by Alia Hess
“Try this one.” Banks gestured. Trav took the disk and held it to one eye. He looked into the sky.
“Oh, the clouds look so…”
“Sharp? Crisp? Defined? Focused?”
“Yeah.”
“Happy day! And how fortuitous that I have its mate. Otherwise you’d be walking away with a monocle. Do you have a frame preference?”
Trav set the lens in Banks’ palm. “I’m going to be honest with you, I can’t understand half of what is coming out of your mouth.”
“That’s still half more than many, I’m afraid. No matter. A delicate golden frame is a classic and sure to make you appear distinguished. I must tell you, however, that this will take several minutes.”
Banks climbed the rope ladder again, this time straddling the boofalope’s hump, a collection of materials in his lap. Owl rubbed the animal’s velvety, bovine nose, avoiding the pitted, bony tusks that flanked her mouth. The boofalope nudged her in the neck, nearly knocking her over.
“Do you like her?” Banks’ goggles flashed in the the sun as he worked. “I christened her Lemondrop, for she is a sweet little lady. Also, I have a penchant for hard candy. Have you ever seen a male?”
“No.”
“Twice as large. Twice the smell. And much bigger horns. Aggressive and disagreeable animals. Useless as a beast of burden. But imagine the size of the chalet they could tote if one had the notion to employ one!”
Banks’ heels clacked against the asphalt and he held up his completed creation with a flourish. Trav took them uncertainly and slid them onto his face, looking around.
“This is amazing. I can see everything. What do you call them?”
“Spectacles!”
Banks required many of Trav’s scavenged items in exchange for the spectacles. He sifted through the jumbled contents of wire, knives, fishing line, computer boards, fountain pens, shotgun shells and screws, making his selection. Owl’s pack was also lighter after trading for a new pair of boots. Banks spewed a rapid discharge of dialogue as she pulled the laces taut.
“Best confections you’ll ever find.” He opened a bag and deposited some of the contents into Trav’s palm. “And now that our business is concluded, I must bid you adieu. Happy trails!”
The merchant urged his entourage forward, the chalet on Lemondrop’s back wobbling and creaking once more.
“What a strange man. How do you like your spectacles?”
Trav’s soft eyes were bigger, icier, through the lenses. The delicate wire frame and his eyeblack contrasted strangely.
“It’s pretty neat. I think it’ll take some getting used to though. I turn my head and feel like I’m going to fall over. I might just use them when I need to see something far away.”
Owl plucked a yellow candy from Trav’s outstretched hand and popped it in her mouth. “Does Cadestown have things like this too? I mean, I’ve seen a lot of caravans but their wares were never so… unique.”
“Maybe. I’ve been there before, but buying ‘luxury items’ or whatever these are was never really a priority.”
“So why get them now?”
“Because I didn’t know I squint so much.”
She crunched down on the lemon candy. “I think you have permanent crow’s feet because of it.”
“That, or I’m just getting old.”
Owl shrugged. “I think they’re kind of cute.”
“Really?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“I didn’t say you’re cute. Just your crow’s feet.”
“Uh-huh.” Trav’s grin matched Owl’s as they hefted their packs and continued down the road.
November 11, 152—We came upon a tiny town today. It was pretty much just a cluster of shacks and a couple of barns with some sad-looking cows. They didn’t take well to Trav. The farmers, not the cows. Called him a “coconut.” I started to argue with them, but Trav told me there was no point. We kept walking.
November 13, 152—We saw a tire fire today. It smelled horrible, but the flames were impressive. Orange and black smoke billowed out of the mess like some cloud from Hell. We could feel the heat of it even from a distance.
November 15, 152—Trav put his arm around me today. He was trying to show me something, and I didn’t know what he was pointing at. It was just a vulture, but he gets so excited now that he can actually see far away with his spectacles. I’m more used to his touch now. I don’t think he realizes that he does it most of the time. He’ll touch my arm or nudge me when we’re talking. But he apologized today for putting his arm around me. He didn’t need to. It really wasn’t that bad.
5 ~ Scorpion Leaf ~
On November eighteenth, they followed the cracked asphalt road into a small, deserted town. Homes and buildings from the Old World, broken and decrepit, spread out on both sides of the street like corpses no one had the decency to bury. Garbage and tumbleweeds littered the broken road.
“Do you think it’s safe?”
Trav didn’t reply but pulled out his hatchet.
Owl walked to a nearby building and pressed her forehead to a dirty, intact window, cupping her hands around her face. Mailbox doors hung open on the wall, and yellowed papers and envelopes sat in jumbled, untouched piles. She turned to Trav and shrugged.
