Ashes and Rust

Prologue

The year was 2241. Well over 150 years had passed since a few people unleashed hell on all the creatures inhabiting the world,

transforming the blue planet into a planet of ash and rust. No one remembers exactly what was going on, but one can guess it was about the last oil deposits. I'm still surprised it lasted as long as it did. However, the cause is irrelevant; what came of it later is more important. And it wasn't good. When the Chinese unleashed everything they had on the Americans, from nuclear weapons and chemical weapons to anthrax, smallpox, and the like (needless to say, they did the same), almost nothing remained of most cities, and a quick death was the most desirable outcome. However, not everyone was so lucky. Millions died from radiation, poison gases, and various diseases. The few who survived were transformed beyond recognition. Not only mentally, that was obvious, but also physically. Mutations were one of the worst things that could happen to you. A few legs, arms, two heads, enormous height combined with green skin—these are just a few of the possible changes to your physiognomy. God alone knows how many ways animals mutated. Shortly after the last explosions, complete darkness descended on Earth. Some, however, were damn lucky. Before the war, the government began a project to build shelters in case of nuclear war. Of course, they built too few. Definitely too few. What's more, some of them were defective. For example, in "13," the Water Chip broke down, and

I don't think anyone thought to equip the shelter with a spare. The story that ensued is too long to recount here. In this particular case, the negligence of some bureaucrat benefited everyone; the guy they sent to retrieve a spare part turned out to be truly remarkable. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say he saved the world, or rather, what was left of it after the war. The story of "15" isn't so momentous. The bunker door simply opened prematurely. Almost all the inhabitants perished.

As it turned out, this wasn't negligence, but a deliberate act. This was probably the case with all the bunkers. But that's another story. When darkness finally fell, the survivors who hadn't been so severely mutated began trying to rebuild their lives. The first human settlements sprang up in the ruins of ancient cities.

Those who didn't want to look at the ruins of a bygone civilization and had the strength and resources built new ones from scratch. Not cities, of course, but miserable settlements, but it's probably better to live in a tent than in the tombs of the thousands who vanished when the first bombs fell.

Makeshift dwellings were built from whatever was at hand: planks, stones, or even simple tarpaulins. Over time, they transformed into truly impressive towns, certainly considering the conditions of the time. People also began to organize, forming a semblance of local government, simply trying to return to normalcy. It's probably no surprise that the first organizations were various criminal organizations: gangs, slave traders, and others of that ilk. To counterbalance them, police and Rangers were formed, like something out of a Chuck Norris movie from before the war. Once again, the mercenaries had their hands full. Besides, they were the most effective. They had the money, the best weapons, and the best armor. Sometimes, some of them turned into knights-errant, convinced they had a mission to fulfill. They usually carried it out for a short time; alone in this ruleless world, no one survives long. Well, that's just how it is, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Today, so many years after the war, some cities have even restored electricity, a few are trying to produce medicine, and gold is supposedly being mined somewhere. However, since the war, two sectors of production have grown the fastest: weapons and drugs. The former was led by the paramilitary organization, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the latter by the gangster families of New Reno. A city that could easily be called a post-war Las Vegas. For many years, people also tried to develop agriculture, partially successful, but only partially. In the damned, irradiated soil, almost nothing will grow. However, there are exceptions. Miraculously, vegetation grows much better around Modoc than elsewhere. Of course, unless it occasionally rains, and lately, that has been rather poor.

Modoc was founded by some cowboys when the sun finally broke through the darkness that shrouded the land. It has always been an agricultural settlement, which eventually even gained a church. Trade

with surrounding towns ensured it had some kind of existence among its militarily stronger neighbors. Compared to other places, it was quite pleasant here.

And

John Baker was one of the farmers, with a small cottage and a plot of land northeast of the main houses in town. He lived quite well, though not exactly lightly. He worked hard, practically from dawn to dusk, but he enjoyed it. Well, farming may not be the most interesting occupation, but as you can see, it can be addictive, especially when you've never known any other life, and Jonny didn't.

Whenever he had some free time, he'd drop by Modoc to share a few watered-down beers with his buddies (at least that's the impression one got when tasting them) and eat delicious omelets prepared by Rose, co-owner of the only bar in the area, but a pretty decent one at that. Besides going to the bar and tending the land, the farmer did practically nothing else. Only on Sundays did he attend church. He was a Christian and wasn't ashamed of it, and no one in Modoc ever made any nasty remarks about it. The town's residents had once built a rather handsome building, which now serves as a church. They did this to show their gratitude to the heavens for their kindness. But these days, few people visited. In fact, besides Jonny, almost no one, maybe a few elderly women who felt it was time to say goodbye.

