“Which makes one wonder,” Doc added thoughtfully, “who started the fire…”
They had taken a circuitous route through the camp in order to get to that point, taking a counterclockwise path that had led them from the remnants of the fire at first, taking in the other areas, before landing them back to their point of origin.
A couple of sec men, their horses tied to a post supporting one of the Running Water dwellings and attracting the attention of children from both Running Water and Water Valley, were helping the womenfolk from both villes to clear the scorched debris of the fire.
As they dismounted from the wag, it was easy to see why the folks of Water Valley and Running Water stuck together. Whereas the vast majority of the camp was Caucasian, albeit from different areas and with different tribal and predark origins, the two villes whose homes were water based were of a different stock. The Running Water people were, as the companions had guessed from what both Baron Silas and the Crow had told them, a Native American people, which made them stand out. And the Water Valley dwellers displayed a much wider mix than anything they had seen in the camp. The women and children who were clustered around the huts showed Native American, black and Hispanic blood among them, the children having a glorious array of skin tone and features that made them a truly eclectic tribe.
Mildred looked at them, taking in the multiplicity of human types, and turned to J.B. “John, this is the sort of thing they could still only dream about before skydark. When I was young, my daddy used to tell me that one day the people of the earth would be one. Shit, he didn’t think it’d take a holocaust to do it.” And for a moment she stopped being Dr. Mildred Wyeth and became once more the little girl at her daddy’s knee, listening to him tell her tales of the marches with another Dr.—Martin Luther King. Then she looked at the remnants of the fire, and her heart burned with a fire of anger. “One thing, John,” she continued, “if that’s why this is happening, and it’s not the oil well, then some bastard’s going to pay.”
“Dark night, keep calm,” the Armorer replied softly. “I don’t know why it’s gotten to you—how can I? But I do know we’re gonna need to keep frosty or get chilled.” Mildred looked at him. “I know you’re right, but it might be a little hard.” Baron Silas and Ryan walked from the wag over to the site of the fire, where the sec men were kicking over the ashes to kill any last smoldering sparks.
They deferred to the baron as he reached them, and he said, “What happened?”
“Hard to say for sure,” replied the taller man, who had a finely honed musculature and a long gray beard. Ryan reckoned him to be past fifty, but still a match for any fighter. And from the way the stockier, younger sec man let him answer, he obviously had some kind of authority. The sec man continued. “Trouble is, as always, they waited till a patrol was past these parts before firing up. Asked a few questions, but answers are garbled. Sounds like kids—too old to be around the women, but not yet old enough to work on the well. Guess they got bored, listen to their fathers talk shit about each other, and decided to have a little fun and make a little trouble. Lord alone knows we ain’t likely to catch them—not from the descriptions. Could be anyone, from almost any ville, though some do stand out,” he added with a glance at the women and children around.
“You don’t think it was intended to cause a diversion and bring the workers back?” Ryan asked.
The sec man sized up the one-eyed man before answering, and his reply was slow and considered. “Figure it could be to do with fucking up the well, eh? Mebbe I’d agree if there’d been any damage at the well, which I guess there hasn’t ’cause you’re here not there, Baron,” he added to Baron Silas. “And mebbe I’d agree more if it’d been at night. But this ain’t right for that. There were too many people about to see who fired it up, and it’s too early in the day—even if you could pull everyone off-site, there’s still the chance of being seen.” He shook his head firmly. “No, this is villes hating each other, but it ain’t the well.”