Otter's Stories:
The Duct Tape Trader
"So what you got?" asked Otter Larkin to the questionably hygienic man wearing a poncho made out of a blue tarp.
"Duct tape."
"Duct tape."
"Duct tape?"
"Duct tape. Lots."
Otter Larkin glanced up at Cross. Cross only smiled, nodding at him to continue if for nothing more than they were bored for entertainment. Otter knew Cross's rifle lay beside him, in case this lone man was something dangerous to him or the Community behind the Gate.
"Why do you think we need duct tape?" asked Otter. The man had very bad teeth as well. His pants also appeared to be made out of tarp.
"Everyone needs duct tape for Karmageddon. Everyone knows that." The man flinched while talking, which really was to be expected from a man whose wardrobe was predominantly tarp-based.
"We don't."
"Oh. How about tarps? You want a tarp? I have plenty of those too," he said with what could have been a wink or a by-product of being predominantly tarp-fashion forward.
"We don't really need tarps either," said Otter, "but what you are you looking for?"
"What am I looking for?" asked the Tarp Man, as Otter decided to call him.
"Yeah, like what are you wanting to trade your duct tape and tarps for? Food? Water? Perhaps a nice pair of track pants? Karma?"
The man flinched and stared behind Otter at the Gate. He didn't know Cross was up there somewhere with a rifle ready in case of any wrong move[1].
"It's been ages since I've had a hamburger," said Tarp Man. His mood shifted dramatically as the anxious energy present only moments before was replaced by a state of melancholy. Otter waited respectfully as the man was lost in memories of not very long ago - when all it took to get a cheap facsimile of a hamburger was a dollar and a building with Golden Arches in front of it.
"Where you from, old man?"
The man in the blue tarp wardrobe returned his attention from memories of hamburgers to Otter.
"First, I'm thirty-eight," he said, "second, I'm from a little town called Quesnel. Up north a ways. Was visiting my folks in Kelowna when Karmageddon hit..."
He faded off. Otter understood. Karmageddon affected everyone. It changed him, it changed Cross. It changed everyone in the Community and it changed the man before him from a simple man visiting his parents to the twitching blue polyethylene before him now. It was the apathy before it which really changed everyone. Karmageddon was nothing but the exclamation point at the end of the sentence.
The apathy did take awhile to notice. One day everything was the usual assortment of images, routines, needs. The next day something was off, perhaps it was the closing of a gas station or two. Perhaps it was something else. Then a few people who cared, who would turn out to be unaffected by the Apathy noticed how much quieter their world was becoming. There were less people on the streets. Less cars on the roads. Less first responders as the number of daily vehicular accidents increased. Then the TV channels started going off the air, radio stations began playing an infinite loop of music with no DJs.
This man was obviously one of the few who made it through that initial anti-surge. That was a feat in itself. Otter didn't know what his story was. There was rampant speculation that this new marijuana strain, this Karmajuana may have something to do with it. It was the de facto reason why everyone was calling it Karmageddon. It was said this Karma dope was the stuff was kept the insane sane but made the sane insane. Otter had smoked it, most everyone had, either directly or via second-hand smoke. And while it was a pretty good high, it didn't make him want to drive his truck into a gas station[2].
"Duct tape?" said Tarp Man, focusing again on Otter, as if for the first time although it was truly the second.
"You want duct tape for duct tape?" clarified Otter.
"Can never have too much duct tape in case of emergency. Or tarps."
"You already offered to trade us duct tape."
"Oh. Did you say yes?"
"No."
"Too bad, I have boxes of it," He pointed to the large Costco grocery cart behind him covered in another blue tarp. Otter was willing to take it for granted that under the tarp was boxes of duct tape.
"Here, look at it," said the man, thrusting a roll of the silver fastening life-saver in his hands, "that's the real stuff, it really holds things together. It's very sticky. Everyone needs duct tape. In case of emergencies."
Otter felt bad for Tarp Man. He didn't know his story but he could predict with certainty that a few months ago the man never imagined he would be pushing a grocery cart through a beautiful scenic wasteland of broken civilization, trading duct tape and tarps as a way of survival while dressed in blue polyethylene.
"Tell you what, I'll take three rolls of duct tape and a tarp. In return I will give you a box of granola bars, some pants and a pair of work gloves."