It was a warm Saturday evening. The sun was slowly approaching the horizon, and the sky, as it had been for the past few weeks, remained cloudless. John Baker and two friends sat at the Rose Bad & Breakfast bar, drinking beer and eating omelets. His companions, Mathew and Jimmi, were smoking cigarettes—Mathew, of course, his favorite Red Apple, and Jimmi, a Pall Male. Baker was finishing his third beer of the evening. They never lacked topics for conversation, but this time there were more than usual. For days, the most common topic of conversation among the townspeople had been the drought, and its consequent prospects of famine and poverty. All three companions were farmers, and the situation worried them somewhat, but they didn't want to further depress themselves by discussing it.

In recent days, another event had dominated the conversation, and these three were no exception. One of the townspeople had ventured quite far northwest, quite a distance from where Jonny lived. There, he found a well-managed and thriving farm, seemingly unaffected by the drought. But that wasn't the problem; no one would worry about anyone's well-being. Well, maybe someone like that would, but not in Modoc, and certainly not Karl, the man who had seen the farm. The worst part was another: Karl hadn't seen a single living soul there, but he had seen numerous dead bodies impaled on stakes, or so he claimed. He was a trustworthy man, though after his visit to the farm, he had clearly changed; he had become very nervous, and the fact that few believed him this time made matters worse. Officially, despite Karl's credibility, few agreed with him, but somehow no one had yet dared to test his story. Local sheriff Jo had even offered a reward for investigating the abandoned farm, but he decided against the expedition, claiming he simply didn't have the time because he had enough to deal with with the drought. More likely, it was simply human fear that drove him mad. The sheriff had proven time and again that ordinary gangster cases didn't arouse his fear, and that his own life was less valuable to him than the well-being of his charges. This made Jonny even more surprised that this time the lawman wouldn't personally handle the matter. On the other hand, it was one thing to face an armed bandit, and quite another to venture into a place where something far more dangerous than man might lurk. The world was full of various mutants, but Karl's account suggested something even worse. Perhaps ghosts or other terrifying monsters. Time passed, however, and it seemed that the mysterious farm would remain a harmless legend, one that farmers would one day recall over a pint at the bar. However, something happened that finally required action. On Thursday, one of the local children disappeared—the son of a local furrier, Balthas. His father organized a search, in which most of the Modoc men, including John Baker, participated. However, neither the boy nor any trace of him were found. The search ended this morning because it was deemed impossible to find the boy. Everyone sympathized with the missing child's parents, but no one could help them. His mother completely fell apart. She locked herself in her home and cried constantly. His father ran his leather goods store, but it was obvious he wasn't the same cheerful man he had been just a few days ago. The townspeople suspected that the disappearance had something to do with the recently discovered farm. John shared the same opinion as most of the townspeople.If it weren't for this, he probably wouldn't have given up searching for the boy, especially since the Balthases' dog, with the rather charming name of Laddie, initially picked up the scent and headed in the direction of the supposedly abandoned farm. However, he eventually lost track and failed to lead his parents, who were already hoping for a happy ending. Despite this setback, the dog still pointed in the right direction and, given recent events, left no doubt about the boy's fate. However, no one dared investigate the farm, not even the missing man's parents, which seemed particularly strange considering how desperate they were to find their son. The evil spell the farm cast

Moreover, the rumor had exaggerated his power, as they lacked the courage to go after their son... or his body, because if he'd been there, he probably wouldn't return alive. At least that was the common belief.

The farmer finished his third beer and set his mug aside. He realized that something strange had been brewing for some time. However, he believed that the blame lay not with some mysterious forces but with the residents themselves, who were practically winding each other up with increasingly outlandish stories. He was about to share this thought with his tablemates when Karl entered, or rather stumbled into the bar. His eyes were dark circles and his gaze was fixed on some distance invisible to the others. He didn't even glance around the bar, but with slow, unsteady steps, approached the counter and, placing a few coins on it, asked for a beer. A modest but quite pretty woman named Rose gave him a sympathetic look and a faint smile, handing him a mug full of the golden liquid with foam. He didn't seem to notice, though. He took a few deep sips and then announced he was going to the farm. He mumbled that no one believed him, but he would prove he was telling the truth. He would find a way to prove it. No one was sure if he was speaking to Rose or the bar's patrons, perhaps to all of them at once, or perhaps to himself. The fact was, however, that all the conversations had ceased, and the faces of those gathered showed a mixture of sympathy and surprise. For a long moment, an awkward silence ensued, then one of the traders, who knew Karl well, approached him and began to speak to him. Too quietly, however, for anyone else to hear, even the waitress standing a few feet away. Then there was another silence, broken by Karl himself. In a trembling voice, he announced that no one would be able to convince him to change his mind and that he was leaving immediately. With that, he took another sip of beer and, with a slightly more confident stride, left the motel.

