“Why are we here?” Benji sneers, picking through the foul heap with pinched fingers.

  “I need things to trade on the road.” Charlotte pauses to dig through a rotting mess, her words muffled by a scarf over her mouth and throat. “The old world was pretty wasteful. They threw out loads of stuff that we really need. They were used to having these things, so they didn’t value them.”

  “Where’d they get these things, if they’re not important?”

  “Food back then came in pre-stored containers.” I walk gingerly on the ground below them, a pistol at the ready. Charlotte and I banged on an old pot and lured out a lurcher when we got to the junkyard, but that didn’t rule out the slow ones who’d lost a limb. “They’d buy the food then throw the container away because they would just get another one next time.”

  At this, Benji stops and looks at me like I’ve grown an extra head. “Who would bother traveling somewhere to get a container and food when you could just keep the container and make your own food?”

  I shrug while investigating another pile. “It was a different time.”

  He looks confused as he holds up an old tupperware container for Charlotte. “What about this?”

  “Hmmmm, it’s plastic.” She takes the container and turns it over in consideration. “Food from those started tasting weird about twenty years ago. But they work well for other supplies.”

  He nods and goes back to picking. One. Slow. Bit. At. A. Time. “Why not just scavenge homes?”

  I laugh a little. “Is Westwood still doing that?”

  “Yeah.” The boy examines a broken jar and tosses it over one shoulder. His empty sleeve swings with the gesture. At the farm, we still make him wear short sleeves, but we’re out in the open. Anyone could be scavenging the trash yards today.

  “What were you guys taking?” A shiny lid catches my eye and I pull out the jar to examine. Good condition, probably has a coating to keep it clean. I turn the jar upside down and shake, watching green fuzz slowly fall as I check for cracks.

  Benji stops and squints, as though the sun is too bright. “Last time, it was doors and cabinets.”

  “Exactly,” I say, placing my find in the pack on my shoulder. The jar looks solid and we have plenty; Charlotte can use it to barter for something decent when winter hits. The northerners tend to deal with a lot more rust, thanks to all the snow. “All the small stuff has been picked over.”

  “And I need things to trade. It's a lot easier to take something home if you can carry it.” Charlotte picks up a glass cat figurine missing one ear and twists her lips in consideration.

  They talk more about the fine art of Charlotte’s business while I try to think. We still haven’t found a proper situation for the kid but I’m not sure what to do. Especially since he knows about me. Part of me wants to take the coward's way out and just load him up with Charlotte when she heads out tomorrow, but her brave face will only last so long.

  Something clangs in the distance and I stop, listening intently. Maybe it’s only a fox or squirrel knocking a can out of place, but I’d rather be paranoid than dead.

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  Nothing more comes of it and I shrug, still listening. Only the living stop making noise when they think you’re onto them.

  Charlotte is still considering the busted cat, explaining her thought process to Benji, “We can’t make things like this anymore, and this one was imported from India. Usually, you get China…”

  Her words fade into white noise as I catch the sound of footsteps, squishing slowly in the dirt. I can’t be sure if Charlotte’s aware. The sun is right behind her, so all I get is an expressionless silhouette.

  I offer a sharp smile and ask, “Don’t we have enough junk at home?”

  There’s only a brief pause before Charlotte retorts, “You can never have enough.” in a cheery tone.

  Benji looks between us, his face pinched in confusion. Luckily, he has the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself. Unfortunately his body language is tense, ready for action. Charlotte gingerly places the figurine in her bag, rifling through her treasures slowly. “I think that’s enough for this adventure.”

  I nod and bob my head towards the exit. Benji starts to slide down the pile, back to me. “But we just got he–”

  He’s cut short by a manufactured laugh. “Thea, what are the chances?”

  Charlotte’s whole body turns to stone, Benji pauses halfway down. I let out a weary sigh and pull my bandana lower on my head. “Hello, Norman.”

  The owner of the petting zoo steps out, striking a match to light his loosely rolled cigarette. “Trying to find some cans to tie to our ropes. That way, I’ll hear if a guest is leaning too close.”

  “We didn’t ask,” I quip, holding out a hand for Benji.

  “Still as pleasant as ever.” Norman tweaks his brows, before looking at our wards. “And who’s this charming fellow?”

  I step between them. “A client needed some help while they found a new home. He’ll be leaving soon.”

  “How charitable.” Norman gives me a side eye before looking directly at Benji. “And, what is your name?”

  The kid looks at me, uncertain. For the first time, I’m glad he’s from Westwood. My mother teaches the caution necessary in this world, even if it’s over enforced. Norman only smiles wider, plucking the cigarette out and showing his nasty teeth before looking up. “Lottie! How long has it been?”

  “That’s not my name,” Charlotte answers cooly. “Who else is out for recycling.”

  “Who says I’m not enjoying the fresh air by myself?” Norman’s enchanting grin makes me want to rip off my leg and bash his skull with it.

  “Common sense.” Charlotte loudly cocks her firearm and pulls it from the side pocket of her bag.

  “Turn around.” I whisper to Benji, stepping closer to him. “Watch my six.”

  His body stiffens, and I nearly curse. But the Westwood vernacular might come in handy today.

  “Three at four,” Charlotte reports, raising her gun. “Odd for your buddies to hide if you’re only scavenging.”

  Norman strokes his long bear, chuckling, “Well, we weren’t sure who was banging that pot.”

  “Two more at ten,” Benji whispers, his spine pressed to mine.

  “Have you had target practice?” I ask. He’s about the right age, but he was also a flight risk. Mother was always particular about where ammo went.

  “Only once.”

  I wince, vaguely listening to Norman’s idiotic monologue while I desperately try to think.

  “Any luck rounding up my replacements?” The ringmaster examines a rusty can before tossing it over his shoulder.

  Charlotte’s tone is borderline bored. “She’s told no in no uncertain terms.”

  “It’s rather different when she destroyed inventory without so much as paying the entry fee.”

  It takes everything in me not to turn to Charlotte’s shock little gasp.

  “Oh…” Norman tsks me. “Did I spill the beans?” I suppress a growl as he comes closer, his eyes back on my ward. “You’ve got a week. Then I go to the elders.”

  Those pale eyes flick to my leg before he lets out a low whistle. The rotting scent of his breath lingers in my nostrils, overpowering the heaps of garbage around us. Norman and his goons leave, Pete trailing after the gang with a mean little smirk on his tiny face.

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