Travelers Page 8

  “I don’t find shit in places like this. All the good stuff been looted a long time ago. I’d rather kill someone and take all their stuff. Easier than looking for things myself.”

  Trav pulled at the handle again, his face a tight grimace, muscles straining. The door gave way with a loud creak.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  The trapdoor groaned again as Trav pushed it open farther. He tugged on Owl’s arm. She slipped her boots into metal rungs below the door and climbed down, sweaty hands gripping the cold metal.

  Hurry, Trav!

  Trav climbed down after her, pulling the door shut. There wasn’t a lock, but Trav hooked his hatchet’s hilt through the door handle, and wedged the head into a metal rafter. He pushed up to test it. The door held firm.

  Owl hopped off the ladder, pulse throbbing in her neck. Beyond the pale light leaking around the trapdoor, the room was an inky black. She reached out, feeling for Trav. When she caught his arm, he wrapped himself around her, breathing heavily. He pulled her through the dark room, bumping into shelves and knocking things down.

  Something crashed from above, followed by muted laughter and heavy footfalls. When they reached a wall, Trav slid down, pulling Owl with him. She slumped into his lap, pressing her face to his neck.

  The trapdoor handle jangled and Owl’s heart caught in her throat. Trav squeezed her tightly. Muffled voices came from the other side of the door. She tried to will the hatchet to stay in place as the door jerked again.

  She dug her fingers into his cloak. “I’ve really enjoyed the time I’ve spent with you.”

  “Shh, don’t say stuff like that. We’ll be okay.” He kissed her temple.

  The trapdoor thudded again and Owl squeezed Trav hard. Voices drifted, but the words were indecipherable. She kept her head pressed to Trav, his tight grip comforting her as she inhaled his cloak’s ashy scent.

  The ceiling thudded and glass shattered. Laughter.

  Trav rubbed Owl’s back. “They’re going to leave. They’re going to leave.” Was he saying it for her benefit or his own? She sank further into his warm embrace, enveloped by the darkness and his strong arms.

  Something crashed loudly, vibrating the ceiling. Owl jerked in alarm. Trav squeezed her harder, his hot breath in her ear. She twisted her fingers into his cloak as he pressed his face to her hair.

  After a while—it was hard to say how long—Trav said, “They’re probably gone, but we should stay in here for a bit just to be safe.”

  That was fine with her. Trav’s tight grip loosened just a little as her heart rate began to level out. Adrenaline still itched in her fingers. She used her hands to find Trav’s face, then used her lips to find his. He kissed her back. “Does being in danger turn you on?”

  “No. Being safe does.”

  Trav’s hands slid down her body in the black room. She kissed him again, despite knowing the gang still might be in the area. The cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and comfort swirling through her veins pushed her worries to a dark recess of her mind.

  “I don’t want to do something wrong, so I’m following your lead, darling.”

  Owl slid her palm across his, lacing their fingers together. She took his other hand and pressed it to her breast. Trav let out a breath and squeezed. A pang of disgust washed over her.

  This is Trav. Trav. With his big heart, kind eyes, and sweet smile.

  She kissed him again, sliding her lips over his. Trav’s big hands slipped under the back of her shirt. She didn’t stop him.

  After a bit, he said, “I think you need to get out of my lap, darling, because I’m enjoying this way too much. And we should probably think about getting out of here.”

  He was right. The adrenaline was wearing off and now she really just wanted to be out of the darkness and the mustiness and get away from this town. She pushed off Trav’s lap and stood, feeling for the rough brick wall.

  “I’m going to go lift the door. If anything happens to me… hide,” Trav said.

  Owl swallowed, feeling for her machete. The darkness obscured Trav’s form and she felt weak and exposed without his embrace.

  His footsteps clanged hollowly on the ladder. Dim yellow light danced on the crown of his head as he removed his hatchet and pushed up on the trapdoor. It emitted a small creak and Trav paused. He pushed further and peered out the top.

  “Okay, it’s safe. Let’s go.”

  She grabbed her pack and knocked past shelves, following Trav out. Her pulse pounded again as she surveyed the shop, expecting bloody, armored men to spring from behind shelves, brandishing their weapons, but they were alone. They crept to the street, eyeing shadowy corners.