Jonny had lost the last of his good humor that evening. The guy, whom he may not have known very well but had heard many good things about, had completely lost his mind. "Well, it happens," a voice said in his head. "It does? Maybe it does, but that's no reason to ignore it," he answered himself. He walked up to the counter and paid for his meal. To his surprise, he couldn't muster even the slightest smile as he handed the money to the motel owner. He liked her for her openness and straightforwardness, and now he couldn't even move his lips to say thank you. As he left, he barely managed to utter a dry "goodnight" in response. Jimmy, who lived right next to the main buildings in town, said goodbye to them shortly after.

and walked away towards his own apartment. The incident at the bar didn't make that much of an impression on him. It wasn't because he was insensitive or disliked Karl. No, nothing of the sort; he'd simply seen too many similar incidents in his life. If each one had affected him as strongly as the one that had just happened to Jonny, he would have gone mad long ago. Besides, would worrying about it help the poor unfortunate in any way? No, probably not, so why dwell on it all? There's no rational answer; some people simply worry, others don't; that's how the world is.

The friends Jimmy left behind were slowly walking towards their homes. They lived very close to each other, which they were very happy about. It was already quite dark, and a not-so-breezy, but chilly and therefore unpleasant, wind had picked up. It wouldn't be pleasant to walk home alone in such weather, especially since it wasn't entirely safe at this time of day. Packs of wild dogs constantly roamed around the town, despite frequent raids against them, which significantly reduced the number of dogs. They weren't usually overly aggressive towards humans, but if hungry, the likelihood of an attack was extremely high. Therefore, two of them were much more mobile and, of course, safer. Both carried magnum revolvers and knew how to use them. Mathew, moreover, was half-blooded Native American, which made his senses even more acute.

and more sensitive. His friends joked that even in the dark he could hit a rat from 20 meters. This was, of course, an exaggeration, as Native Americans can't see in the dark, so none of them would even notice the rat. He would certainly hear it, or perhaps subconsciously sense it, but that wasn't enough to reach it. The fact was, however, that Red Apple, as his good friends jokingly called him, had absorbed the art of wilderness survival, so to speak, and as he grew older, he had significantly refined it. Meanwhile, they had reached the point where they had to say goodbye. They shook hands and wished each other good night, then parted ways. John glanced back at his departing companion and briskly covered the short distance to his house. He locked the door behind him and, after his evening toilette, went to bed. He had recovered from the incident he had witnessed in the bar, but the smile never returned to his face that day. He lay comfortably on his back, covered himself with a blanket, and stared at the ceiling for a moment. The wind in the field had picked up further and was roaring rather loudly, stirring an irrational fear in the young farmer. Jonny didn't like this kind of weather; wind always reminded him of cold, clouds of dust, and nights spent outdoors—not the kind spent in pleasant company under a starry firmament, but the kind spent hunched over in the cold, trying to fall asleep while the howling of wolves and the hooting of night birds echoed all around. Wind also reminded him of change, but only for the worse, of shattered peace or a lost sense of security, of death and the passing of something that longed to remain. But ultimately, wind was just wind, and whatever it symbolized in literature, it was, in reality, the most ordinary natural phenomenon. That's how John Baker tried to explain it to himself as he lay alone in his room, trying to fall asleep. But this explanation didn't quite resonate with him, and it certainly didn't quell the growing fear that began to fill his mind. The farmer didn't really know what he was afraid of. True, he didn't want to part with his life, but he wasn't that attached to it either, and besides, nothing threatened him at the moment. The wind howled louder and louder, taking on a variety of voices, sometimes terrifying, sometimes mocking. In the distance, he could hear dogs howling and other voices that certainly didn't belong to animals, and certainly not to humans. Jonny got out of bed, checked that the door was locked and that all the windows were tightly closed. Everything was in order. He thought about going to Methwu, who lived quite close by and probably wouldn't mind a visit even so late, but he decided he didn't want to be away from home now, even for such a short time. Besides, everything was fine. Nevertheless, he checked that his revolver was loaded and placed it on the table next to the bed, within easy reach.He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the front door opposite as if expecting someone. But no one came. Just as he was about to go back to sleep, he heard a knock on the door. His throat tightened so much that he could barely breathe. He slowly rose from the bed, losing control of his actions, as if subordinated to someone's powerful will, and approached the door. Just as he was about to open it, he regained consciousness, stopped, and, trying to move silently, returned to the revolver and cocked it. He approached the door again, clutching the gun in his hand. Before he could decide what to do, however, he heard another knock on the door. A split second later, a calm voice spoke.

"Open it, Mathew."

Jonny knew that voice very well and was certain its owner was indeed the man with the intriguing nickname Red Apple. So he opened it and, as he suspected, saw his friend's stern but trustworthy face.

"Come in," he greeted him with obvious relief. "What brings you here at this hour?

" "At the bar, I promised to bring you that book you've been asking me for for some time now." He handed him a thick volume with a nice hardcover.

"Oh yes," he replied, a little disoriented but already calm. Mathew was indeed supposed to bring him the book, so everything was fine

. "I'll be on my way now, I just dropped by to give it to you while I remember. Goodnight again.

