The Walker

Daisy sat on the side of the boat, which Tom had assured her was called either port or starboard, and watched the countryside stream past. She had managed to have a quick wash below decks, courtesy of George and his basin, and was feeling somewhat refreshed. Walker lounged against the thin mast, the sail of which was currently furled; the river’s natural current was enough to carry them along for now.

George had taken the tea away and was currently doing things on deck, while Tom stood at the back steering the little boat behind the oversized steering wheel, which he claimed had come from an old ‘pirate ship’, like the ones she had read about. The river was smooth and wide enough that Tom had little steering to do, and the man was perched on a stool, flicking the wheel lazily.

She had never seen a boat, or a ship before in real life, and she had to admit she was fairly underwhelmed.

Tom’s boat, and it was a boat, definitely not a ship, bobbed and churned along, its weathered pink hull radiating an almost apologetic sense of embarrassment. She had decided then that she would focus on their surroundings.

Daisy moved, sitting near the front of the boat, which Tom had insisted was the bow. She watched the scenery float past, oddly feeling that it was the world moving with the swells of the water and not herself and the boat.

They had gone past a field of huge windmills, slender and tall like fingers reaching skywards, some turning merrily in the wind, others sulking, still and silent.

Later they had come across a group of children playing on the bank, and some of the boys in the group had thrown stones, in the fair natured way of children that means no true malice. Tom had waved a pole at them, but they had merely laughed and resumed their games.

The Good Gel flowed along gently, passing various small villages and lonely buildings on the sides of the valley walls, dotted about high above and far away from them.

She was absentmindedly playing with her brother’s old tag, when Tom shouted from behind her. “After this next bend, you should be able to see the city”

Daisy stirred; she’d never seen a city either. Her mother had worked there once, and had told her stories of their grandeur. She was excited, unlike Walker, who pulled his hat down over his face slightly and refused to turn to look. She found that she was holding her breath; after the disappointment of the ‘ship’, she was ready for huge buildings, gracing the sky with lights, bejewelled and glittering as her mother had told her. She had said it was busy, busier than the market back home, with people from all over the country. You could buy anything there, she had said, and the city never slept.

As the Good Gel crawled slowly around the bend in the river, she caught her first glimpse, off in the distance over the slopes of the hills ahead. She was not disappointed.

The ground towards the city was greener, with trees, tall and leafy. The sky around it seemed bluer, with more clouds than usual for the late autumn months. The river wound ahead of them, a blue scar through the green landscape, leading down and through the wall surrounding the city. Buildings were strewn sporadically along the roads leading there, becoming thicker and less spread out the closer to the city they got, until they stopped at the wall.

The wall itself was tall and grey, probably concrete, stretching high above the buildings that rested next to it. Vertical lines of blue intersected the grey mass, pulsing softly, as if the city was breathing. There were vast openings interspersed along the wall, tall dark arches cut into the concrete, which allowed the roads along the ground, as well as the river, to enter the city. The buildings beyond the wall raked the sky, punching into the clouds above.

But what struck Daisy most was the sheer activity bustling around the city. Through each of the arches streamed endless crowds of people like so many ants. Above the ants on the ground, ants patrolled along the top of the wall. Trucks, horse carts and boats all bustled along, coming and going along the roads and river way. Lonely looking petrol vehicles trundled along, causing people to spread as they rumbled through the masses. Above, distant birds of steel wheeled and dived, landing on or in the tallest buildings. She could hear the distant rumble of activity even here; the sound of thousands of people, living.

“Big, isn’t it?”

Walker had appeared at her side. He glowered out at the city ahead. She didn’t reply. She couldn’t think of what to say. It was bigger than anything she had ever seen. The wall itself must have been a good twenty meters above the ground, and it was dwarfed by the buildings it enclosed. Her mother had sold the city short.

“It’s... amazing” she managed.

Walker clucked and shook his head. “Soft thinking like that’ll get you killed one day, girl.”

He stalked back to his position at the mast, pointedly turning his back on their destination. He started to roll himself a cigarette as the girl joined him.

“And one day, those things are going to kill you,” she replied.

He half shrugged and grunted.

“Why is the ground so much... greener here?”

He licked the edge of his roll, sealing it, before turning to look at her. “The city has its own weather patterns, girl. They make sure there’s more rain, more cloud. Even though your town is only four days walk from here,” he lit his cigarette, flicking the match overboard, “the weather patterns will be completely different.”

She rubbed her head slightly, “How does that work? You can’t just change the weather.”

Walker looked up and gestured, “Know what a satellite is?”

She shook her head.