  Certain the highwaymen were gone, they doubled back and headed west, skirting around the town. As they traipsed through tall grasses and bushes, Trav looked at the distant buildings, then grabbed Owl and squeezed her tightly.

  “Oh, that was scary. There’s no way I could have held off all those men. If that trapdoor hadn’t been there, we’d have been done for.”

  “Maybe we should stay out of towns for a while.” She pressed her forehead to his chest. Despite the lack of danger, his strong arms still comforted her.

  “Maybe you’re right.” He let go of her. “Okay, let’s go. I want this town out of my sight.”

  November 30, 152—We passed an old farm today. There were big machines and tools scattered all over in this barn. We were going to check out the house next to it, but there was a really bad smell, like rotting meat, so we decided to skip it.

  December 08, 152—I’ve been walking with Trav for one month now. Today, we found an old highway to follow. It’s even marked on my map. We could theoretically follow it all the way to Hawthorne. But things are never as simple as—

  Voices. Owl looked up from her notebook. Three men approached from the road. She put her journal away and pulled her machete to her side.

  Should I run? Stay still? Hurry up, Trav!

  The men veered toward her. A tanned Mainlander with a short beard and black hair walked between two men the color of a moonless night. One Islander grinned as he approached Owl, sharp teeth glinting.

  “Oh, hello! What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” The man’s accent was thick, almost a purr. Gravity pulled at her, holding her in place. The machete was useless in her frozen hand.

  “She’s not alone.” Trav’s voice drifted in as he emerged from around a junked car.

  The Islander blinked at him in surprise, then his slinky smile reappeared. “Is this your property?”

  Trav swallowed, then stood taller, folding his arms across his broad chest. “That’s right.”

  Her mouth fell open. The Islander, never losing his greasy grin, gestured to Owl. “Look at her scarred face. Did you do that?”

  “What if I did?”

  “Oh, I’m not judging you, friend. Far from it. But you appear to need someone new. Look how worn-out and used up she is. I’ll buy her from you. Give you a good deal.”

  A vein pulsed in Trav’s temple, but he fixed a friendly smile on his face. “Thanks, but I’m not looking to sell.”

  Owl shut her eyes, pulling in deep breaths and wishing for deafness.

  “She won’t fetch much if you go further north. Have you been north recently? I’m guessing not. There is a man up there—Winter, he’s called—and he’s amassing an army of like-minded people. Mainlanders, Soots, even some Pearlollans. Turning the whole area into a new territory.”

  Owl opened her eyes in alarm. The slaver inched toward Trav. “I’m going to give you some advice, man to man. Don’t keep heading north. They won’t like you there. They’ll take your property, and they’ll take you too, what with your… defective coloring. I’d take your property, but you look like too much of a hassle for one used-up pussy like that.”

  Trav’s mouth screwed into a snarl. The Soot laughed. “I’m serious, brother. Not worth the effort. You’re a big guy and I’m sure you’ve been in a fair share of figh
ts looking the way you do. But with all those people up north, someone is bound to try if you go that way.”

  “Why warn me about this?” Trav growled.

  The slaver shrugged. “Maybe I feel a little sorry for you. Off your island, trying to own a slave in the big, bad world—everybody’s dream, right? But you’re not an equal and that’s going to make it much harder for you.”

  Trav’s nostrils flared. “What area north are we talking about?”

  Hawthorne.

  Trav snapped his fingers in front of Owl’s face. “Gimme my map.”

  It took all the restraint she had to keep from slapping his outstretched hand away. He has to. Can’t show weakness. Even though the Soot slaver said he wouldn’t make a move, he didn’t look trustworthy in any sense, and the Mainlander stared at her with a hungry gaze.

  She pulled out her map and handed it to Trav. It rustled as he unfolded it, tilting it for the Soot to see. “I’m going here.”

  “Here?” The slaver pointed as Owl looked anxiously at the map’s underside. “No, no, no. This is right in the thick of it. Hawthorne, Light, all those little settlements in between. All raided and burned. That’s Winter’s territory now. And Soot territory.”