" Goodnight .

Jonny closed the door behind him and placed the book on the shelf and the revolver on the table next to the bed. How could he have forgotten his friend's promise? That unexpected knock had truly terrified him, but now he lay down in bed without a second thought, forgetting the fears and doubts that had tormented him a moment ago. He fell asleep practically as soon as his head hit the pillow. Bad dreams didn't bother him that night.

The next day he woke up almost exactly at sunrise; last night seemed so distant, as if it hadn't been yesterday, but a week ago. In the morning glow, it was strange how much the howling wind and his friend's unexpected visit had unsettled him. What had he been so afraid of yesterday? It didn't matter, it was a new day, and it didn't look particularly promising, but it wasn't too bad either. He lay in bed for quite a while before he got up to eat a modest breakfast, as he never ate much in the mornings, but he liked a hearty dinner. This went against the principle that breakfast should be filling and dinner light. However, Jonny didn't care, as it would be many years before such a life affected his health, and who cared what happened after that long. It was Sunday, so, as every week, Baker was going to the local church—not to Mass, of course, because no one celebrated it here, but simply to celebrate his holy day. Later, he might pop into a bar or visit friends. For now, he put on his smartest (least worn) jeans and a clean shirt and headed into town. The sun was blazing hot today, considering it was relatively early in the day. After a short walk of about thirty minutes, he reached a well-kept but, as usual, empty church. After praying for over half an hour, he was about to leave the building when he saw an unusual figure, by Modoc standards, enter. It was a tall man with long black hair, appearing to be in his thirties. He wore a black leather jacket and pants of the same color. He looked very tired. Jonny turned away, pretending not to notice him. The newcomer looked rather strange, and it was unclear what his intentions were, so it was better to wait until he left. However, the man approached the kneeling man and asked,

"Excuse me, could you help me?" His accent was distinctly unfamiliar, but his voice was gentle and trusting, so Jonny immediately calmed down.

"Perhaps," he replied, "but it depends on what kind of help you expect from me."

"All you have to do is answer a few questions," the newcomer smiled slightly, guessing that was all he could hope for. "

Sure, if I know the answers, I'll be happy to share them. In the meantime, why don't we go outside and get the formalities over with? I'm John Baker, or just Jonny."

"Chris," the newcomer replied, shaking the farmer's outstretched hand. "If you're interested, I come from Arroyo, a village many kilometers west of here. My village is dying, and I must find a sacred GECK artifact to survive." Jonny noticed that Chris's initially calm voice was becoming increasingly lofty and pathetic as he began to speak of his village and mission. The newcomer continued, and the farmer had no choice but to adjust to his tone. "I'm traveling to a city called Vault City, because there I might be able to find an item so desired and so needed by my people. Please tell me where I am now. Perhaps this is Vault City, or have you heard anything about the GECK?"

"No, Vault City is quite a long way east from here," Baker grimaced as he spoke the name of the city. "But I don't think you'll get anything from them, especially not one so valuable, assuming they even have this GECK. And as for him, I don't even know what it is." I only heard that there's a town called Gecko not far from Vault City, so it might have something to do with the item you're looking for. And if that's what you want to know, you're in Modoc City.

"Thanks for the information," Chris replied, a little lost in thought. "I guess I have no choice but to head east. Thanks again, goodbye.

" "Wait a minute," the farmer stopped Chris, who was already setting off. "Wouldn't you like to rest a bit after your journey? You don't look too well. If I were you, I'd also talk to the local sheriff. Just because I don't know where Gecko is doesn't mean no one here does.

" "You're probably right. I could use some rest. I haven't been very bright lately, but that's just from exhaustion. I really need a little rest. But first, I'll talk to the sheriff. Could you take me to him?

" "No problem, he lives in that building," he said, pointing to a gray, run-down house. "His name is Jo, and I think he'd be happy to help. If anything, tell him you know me. He'll be more sympathetic knowing you're not a complete stranger." And if you want to chat some more, drop by the local bar. You'll find me there. If you can't find me, ask the locals; they'll surely show you the way. See you then.

"See you later, thanks for your help and concern. I haven't met many people like that in my life.

" "Apparently, you haven't met many yet," Baker replied, "but thanks for the kind words."

Jonny smiled and went to the bar, where Mathew and Jimmy were waiting for him. As expected, they were sitting at a table, drinking beer. Jonny sat down, ordering the drink his friends were drinking. He told them about meeting the strange stranger, occasionally glancing at them to see what impression his story was making. To his satisfaction, it aroused curiosity, and perhaps something more. Almost as soon as he finished speaking, Chris entered the bar. He looked very pleased, and his eyes sparked with the light characteristic of those who are one step away from achieving their desired goal. Seeing Jonny, he joined them, introducing himself. Although Jonny had already told them about the stranger, and they knew his name, common courtesy demanded it. His voice was excited from the start, but he seemed reluctant to immediately reveal what he had learned from Jo. Only when asked if the sheriff had managed to help him in his search did he tell them with obvious satisfaction that he had, and one could even say that his mission was almost over.

