a light matter to that person."
Then he turned his back.
"Just seeing potatoes again after so long is enough for me. What's an old man going to do filling his belly. Take them to the people who need to live. Keep it secret from my boy and my granddaughter."
...He was a good man.
But precisely because he was that kind of man, I had no intention of yielding. At the very least, the people I looked after had to live without want.
I would change the methods. I did not want to change the goal.
There were five potatoes, but nine people to feed.
The fire burned quietly.