Travelers Page 9

  “Oh, really?” Gale stood up and hefted his pack, which looked like it might break his small form. “I should go look. You—you know, once I found a washing machine, and, and, and you’ll never guess what was inside. A teddy bear! Man, that was a cool day. I gave it to Bobby. Be right back, you guys.”

  Gale marched off toward the washing machine. Owl stood and leaned toward Trav. “This guy is a nutjob.”

  “Mm. Yeah.”

  “Let’s ditch him.”

  Trav pulled his spectacles from his pocket, holding them in front of his eyes as Gale peered into the washing machine. “I feel a little sorry for him. I know what it’s like to be treated as a pariah because you’re different.”

  “Are you suggesting he come with us? He seems… unstable. What if he stabs us in our sleep?”

  “We could just let him walk with us for a couple hours. Then we’ll ditch him. Unless he starts to act like a creep. In which case, I’m sure I can take him. I’m sure you can take him.” Trav placed his spectacles back in his pocket. “Are you really that worried?”

  “You know how wary of you I was when we first met.”

  “And I turned out to be a nice guy, right?”

  Gale plodded back over, mouth pulled down. “There was nothing in there but a—but a dead rat. And I’m not going to put that in my pocket!” He laughed. “Well, let’s go, guys.” He turned, marching southwest. Trav looked at Owl and shrugged; she sighed as they headed after Gale. He slowed his pace until he was walking between them.

  “You guys got, you got anything good to—to trade? In your bags? ‘Cause, I love to trade. You never know what sort—sorta stuff people have. I’ve got a lot of great stuff. Maybe you want to trade for something I got.” Gale’s gaze fell to the little teddy bear knocking against Owl’s leg as she walked. “I—I like your bear. It would go great with my others. You wanna trade?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Gale deflated a little, frowning.

  “Because it was a gift. From Trav. But maybe I have something else you’ll like.”

  Gale looked at Trav. “Ah. Oh. Okay. So you two are like—like—okay. That’s, uh, something that doesn’t interest me. Romance. Unless you count my love for, for scavving. And my items.” He laughed. “So, Owl, what else you got? I should tell you too that there’s stuff I don’t like. Guns, bullets, knives. I don’t—I don’t collect violent stuff. But firecrackers are fun sometimes.”

  “I have some coins, pens, first aid stuff, fishing line, screws, some electronics, uh… Necklaces, magazines—”

  “Oh! Magazines. Yes. Can—can I see?”

  “Sure.” She pulled off her pack and dug through the contents, handing him two rolled up magazines. “You can have them. I’ve looked at them a million times already.”

  Gale’s face contorted with shock. “You, you mean for free? Like a—like a—like a gift?”

  Owl shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Wow. I don’t think anyone’s ever given me a—a gift before. You guys are great.” He beamed and flipped through the raggedy magazines; their trek was pleasantly silent while he was occupied. Eventually, he put the magazines in his overstuffed pack.

  Gale whispered, “Oh! Yes. Yes. Bunches. Most at my—my house, but some in my pack too.” At first, she assumed he was talking to himself again, but he was speaking to Trav.

  “What you got to trade, Trav?”

  “Some electronics, pliers, uh, string lights—”

  “Yes! Light bulbs are great. When—when they work. I have a—a lot at my house. What else?”

  “I’ve got a couple of books, silverware—”

  “Spoons?”

  Trav nodded.

  “Great. That’s great. I like spoons. I have a—a bunch. They all have different handles. Who knew they made spoons with—with so many different handles? We can, uh, trade when we stop.”

  That evening, they sat in an orchard of gigantic fruit trees. Rotting leaves littered the ground, and many blackbirds perched in the branches. A big house sat atop a hill a quarter of a mile away, rising into the sky like a graveyard monolith, and farming equipment nearby rusted into the earth.

  What a view to watch the world decay.

  Blackbirds rustled their wings, heads tilting back and forth. Were they mad that she was currently eating one of their friends? Gale devoured his bird quickly, then tossed his final bone aside and stood up.

  “Y’know, you guys are great, but, but you’re kind of slow. No offense. I really wanna get back to Burr and look over all my items. So, so I think I’m going to head out. Uh, but, hey, when you get to—get to Burr, look me up, okay? I’d love to show you all my stuff. And Bobby!” Gale laughed.