"So what did he tell you that made you think your mission was over?" Mathew asked curiously.

"He said he had a Gecko and could give it to me for a small favor.

" "Are you sure he didn't mistake it for a Gecko lizard?" Jimmy joked, but seeing the newcomer's expression, he immediately became serious. "What small favor is this you have to do for him?"

"I'm sure he didn't mistake it for anything," he replied with both unconcealed pride and joy. "And the favor is simple and shouldn't pose any major difficulties. I'm to investigate a farm northwest of here and report back on what I find there. Jo said he would do it himself, but he and his men are busy and don't have time.

After these words, a stunned silence fell. Something—or rather, almost everything—in this story seemed false. It was clear the stranger wasn't lying. He was too straightforward for that

and genuinely excited by the whole event. It was no wonder, since he hoped he could finally complete his mission and thus save the village. Unless, of course, someone had overestimated the possibilities offered by the GECK. In that case, he was lying to Jo, which was rather unlike him. However, it was a fact; Jo didn't have any "people" who were supposedly busy. He himself didn't have so much to do that he couldn't complete a "simple task." Besides, all three knew the story of the Ghost Farm. According to the sheriff, it was an ordinary farm. Moreover, where had he supposedly gotten the item Chris desired so much? True, Jonny didn't know what it was, but he was almost certain the sheriff didn't know either. He might be intelligent, but not overly so. Moreover, he almost never traveled outside Modoc, so where had he gotten it? Finally, the unbearably prolonged silence was broken by Chris, who sensedthat something is probably wrong

"Why are you so quiet? Is something wrong?

" "No," Mathew replied, "everything's fine... But no, it's not. Something really is wrong here.

" "What?"

Silence fell again. On the one hand, it was impossible to lie to an unsuspecting boy, on the other, it was an opportunity to perhaps successfully check out that damned farm. Finally, Jonny spoke up.

"No, it's just... How should I put it, we've heard that this farm isn't entirely safe.

" "Just that? The Den is dangerous. So what? You can survive there too. I won't give up on my desired goal just because it might be dangerous. I have to take risks; time is against me.

" "Don't you understand!" Jimmy couldn't resist. "It wasn't lack of time that discouraged Joe from exploring this area. And if he's afraid, it means it's more than dangerous. Besides, I doubt..." Jimmy bit his tongue, not wanting to say that he didn't believe the sheriff had what he promised as a reward. He didn't want to kill Chris's hope, since it might be justified. "I doubt," he finished, "that it's that simple."

"Maybe it isn't. But I have to try. If you really want to help me, come with me, because you won't convince me to change my mind anyway.

" "No, I don't think we'll convince you to change your mind, but we probably won't go with you either, understand us.

" "I understand, and I see that it probably won't be such an easy task. You don't look like cowards, but you're not coming. It's hard. I'll do it alone or I'll die alone."

He said that last word as calmly and honestly as all the previous ones. He claimed they weren't cowards, and until now, Jonny had thought so too. He wasn't the bravest, but he always faced difficulties head-on

, not run from them. Now, however, he felt like the ultimate coward. The kind he'd always treated with disdain, if not contempt. Chris wasn't much older than them, but in Jonny's opinion, they weren't as good as he was. He felt truly foolish, though that wasn't the newcomer's intention. He wanted to say yes at that moment, but his tongue caught in his throat. He took a long swig of beer, thinking it would help, but no, he still couldn't get a word out.

"I'll leave tomorrow morning," the stranger continued, "because since you claim the case is suspicious, I need some time to make the necessary preparations. I'll be staying at this motel, so if you change your mind, you'll find me here. I'd be very happy, as traveling alone is tiring, but I'll understand if you don't show up. This is my trip; you don't have to risk it. I'm already grateful for your kindness and warning.

" "No problem. We'll consider your offer."

Jonny wasn't alone in his feelings. Everyone was relieved to hear they didn't have to make any declarations now. It's easier not to come than to say "no" to their faces. Besides, maybe they will. After this declaration, the conversation turned to much more mundane and pleasant topics. The tension quickly subsided, and it was a casual but interesting friendly conversation. Chris spoke more, because, having lived in Modoc all their lives, they didn't have much to share, but they also shared their observations and opinions. He, on the other hand, spoke of the towns he visited on his way east. First, about Klamath, a small but quiet, if not boring, town where the residents' main occupation is hunting geckos, and the main problems are the overpopulation of local rats and scorpion attacks. Life is completely different in Den, a town where anarchy reigns, and the numerous gangs, especially Metzger, the head of the local slave guild, have the most say. Drugs are easy to come by there, and a bullet in the head is even easier. The best proof of the ultimate decline of humanity, from which they're unlikely to recover until the whole world changes. Compared to them, Modoc is a really nice place. More interesting than Klamath and safer (significantly so) than Den. A few hours passed quickly, however, and Chris excused himself, saying it was time to go. He paid for the room and went back to his place for a bit of rest. When the conversation ended, Jonny felt the unpleasant feeling of cowardice return.

