Snow Ch. 02

By five in the morning Davin was pulling out of Cambell town for the four hour drive to Perchtown. Settling back in his seat as the truck crept through the blue/grey light of the early morning Davin thought about Margin.

She was a fine woman that was for sure, pretty as a picture if you discounted the scar that ran from just below her left eye down across her cheek to her jawbone.

Davin knew that Margin had gained the scar in the explosion that had killed her husband Poitre. Davin knew them both as his late wife Eiria had been Poitre's sister. After their marriage Poitre and Margin had lived with Poitre Snr.

Old man Poitre was a bit of a frostie though, for years the man had made his living with his uncanny knack for finding the delicate white lichen known as Frost. When properly processed Frost could be made into two very effective painkillers, but smoked in its "raw" state Frost was a powerful halucinogenic. Over the years Poitre Snr had gone from smoking the occasional cig dusted with Frost to smoking the stuff neat.

Three years ago in one of his drug induced hazes it appeared he had decided that all of the valves on the house methane collector needed to be opened before he lit his next smoke.

Margin had been lucky, the blast blew her through the hole her late husband's body had already opened up in their bedroom wall with just a quick flick from a shard of wood cutting open one side of her face as she went past.

When she had recovered from her injuries Margin went to work at The Ice for room and board and a crown a week, not a lot but with the tobacco sales Davin knew she was managing.

Davin was surprised at how quickly Perchtown appeared in his windscreen, his musings must have taken more time than he realised.

Eleven O'clock in the morning Davin walked in to the office of Vernon Bruin, Or "Storage unit controller Bruin" as he insisted his staff called him.

"Gordon, your late!" Bruin snapped as Davin walked up to Bruin's desk.

Davin just shrugged and dropped into a chair. Bruin glared at Davin as he relaxed from his long drive.

"Well," Bruin demanded rising to his feet. "Answer me man why are you late!"

Davin smiled lazily, "Well for one thing I don't work for you and don't answer to you so I can't be late. And for a second," Davin stood, he was several inches taller than Bruin. "If you speak to me like that again I'll take my produce back to Cambell town and let them have it. What are you going to eat then Bruin?"

Bruin went red in the face but didn't say anything for a minute, then he snapped "Manifest." and sat in his chair.

Davin also sat down and reached into a pocket and handed over a couple of sheets of the thick local paper. Davin didn't like or trust Bruin so he didn't feel comfortable showing the small man the resources he had available to him and showing him "real" paper could get the man thinking.

"No, No, No," Bruin shouted jumping to his feet again. "This is not what I ordered. For the sake of the gods man can't you get anything right!"

"Ok that's it." Davin snatched back the sheets, "I'm out of here and I'm taking my produce with me."

"You can't do that!" Bruin screeched, "That's ours, you can't take it!"

Davin's lips formed a thin smile,

"No it's not yours until it's unloaded and paid for. Now I don't get paid very much for the food I bring you but that's OK, I don't need a lot. But I've put up with enough of your shit, I won't be back."

Davin left the office and walked towards his truck, Bruin appeared at his door shouting.

"I told the council we needed to take over your precious farm for the common good. Ha, they ignored me then but now, now they have to listen. You're finished Gordon, finished."

If Bruin said any more Davin didn't hear it as he was already in his truck and starting up the engines. Throwing the truck into gear Davin pulled away from Perchtown feeling a little sad about how things had changed.

Six or seven years ago this couldn't have happened in the small town and there was no way a man like Bruin could have risen to such an important position. Perchtown had always contained more than it's fair share of hotheads but over the last few years Bruin and a few others like him had risen to the top in the council, Davin had no doubt that there was going to be trouble from there soon.

He felt sorry for the majority of the people who would end up going short of rations now he had stopped his deliveries. But in Davin's opinion they only had themselves to blame, after all they had elected Bruin to run the town stores. Shaking his head as he drove Davin thought that this sort of thing wouldn't have happened when Kelvin had run Perchtown's store.

After he had been driving for about two hours Davin jerked upright in his seat as a loud buzzer rang through the cab. Checking his displays Davin saw that the system had picked up a weak distress beacon.

It took Davin ten minutes to get the GPS co-ordinates from the ageing satellite, and a further five tracking down the beacon. It was coming from a point about 150 miles North Northwest of his position.

Davin locked his Navcom onto the new co-ordinates and wound the power up to full. Once he was certain that the truck was heading in the right direction Davin paused to work out if he had enough fuel to make it back to Cambell Town.

Davin looked at the figures on his computer screen, with a grimace he cleared the screen and started his calculation again. There was no escaping the figures and Davin breathed a heavy sigh. It looked like if he carried on at full power to the beacon he would run out of gas fifty miles out of Cambell town.

If he throttled back to half power he could get within twenty miles before the gas ran out. Davin had electric motors that were powered by batteries charged by a solar array on the truck's roof and they would have to to slowly carry him the rest of the way.

At best he would get twenty miles out of the batteries and that was running in full sunlight, it would be the early hours of the morning by the time Davin would be using the batteries.

Davin cleared the figure again and shrugged, there was no way of telling what sort of emergency the beacon was signalling, could he take the risk that the extra hour saved travelling to the beacon at full speed could make the difference between life and death.