Impractical

He kicked the motorcyle's stand down and let it sit on the sun-baked sand beside the dealer man's wagon, the amped engine purring like it was happy with something. He pushed the goggles back, unhooking the heavy rubber mask with one hand, careful with the bad catch. He wore soft brown leather, real good against sand, and heavy mesh metal under all that in case someone got ideas. For as far as he could see beyond the rusty old wagon, nothing but sagebrush, stunted desert trees, and the blue-black mountains under the darkling sky. There was this heavy, ugly cloud blowing up from the south, but it wouldn't get there for at least half an hour, which gave him time to take the mask off and breathe the air for a bit.

The other guy was a pretty old one, both legs gone below the knee, his sweaty rolls of flesh wedged into a harness strung up all through this mobile home on runners. Made it so he bobbed around like a drunk spider getting from here to there, so he mostly just sat when people were watching. Didn't want to look stupid--too close to looking weak. His ride had these solar panels like some giant bug's wings. Why he parked in the middle of nowhere, only he knew. Maybe he knew he could deal here, like rats smell food. He had one of those cheap plastic helmets that made him look like a confused astronaut, and he was watching the guy in leather, waiting to see what his hands would do.

"You selling?" The guy in leather, voice heavy, no accent.

The guy in the harness just about coughed up a wad of phlegm getting his voice in gear. "Sure." Helmet made him sound like he's stuck his head in a well.

"Guns? Ammo?"

"Sure." Like it's just another thing, the harness guy's hand starts going for the piece they both knew was there, because if you're buying, it means you ain't selling, and you ain't selling what you ain't got. No point trading with a dead man, and that bike could come in all sorts of useful.

But leather guy's knife came out in a flash, but real casual, because they're still doing business. "Trade you vitamins. Got a half bottle."

Harness guy didn't like the development. Still had his hand half there, thinking about it. "Pulled it off some poor dead bastard, I'll bet."

"No one you knew." Eyes black like obsidian under the smear from the goggles. 'Don't try it' eyes. 'You'll like me better if you live' eyes. Real crazy eyes, the crazy you work at.

"Got this thing." Harness guy levered something down from the ceiling, where he had most of his shit taped up, because he needed the floor space for things like beans and those big plastic jugs of water. "Bought it off some of pilgrims going to see the old city. Said they'd bought it from some militia types who found Jesus. I reckon they found him all right, so now they go together permanent, know what I mean. This thing, impractical. Ain't much good past two hundred feet." Been waiting to pass it off to somebody crazy.

"Talk, talk," growled leather guy. He was looking at the thing, the barrel thicker than his head, this crank on the side and a hanging necklace of beads the size of coconuts that could have been the magazine. "You trading?"

Talking lazy, like it's not really a problem. "Half a bottle? Stab me and take it, at least that's honest. Throw in the knife. This little doggy leave a hole like a melon. Pieces everywhere."

"Impractical, you said."

"Real impractical."

He gave him the vitamins and the knife. Threw in some seeds, too, real good desert wheat. Never know if you're coming back again, need a good place to buy.