They walked carefully down the street, eyeing shadowy corners. Nearby, a house’s roof sagged, peeling yellow paint hanging from the siding in ribbons. Melted candles crowded the doorstep, and plastic dolls dangled from the eaves of the roof, nooses fashioned around their necks. Trav ushered Owl past the house in a hurry, eyeing the dolls.
A small park sat beyond the rows of homes. Ancient playground equipment creaked in the cold wind. Several wild dogs were eating something on the dead grass. They looked up as Owl and Trav passed, ears perked and eyes intent, but quickly returned to their meal.
At the end of town, rusting skeletons of trucks sat in a parking lot next to crooked gas pumps and a tiny convenience store. As they ventured near, a whir cut through the air, and a small drone slowly drifted past.
Owl’s stomach twisted. Maybe I shouldn’t have said those things to Trav about The Collapse. I don’t think the drones can send another, but someone is controlling these things. Can they really hear what we say?
Trav’s loose hair blew around his face. He perched his spectacles on his nose and produced a sling from his belt.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh.” Trav’s stared at the drone as he slowly picked up a rock and fit it into the pouch. He whipped the sling in an arc, brows furrowed, then let go, sending the rock hurtling into the sky. It hit the drone squarely and sent it careening to the ground. It crashed on the asphalt; chunks of metal bounced down the road.
Owl’s eyes widened and she put a hand to her throat.
Trav turned to her and winked, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Her heart thudded hard. “You knocked down a drone.”
“Yeah. So? It’s not the first time. I’ve only been able to hit them a couple times, though. Probably helps that I can see now.”
“You’ve done this before?” She eyed the heavy clouds above. “But, you can’t do that.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in religious superstition.”
“I… don’t. Even so, if someone around here saw you do that, they’d want to kill you. Claim you were bringing The Collapse on us all.”
Trav’s mouth bunched. “Well, it’s just me and you. Come look at the thing with me. It’s just a machine. It’s not going to do anything.”
Owl hesitantly followed him to the drone. Its camera light still blinked red, though the nose was crumpled like tin foil. “Where do you think it came from?”
Trav tucked his spectacles into his cloak pocket and picked up the drone, turning it over. “China.” He smiled. “Do you know there are people who pay good money for the innards of these things?”
Owl pressed a finger to the red light. “It doesn’t look scary up close… Do you think someone is watching us right now?”
> “If they are, they won’t be for long.” Trav retrieved a screwdriver from his bag and unscrewed the metal plate on the drone’s underside. Jumbles of wires, like entrails, spilled out of the belly. He removed them, along with computer boards and camera modules. When the drone was nothing but a shell, he dropped it, putting the components in his pack.
Tiny raindrops hit the drone’s dented metallic surface. Owl shook her head. “I can’t believe you destroyed one of these things.”
Trav looked up at the swollen charcoal clouds, then smirked. “I’m a rebel too, I guess. Looks like a storm is coming. Maybe we should hide out in that gas station for a bit.”
Just who was this man? So nakedly unconcerned with things that would terrify an average person. But that wasn’t cause for worry, was it? Trav had wandered the country for three years—he damn well knew more than she did when it came to road smarts. Beyond that, she wanted to trust him. That reassuring smile, the careful expression he wore before saying something important…
Or is he reckless and I’m letting my feelings cloud my judgment, like usual?
He gently put a hand on her cloak sleeve and thumbed toward the convenience store. Rain sheened on his high cheekbones. She pulled in a shallow breath and followed him. They walked cautiously, raindrops pelting them harder. Dust caked the building’s windows. Trav wiped the grime away from one with his cloak sleeve and peered inside. He looked at Owl and nodded.
Debris and a metal rack clogged the gas station entry. Trav leaned against the door and pushed it open enough for them to squeeze through. Bottles, food wrappers, tumbleweeds, and water-warped magazines from a forgotten time littered the ground. Weeds overran one window. It was difficult to navigate the room with overturned racks and garbage littering the floor. Owl stepped on a plastic bottle and it squelched. A large gust of wind hit the building, and dust and cold raindrops blew through the broken window and door.
They picked their way past the detritus to a small back room. A desk and filing cabinets, caked in flaking rust, sagged against the far wall. Broken light tubes dangled from the ceiling. Trav waded through brittle papers and dropped his pack. He untied his bedroll, spreading it along the ground.
