Exchange

The last time Wyatt left the city, was the first time he didn’t know how long it would take before he could return. Usually, he headed out on scavenging trips that took a week at the most. This time however, he knew he had to venture out further and cover territory he had never reached before. The uncertainty of what he might or might not find tempered the bright early summer landscape spread out before him.

“A week.” The voice echoed from memory.

Wyatt had heard what the Giver had said during that last meeting but the mental comparison between that and what he was expecting was so far off that he simply looked dumbfounded. The collection of trinkets and broken relics layed out in front of him were the result of many days of meticulous searching long abandoned buildings and combing through forgotten or ignored leftovers from before the plagues. The young man knew to his core that something within his findings had some value, though he had almost no knowledge of what this collection of glass, metal, and plastic actually were in the bountiful times. 

“So… a week of housing and food?” Wyatt remained hopeful. 

The stout figure across the work table was now just shy of Wyatt’s recent growth spurt, dressed in lightly worn clothing and a thick burlap work apron that hadn’t seen much use either. The man eyed the youth quietly before providing an answer. 

“Or,” he simply stated in his gruff tone, if only a little harsher. 

Wyatt looked back to his elder and tried not to look desperate when he mustered the strength for his next words.

“B-but, this usually is enough for three or four weeks! Why the sudden change?” He searched the man’s face for any clue, the dark eyes under the thick eyebrows, the tight smirk framed by scruffy stubble. 

“I like you Wyatt,” The Giver stated nonchalantly, attempting a softer tone but the gravelly texture of his voice lingered. He fidgeted with some of the pieces Wyatt had brought in and began to move around the table. 

“You’ve been a resourceful boy for the past few years, coming up with some truly remarkable finds as a scavenger. Now, you’re old enough to know that there are other ways to earn your keep and even though you’re still one of the best scavengers I’ve seen—much better than anyone in that so-called guild, I know that you have other opportunities that you’re not exploring.” Standing face to face about a meter apart, the man simply just watched as Wyatt thought about his words. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Wyatt shook his head and shrugged. The Giver gave Wyatt a chiding smile, sly and knowing, but the boy just stood there, perplexed and frustrated. He held back a sigh as long as he could before adding, “There’s nothing else I want to do.”

“Wyatt, I know very well that boys your age are eager to try certain things and I happen to know that there are places where you can harness that curiosity, places I can tell you about. And by simply knowing the right people that would be as generous as you would be willing, you can benefit greatly.”

The memory of what transpired only a few days ago still echoed through him and sent shivers up and down his spine, in spite of the warm breeze stirring up the dried up leftover foliage that hadn’t fully decomposed from last winter. The lingering mustiness managed to rekindle the queasiness within his gut and interrupt the otherwise fresh aromas wafting past him. Yarrow, prairie-rose, and thistle were most prominent right now, though that would likely change the further away from the city he ventured.  

The buzzing and chirping of insects created a neutral hum that ebbed and flowed as he carried a little more rations and supplies in the backpack slung over his shoulders—the extra weight will slow him down in the beginning, but he had to make sure he had enough. His goal was to head east for a few days then swing south once he was beyond familiar territory.

A couple of hours into his trek, it was only mid-morning, he decided to take a short break at the top of a slight rise and settled down beside a couple of smaller trees that offered enough shade from the mostly cloudless day. The teen pulled out a flask of water and gazed along his path so far. He took a light sip and absently wiped his forehead with his forearm. The city was still in view, though all he could see was the tops of the tallest buildings which looked aged and abandoned. Most of the skyscrapers of the city centre were skeletons of what they once were, glass blown out and shattered over time due to lack of use and maintenance. 

“Look, I’ll be honest with you,” Wyatt unconsciously had stepped back in that moment. The meaning of the Giver’s words slowly dawned on him as the man before him let his gaze meander down the full length of his frame. 

 “I’ve been hesitant to bring this up before because I know you’re still a growing boy with good intentions and some of the people I know that would be very interested are, shall we say, demanding at times. I don’t enjoy the thought of you being subjected to that…”

“Okay?” 

“But, I can protect you—if you trust me.”

Wyatt froze up and felt claustrophobic for what seemed like hours but he forced himself to take another deep breath in that moment. The Giver was one of the most influential people in the city. Other than political leaders, he answered to no one officially. The blonde youth really wanted to leave, but he also wanted to just take what was offered and go. 

“I trust,” the words felt like they had to be pried from out of his brain and pushed out forcefully, “that you will give me that one week allocation and I’ll be on my way.”

The Giver remained still for a moment, possibly disappointed—or impressed—that the boy found some ground to stand on. The pause added to the stress that had washed over Wyatt. His heart beat against his chest violently. 

“You know what?” The man clasped a large hand on the boy’s shoulder gruffly. The sudden physical contact sent a shock through Wyatt’s body. “I’ll let you benefit from my generosity, and I’ll gladly give you one week of food and lodgings! How about that?”

Wyatt shuddered under the tree and realized his mind had recessed again. The encounter had unsettled him so much that he didn’t even discuss anything with his best friend, Chancey, before simply making plans for this outing and leaving. That too, didn’t sit well with Wyatt, but almost everything about the city and life there made him feel strangely claustrophobic, lost, and useless. 

Just as Wyatt began to get comfortable in the resting spot, he stowed away the flask and resumed his hike across the countryside. The road he was travelling on veered south on an angle for a while, before resuming straight east below a group of lakes. By the end of the day Wyatt hoped to make it to a rural community near a campground. The were a few houses that still were more or less habitable the last time he came this way. 

The rest of the day was uneventful. He took another break during the early afternoon, using the crumbling husk of a barn as shelter from the sun.  Here he enjoyed a mere snack of a meal despite his belly’s anticipation for more. After eating he reclined and closed his eyes for a moment and imagined he had brought his guitar. It was the one thing he enjoyed about living in the city. That, and his friendship with Chancey, who had given him the guitar. He wasn’t very good yet, but if couldn’t continue scavenging, playing guitar was the only thing that might allow him to earn his keep. 

Despite being surrounded by farmland, there wasn’t many old farmhouses left. There were plenty of large barns and silos and other building where automated technology had been housed at one point. Most of that equipment was brought closer to the city or to the few independent farms that managed to continue operation, like the couple of Hutterite colonies that still persisted. 

There was one such colony, was along his path. It was an amalgamation of a dozen other colonies that struggled during the initial waves of the plagues, the survivors of which naturally came together and rebuilt a community for themselves. Today, they remain vigilant and protective of their own. Wyatt knew that in order to avoid confrontation he needed to observe and respect the boundaries of their claimed land and to circumvent that border in plain sight. Otherwise, any sort of deception would be taken as an act of aggression and they’d respond swiftly. 

That night, he reached the campground a few hours after sundown. He was sweaty and tired from the distance he covered by foot. The boy looked around and felt comfortable that no one was nearby and settled down in a corner of the run down campsite office. While he wasn’t terribly comfortable, he was able to sleep most of the night. He awoke once to check his surroundings and change his sleeping position.