Fic - World Gone Wrong

[sl_walker]

Title: World Gone Wrong
Rating: G
Universe: Alternate
Tmeline: February 10th, 2006
Written: February 10th, 2006
Summary: Mike tries to make sense of the world, the haunting echoes from some other one, and has a conversation with this universe's Crow.  Even has a little humor towards the end.


The fire had burned down quite a bit, but the cabin was still warm.

Among the more mundane items that the dead cajun had was a good bedroll. Mike wasted no time laying claim to it, as a replacement for his own. By the time morning rolled around, Enrico still slept on the bed, and the other four were on the floor; the two men with the 'bots offlined between them.

It didn't make sense.

The ride back here had been too long, and when he got to the end of it, he wasn't the same man he used to be. He didn't know why, though. The world had gone wrong; wildly so, and suddenly the only place it felt close to right was here.

How did that happen?

Now that things had calmed back down a little, and his leg and cracked up ribcage were just a steady but tolerable ache, Mike had some time to try to make sense of it. Why things were now like this.

Except, he couldn't. He searched through a lifetime of memories, and didn't find them there. A lifetime of encounters in all kinds of settlements. He even went so far back as to his life before this world went to Hell, but even there, he couldn't find them -- it made no sense.

It was only in the fragmented dreams that he knew them. Vague images, like those viewed through a snowstorm, like mirages in the desert, barely recognizable. They weren't really in his mind; they were somewhere deeper, beyond conscious memory, beyond the literal.

He tossed a glance to Enrico, then went back to watching the other three quietly. Chances are, he had more in common with Enrico than he did with this other guy and the robots, but it wasn't Enrico that he felt that strange spark of connection to. If anything, he wasn't exactly sure how to view the old courier anymore.

The encounter with the trackers was clearer in retrospect too. Mike didn't understand why, but he felt something like sympathy for the dog-like mutant that had been trying to kill them -- as though it was all a big waste. And even though he despised the cajun, there was a little uneasiness about that, too. Even that rat traitor, in hindsight, was... strange.

He shook his head to himself. It was a world gone mad, all right. He wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing or not.

He wasn't himself anymore, he was someone else. And suddenly, with only a vague warning, these three beings sleeping on the cabin floor were the center of his universe.

The ride back had been too long, following a blind imperative that absolutely brooked no arguments. And in a world where all he had ever known, at least since it had crumbled, was what he could see and hear, he had to rely on blind faith that this is what was supposed to be.

---

"So, why the ponytail?" Crow asked, holding onto the reins of the big palomino as they rode, and led the other two horses behind to graze in the clearing.

"Just don't have many chances to get a haircut, and I can't stand hair laying on my neck. It was either pull it back or look like Farrah Fawcett by the time I got the next chance," Mike answered, trying to keep his leg from hitting against the big horse's side. Riding without the saddle made it easier, but not much. "There aren't exactly barber shops on every Main Street anymore."

"I could cut it," Crow said, kind of proudly. "I cut Joel's hair every month. Well, sometimes he waits six weeks, but usually every month."

Mike chuckled, shaking his head. "If you want, you can. But then you gotta promise to keep cutting it, so it doesn't get in the way."

"Okay. We'll do that later." Crow was doing a pretty good job riding, actually, now that he had reins to use. "Hey, where are you from, anyway?"

"Wisconsin, originally." A lifetime ago. "Then Montana."

"Yeah? What were they like?"

"Wisconsin?" Mike took a breath, then just shook his head. Finally, though, he made a shot at answering, "Kinda quiet, really. Peaceful, I guess you could call it. Grew up on a farm, so there was always something that needed done, but it was all routine. As for Montana... beautiful. It didn't take as much damage as a lot of places. I spent some time in Missoula before I became a courier, and I liked it."

"So, where was home?" Crow asked, turning his head to look back at the human, sidelong.

"Wisconsin. Wisconsin was home. I liked Montana, but..." He shrugged. "I guess no where is really home, now, though."

The 'bot nodded, looking back ahead again. After a long couple of minutes, he spoke up again, "Are you gonna leave?"

"I... I don't know. I have to at least get back to Near Bend so they can send someone else up to Williams Lake."

"...maybe we can go with you."

"I don't know if Joel will like that idea."

"But we can ask him, right?"

The little 'bot was persistent, if nothing else. But even despite that, Mike couldn't help but feel a bit wary about the idea himself. The idea of Joel or the 'bots being used in any way was fairly intolerable, and he knew better than most that the resistance would push pretty hard to at least get their hands on Joel, and maybe the 'bots as well. Still, he couldn't very well say no, either. "You can. But if he says no, then that should be good enough."

Crow whined, "Man, Mike... you sound just like him!"

Mike smiled to himself. He supposed there were worse things to be accused of. Changing the subject, he asked, "Wanna name this horse?"

"Really?!" Crow practically bounced at the idea.

"Well, yeah. He needs a name, since we don't know what it originally was."

The 'bot leaned over to look at the horse's face. "Trace."

For some reason that he couldn't fathom, that made Mike wince. "How about something else?"

"Hm. Jack!"

"That's a little better." Mike nodded, reaching past the 'bot to pat the horse's neck. "Jack it is. And Tom can name the mare."

"'Cause Tom has a skirt, he gets to name the girl."

"Crow..."

"Sorry."