"What do you think?" he finally asked. "I mean, about him and our possible help.

" "I don't know," Mathew replied, pulling out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes and lighting one. I feel silly thinking about some stranger having to handle this matter for us, and on the other hand, I think I'd rather it remain unsolved than risk going there.

"It would be worth asking the sheriff about this GECK," Jimmy, who had been silent until now, interjected. "Maybe we're making a problem where there isn't one.

" "True." It would be good to talk to him, maybe right away?

"It's best to go straight away. I'll go alone," Jimmy declared. "He likes me, and if we all go together, he'll get suspicious and might think we've spilled the beans to Chris.

" "Fine. Go right away and investigate, we'll wait for you here."

Jimmy got up from the table and quickly left the bar. The sun was already high above the horizon, but the cool wind meant it wasn't as warm as it might seem. The room was getting more and more crowded; Sunday wasn't a holiday here, but people, out of habit, had a habit of meeting around noon on Sundays.

"Rose's" to chat and escape the daily routine. Every now and then, the door would open and someone would walk in. This someone was usually a man with broad shoulders and a rather unintelligent expression. Most of them looked alike, as if they all came from the same family, though of course they didn't. They weren't very different mentally either. They were simple people who liked to eat well and drink after hard work, and sleep well at night, ready to get back to work the next day. Less frequent visitors were women, who only occasionally visited with their husbands. They weren't so similar anymore, and they carefully emphasized these differences with their clothing and hairstyle, clearly trying to attract attention, which they often succeeded in doing. This often led to arguments between jealous and tipsy men. Today, however, it was unusually quiet. The atmosphere was a bit sleepy, and the residents, tired of the gossip of the past few days, returned to their ordinary, sometimes tedious, matters.

Jimmy returned sooner than expected

. "The bastard must have guessed," he said, lowering his voice so only his friends could hear. "He says he has that GECK, and it's none of our business. But I don't believe him. You can tell from a distance that he's lying, but why would he?

" "He's probably afraid Chris will change his mind, which is very possible if he finds out he won't get anything in return," Mathew replied. "

Yeah, probably. But he won't change his mind. I have a feeling he believed us from the very beginning when we told him the sheriff was lying, but he's clinging to that hope because he has no other choice. I feel sorry for him, but we can't convince him to change his mind.

" "So what should we do?"

"I don't know. Each of us has to make our own decision."

Soon they went home. Jonny didn't plan on doing anything today;

it was Sunday, after all, and he was entitled to one day of inactivity. Besides, the day had already given him enough excitement. He could sit in his armchair with a clear conscience and gaze out at the vastness of the desert or the blue cloudless sky. He could also read the book Mathew had recently given him, because so far he hadn't had time to even start it. He usually enjoyed a good book, and he'd been asking for this one for some time now, as the Indian had praised it so highly. However, there was one thing that made him completely disinclined to read a book, and sitting in the armchair brought him no pleasure. That was, of course, Chris's suggestion. He wanted to forget it, but he couldn't. He had liked the strange newcomer practically from the start, and it even seemed strange to him that at the very beginning in church he had aroused a strange fear in him, which, however, disappeared when he spoke to him in his gentle voice. He wanted to help him, especially since he had a strong sense of duty, and

Solving this case seemed to him the responsibility of the people of Modoc, including himself. He also hoped he might learn something about the Balthas child. Apparently, his mother's mental state was deteriorating daily. And it was possible that another tragedy would soon strike. What tormented him most was the accusation of cowardice, which, worse still, he himself had formulated. Even though it was unspoken, it hung over him and weighed heavily on him. He feared that if he didn't go, it would be with him forever. However, he hesitated before making the decision to leave. He took a short walk around his modest estate. Watching it all, he realized that he liked his life as it was and didn't want to change it because he was happy. However, another part of him, which usually remained subdued, occasionally spoke up, now telling him it was time to act, because one usually regrets what one didn't do more than what one did. He wished the day were over and sleep would bring oblivion. There were still a few hours until sunset. He remembered last night; hadn't it been a prelude to all this? He found himself back in his room after dark, hearing the distant howling of dogs again, and not just them, but what, the wind? If these were sounds from the farm, it was best not to go near. But what, wait? For that something to come here? He remembered a fragment of a song he'd heard somewhere long ago, but which he really liked: "To Get Back Courige I've Faced the Truth..." So it was time to find out. The decision was made. Tomorrow he would set off.