  “What about the islands?”

  Raided and burned… I hated the farm, growing up. Dad was so hard on me—worse on Corvin. I couldn’t wait to leave for Waterton and make a better life. I took Hawthorne for granted. It was all I had to lean on—my only solid source of comfort after Corvin left. And now… She pictured the flowers in her neighbor’s yard, her parents, Corvin’s secret Old World house, the animals, the sweet smell of hay in the barn where she shared her first kiss with a boy… Then she thought of the barn on fire, the Stargazers trampled under the feet of Soot slavers, her parents fleeing in terror, and Corvin’s collection of treasures melted and charred.

  She made no noise, but tears streamed down her face.

  “Aw, look at that. I just love it when the women cry. And you didn’t even have to do anything to her first. So pretty, don’t you agree?” the Soot purred.

  Trav looked at Owl and his composure wavered. “Yeah.”

  The slaver emitted a barking laugh and slapped Trav’s arm. “You put on a good show, brother! Commendable. Smart. But you need to work on that poker face. Anyway, if I were you I’d turn tail and go back where you came from. And thank whatever god half-breeds pray to that you ran into a nice guy like me and not someone else.” His gaze flicked to Owl and he gave her a wink. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  The slavers turned, their sandaled feet crunching through the dirt. Her gaze dropped, focusing on a small flower on the ground.

  “Owl.”

  She blinked, looking at the way the tiny leaves curled around the petals of the blossom.

  “Owl.”

  Trav squatted in front of her, his face filling her vision. She blinked again, another tear falling onto her cheek.

  “I’m so sorry. I had to.”

  “I know.”

  He frowned. “Listen, I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now, but we should get out of here. I don’t trust that those guys won’t come back.”

  She nodded, standing slowly and following Trav, barely registering where they were going. By the time they reached a large trailer, tilted to one side and surrounded by broken cars, she was completely numb. She entered the house, slumping into a cluttered corner. Parts of the ceiling hung in, and pigeons hopped about on the rafters, rustling their wings.

  “Hawthorne’s gone.”

  Trav sat next to her. “Yeah.”

  “My parents are gone.”

  “…Maybe.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “A slaver army… What do we do? Go back to Cadestown? Go… east? Is anywhere safe now?”

  “I don’t know anything about the East. And south is, well, The South.” He reached into his pocket and unfolded her map. “I have an idea, but I don’t know if it’s a very good one.”

  There were several new marks on the map. A bright red line, a painful laceration, surrounded the Northwest, the land colored in with smaller red hashmarks. Hawthorne sat squarely in the middle. Another mark caught her eye—a little red boat drawn in the water off the southwest coast. Trav’s finger touched the boat, then ran up the map and stopped—on Nis.

  His mouth pulled to one side. “Nis is safe. Always has been. When the Soots attacked when I was a kid, it wasn’t even a contest. My people know the island inside and out and they had the advantage. Nis is like the cranky, judgmental big brother who everyone leaves alone.”

  “What about your naming quest? And what about me? Would they even let me stay since I’m a Mainlander?”

  “There were a couple of Mainlanders who lived there quite a few years ago. Missionaries trying to convert us savages to their religion. They were tolerated. People were polite to them. They left after a year and went to Pearlolla to do the same thing there. Nis is not going to welcome you with open arms, but they won’t do that to me, either. I might be stuck as Son of Mossflower for the rest of my life. But it’s better than being captured by slavers.” He looked at the pigeons above them. “And I miss the ocean. My cousins. Fishing.” He put his face in his hands. “I hate it here. Nothing but rusty cars and broken buildings everywhere I look. It’s so ugly. And if one more person calls me a ‘coconut,’ I’m going to lose it.”

  Owl nodded. “You should go home. Seems like a good idea.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t have a home.”

  Trav laced his fingers in hers. “Come with me. Walk with me that way. You don’t have to decide right now if you want to come to Nis, but at least it will put distance between you and this travesty growing up north. I don’t want something to happen to you.”

  Owl pursed her lips. “What derogatory name do Islanders call Mainlanders? Is there an equivalent to ‘coconut?’”