The man may have looked like he was going to haggle with Otter's offer. Or perhaps it was the way he always looked. Otter had no way to tell. He was only talking to the man because he found his way to the Gate and all people who found their way to the Gate deserved the respect of not being judged on first impression. It was one of the codes of the Gate and was written on the inside of the Gate as a reminder for all the GateKeepers.
Otter pressed a button on his radio. Cross immediately answered.
"Yeah?" said Cross from above them. The radio wasn't needed - Cross was in earshot[3] but it made things feel more official.
"Can you get a box of granola bars, a set of medium track pants, some gloves and a jug of water for this man. I'm going to be making a trade with this gentleman."
"Gotcha. Out."
The man stared at the radio. Calm spread over his face.
"I remember those. I used to have one when I was a kid," he said, "we called them walkie talkies."
"You don't say."
"I don't need one now though. Nobody to talk to. It was the same when I was a kid..." Again he trailed off in memories.
"Where you headed, Mister?" said Otter.
"I'm headed home."
"Home to Quesnel?"
"Yeah, between you and me, I think things are pretty messed up right now. I just want to go home to my apartment and TV and I think I'm going to wait it out."
Otter suppressed a smile. Yes, there was something wrong with the world right now. It was an End of Times. Otter didn't believe it was The End of Times just another in a string of End of Times. A lot of people were waiting it out, thinking one day soon they would wake up and power would be back on, the grocery stores would open up again, cell service restored and it would be life as usual. Some chose to try to wait in the cities, some chose smaller towns. Others chose the supposed security and privacy of the hidden communities far away from society, such as theirs.
"Here you go!" yelled Cross from the top of the wall. He was dropping down a basket full of Otter's requested items via their rope pulley.
"Thanks," shouted Otter, lifting out the goods and giving it a tugh, signalling Cross to pull it back up.
The man watched this show of old technology as if seeing it for the first time.
"That's so...so... cool," said the man, "you have like....the best fort ever."
"Well, it is what it is and technically it's a Gate," said Otter.
"A gate to what?" asked the man, as if seeing the large wall of cargo containers closing the road and merging into the bordering forests for the first time. His attention span drifted from the gate to the forest to Cross standing at the top.
"Just a gate. You really care what it is a gate to?"
The man thought about this.
"No."
"Fair enough." Otter was glad he wasn't interested in life behind the Gate. He wouldn't be allowed through anyways. Otter hated turning people like this man away but he and Cross were there for this exact reason. They were the GateKeepers. They judged who was mentally, physically, and morally fit to enter their territory. They were the ones responsible for the safety of the whole, not just the one.
"So, trader-man. You mentioned a tarp and some rolls of duct tape?"
The man's mood shifted again at the mention of duct tape. Suspicion replaced contemplation in his facial features.
"Who said anything about duct tape? How you know I have duct tape?"
"You did. You were offering to trade us some duct tape and tarps just a couple minutes ago."
"I did? Right. So I did. Okay then. Wait right here. Don't go anywhere."
The man crouched and backed away a few yards before turning to run back to his cart with the package of pants and gloves in his hand. He lifted up the tarp covering his cart and stopped in mid-action. He flinched a couple of times while Otter watched him. Again it looked like he was having a conversation with the inside of his head. He crouched again, peered over the top of the cart at Otter, as if seeing him for the first time. Otter had long ago become accustomed to such behaviour from the few loners that made it off the highway and found them coming up against the Gate. The Tarp Man was only unusual in attire, not in appearance or actions.
And just as quick as he approached, the man turned his cart around and began running down the mountain road, back to the main highway.
"What the hell?" said Cross from above.
Otter watched the blue-tarped man run away, the sounds of the tarp making an awful sound as he lumbered off down the road.
"Want me to shoot him?" asked Cross from above.
Otter sighed.
"Nah," he said, "What's a pair of pants and gloves?" He looked down at what he was holding,
"besides, we did get at least one roll of duct tape out of it. It was a good trade."
"Hey, that's good for emergencies," said Cross from above.
Otter looked up at him and they both laughed. He tossed the roll up to Cross.
"Put it with the rest. I'm coming in."
[1] of course, wrong move meant any possible type of move that may result in a sudden urge to injure, maim or kill Otter.
