Pinto Future | Prologue

Pinto Future, story elements, and characters TM and © Jeff Harris

"There is nothing softer and weaker than water,
And yet there is nothing better for attacking hard and strong things.
For this reason there is no substitute for it."
Laozi, Tao te Ching, Ch. 78.

The year: 50 AGR (about 21xx AD)

When oil is worth pennies and water is worth tens of dollars, you know something went wrong with our world, so it's best to start at the beginning. The planet Earth underwent some changes fifty years ago as a result of The Great Reaction. Waters raised and fell. Lands shifted and disappeared. Governments came and went. And that was just the first decade of the change. Alaska and Russia both melted for the most part, and within their former borders were huge underground supplies of petroleum. Combined with ethanol created from sugar and seaweed, there was almost an endless supply of gas for the entire planet. That was good. Unfortunately, water wasn't so plentiful.

The fresh water supply wasn't really available to the masses like it used to be. Wells, reservoirs, waterfalls, and springs were either dried up or owned by a select few. Saline water from the five oceans could be transformed into potable water, but it was time-consuming and expensive. Heat gets out some of the saline, but it's still salty yet drinkable in the end. And those that owned the technology that could do that also happened to own the fresh water supply. Strangely enough, milk, waterless juices, alcoholic beverages and certain "silver tapped" beverages, so-called because they were metallic-tasting waters that come from former mines and often untested, were available for all of us. Oh, and when it rains, we gather and boil it whenever we can.

Of course, it rarely rains anymore.

The world is now a drier place. Where there was once trees now were barren wastelands covered in sand and new wildlife like lizards and strange hybrids. Dunes formed where mountains and hills once stood. Can't remember what a lawn looks like anymore. Haven't seen one myself since maybe 30 years ago. It was a lush thing. Curled these old toes in it. Soft as my beard.

Sorry, got a bit nostalgic over something that doesn't exist anymore. It happens to the best of us.

Glass and iron structures now look like faded monuments to times now seen as just a memory. Humanity went back to basics after The Great Reaction. Our ancestors once built higher. Now, we're a little down to earth. They used iron and glass. We use what we can find, be it old trailers or hard-paper, a building material comprised of old paperboard, brick, and metals. Radio is pretty much the medium of choice and largely controlled by the people since The Great Reaction knocked out traditional cable and digital lines. No television nor internet. We tell stories by writing. I don't know who'll read this story myself, but I do hope they enjoy it.

I supposed I should introduce you to myself before I really get this story going since I'm what you call the narrator here. My name is Bristol Levin. I'm a free-roaming traveler leaving nothing behind but friends, a few foes, and memories as I walk around this great world of ours with my beads, my bibles, and my notebooks in my weatherproof, weatherbeaten bag. Alright, you can call me a bum, but I won't hold it against you. Right now, I'm traveling with a trio of other travelers all with their own missions and plans, but perhaps I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.

Let me talk about the guy who brought us all together. This IS his story after all. I won't show up officially until a few chapters from now, and this is the point where I step back and try to exclude myself from the flow. I'm not Paul, you know. It's not about me.

Prior to meeting him first hand, I've always heard that there was this one person who's been making a scene in recent months. He is a tall, dark stranger whose mission is to give the world real water again. Unfortunately, he only has a pinto to get him where he wants to go.

A Ford Pinto.

Until recently, people didn't really know he existed. There still aren't many people that actually knows what he looks like. Those that cross his path often don't live to see another day, present company being an exception. Those he help aren't often aware of his presence until he completes that mission. He arrives one day and leaves when the wrong are punished. They call him the Pinto Rider. He is one of the last faces of hope we have left.

Welcome to the City

The sight of a man pushing a vehicle down the dust-covered road was an odd one for many onlookers. He wipes the sweat from his brow with a rag in his back pocket frequently as he searches for a gas station.

"Next exit my ass," he grumbles remembering that sign he saw about five miles back when the engine gave out. "There's never anybody around when you need a ride. Oh well, I probably needed the exercise anyway."

The man looked skywards at a flock of vultures hovering around him waiting for him to just collapse in the middle of the road.

"I'm not dying today," he said. "Go'on, beat it!" he shouted as he threw the sweaty rag at one of the birds, knocking it down and unconscious. Finally, he saw his destination as he went on the other side of the sandy hill.

"Finally," he said as he pushed his car up to a gas pump and walked inside the glass-covered station. There were shelves filled with overpriced snack foods, repair kits, and pantry goods. In the back were refrigerators filled with beers and wine coolers, silver-tapped water cans, and bottles of fresh water. The man took a cupcake pack, a bag of jerky, a pack of Genna Tips Cherry/Mint Blend, and a bottle of fresh water and walked to the cash register, which was fielded by a buxom strawberry-blond wearing a polo shirt with the store's name on it and khaki shorts.

"This and a fill-up on pump number one," he told the clerk.

"Thirty dollars, doll," the clerk replied glancing at the stranger.

"Thirty Georges?!?"

"Five for the gas, one for the smokes, one for the food, and 23 for the water. She must be worth it if you're going all out for the Camberlin Fresh."

"Just buying it for myself. I like the fresh stuff more than the silver-tapped. Doesn't taste like a tin pan."

"I know it, darlin'. I'm admirin' your ride out there. What is it? A Rodeby Flash? A Stormer?"

"A Pinto."

The clerk's eyes just lit up when she heard that.

"They don't make them like that anymore."

"They don't need to," the stranger replied. "It's a crappy ride that only goes so far, barely getting me from point A to point B."

"So why do you still ride it?"

"She belonged to my great-great-great-great grandfather and still runs . . . when she wants to. But I'll give her this. She's the most stable thing I have in my life. I think the ride just finished getting filled up. Thanks a lot."

The stranger handed the clerk a $50 bill.

"Here's your change, sir."

"Keep it, beautiful. Oh, do you know where Camberlin is located?"

"Sure, just across the old bridge near the old Garden building. I think they're still doing tours today."

The stranger grabbed the clerk's hand and kissed it.

"Thank you. When I come back, we'll split a bottle over dinner. That cool with you, beautiful?"

"I - I - wow. It's cool. Name's Melanie."

"See you then, Melanie," the stranger said as he ran out with his back and got back in the car heading down to the bridge to reach the Camberlin building. Reading the sign, he noticed the name of the area.

"Manhattan," he read as he swerved by the dead vulture in the middle of the road he hit earlier.

Meanwhile, Melanie called her mother.

"Yeah, Ma, I think that was him. The Pinto Rider has come to New York City."

End of Prologue