Free Origins (The Wasteland Chronicles, #2) by Kyle West Page B

to it.”
    She got up, and lifted the lid off the pot, filling the cave with the mouthwatering aroma of stew.
    She had given the stew a few stirs when, from nowhere, a shadowy form of a man entered the cave.
    Everyone stood and drew their weapons.

Chapter 11
    T he shadow stepped into the light, revealing itself as a short, stooped old man wearing a cloak with hood. He had no weapon other than a gnarled walking stick.
    “Who are you,” Samuel said, “and what do you want?”
    He was old – very old. He had wrinkled, weathered skin that had seen many Wasteland winters. His eyes were soft and intelligent, belying the toughness of the rest of his face. By the firelight, I noticed something strange about those bright, gray eyes. They were clouded.
    He was blind.
    “I felt the warmth of the fire from afar,” the man said, “and heard voices, and smelled the food. I’ve been wandering for days, and was wondering if I might have a bite and a rest.”
    No one said anything, suspecting a trap. Raiders did this, sometimes – used a distraction to catch groups unawares. If only he knew about the weapons pointed at him, would he have been so calm?
    “You are blind,” Samuel said. “No blind man can survive alone. Not out here.”
    The man smiled, as if he had heard this many times before – but no matter how many times it was said, he knew it was wrong all the same.
    “I have made these lands my home for two decades without my sight,” the man said. “Every tree, every rock, I know from memory. Men do not pass this way. Not anymore. They have all gone west, or south. The rest were taken by the Blight.”
    “You are alone?” Samuel asked.
    The man nodded. “I am. If you do not believe me, there is nothing I can say to convince you.” He gestured to a spot near the fire. “May I sit? These knees are not what they used to be.”
    Samuel paused, unsure. “You may sit. Be warned; we are watching you.”
    “There is no need to fear,” the man said. “I simply take food where I can find it, and sleep where I can get it. I am the Wanderer.”
    Samuel nodded toward Makara. She grimaced, and found a bowl and a spoon for the old man. She ladled some stew in – two healthy scoops. Samuel eyed her. She scowled, and ladled another small scoop in. Satisfied, Samuel nodded again. Makara handed the old man the stew.
    Somehow, he knew it was there, because he reached out and took it.
    “It’s hot,” he said, with a smile. “Good, for a cold night like this.”
    Everyone watched the old man. Anna was wary and had a hand on her blade the entire time. I didn’t blame her. Personally, I didn’t think the old man was any harm. I just wondered what he was doing here, and how he survived in the wild without his eyesight.
    The old man ate several mouthfuls. He did not seem to mind that it was near scalding.
    “Who are you?” Samuel asked. “What brings you to our cave?”
    The old man chuckled. “Your cave?”
    Samuel frowned. “Well...maybe it is yours. I don’t know.”
    “Nothing is anybody’s,” the old man said. “Not anymore. In the Old World, they had mountains of paper deciding who owned what. All that is irrelevant. In the Old World, I owned much of this land here, by Mount Elden. I was a very rich man. But I suppose you do not care about that, either.”
    “I hope you don’t mind us staying here,” Samuel said.
    “Oh, no. I welcome visitors. It’s been so long since anyone has been out this way. I stay away from the city. For a long time, there were people there, even after the Rock fell. They are all gone – either dead, or relocated to the south. I was the only one who stayed.”
    “Relocated?” I asked. “By who? Where?”
    “By the Novans,” the old man said. “I have talked to their kind before. A group passed this way, about a month ago. Asking about Bunkers.”
    “Novans,” Samuel said. “How many?”
    “There were six or so,” the old man said. “They are long gone, into the Great