Night fell faster than he expected, and it was also much darker. As if the darkness had thickened and swallowed the last remnants of the night's glow. But it was an illusion; darkness is simply the absence of light, and it dispels the darkness, not the other way around. Before falling asleep, the howling echoed in his head again, though this time he was certain that the wind, which had stirred up small clouds of dust in the late afternoon, had now died down completely. However, he fell asleep quickly and, as he desired, sleep brought oblivion, which in the morning would turn into memory again and he would have to face the difficulties of life.

In the morning, he woke up feeling very late. He jumped out of bed and threw on his clothes surprisingly quickly. When he glanced out the window, he realized his mistake: it was still dark, and not only wasn't he late, but he'd also gotten up early. So he busied himself with making breakfast. He was relieved to find out he still had plenty of time, but now that his mind wasn't occupied with any pressing matter, anxiety returned. He was determined, though, and wondered what his friends would do. He would soon find out. When he finished all the necessary activities, he grabbed his revolver and left. It was much colder than yesterday, but he didn't want to go back for any extra clothes. He didn't believe in the senseless superstitions associated with returning home, but he didn't want to prolong it. On the way, he deliberately stopped by Mathew's house. As agreed, he hadn't intended to go inside and force anyone to make a decision, but was simply curious if he was home. When he arrived, however, he couldn't deduce anything. No sounds came from inside, but he could just as easily have been asleep as if he'd left a few minutes ago. This disappointed him a bit, but he hurried into town.

Chris was already waiting for him by the well, as they'd agreed. When he saw the farmer approaching, a smile spread across his rather worried face.

"So you're here," he greeted him in his always gentle voice. "I'm glad you came. Are we going, or should we wait a while? Maybe someone else will come.

" "Let's wait, maybe they'll show up

." After a few minutes, Jimmy arrived, which clearly lifted the others' spirits. Three's company, as someone once said. However, Mathew didn't show up for another ten minutes, so they assumed he'd decided not to go. The streets of Modoc were still completely empty, and the town was still asleep. They left quickly and headed northwest. As they passed Jonny's house, they heard someone call,

"Wait for me! I'm coming with you."

It was none other than Mathew Red Apple. Sleepy and out of breath, he was buttoning the last buttons of his shirt. It wasn't the first time Mathew had overslept, but it was the first time he'd been greeted with such joy. All three had passed the test of courage and loyalty, so they had reason to be satisfied, regardless of what would happen next. The important thing was that they hadn't let their friends down, and that was truly something. For a while, they felt like they were on a friendly expedition, not a risky reconnaissance, but all that changed as soon as they reached the vast fields of ripe corn. This meant they were almost there. Chris unslung his hunting rifle and led them between the crops. Complete silence reigned, and the rustle of leaves against clothing seemed unbearably loud. The march through the corn grew longer and longer, becoming unsettling. Moreover, they could smell the stench of decaying bodies in the air. Who knows what might be lurking in this thicket? At least everything was visible in the open ground. But what they saw when they finally emerged into the longed-for open space was something they probably never wanted to see. Along the dirt road were wooden poles, and on them were propped deformed and mutilated human bodies. Blood was everywhere, and the smell was becoming unbearable. Jonny lowered his gaze and felt a sickness creeping up on him. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, but something told him to stay. It was a growing hatred. He felt it for the first time, but immediately it was an incredibly powerful feeling that seemed to take over him. Chris gestured for them to remain where they were. He approached the poles, and though he tried to remain calm, his hands trembled and his face turned deathly pale. He forced himself to look up. The sun blinded him for a moment, but soon his eyes adjusted. To the sun, of course, and not to the sight of corpses. A look of astonishment crossed his face.

"Strange," he whispered, barely audible, "these don't look like human bodies. Unless they're that deformed. Come on, you have to be careful. Even if they're not human, this isn't the normal way to greet guests."

At the northern end of the road stood a small building. Chris was leading them towards it. They walked in pairs, looking in all directions, weapons at the ready. The smell was getting worse. On either side of the building were pens, each containing several Brahmin. They looked well, certainly not starved. They stopped at the building's door. The visitor from the west peered inside out of the corner of his eye. The building was empty except for a few crates along one wall. Jonny and Mathew remained on guard, while Jimmi and Chris went to check the contents of the crates. When they were almost to the center of the room, the ground immediately collapsed beneath their feet. Jonny heard only a muffled scream and the sound of his companions falling. As he entered the building, he saw a hole in the center of the room that must have been cleverly disguised until now. When he looked inside, he saw his friends lying on the ground and two men approaching them. When they saw him, one of them immediately fired a shot at him. The bullet ripped through the air a few centimeters from Baker's head. Now Jonny took aim, but his hands were shaking, and he, too, missed the target. Shouts came from below, and the two disappeared into the corridor. Chris slowly rose from the ground, as did Jimmy. After a moment, they disappeared from the sight of their companions above, probably hiding from the fire of the underground inhabitants. Shouts and scattered gunshots came from below, but nothing was visible. Chris had a rope, but there was no way to attach it at the moment, as they were under constant fire. After a moment, Mathew spotted two men approaching from the cornfields. They quickly took up firing positions, but for now, they did nothing more. The situation was stalemate. They had no chance of breaking through the underground passages or taking control of the farm. Worse still, they had gotten separated, and attempting to reunite would be very risky. However, they had no intention of selling their hides cheaply. The shots below became increasingly rare, eventually suddenly disappearing. Jonny heard nervous voices, one of which seemed to belong to Chris, but then he heard his friend clearly.

