Tom pondered a moment as the girls nervously huddled and old Huson paced the floors.

  “Well the obvious option is to cut the damn leg off.” Hud shrugged.

  “Do I look like a doctor?” Tom asked with an attitude. “I don’t have fancy surgical tools, knockout drugs or whatever else that would require, and I don’t know any doctors who could do that either. Do you?” he snipped.

  “Boy, this is Timber. Only the wealthy get doctors, and we ain’t wealthy till that limb is removed and sold, we’re just sittin ducks.” You got a knife and some whiskey? I sure as shit ain’t no doctor either, but I can butcher a deer and stitch a cut, better than a bullet to the head.” Hud argued.

  “See that’s exactly the kinda talk why I don’t trust you. I just came from a damn war. I’ve seen a leg removed. You go amputating a knee like that with no doctor she may as well be dead. You go hackin off a leg without a doctor, she’s gonna wish you shot her, probably bleed or die of infection anyway. So we look for a doctor, we show them the leg and give them a cut of the money as payment.” Tom suggested.

  “Wrong answer, that idea just got us all killed. No doctor wants something they’d get killed for, even keeping it all as payment. I gotta take a moment to think about this.” Hudson said storming off to the wooden basement stairs. Carol looked at Tom with disgust and rage.

  “Hey, you two knock off that glarin. I’m not trying to be an ass, I’m trying to save your ass.” Tom huffed.

  “You could have shot the guy before he found out.” Jen muttered.

  “Between us…” He said softly, leaning closer. “I wanted to. Man puts his hands on a woman and points a loaded gun, needs to get shot, but…I can’t see shit.”

  “What does that even mean?” Jen barked. “It wasn’t THAT dark.”

  “It means without my glasses, the ones that didn’t end up here with me, I couldn’t tell where Carol left off and he started, from 10 feet away, even if I had my nice rifled colt, instead of some wooden shit-gun. I’d have probably just shot her trying to be a hero. That’s why they didn’t give me a rifle. They gave me a pistol, a sword, and a horse, all things I can manage with, if I had my glasses. I didn’t even realize till just now you had blue eyes.” He said nervously. “I feel useless.”

  “Sorry. I got kinda rude. I’m fucking freaked out. Carol’s my best friend. If you shot her trying to be a hero I’d be even more upset. But don’t try anything charming, you’re not my type. But we may need to stick together if this guy decided to do anything sketchy.” Jen said

  “What around here isn’t sketchy, including us?” Tom smirked.

  “Fair enough. So you’re really from the 1800s?” she asked.

  “Yea. You really from somewhere else?” he asked back as carol broke her silent floor staring to distract herself.

  “Technically it would be…someWHEN else. I think we’re all from the same location, more or less.” Carol said, fighting tears.

  “Smartass.” Jen muttered, having her a hug. Hudson strolled back in with a bottle of whiskey and tossed the black wooden gun back to Tom.

  “You people talk pretty loud for keeping secrets, ya know. Everyone have a drink, I need to think calmly about this and the best way I think calmly is to not think about how fucked we are. Everyone relax, nobody’s cutting off no leg. Alley was dark, nobody saw shit. That buys us time.” Hudson said kicking back some whiskey and looking overwhelmed. “Talk, distract, converse.” He insisted.

  “So the guns here made of wood? How does that even work?” Carol asked. Hudson puffed his pipe and looked glad she asked.

  “Over 60 species of wood grow here in the cold-ass wasteland, and here it grows different. Forget the woods you know, some of the trees may look familiar in passing but you cut into one and you might understand. Most guns here are made of Ignius or hellwood, sometimes called barrelwood, is the hardest damned shit you ever handled, and Amaranthine, the dark purple or black wood. It’s not hard enough for a barrel but it’s good enough for a frame. Whole thing feel much different than a chunk of hickory in your hand but this wood is so damn strong you can’t break it across the grain to save your life. They cut Ignus into thin veneer and glue it with this 2 part resin and alternate the grain like woven cloth and it will fire a bullet. Gotta be real damn thick though. I got 6 25-caliber rounds in here with 3 grain of nitro resin, and it may not drop a man in armor or a mammoth, but it’ll put a hole in a man with no armor.”

  “These purple bullet made of wood?” Tom scoffed, unloading the gun and inspecting it.

  “Nope. There’s a thing you gotta get adjusted to around here called resin. I don’t know how they make it, but they sell it everywhere, and a lot of things are made from it. Some goop you mix with other goop and it turns to solid, stronger than human bone. You can mix in all kinds of powders and fibers and soak wood strips in it like glue.”

  “Epoxy.” Carol said. “2 part epoxy resin.” She added as Hudson grinned.

