Investigations

Once Mister Station had Lumpy connected to the bag, and a steady flow of orange was trickling into his arm, they all turned their attention to the stranger and his railcart.
Cy and Bug repeated their multi-stick approach to peeling back the tarpaulin and blanket covering the stranger, and as soon as he saw him Mister Station insisted on them getting a bucket of moonshine and soaking the ends of the sticks in it.
“No sense in wasting a good poking stick.” Lumpy commented from his bench, then added. “I honestly didn’t think this guy could smell any worse, but somehow, he does.”

Mister Station carefully checked over the stranger, feeling for a pulse and prodding at him.
“Could someone fetch a big pair of scissors, please?” He called out. “I’d like to get these clothes off him before they crawl off on their own, and …They’re not worth saving.”
Cy slipped into the workshop, trying not to touch anything he didn’t absolutely need to. The workshop was usually an organised space, with only an abandoned coffee cup or two out of place, but now it was chaotic. The big table was covered in little mismatched jars, all sealed, with a clear liquid in them. Getting as close as he dared, Cy could see that each jar had a little label with the name of a villager; Off on one of the workbenches he noticed three empty jars, labelled with ‘Cy’, ‘Bug’, and ‘Luce’.
Out on the platform, Mister Station started going though the rest of the stranger’s gear, carefully opening bags and unrolling bundles. Occasionally he’d find something of interest and hand it off to Luce and Bug, who would carefully grab it with their sticks and dunk it in the bucket of moonshine.
“Will this damage things?” Bug asked as they held an unfamiliar electronic device under and watched little bubbles come up.
Mister Station shrugged and carefully looked through a bag of plastic and foil packages, mumbling numbers to himself.
Lumpy had moved as close as he could by sitting on the platform and scooching forward until he hit the limit of the tube attached to his arm. He looked up from inspecting the items Mister Station had picked out, or at least the ones he could reach with an outstretched arm.
“It might do.” He said. “But the bigger risk is probably setting them on fire if there’s a spark; This stuff’s pretty flammable.”
He tapped the bucket of moonshine with a toe, then snagged the device as Bug and Luce lifted it free of the liquid and manoeuvred it onto the platform.
Cy came back with the scissors and tossed them to Mister Station, who carefully but awkwardly cut the stranger’s reeking clothes off, emptying pockets by cutting them open instead of reaching in, and using the remains of the cleaner pieces of cloth to provide a bit of modesty.
“I’m not seeing anything coherent in this stuff.” Lumpy reported, studying the small pile of pocket contents and other interesting equipment. The children leaned in closer as he continued.
“Half the electronics look like they’ve not worked in years, the survival gear is mismatched and patched in a bunch of different ways, the working devices are for convenience and comfort more than anything else … “ He trailed off. “I’m not seeing ‘attacker’ or ‘invader’ here.”
Bug pointed to the railcart.
“There’s a really big knife?” She suggested. “And a smaller one over there that’s still pretty big?”
“Rusty though.” Cy pointed out. “And the smaller one looks like they stabbed a rock to death or something.”
“Probably trying to open a can.” Murmured Mister Station. “There’s a knack to it, and this guy didn’t have it.”
He looked into another bag, smiled, and pulled out a plastic bundle roughly the size of a book, holding it up in triumph. The red plus sign caught Bug’s eye.
“That’s the same symbol that was on some of the packets around where we found him!” She said. “What it is?”
“It’s an isolation tent.” Mister Station replied. “He’s got a lot of mismatched medical equipment and supplies in here, most of which we can’t use, but this? We can use this.”
He glanced past the group on the platform, back to Lumpy’s bag of orange stuff.
“Looks like you’re almost done, Mister Langston, so when you’re able, can you use these three to see to the village folk? I’ll finish up dealing with this one, then … Take a bath in this moonshine, I guess?”

It took a few minutes more for the bag to drain completely into Lumpy’s arm, and as the trio watched, Lumpy laid out what needed to be done.
“What’s the significance of the mismatched gear?” Luce suddenly asked, interrupting Lumpy’s instructions about the proper folding of blankets.
“Hmm?” Lumpy paused, momentarily derailed. “Oh, it’s a good sign for us. Mismatched gear means he’s scavenged it, patched means it wore out, and both of those suggest he’s travelling. Things wear out more when you’re travelling, you can’t carry spares, and you can’t repair a lot of things well without specialised tools.”
Bug thought about this.
“Is it like the opposite of being in a village?” She asked. “We can repair things and store things … “
“And open cans.” Cy muttered.
“ … And grow food so we don’t need to open cans.” Bug continued, giving Cy a dirty look. “But I guess we do need to worry about intruders?”
Lumpy grinned and made a ‘go on’ gesture. Bug thought for a moment more, looking back at the railcart, where Mister Station was wrapping all of the stranger’s remaining stuff into one bundle in the tarpaulin.
“This guy doesn’t have to worry about intruders, because he’s mobile; He can just avoid them.” She continued. “But he has to find food someone else made, and equipment no-one else found.”
Lumpy watched the last drop of orange ooze down the tube and into his arm.
“That’s right; Village versus Wanderer. Different risks for each one, but if you’re not near people you can work with, or trust, or if you just can’t be around people?” He grimaced, then carefully detached the tube from the port on his arm. “Moving around is usually safer, if harder, than trying to make it on your own staying in one place.”
He continued as they waved to Mister Station, who was battling a clear plastic tent with red plus signs on it, and headed out through the waiting room.
“I’m honestly a bit surprised he even found canned goods after all this time. Any stores would have been picked clean years ago, and cans rust or decay if you leave them long enough. Most scavenged food tends to be freeze-dried emergency stuff, or it’s foraged from someone else’s abandoned garden; That’s what I’ve been told by other Wanderers, anyway.”
Standing at the front of the station, surrounded by motionless people, the trio got their marching orders and headed into the village in search of supplies. Behind them, Lumpy sighed, stretched, and knelt down to gently pick up the closest person to the waiting room doors, who groaned softly at the movement but didn’t wake.
“If it’s any consolation, Katie.” He said. “With all that orange shit swimming around in my bloodstream, you’re probably going to be feeling better long before I do.”