“Then you needn’t worry about it. Just know it works.” He exhaled and continued, “You ever seen snow? Real snow?”

Daisy thought back; she had only heard of snow from the old people living in her town, and even they only knew of it from relatives, or very young childhood memories. Supposedly it was cold, slow rain that could cause the entire country to close down, blocking roads with only the lightest of coverings. Daisy had always assumed it must be razor edged, and pitied the southerly countries she had been told about; the ones that apparently received vast amounts of this snow, almost constantly. She eventually shook her head,

“I’ve heard of it, but it’s always so dry where I live...” her mind panged painfully back to her brother, and the home she no longer had, and she corrected herself, “...lived. And in the winter it’s just icy and cold.”

Walker scratched his chin, “Well, no matter. They have it here, but we won’t see any. They try to emulate the weather as it was before the crisis, so they mainly keep it wet when it should be dry, and dry when it’s too cold to enjoy.” He shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette.

Daisy was confused, “Crisis? What do you mean? Hasn’t it always been this way?”

Walker turned to her sharply. “You don’t know about the crisis? Did your family not even try to teach you? Or are you just thick?”

Daisy scowled at him, “They taught me what they could. You know we didn’t have books, or—“

George interrupted her. “Miss Daisy?”

With a final glower at Walker, she padded gently over to where he stood, on the bottom step leading below decks, as always.

“What’s the matter, George?” she asked, smiling.

Daisy liked George. Always smiling, he radiated an almost childlike sense of goodwill, not seeming to judge anyone, seeing the good in them. He had failed to act when Walker had been threatening Tom, and was helpful and kind. But he was not childlike to look at. He was a giant of a man, taller than Walker by a good head and shoulders, with a shaved head and a huge, bushy black beard; like most overly-tall people, he stooped when standing next to others, or tried to stand so that he was more level with everyone else. His arms were solid, like roots of a tree, and his hands would easily have been able to enclose her head, and to squash it, if he’d felt like it. He made tea in slightly damaged china cups, sung heartily of his home country of Wales, and wielded the ten foot barge pole like she would a small stick.

He smiled hugely at her, white teeth gleaming through the forest of beard. He was still far taller than she was, despite the height difference in where they stood.

“I’ve noticed you playin’ with that shiny tag; the one on your gun” he looked down at her softly, smiling, “I thought it must mean a lot to you, so I made you this, see?” He opened one huge palm and held out a leather strap.

“It isn’t much,” he conceded, “but it’s the best I could do on this boat. It’s a necklace, for the tag. In case you lose the gun, or something bad happens to it. Take it.”

He grinned at her again, as she took the leather from him. It had a small clasp of rough, pewter coloured metal. She opened and closed it a few times. He saw her fiddle with it, and explained, “That’s so you can add more things, if you want to, see?”

She smiled at him, “Thanks. It’s a shame my brother isn’t here, George.”

George cocked his head slightly, still smiling gently at her. “Is it, Miss Daisy?”

“Yeah.”

George held up a finger up gently, as though in thought. “We-ell, wherever he’s gone, he’s already gone there, right? So, if he was here, meeting me, he wouldn’t have been able to do whatever it was that made you think of him so much, see?

“So, I reckon, the best thing to do is to let whatever he did help you to move on. Big things coming, could be. Everything that happens, happens because it has to, so that everything that has to happen after it can happen, see?”

She looked up at him. The beaming smile was still there, but there was a thoughtful twinkle in his eye.

“Come on,” he continued, “I’ll get you some more tea.” He looked at her for a moment, then turned to go below deck. Daisy stopped him with a pat on the shoulder. He turned around, still grinning.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“No problem. No harm bein’ nice, is there? “ He ambled down to whatever was under the deck, radiating good natured stupidity. She headed back to Walker, who had been watching the whole thing.

“What did that buffoon want?” he asked.

“He’s not a buffoon. You should talk to him, I think you’d be surprised.”

He shook his head, muttering, as she knelt down and unholstered her gun. She held it upside down and, carefully, un-looped the chain holding her brother’s tag to the grip.

She smelled, rather than felt, Walker looming behind her. “Try not to get sentimental, girl”, he said, “Another thing that might kill you one day.”

She ignored him and hooked the tag onto the leather necklace, placing it over her head and gripping the scratched metal tag, running a thumb over the pitted surface, feeling the beaming idiot’s smile. She dropped it down the front of her jerkin.

The city was getting closer; the grass along the banks of the river was definitely greener, she could even see insects buzzing angrily away at their approach. The sky seemed even bluer than before and she could feel the sunlight warming her from above.

She smiled quietly to herself as the boat continued its way gently through the water.