Air force one (part one)

Walker

Mick sits on his stool at the edge of the small stage looking out grimly over the Wolverine's dining room and his waiting customers. The truckers watch him in return, motionless except for the smoke of their cigarettes. The room is no more than a quarter full tonight, but that still means a dozen men are sitting here expecting some form of after-dinner entertainment. They are gradually realizing that none is forthcoming.

"The Martians," he says to them. One trucker immediately grimaces.

" 'You wanna' see the Martians?' " the man says, imitating his host. "'There they are.'" He gestures dismissively with his cigarette. "You tell that one every week, man. Gimme a damn break."

"OK," Mick says, and blows out his breath, looking at the man. Then a new ray of hope breaks through the evening’s gloom.

"The beautiful city?" he asks hopefully. "Monorail trains? Naked priestesses? You guys know that one? That really is a great one."

"Yeah," another man replies, stubbing out a hand-rolled cigarette. "And the little kid in the basement with shit all over him. Come on, Mick, you tell that one every other week!"

The Innkeeper looks at his second detractor for a long moment. Certainly, business has been thin lately. But the thought occurs to the Wolverine's proprietor that perhaps it has not been thin enough.

"You know," he says finally, "there is a limit, right? I mean, there's only so many of these things I can keep in here," he hits the side of his head with two fingers. "Maybe there used to be more, but — you know — the End of the World probably has a way of driving these things out.

"What do we need science fiction for anyway," he laughs. "I mean," he gestures around the fire lit room, "we're living in the future, right?"

"Yeah?" another of his trucker customers speaks up, thumping his beer mug on the heavy tabletop. "How do you figure that? How are we 'in the future', now."

"Well," the innkeeper replies slowly, "I guess this can only be the future, since it doesn't seem very damn likely that anyone's ever going to remember it as the past. If you know what I mean."

Terrific, he thinks, piss off the customers. Maybe they'll tell their friends! 'Oh yeah! The Wolverine Truck Stop and Motor Lodge? I go there because driving my rig through post-holocaust America isn't depressing enough for me! But Mick fixes me up real good!'

"Look," he says, more amicably. "You guys are the ones out there on the roads. You see everything — not me. Let's hear some good Halloween stories! I know that's what you all do in the camps at night. Sit around the campfire and scare each other to death with Weird Things I Have Seen, right? Well, let's hear some of that in here for a change! We'll collect the best ones. Write ‘em down. Give prizes!

"Oh come on," he says, when no one seems to be coming on. "Anything, gentlemen? UFOs? Famous People I Have Seen? Elvis, Jesus, General Walker?"

He pauses, smiling mirthlessly, and wonders if this would be the appropriate moment to begin praying for a miracle. Being struck by lightning, for example. But then you'd probably get screwed anyway. Like it wouldn’t actually kill you, or something.

That's probably what Moses really wanted, but he got all that other stuff instead. "Look, Lord, I don't want to lead the Jews and I don't want to kickbox with Pharaoh. I just came up here for a little damn peace and quiet!"

Then one trucker, sitting alone at a table near the back speaks up slowly.