Holding Their Own: The Toymaker by Joe Nobody Page A

outskirts, bumping along at the horse’s uphill pace.
    Up close, the appearance of the berg was completely different.
    Weeds and vines had taken root in practically every crack and crevice. In some areas, piles of windblown debris had accumulated as high as a man’s waist.
    Dust covered surfaces that the human mind was accustomed to seeing clean. What windows were still intact were darkened by a disturbingly thick layer of grime. The few automobiles they passed were coated in the same filth. Many of the tires were flat, some displaying unmistakable signs of dry rot.
    The lead rider reigned his horse to stop at the intersection of two main streets. All eyes turned back to Hack’s wagon, eager for his instructions.
    The toymaker had memorized the town’s street grid and layout. Motioning for a few of the leaders to gather around, he began issuing instructions.

    The Natives had taken to calling them Locusts, and Hack thought the description was apt.
    According to the tribe’s recently minted lore, the first few attempts at scavenging had failed miserably. It had taken some time and experience to refine the art of looting.
    The first issue had been security. In the early days of the apocalypse, it was often difficult to tell when a town or city was unoccupied. Regardless of the current census, electric lights didn’t shine at night. Lawn mowers didn’t hum as they trimmed yards. Children didn’t run laughing and shouting in the yard.
    The Locusts, after being ambushed and shot up on more than one occasion, had learned to apply the same skills used in tracking wild game. Their first sign always involved water.
    Humans had taken to mimicking deer and elk, requiring a visit to the local watering hole one or more times per day. A home or building with buckets outside was a sure sign of a resident. A worn path to the nearest creek or lake was another telling indication of human habitation.
    Scat was an obvious clue. Like all members of the animal kingdom, people produced waste and often weren’t very clever about hiding the evidence of their deeds. And it was more than just the presence of bodily byproducts that gave them away.
    People, even after the collapse, produced garbage. Hack had heard of the Locusts avoiding potential trouble spots after finding skinned animal hides, piles of rotting intestines, and other signs of hunter/gathers.
    Clothing wore out and was discarded. Stashes of food were still being discovered, producing wrappers and packaging. One popular campfire story related the tale of a Locust discovering a can of soda outside of a warehouse in Santa Fe. Common houseflies were swarming the empty container, a sure sign that it still held the residue of sugar. Three heavily armed rogues were seen leaving the building just a few minutes later. A firefight had been avoided.
    Eventually, Hack and his flying cameras were employed in the effort to avoid confrontation. The drones could more easily identify occupying humans and surveil their activity, but even that method wasn’t foolproof.
    Over time, the Natives began to map out the pockets of surviving humanity that still existed throughout the area. The elders decreed it law that the Locusts were not to take from others. If valuables were found abandoned, then they were fair game. Stealing was forbidden.
    While the intent of such a rule was noble, the practical application was not. What if two independent parties happened upon a cache at the same time? After numerous such violent encounters, it soon became clear that combat skills were a high priority for any person wanting to be a Locust.
    Protocols had developed. Scouting, stalking, and other tactical methods became common practice. Like any other occupation in the post-apocalyptic world, there were masters and apprentices, managers and worker bees.
    And what to scavenge? Often, when a new, untouched location was found, there were more goods than could be carried off by a small team of individuals. Which items