  “Oh, uh, okay. See ya,” Owl said.

  Gale gave them a salute and disappeared among the trees.

  She turned to Trav, seated next to her. “Did he just ditch us?”

  He smirked, nodding.

  That night, Owl dreamed that she was in Hawthorne, living with Trav in her old house. Her yard overran with little yellow flowers and Stargazers. Twisted in the bed sheets, Trav’s soft touch ignited her, his breath heaving in her ear. His loose, messy hair fell onto her bare skin, the scent of Stargazers surrounding them. It was comforting—Trav was comforting. She wanted to stay in this house, in this bed. She wanted this feeling to last—

  Owl sat up in the dark orchard, surrounded by dead leaves. The gnarled silhouettes of trees rocked slowly in the breeze. Trav lay asleep, snoring quietly with his blanket pulled up around him. She slid back into her sleeping bag, staring wide-eyed at the dark branches above.

  In the morning, they left the orchard behind, continuing southwest. They walked in silence for a while, until Trav said, “Are you okay? You’re quiet today.”

  “I’m just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Just… a dream I had last night. Where I was in Hawthorne.”

  “Oh. Hard to stop thinking about, huh? After I lost my mom, I swear I saw her in my dreams every night. You know you can talk to me about it if you want.”

  She huffed. “I’m tired of crying. Tired of thinking about it. Hawthorne’s gone and there’s nothing I can do. I’m just still holding out hope that my parents are okay somewhere. You know, maybe the town got a warning and they were able to head somewhere else. My brother is in the East. They could have gone that way. Or maybe they even went to Waterton to look for me. Who knows? …That’s not why I was thinking about my dream, though.” She chuckled, smiling. “It was a sex dream.”

  Trav gave her a sideways glance. “You and Gale, huh?”

  “No, idiot! Me and you.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips. “So what does that mean, exactly? That you want to try going further?”

  Owl stopped. Trav’s hood wreathed his head, his braid hanging out over one shoulder and icy eyes watching her with benign curiosity. “Yeah. I think that’s what that means.”

  A red flush climbed Trav’s neck and settled in his cheeks. He turned about in a circle, looking at the grassy, weedy fields surrounding them. “If I see a proper bed, I’ll let you know.”

  “Can you stop joking around for a minute, please? I’m serious. This is a big thing for me.”

  “Sorry.” He put his arms around her waist, drawing her in. As he pulled off his hood, diffused sunlight—struggling to shine through the layers of clouds above—turned his face soft and gentle. “I know it’s a big deal. I’m just… afraid of upsetting you. Sometimes, I still think about you waking up after falling down that hill. How you threw dirt at me, fought me—and how you even had any strength left at that point I don’t know. You were so scared. And I was just trying to help, but… I still see that look on your face sometimes when I try to kiss you. Or touch you.”

  “I’m sorry.” She locked her gaze with his, then pushed onto her toes and kissed him, slowly, deeply. When she pulled back, Trav opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again.

  “I—”<
br />
  “Yes?”

  “I, uh, I have something for you.” It took him a moment of looking through his belt pouches muttering, “What’d I do with it?” before producing a shiny ring and holding it out to her. Owl took it, turning it over in her hand. The band of silver vines twisted around a little pink gem in the center.

  “Wow. Uh… Thanks. What finger am I supposed to put this on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean? What’s this for?” She pinched the ring between her fingers.

  Trav’s breath caught in his throat. He wrenched his cloak hood up over his head. “Nothing. Gale showed it to me and I thought it was pretty. If you don’t like it, you can throw it away.”

  Owl strode quickly to keep pace with Trav as he continued down the road. “Why would I throw it away? I like your gifts. It’s just… you’re not proposing or something, right?”

  Because that’s what Adam did after only a couple months of twining.

  He stared down the road. “What the hell is ‘proposing?’”

  “Asking someone to marry you.”

  Trav stopped. “Nisians don’t get married. Not like Mainlanders. They just live with each other long enough to be called husband and wife. And, no, that’s not what I was trying to do.”

