{"id":910,"date":"2017-01-03T18:27:22","date_gmt":"2017-01-04T02:27:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/?p=910"},"modified":"2017-01-03T18:27:22","modified_gmt":"2017-01-04T02:27:22","slug":"dooms-daughter-chapter-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/?p=910","title":{"rendered":"Doom’s Daughter, Chapter 5"},"content":{"rendered":"

The man in the woollen cap raises his rifle. Knowing Father, he\u2019s got the pistol in his duster pocket pointed at the guy. Mason is on the floor, still pleading silently with his stupid, snotty face. I\u2019ve got my shotgun in my hands, hidden just out of sight. It\u2019s not so much a Mexican standoff as a two-on-one with an extra army outside for the outnumbered guy.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOk, what\u2019s going on here?\u201d Wool-cap demands.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust calm down, my friend,\u201d Father says in his best negotiation voice. It\u2019s the voice that always gets the best bartering price on goods. It\u2019s the voice that talked Reverend Jones down from burning me at the stake. It\u2019s the voice that…admittedly, didn\u2019t work so well against the angry bikers in Sin City, but that\u2019s a different story. I still can\u2019t believe Father brought me along that time.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m calm, I\u2019m calm,\u201d Woolly says. \u201cJust wondering why you have a guy tied…oh, it\u2019s Mason.\u201d He lowers his rifle. \u201cThought some off-islanders\u2019d be an easy mark, eh, kid?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCale, they\u2019re crazy, ya gotta help me,\u201d Mason bleats. I watch with satisfaction as Cale rolls his eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t listen to a word he says,\u201d Cale advises. \u201cHe\u2019s slippery as soap, can\u2019t be trusted. Does dirty work for the League, besides.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, about that,\u201d Father says, scratching the back of his neck as he lets go of the gun in his pocket, \u201cI\u2019d like to know more about the League. And your tribe.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Cale nods, smiling broadly as he takes a gander about the RV. \u201cWell I\u2019d say you\u2019ve got extra stuff to trade. Tell you what: why don\u2019t you follow us back to the village? I can introduce you to our priestess, er, leader, and we can trade goods and information.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a trap!\u201d Mason shouts.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDad, can we gag him?\u201d I ask. <\/span>Guy changes tunes more than I do when I\u2019m checking out a scavenged mix-CD.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/p>\n

We turn around, heading north, following Cale and his crew up the highway. A part of me hopes we\u2019ll run into Mason\u2019s \u2018friends\u2019 along the way, but the journey proves to be violence-free, with the exception of Mason straining his wrists to bleeding against his bonds and then whining about it.<\/span><\/p>\n

Father <\/span>still<\/span><\/i> doesn\u2019t let me gag him, even after I crank <\/span>Nightwish<\/span><\/i> to drown out his blubbering. No, make that boogering. I\u2019m sure Father wants to see what else Jar-of-snot will reveal about the League, but I just can\u2019t take it anymore. Epic Norwegian Metal is the only possible reprieve.<\/span><\/p>\n

The caravan leads us into a <\/span>literal <\/span><\/i>village. It\u2019s not one of those sad ragged-tents-and-goats outfits, either. It\u2019s a cleaned-up pre-Doom suburbia with a great big farm in the middle which I\u2019m betting was once a soccer field. Mason starts freaking out again, screaming that they\u2019re going to \u2018tie him to the maypole and leave him for the crows\u2019 and that if we get out of the RV we\u2019re probably dead, too, but I just ignore him. I know an ambush when I see one.<\/span><\/p>\n

The roadblock was a possible ambush. This place is kids running around with wooden swords and aluminum foil armour, playing some make-believe game about the good ol\u2019 days when the scariest disease out there was the bubonic plague. This village is farmers in hand-sewn work-clothes tending to vegetable crops, standing up to wave at their returning scouts, or army or whatever they happen to be.<\/span><\/p>\n

This place is, I\u2019m betting Father will mutter any minute, \u2018Hippie-ville\u2019.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, it\u2019s a hippie commune,\u201d Father exclaims from the passenger seat, leaving out the \u2018ville\u2019. \u201cThey\u2019d be more likely to try and put you on a vegan diet to suppress that aggression, Mason, rather than kill you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUh-huh,\u201d he sniffles, \u201cand their guns are just for show.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m betting the guns are for protection, but I decide to wait and see what the locals say about Mason and the League. Appearances can be deceiving, especially when it comes to local leadership.<\/span><\/p>\n