"Put down your weapons, there's no point in fighting."

At first, this seemed absurd to Jonny. How could he be so sure that if he didn't surrender his weapons, these people wouldn't kill him? But some inner compulsion told him to obey, especially since, judging by common sense, they had little, if any, chance of escaping the encirclement. He saw a ladder emerge from below, and then Chris appeared on it.

"Put down your weapons," he repeated his plea. "These people have no ill intentions

." "Then why did they shoot at me?

" "It was a reflex. They're just as scared as we are. Come with me."

Jonny always wondered later why he'd agreed to this, but the fact was, he and Red Apple had surrendered their weapons and soon followed Chris downstairs. At the bottom, the guards took their weapons and led them to what seemed to be headquarters. They treated them well, without unnecessary violence, though it was clear they were afraid, even though they were in control. When the four reached the large, unassuming but well-maintained room, they knew this seemingly haunted farm was simply an inhabited settlement, though unusual in that its inhabitants were practically always underground. The leader of the settlement was already waiting for them inside. A black-haired man with a sharp gaze and a serene countenance named Veiger

, "Why are you disturbing our peace?" he asked as the guards retreated and they were left alone

. "Disturbing the peace?" Chris replied with a question. "We came from Modoc to check out this place. If we hadn't fallen into that hole and your men started shooting, nothing would have happened."

"Hmm... That would be consistent with what Jeffrey said. I believe you.

And since you're coming from Modoc, maybe we can come to an agreement. We've been trying to contact the town for a while now, but haven't been able to. However, I've already written a message for the local sheriff, and I hope we can reach an agreement. If one of you agrees to deliver it to Modoc and convince them to cooperate, I'll let you go."

"I don't know," Jonny said, pretending to consider it, though the offer seemed fair. "What about Karl and those corpses on the stakes? How can we trust you after all this?"

"Karl? I don't know him. And as for those bodies, they're just imitations made of Brahmin skin. Didn't you see that? Initially, when we didn't want to negotiate with the town, they were supposed to scare them away, but now I realize that was a bad idea.

Oh, I almost forgot. We recently found a boy wandering around the farm. He says he's from Modoc." We wanted to escort him to the city, but we didn't have anyone willing to do it. As an act of goodwill, the boy can go

with the messenger right away. So what about my proposal?

"Agreed," Chris replied, and the others nodded. "We just need to discuss who will go."

"Fine, I don't mind."

After a short discussion, it was decided that Jonny would go. Veiger kept his promise and allowed him to take the child with him. The boy was frightened and dazed, but unharmed. There were no signs of ill-treatment. He covered the distance to the settlements in less than half an hour. When he reached town, he decided that first he had to take the boy to the Balthases, who had probably given up hope. As expected, the welcome was incredibly moving, although no one paid Jonny any attention or thanked him. More important to him, however, was JO's reaction to the news. The sheriff was not convinced for a long time, but finally, Baker's account and, above all, the intercession of the rescued child's father, who, realizing his mistake, went to thank his unexpected benefactor, the sheriff agreed to cooperate with the farm residents.

After that, everything went smoothly. When Jonny returned with a letter from the Modoc people and an assurance that they wanted to cooperate, Veiger released everyone and returned their weapons. Better times were about to begin for the Modoc residents.

Epilogue

It was Tuesday. Jonny was sitting with Chris in the only bar in Modoc. The newcomer, who had caused a stir in the slow-paced life of the residents, was about to depart. As Jo suspected, he didn't have a GECK. He didn't even feel remorse. He apologized to Chris, saying he was doing it for the good of the town, but he didn't seem to regret it. It didn't matter, though, because a lie is always a lie. The newcomer must have gotten used to the idea, because when Chris told him he had nothing in return, he simply left without a word. He could have, of course, taken revenge somehow, or even slammed the door behind him, but he didn't want to. He knew it wouldn't have done him any good. However, he didn't leave completely without a reward. The rescued boy's father gave him a wonderful leather jacket, the additional reinforcements of which should protect him well from damage, even from weapons

of greater firepower. It wasn't much, though, and Chris couldn't hide his sadness at the whole situation. Words of encouragement from Jonny and the other two expedition members were of no use. He still had a long journey ahead of him, and no one else would make it for him. He was only sad to part with Red Apple and Jimmy, and especially Jonny, whom he had already grown fond of, and the feeling was mutual. He promised that once he completed the task, he would return. But would he?