Part 9 (1/2)
She snuffed. ”Don't you think it's a little stupid to keep going?”
”What do you mean? We've got Chewy.” He scratched the dog behind the ears.
”Let me rephrase that. Don't you think you're a little stupid to keep going?”
”To travel without the truck would be suicide.”
”And this isn't?”
”To tell you the truth, I'm less worried now than I was before.”
”Well, that answers my question. You are stupid.”
”Hardly. Odds are in our favor now. Every single time we've run into a Super Smart Bear, everything has been okay.”
”That doesn't make any sense.”
”Doesn't it?”
”That makes less sense.”
”Look, Super Smart Bears are feared for their aggressiveness. I always heard that once provoked they were all but unstoppable. That apparently isn't the case.”
”It's still crazy. Surely there's more than one.”
”I don't doubt it. Now they know that we're coming. And, if they're so smart, they're waiting right at the end of the trail.”
”You're not selling me on this idea.”
”They can wait at the end. We've got a new trail to follow.” He pulled back the reeds in front of him. Bright crimson marked the path of the fleeing bear.
TWELVE.
Logan had left the children pulling apart strands of cable. He had made a joke about teta.n.u.s that they didn't understand, and went to find the town's gadget man.
The mayor had not described him. No one had told him the man's name. Regardless, Logan knew whom to look for. Whether he was tall or short, the man would be round and a little grizzled. The man in charge of keeping the town running would have a lame sense of humor and a personality that many tolerated only because he maintained the machinery and invented things that the people needed most: water pumps, steam engines, and more. If not for these vital skills, the gadget man of any post-apocalyptic town would be friendless and, more than likely, left in the wilderness.
Logan found Carl Parker chatting to several men. Each had one foot out of the conversation waiting for the short round man to take a breath so they could excuse themselves. They had been waiting for a while.
Carl was regaling them with a series of jokes about the difference between men and women when Logan interrupted.
”Are you the gadget man?”
Carl turned to Logan and smiled.
The crowd scattered, each tossing a weak excuse over the shoulder as they moved away. The men split. Each went a separate direction as if they were being pursued by an axe murderer or the forces of the undead and were trying to lose their hunters.
”Howdy, stranger. Do you know the difference between men and women?”
Logan did and the answer was, ”v.a.g.i.n.as.”
”Well, yeah but that's ...”
”Are you the gadget man?”
Carl's round face lit up, he stood a little taller, which wasn't much because he was barely five foot five. ”Around here they call me the Gadgeteer.”
Carl pulled a four-pound sledge from his belt and held it triumphantly above his head. His grease rag rippled like a cape from his back pocket.
”The Gadgeteer. Really?”
”No,” Carl sheathed the sledge, dug the oily rag out of his pocket and began to wipe his hands and forehead. Nothing was wiped away; the rag just added grease to his hands and forehead. ”I've asked them to. They say the decision is stuck in committee. But, if you're asking if I'm the one who keeps this town running, well, yes, that's me. Mechanic, electrician, plumber, engineer, and umpire for the New Hope kickball league.”
Pivoting like a Weeble, he turned and began to walk across Town Square. Motioning with the oily rag, his tone changed from one of pride to one that was much more b.i.t.c.hy.
Logan followed.
”Yeah, I'm the gadget man, not that you'd know it if you looked in my shop. I don't have two wrenches to turn together. And the people they send me ...” Carl shook his head. ”Everyone is sent in rotation, so just the time I've got them trained, they leave.”
They reached the open hood of a small blue and white pickup. Carl pulled a wrench from his tool belt and buried his head in the engine compartment.
”I tell you, that Murphy is a sonofab.i.t.c.h.”
”Which one was Murphy?”
Carl laughed loud and hard at Logan's remark. It was an irritating laugh that sounded like it belonged in the front row of a laugh track. Still, the mechanic was genuine. The round man reached up and slapped Logan on the shoulder with an oil-covered hand.
”No, Murphy the lawyer.”
Logan's confusion showed on his face.
”My friend, I'm talking about Murphy's Law that says s.h.i.+t's gonna happen.”
Logan nodded. This was the town's gadget man. He took another greasy slap on the shoulder, and watched Carl dive back under the hood to tend to the pickup's engine.
Metal clattered, tools clanged, but there was no end to the chatting. Carl continued the conversation with Logan, while simultaneously cursing the engine.
”So, now you know who I am ... sonofab.i.t.c.h ... stranger. And, I know who you are ... little t.u.r.d. You're the ... mother humper ... man who's gonna save New Hope ... you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The man with the Mustang.”
For a moment Logan considered closing the hood and walking away. But he needed this man's help. ”I'm going to do my best.”
”And, I'm guessing ... little beggar ... that you're going to need something from me ... filthy wh.o.r.e.”
”I can come back.”
Carl's head popped out of the truck's hood, somehow even dirtier. ”Why?”