  “See, now that’s why you should listen to this here lady. She may be smarter than you. Yea, the old people claiming to be from further along, knew a lot of things and adapted that to what they had. You mix nitroglycerine with this shit just right, you get solid gunpowder cases, they work real nice. The Bullet itself, Prima Poly-Iodine, mix in some purple powder and let it dry in bullet molds you get these little gems. They split and chip on impact but they’re good for one shot. Better than the old jade ones they use to sell, cheaper and easier to cast than carving down a rock, twice as heavy. You can even reuse the chips as scattergun shot. Ain’t nobody like us buying lead. Unless you’re one of the Sheriffs ruling this place, you best forget metal unless you find some to turn in. This world runs on wood, ceramic, plastic, stone, composites, and if you’re really fancy, Tusk.”

  “You keep mentioning that Tusk thing.” Jen asked. “Like ivory? They have Elephants in fucking woodworld?”

  “Not like the ones you wanna run into, unless you’re hunting and ready. The call em Mammoths, because nobody knew what else to call em. Big mean bastards. That’s the most coveted material in this world. One good straight tusk can set you for life. These beasts’ tusks shimmer and shine like pearls, and honey you think the wood here is tough, nothing cuts tusk except gemstones and patience. Harder than brass, you can even rifle it. You want a gun with more power than one of the little wood shits most will ever own, you need a tusk. Problem is that they don’t grow on trees like trees do. Amaranthine wood grows fast and everywhere. You can go chop some right now and make tools, Ignius is harder to find, they grow it in gardens and men guard those gardens, but you can find it out there in the wild if you got something that will cut the damn thing. Most people here never see one of the mammoths up close, or survive if they do. And the tusks grow slow and only on the big mean bulls get more than a nub. The teeth fetch a nice price but it’s hard to work with. You want a ten foot board of Ignius and got a lot of money, you can get it. Even the Good Prima guns are mostly Ignus and resin ply wrapped around a mold. Only the cylinders are lined with tusk, little bit in the first 2 inches of barrel. The rest is all wood.”

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  “Why not mix it with resin and make bigger pieces?” Jen asked.

  “Glue don’t stick to tusk for shit. You can’t melt it, you can’t water it to make it grow, you can’t heat and straighten it, or bend it. Tusks have a hell of a curve to them. You can’t exactly dovetail joint the middle of a barrel either. It just is what it is, and you carve it down. Turn it on a belt lathe. So whatever you get, is all you get to work with, and if you fuck that up…well there went your life savings and probably your head. Tusk barrel makers make real good money. Longer the piece the more the price goes up per pound, They risk their life making it, because people who can spend thousands of dollars on a gun and bring you a tusk, are the kinda people who made that money shooting people who disappointed them, and for a lot less money.” He warned. “But once a tusk is carefully cut into blanks you get a lot of little scrap bits just big enough for a cylinder insert. Just enough to get a bullet moving. My brother was a tusk cutter. It’s a risky living. You work for evil people and you have one bad day that cost more money than your life is worth to them. They just shoot you, like they did him.”

  “So what do you do?” asked Tom. “For money.”

  “I hunt and scavenge. The little mammoths freeze to death all the time, you go out there and look for them, you can make a living just off the teeth and meat. Lotta good hide, lotta scavengers after the meat too. That’s why I pay a fortune every year for a long-gun license, and pistols are illegal without a permit only the rich can afford. My 45 shotgun wasn’t cheap, but you can’t fend off predators or hunt without one. Now that black Donnovan 25 will kill a man with a good placed round, but even brand new it’s close range and small. Not something you wanna take with ya for a big game hunt. You also can’t walk around with a full sized shotgun on ya everywhere, so I spent my money on the big bore and I kept that gun for robbin people like you, or not getting robbed. You get caught with that, that’s jailtime. That’s why all the Donnovans are black. They sell these knowing damn well nobody’s gettin em legal. If you could afford to get one legally, you’d be carrying a nice big flashy fancy pistol. That’s how they get ya. Rich people need tusk, they aint riskin their ass hunting it, so the big gun permits are…sort of affordable, and you risk your life hunting to pay for the yearly papers. You’ll never afford a pistol permit, so you either go unprotected like most folks, you carry one of these black market Donnovans and if they catch ya, bribe your way out, further in debt. But nobody hunts mammoths with a damn rock, so the circle of debt begins. Spend money you don’t have to hunt, to pay off what you owed to hunt, hoping to get that one big payoff some day and get out of the loop. Nobody does. The big mammoths with the good tusks don’t go down easy, so you die trying or you pick off the weak ones. You just keep breaking even, or you die out there alone in the cold, and someone like me takes your shit.”

  “Like student loans.” Sighed Carol. “Can’t get a good job without education, education puts you in debt and you need the good job to pay off the student loans. Except nobody gets shot or trampled in the cold.” She sighed. Jen smirked a little.

