Smith
“Welcome to, The Bizarre!”
I’d seen a lot of things in my travels but nothing like The Bizarre. We had checked the horses in with a woman missing all her teeth. She handed us a plastic chip with a number, Forge told me it was the stable number our horses would be in. There were all manner of vehicles parked about the large swathe of desert designated the parking lot. I could see people walking towards the area from every direction. We had passed quite a few on our way, and here they were.
We passed through security. No one took our weapons, they had no interest. They checked for bites. Anyone with any kind of fresh wound was denied entry.
Once inside the sights and sounds swirled into a cacophony of madness. A mix of circus sideshow and open-air market. Vendors and performers of all kinds were crammed together. The smells were otherworldly. “Are those hamburgers?” My mouth salivated at the sight. Forge grabbed my arm, “From people, brother.”
“What!?”
“People.” He pulled me between two stalls. “Listen, man. Anything goes here, okay? Anything. Don’t eat nuthin’ unless I say it’s cool. I know you’re a hard-ass Ranger and all, but keep that shit under control here, or you’ll end up in The Ring. You got it.” I shook my head. “Good. Now the two were looking for are over that way.” He started walking.
“What makes you think they’ll be in?”
“Man, I have a stall here a couple times a month. Selling horseshoes and shit. People talk.” We continued walking in silence. We made our way past booths selling every kind of firearm and weapon you could think of. I swear to god that I saw a damn table full of Batarangs for sale. There were clothing vendors for every type of survivor. Food was everywhere. Forge stopped once and got us some meat on a stick. It cost him a small sack of nails. “Everything in here is barter. The people who run this list the values of just about everything; bullets, fur, leather, nails, human activities, everything has a value.” We scarfed down the food and kept walking.
The Bizarre was jam-packed with people, and it smelled like it. Forge explained there were latrines along both sides but that cleaning them wasn’t common. “Nowhere to put the shit.” He’d said.
We finally stopped in front of a stall with a sign that said GUNS. A woman was sitting in a chair, her feet propped up on a table covered in various gun parts and tools. “Hey, Smith.” Forge looked at her with a growing grin.
“Forge!” She stood up, and a smile spread across her face. “Didn’t expect to see you this early in the month.”
“Eh, I’m not selling today. Showing my buddy around.” He turned towards me, “Falcon, this is Smith. Smith, this is Falcon.” She looked me up and down, judgment clear in her eyes.
“Falcon.” She extended her hand. I gripped hers, and shaking her hand was like hugging a rhino, all tough skin and calluses. They were the hands of someone who worked them daily. “Nice revolver you’ve got there.”
I tapped the grip. “Thanks. It’s done its job.” She nodded in understanding.
“So you just showing Falcon here around, eh?”
“Yeah. He’s never been to The Bizarre before, and I figured why not.”
“Uh-huh.” She spied him suspiciously.
“C’mon, Smith, would I lie to you?”
“You know you would if you thought it’d avoid an ass-kicking.” They both chuckled.
“Alright.” He stepped in closer, “You got a minute?”
“Sure.” She pulled on a rope that brought a piece of plywood that had been acting as an awning down to close her shop. A minute later, Smith walked out from behind the shop, “All locked up.” We made our way to an area a few aisles down that opened up and was filled with various picnic tables. We sat at one near the middle. I let Forge do the talking. I answered questions when asked. Over an hour passed before Smith said, “Where do I sign up?”
