The Walker

Walker’s grin faded. No-eyed men were what uneducated townsfolk called the helmeted government agents, subordinate to the Philosophers, unofficially known as the Bookmen. He scratched his chin and stepped back from the girl. It was indeed the same one he met on one of his early excursions out west; this was why the town felt familiar to him. The town been raided shortly after he had visited; not unusual, really.

“So?” He grunted.

She rubbed at her eye and spoke. “The government men came, a few weeks after you did. They asked my dad about you, after they beat him. He lasted a little longer after that. They....” She looked away, out over the rooftops.

Walker sighed.

The girl turned back to him. “My Dad told me about you, about the order of Felosophers, and Walkers.” She ran her hand through her hair, and pressed on. “Which one are you? A Felosopher or a Walker?”

He flinched at the mispronunciation of his word, but shot her a smile, “Does it matter?”

She eyed him up for a second, then shrugged. She took a tattered book from her hip pouch, the scored leather cover dull in the sunlight, pausing to run a fond finger down its battered spine. She held the book out to him. “Here it is. Treasure Island. I’ve read it a thousand times, or more, like you said.”

She smiled up at him, “I remember what you said as well, that I should find you, when I’m ready. Well, I am, and I’m here. I’m ready to go with you.”

Walker stared at her grimly. The girl was mad, clearly; he couldn’t even remember why he told her those things in the first place. “Why do you want to come with me, girl?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

“And why do you think I’d let you?”

She gawped at him, Treasure Island limp in her outstretched hand, “But, you said... You gave me the book. I was supposed to go with—“

He cut in, “I don’t need you, girl. I especially don’t need him.” He jerked a thumb towards her brother, who was still lying on in the gravel on the roof.

She stood there, mouth open. “But... you said. You said to find you. I‘ve been waiting, getting ready! Training, learning to read, everything you said”.

He ignored her pleas. “No”.

He saw the big, sad eyes he had seen when she was a youth, red rimmed and glistening in the afternoon sun. They glared accusingly at him.

“You can’t do this... You’re one of them, right? A Felosopher? You’re supposed to help people.”

Walker gritted his teeth. “Say it right”, he growled.

She stood there, uncomprehending “What?”

“It’s Philosopher. P-h-i-l-o-s-o-p-h-e-r.” He spelled it out. “No E at the beginning.” Walker turned and started to stalk back to the ladder that had taken him to the roof.

He heard a metal crunch, and knew she had a gun pointed at him. Home-made, by the sound the round had made on its way into the chamber.

“You’d better take the shot. It’s the only one you’ll get”

He turned slowly towards her, arms loosely held at his sides. The girl was holding out a cobbled together hand cannon. The magnum round was enough to puncture his rusty, aging chest armour, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. He started to step slowly towards her. The girl’s arm shook, but she continued to hold the gun up at chest level.

“You... you can’t go around, doing what you do, getting people hurt” The girl’s voice was emotional. She wiped at her eyes again. “You just mince around from place to place, not caring; taking what you want, doing what you want, getting people killed. It’s... it’s not fair”.

Walker shook his head and took another step towards her. “You really don’t know who we are, do you?” He asked her.

The gun in her grasp started to waver. He reached out slowly and took it from her. Her brother was still sitting, staring open mouthed at the two of them. The girl’s shoulders slumped, and she sniffed.

“I thought you were here to change things. Take me away from this. My Dad said you were supposed to be good. That Felosophers helped people.” She paused to glare up at him, “Sorry, P-h-i-l-o-s-o-p-h-e-r-s.” She spelled it out slowly, as if to a child, as he had to her.

Walker sighed and stepped back, lightly holding her pistol. The girl stood there, scowling defiance, fists clenched. “Do you know what the difference is?”

“Difference? My Dad didn’t tell me about differences.” she replied quietly. “He told me about the Order, and about philosophers, about how the Walkers aren’t quite the same, how they go about saving books, giving them back to people. The Order Philosophers just gather them up and store them away.”

Walker nodded to himself and dropped the pistol to the ground. “You know little, girl, and that’s fine by me. Keep your dreams to yourself, and keep me out of them.”

She ignored the gun and stepped forward. “Walker, wait.” She went to grab his arm, but stopped as he glanced down. She carried on hastily. “Take me with you. I did as you said. I’m ready to look after the treasure, the books. I’m ready to join, to do my bit.”

Walker snorted derisively. “You want to join the Walkers? You don’t even know who we are, what we do. And this?” He kicked the ramshackle gun towards her, “Doesn’t make you ready.” He pointed to the beanpole, who had sat staring, doing nothing, “And he certainly isn’t.”

He sneered at the two of them, “If you had learned like I told you, you’d know this is impossible. You can’t just waltz up and join.”

“There was no one to learn from! I expected you back, sooner. But you never came.”

Walker shrugged, “I doubt you’ll find anyone who cares, girl. I never have.”

It was her turn to sneer. “Is that why you’re out here, alone?”

Walker’s mouth turned hard, frosty. “I don’t need you,” he said, deadpan. “Go home.”

“Wait! Hey! Where are you going? I need to...” she trailed off, as Walker walked away.

He left them on the rooftop, her staring numbly and her brother pale, slumped against a rusting reminder of the past.