  “Hey, I was smart. I got a high school degree, stripped for 2 years and went into modeling. I have no student debt.” She smiled.

  “You’re attempting to get into modeling.” Carol corrected. “To clarify, we’re room mates. We can’t afford to live alone. I teach American history to highschool kids. Jen still owes me 2 month’s rent, so her modeling career is doing so much better than my education.” She snipped.

  “Hey, I went on this little reenactment weekend thing with you to get some old timey shots for my Portfolio. Sexy cowgirl shit is trending, I gotta take pics to get money. Plus, they have deer meat. I’m on a very lean protein diet. Gotta maintain this figure somehow. I’m not going back to stripping and the side job pays garbage wages. I’m working on it, At least I’m not ass-deep in debt, I’m just even broke. Only person I owe money is you.”

  “What exactly is a model?” asked Tom.

  “An aspiring model” Carol whispered.

  “Shut up. A model…uh, models. I look good, and pose.” Jen explained.

  “I agree, but how do you make money? Hookin?” Tom asked.

  “UH! Fuck you, I have a boyfriend…We’re not talking right now but that’s temporary. No, no hooking. First you get an online following, show you have potential. When you get a model agent, you do pics and videos and they pay you.” She explained as Carol leaned in closer.

  “They didn’t have cell phones and videos in the civil war. They don’t know what that means, Jen.” Carol reminded. “Plus you don’t have an agent so you don’t make anything modeling yet. Tom wants to know how you actually make money.” Carol grinned.

  “Well currently… I… work, at Burger King. But my instagram is kinda poppin off. My followers are way up, I have several bites on the last photo set. Give me the phone, I have some pics and videos.” She said as Hudson handed her the phone and she began scrolling. “Okay, well most of that is online and there isn’t any online here so I don’t have that. Everything is cloud stor- I gotta have something on the actual phone. Yea these are old, but this is the general idea.” She said handing them the phone and swiping, clicking on a video as they marveled at the device.

  “What exactly is goin on here?” Hudson asked.

  “Moving pictures with sound.” Carol explained.

  “Well apparently not sound, I guess speakers contain iron so it’s not working, The whole phone is fucked up. But that’s me on my 24th birthday, doing a kegstand to Limp Bizkit and getting lit with my peeps. This got me very well known on twitter.” She said proudly. Tom stared at her silently for a moment.

  “Aint got a damn clue what anything you just said meant, but I do like watching you talk.” Tom said with a smile. Jen sighed with a tone of giving up.

  “That’s kinda sweet but, forget it. It doesn’t matter, we’re stuck here now. All that work doesn’t mean shit. When the batteries die, so does the record of my entire modeling life.”

  “And my college debt. Boy it’s a good thing I got a teaching job for history classes where some of this is now relevant to our survival here.” Carol muttered.

  “Ladies.” Tom said calmly. “No time to be fightin. Hudson, how do we get back?” he asked. Hudson busted out with a jolly chuckle.

  “You don’t. You live here now. Ain’t nobody goes back. You survive or ya don’t. You two best get used to that. Lookin pretty might get you a husband here, Aint too many Chinese, let alone pretty ones. That makes you a rarity.” Hud said smoking his pipe.

  “Okay, hold up. I’m half French and like a quarter Japanese on my mom’s side, not every part-Asian person is A Chinese, and I’m not looking for a husband, I just got dumped…” she said pausing as Carol gave her a look. “Okay fine, yes, I got dumped. He got tired of paying for all my stuff while the modeling took off, and he wanted me to go back to stripping and we argued and he left me for 2 months. It’s over.” Jen sighed, looking depressed. “Everything is just…over.”

  “Like we had anything to leave behind? I can’t get my masters degree here to be a college professor, I hate teaching highschoolers, we rent a shitty place we can’t afford and your boyfriend was a jerk anyway. What exactly did we have to leave behind? Followers, loans, jobs we hate. I have no family and yours disowned you. I pretend to live in the civil war for fun to escape my life, and you live online for attention, making nothing, and your only weekend plans was to tag along with my sad hobby. Now you’re probably the hottest girl in Timber and I’m probably more educated than 90 percent of the women here. If we don’t die, we may have actually upgraded.”

  “I hate losing internet for an hour, what do I do now?” Jen asked. “I have no skills except I can shoot a lever gun and look hot doing it, what are you gonna teach, history? We’re in it. They don’t need reminded. The Leg problem might get us killed anyway.”

  “Not if nobody knows.” Hud sighed. “We just lay low, avoid the city for a while and keep workin. If that man in the alley didn’t see anything, and you stay here. Nobody will find out. If he did, we’ll know soon enough.”