  “Okay…” She tried putting the ring on her index finger, but it didn’t fit. After trying other fingers, she begrudgingly slid it onto her ring finger and stuffed the hand into her cloak pocket.

  What the hell just happened? I’m so lost.

  Trav marched on ahead. Owl slowed her pace, letting a little distance grow between them. A small gas station loomed on the right. Debris and rubble blocked the entrance, and sitting next to the wreckage was an overstuffed backpack.

  She stopped.

  “What?”

  “Speaking of Gale… Isn’t that his bag?”

  Trav turned his brooding face to the gas station, then strode over. He bent over the pack. “Has to be.”

  “Well, he didn’t get much farther than us. He must have gotten distracted by all of the places to plunder along the way. Weird that he left his backpack out here, though. I thought he loved his stuff more than anything.”

  Trav stuck his head into a broken window. “Gale?”

  Owl walked around back, finding nothing but tires and rusty machinery. “This is weird. I mean, he’s weird, but something seems off. God, you don’t think he got attacked by highwaymen or slavers, do you?”

  Trav’s frown hardened. He pulled trash and rubble from the entrance, then pushed his way inside. Owl squeezed in after him. Glass doors stood open in the dark store, and ancient bottles of evaporated drinks sat on the shelves. Racks lay overturned, garbage and old food wrappers strewn along the floor.

  “Gale?” Owl shouted.

  “Over here,” a small voice replied.

  Owl whipped her head around. The sound came from a rubble pile at the store’s other end. She hurried past obstacles, Trav behind her. Gale lay on the filthy floor, trapped under a heap of bricks and wooden beams. Trav immediately cleared refuse away.

  “Oh my God. Hang on, we’ll get you out.” Owl pulled bricks away.

  “My—my leg. Stuck.”

  Trav dug at the bricks and crumbling chunks of mortar, uncovering Gale’s leg. A metal pylon pinned his foot. Owl grunted as she helped Trav lift the beam away. Gale pulled his foot out and scooted back, then grimaced as he touched his swollen ankle.

  “I think it might—might be broken.”

  “Let’s get outside.” Trav helped Gale to his feet and supported him as he limped from the store. Gale sat, pulling a canteen from his pack and drinking greedily. Trav walked away, headed for a nearby tree.

  “What happened?”

  “Well—well, I thought there might be some neat stuff in there, but I—but I didn’t know the wall was so crumbly. I—I tried to pull a clock off the wall, but the whole thing came down. Don’t suppose you saw the clock in there, did you?”

  Owl smirked and nodded. She slid back through the entrance and picked the dirt-covered clock up from the rubble, bringing it back out to Gale.

  “Thanks.” He squeezed it into his pack. “What’s—what’s Trav doing?”

  Trav sat by the tree whittling a stick with a big knife. “Looks like he’s making you a crutch.”

  “Really?”

  “He made me one too. Too bad we don’t still have it—it would save him the trouble.”

  “Why did you need a crutch?”

  “I was climbing a hill and slipped. I cut my leg really bad, among other things. That’s how we met, actually. Trav found me unconscious at the bottom of the hill. He patched me up and watched over me until I was better.”

  “Wow. That’s real nice. And you’re nice too. I’m sure glad that—glad that you guys found me, or I’d be done for.” He paused. “Did you like the ring?”

  Owl looked down at her hand and frowned. “Yeah. It’s real pretty. Did Trav say why he wanted it?”

  “Just that it was for you. I think it’s pretty too. I have some—some more, but that was the best one in my pack. At my house, I have one with a blue gem. It’s—it’s a marquise-shape.” Gale pulled the clock back out of his pack, wiping away the film of dust from the plastic cover. “This clock is okay, but it wasn’t worth get—getting trapped under a wall for.”

  Owl smiled weakly. “Definitely not.”

  Once the crutch was finished, Trav helped Gale up to lean on it, then shouldered his heavy pack. He and Owl walked slowly on either side of Gale as they made their way down the road.

  “Is there a doctor in Burr?” Trav shifted Gale’s pack on his shoulders.

  “Yes. Dr. Gail. Isn’t that funny? We have—we have the same name. But spelled different. We won’t get to Burr by tonight. Not going this slow. You’re supposed to—supposed to keep swelling elevated, but I don’t wanna rest out here in the middle of—of nowhere. Especially if it’s broken. Don’t think rest will do any good.”