Cale and company park outside of what looks like an English-style pub. Minus our truck, we only take up five parking spots. Everybody clambers out and Father hands Mason over to the Kawitzen, despite his screaming protestations.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMason\u2019s back!\u201d one of the tin-foil knights exclaims, and suddenly they\u2019ve surrounded him, chanting and taunting him with their weapons. Surprisingly, the children seem to calm him down. I hang back and watch as Father chats with Cale.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe captured you again,\u201d the tallest boy exclaims, prodding Mason with his sword-stick.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe only thing you\u2019ve ever caught was the permanent stink of farts,\u201d Mason retorts. The children giggle. \u201cThose strangers captured me,\u201d he says, gesturing his head in my direction, \u201cand you\u2019d better keep away from them. They\u2019re from the mainland and don\u2019t believe in the Goddess. They\u2019d probably sell you all into slavery if they got the chance.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I raise an eyebrow as the children scream and scatter. The tall boy with the sword glares at me like he\u2019s about to have a moment of bravery, until I wink at him. He and his courage flee the parking lot.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell you got one thing right,\u201d I tell Liar-Pants Mason. \u201cI don\u2019t believe in your stupid goddess who definitely doesn\u2019t exist and is just a figment of a small-village post-Doom imagination, probably meant to help explain…\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cRegan,\u201d Father says. \u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d He gestures for me to follow him and Cale. Mason is led away by another member of the scouts, to some unknown fate. Based on the fact that he\u2019s no longer stuck on \u2018I\u2019m gonna die\u2019 like a warped vinyl record, I assume that he\u2019s pretty well-known to the Kawitzen, and that they don\u2019t generally execute people.<\/span><\/p>\n

He seems like one of them, <\/span><\/i>I think. I want to ask Cale about it, but he and Father are talking in hushed voices. We head into the vegetable field.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are we going?\u201d I ask them. \u201cOr is that information as secret as the rest of your conversation?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re just talking shop, Regan,\u201d Father explains. \u201cNot everyone around here appears interested in the finer aspects of gun collection and maintenance.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, they appear interested in vegetable collection and maintenance,\u201d I reply. \u201cHey, hat-guy. Did you know that <\/span>you\u2019re <\/span><\/i>named after a vegetable?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is with a \u2018c\u2019,\u201d he says, deadpan. \u201cAnd it\u2019s called a toque.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I blink. \u201cYou just made that word up.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

We reach what I can only describe as a palatial yurt in the middle of the field. I\u2019d been hoping to see Wizard of Oz-style guards chanting <\/span>Oh-ee-oh <\/span><\/i>or maybe two sun-bronzed dudes fanning some lady on a lounge chair out front, but no such luck. Clearly the Kawitzen are comfortable breaking all the rules of post-apocalyptic tribal hierarchies.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAmelia?\u201d Cale calls into the dark recesses of the tent. \u201cAre you in?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The woman who emerges can only be described as \u2018granola-chic\u2019. Her wavy silver hair is almost a mantle. She\u2019s wearing a wrap-style skirt and hemp tunic, very down-to-earth, but her fingers are covered in more gold and silver than I\u2019ve seen outside of a cracked safe. She\u2019s got this big banged-copper medallion around her neck with an ensconced amethyst, in the shape of a crescent moon. She glances at Cale for just a second before fixing her eyes on Father.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBy the Goddess,\u201d she says, stepping forward and cupping Father\u2019s face with both hands. \u201cOur saviour has come.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think she likes you Dad,\u201d I point out.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The man in the woollen cap raises his rifle. Knowing Father, he\u2019s got the pistol in his duster pocket pointed at the guy. Mason is on the floor, still pleading silently with his stupid, snotty face. I\u2019ve got my shotgun in my hands, hidden just out of sight. It\u2019s not so much a Mexican standoff […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[39,40,6],"tags":[35,43,42],"class_list":["post-910","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-dooms-daughter","category-serials","category-writing","tag-dooms-daughter","tag-post-apocalyptic","tag-serials"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/910","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=910"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/910\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":911,"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/910\/revisions\/911"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=910"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=910"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jamesfunfer.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=910"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}