  He tried to conceal a smirk. “A ‘trashbilly.’”

  “Trashbilly. Doesn’t sound so bad. So is that what I am?”

  “Well, we are sitting in a trailer full of pigeon shit.”

  Owl giggled, then a sob escaped. She pressed her face to Trav’s chest and he held her, rocked her, and stroked her hair. After a while they left, their backs to the north.

  8 ~ Burr ~

  December 11, 152—I wrote a letter to Waterton’s postman today, on the off chance any letters came for me after I left. Problem is, I don’t know where to have him send the reply. I want to be with Trav, but I’m not sure Nis is the right place for me. I don’t know if anywhere is the right place for me.

  On December twelfth, Owl sat with Trav under a small stone bridge, eating fried lizards and some vegetables they bought in a little town the day before. A voice and footsteps sounded nearby. Trav leaned forward to look past Owl. She turned; a short, scrawny man with an overstuffed backpack came into view, mumbling to himself. He stopped his monologue and his feet, then headed their way, dropping his bag and parking himself across from them.

  “Hey! How’s it going?” Something dirtied his scruffy face—maybe motor oil—and dark circles ringed his eyes. A large pale scar replaced the hair on the side of his head. “I’m Gale.” The man held out a dirty hand to each of them.

  Owl kept her hands in her lap, looking at the man warily. Trav shook his hand. “I’m Trav. This is Owl.”

  “It’s a—it’s a pleasure to meet you. Where you two headed? Um, you—y’know there’s a town two days southwest of here? It’s where I live. Burr, it’s called. Like, like what you say when you’re cold.” He laughed. “You guys going there?”

  “Er, yeah, maybe. We’re heading that direction.”

  “Oh, awesome. Me too. Hey, hey maybe we could walk there together! I’m out here scavving. I love scavving. That’s what I do. I—I find all kinds of amazing things out here, and, and then I take them back to town. Some I sell, and some I keep. Oh! You guys should see my house! I have so many things in my house!�
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  Trav started to say something, but Gale continued. “It’s—it’s a good life. I like it. But it does get kind of lonely out here, walking around for days on end, not talking to anyone. And, and, and the people in town mostly avoid me. They think I’m a weirdo, y’know? Oh, but I’m harmless, I swear. I wouldn’t ever hurt no one. And probably the—the fact that I just brought that up makes you think I’m secretly a murderer, huh? I’m sorry. Sometimes I say weird stuff and, and I don’t mean it. I’m not the—not the—not the most suave person, if you haven’t noticed.”

  Awkwardness filled the silence, and Owl shifted uncomfortably. Finally, Trav spoke up again. “People in towns avoid me too.”

  “Re—really? They think you’re scary, huh? Some kind of freak? Yeah, me too. So we’re like—we’re like two peas in a pod, right? That’s why we should travel together! Until, until we get to Burr. I’m not, uh, going any farther than that. Gotta, gotta take all this stuff home. Can’t fit any more in my pack. Oh, but, but I have some room in my pockets still if I find something really neat.”

  Gale looked at Owl. “You look scared of me. Are you scared of me? Girls always are. But you don’t need to be.” Owl opened her mouth, but Gale continued. “I wouldn’t do nothing to you, ever. Women don’t—don’t interest me all that much. And, and guys neither. I just like my stuff. I have a lot of stuff. And there’s Bobby!”

  “Who’s Bobby?” Owl asked, not sure she wanted to know.

  “He’s my most prized possession.” Gale’s dark eyes grew wide. “He’s—he’s a statue. I think he came off of a fountain originally. He’s made of—made of metal. He’s a cherub. You know those? The little guys with wings? He’s got curly hair. He’s so heavy. It—it took me forever to drag him back home, and, and, and he didn’t have a name, so I named him Bobby. If you guys came to my house, you could see him.”

  Trav tossed a stub of carrot into the dirt, wiping his hands on his pants. He stood up, stooping forward a bit to keep from hitting his head on the bridge’s underside. “Gale, did you see that there was an old washing machine over there? Maybe you should check it out before we head on down the road.”