  That evening, Gale sat against a tree with his swollen ankle propped up on his pack. “Whatcha writing?”

  Owl sat at a picnic table nearby. She looked up from her notebook. “My travel journal. I write in it every day.”

  “Oh? So is today’s entry about—about finding me in the gas station?”

  Owl smirked. “Yeah.” Among other things.

  “Oh, that’s, that’s cool. So, you keep that journal all the time? You won’t throw it away?”

  “No, I won’t throw it away. It’s one of the most important things I have.”

  “So, you’ll remember me. Even when you guys—even when you leave Burr. Because you wrote about me.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  “Y’know, most people wouldn’t even notice if—if I didn’t come back to Burr. They couldn’t care less. I’m glad you guys are nice and found me. And helped me. I don’t… I don’t really have any friends. Which doesn’t bother me, most of the time. But, when you’re trapped under a gas station wall, it’s definitely good to—to have a friend or two.” He laughed.

  Owl smiled, but it quickly faded. She set down her pen for a moment, the tiny pink gem on her ring reflecting sunset colors. Trav stood beyond the picnic area, his back to her. He picked up a rock and chucked it at a rusty tin can on a fence. She frowned and continued writing.

  They reached Burr the following evening. Gale hadn’t spoken much that day, grimacing as he hobbled slowly along. As soon as they entered the little town, he steered them toward the doctor’s house. The quaint town held a cute, simple charm. Trees and bushes punctuated the spaces between brick houses. Sheep and cows wandered in green, fenced-in fields.

  This place looks a bit like Hawthorne. Owl’s heart ached.

  A large tree yawned over the roof of the doctor’s small house, and a tire swing hung from a thick branch. Wheelless toy cars sat in the dirt. Trav knocked on the door. After a moment, a woman peered out, her gaze narrowing at Trav. She looked at Ga
le.

  “Oh, you’re, um…”

  “Gale. Like you, Dr. Gail. Gail and Gale.”

  “Right… Uh, come in.”

  Owl stepped into Dr. Gail’s house, following Trav and Gale through a narrow hallway to a back room. They passed a bedroom where a little boy played with more toy cars. Shelves of supplies and a medical bed sat in the back room. Gale scooted onto the bed, leaning the crutch against the side.

  After the doctor inspected his ankle, she secured it with a splint. Gale pushed himself up, hitching the crutch under one arm holding his dirty sneaker with the other. “How much do I—do I need to pay?”

  The doctor frowned, her eyes narrowing. “This one will be a freebie. But you have to promise me something, er, Gale. Quit asking my son if he wants to trade toys with you, deal? I don’t like you around my son, or anyone else’s kid.”

  “But—but—”

  “No buts. Your mother even said you’re not supposed to be bothering people in town with all your useless junk.”

  Gale shrank into the crutch, but nodded, and Owl followed him from the house. “Don’t see what the big deal is.” He scowled as he limped down the street. “Joey likes toy cars. I have some toy cars. I just wanted to—wanted to give him a couple. I wasn’t even trying to trade.”

  Gale stopped before a little house of irregular red bricks. A neatly-maintained vegetable garden grew out front, and several metal decorations adorned the front yard.

  “This is it?” Owl cocked an eyebrow. Could this cute and tidy house really be Gale’s? And when did he find time to water the garden?

  “This is where my mom lives. My—my place is out back.”

  He limped around the house to a shack. String lights hung from the eaves in a gaudy brilliance, and several mounted animal heads and street signs graced the walls. A large white appliance—the Old World version of a drip-cooler—sat out back among suitcases, plastic crates, and electric lamps. Gale opened the door. The interior was pretty much as Owl had imagined it—wall-to-wall junk. Things hung from the ceiling, from the walls, and balanced in mountainous piles: clocks, spoons, books and magazines, boxes of dolls and teddy bears, gilded ceramic plates, landscape paintings with broken frames, chipped vases, threadbare rugs, and devices she didn’t have names for. It was a miracle that the gas station was the first time Gale was trapped under a pile of garbage. He squeezed his way through a narrow, semi-clear path, heading deeper into the shack.