Owl set her pack down, pulling her cloak tight. She shut the door against the draft, choking out what little light there had been. After fishing blindly through her pack, she retrieved a stubby candle and lit it with a match. The flame wobbled as she set it on a filing cabinet, then plopped onto the floor opposite Trav.
“I usually write in my notebook or just sleep when I’m waiting out a storm. What about you?”
Trav reached into his bag, flicking open a small metal case; he removed a white paper and sprinkled the center with dried leaves. After licking the edge, he rolled it into a cigarette.
“What is that?”
“Scorpion leaf.” He lit it with a battered lighter, then took a drag; the cherry-red end bobbed in the dim light. Smoke curled out of his nose in white threads as he offered it to Owl. She scooted closer, taking a drag and holding the sweet, mellow smoke in her lungs until the itchy burn was too much. She exhaled, coughing, and handed it back.
“Where’s it from?”
“Further south.”
The sensation was wholly foreign. Like sinking to the bottom of a warm, dark lagoon. Or maybe like being in a womb. Or…
“Do you think this is what death feels like?”
“I think this is what comfort feels like,” he replied.
“What if death is comfort?”
Raindrops pounded overhead, and thunder rolled somewhere far away.
“Don’t get all weird on me yet. You only took one drag.” He held the cigarette in front of her again.
“You want to play a game while we’re sitting here?” Her mind drifted dreamily.
“What sort of game?”
“How about Truth or Dare?” Snippets of memory flitted through her mind: sitting in the barn loft with Corvin and a couple neighbor kids, head swimming from moonshine, as they challenged each other to do ridiculous things and spill their deepest secrets. The game and moonshine had given her the courage to kiss Stitch Bricklayer, even in front of Corvin and the other boys. But she wasn’t thirteen, and Corvin wasn’t here to be big brother.
She frowned. “Nevermind. Silly suggestion.”
“Don’t say that. I’m curious now. How do you play?” Trav rested his head against the wall, his eyes shut.
“You’ve never played Truth or Dare? It’s easy. I ask you, ‘truth or dare.’ If you say ‘truth,’ I get to ask you a question, and you have to answer truthfully. If you say ‘dare,’ I dare you to do something, and you do it.”
He took the cigarette back. “Sounds like a children’s game.”
“It is. Just forget it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to play. What do I do again?”
Owl’s head threatened to drift away. Did Trav look best with or without his spectacles? The urge to run her fingers through his wind-blown hair was suddenly overwhelming. He gave her a warm smile. She said, “Ask me, ‘truth or dare?’”
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Rain fell in a metallic patter on the roof. Trav stared at the door with the cigarette dangling from his lips. “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?”
She laughed. “That’s an easy one. Marry my ex-husband. My turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Hmm. What’s something you’ve done that would have gotten you in trouble but you never got caught?”
Trav grinned. “I hid a bunch of dead fish in someone’s house.”
“You what?”
“My cousin Quietbird and I, actually. We hated this guy in town—Brokenshell. So while he was gone one day, we snuck into his house with a bunch of fish and put them inside his mattress.”
Owl giggled. “So this was when you were a kid?”
“No. It was just a few years ago.”
She laughed harder. It was difficult to imagine Trav pulling a prank like that, but it made it all the more amusing.
“You okay?” Trav laughed.
Stifling her giggles was difficult. She gave him a playful shove. “What did you do to me?”
He grinned at her. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“I want to know your answer to the same question.”
“Okay. Hmm. There were so many things I did that I should have gotten in trouble for… I was just thinking about a time as a teenager I snuck into the barn at night with my brother and some friends and we got drunk on stolen moonshine.”
“Ooh, you’re a naughty girl.”
“You have no idea. Well, I was. Not so much anymore.”
“You sure about that?”
Heat crawled into Owl’s cheeks, her heart pounding a little quicker. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Again? Are you scared I’m going to make you run naked out in the rain if you say ‘dare?’”
Trav ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I am now.”
“Truth again… Okay. What do you plan on doing with your life? Are you going to keep walking forever? Or do you think you’ll settle down somewhere? Or maybe go back to your island?”
He sighed deeply, his smile fading. “I don’t know. And that’s the truth. I want to go home. I miss it. A lot. I really hate it here, but the people on my island are so judgmental. I’m already a disappointment for being—whatever it was that merchant called me—”
“Albino.”
“Right. And coming back after failing a naming quest? No one has done that before. I would be humiliated.” He pulled at a frayed rope on his sandal, twisting it around his finger.
The desire to comfort him wasn’t quite as paralyzing with the scorpion leaf’s effects. Owl put her trembling hand on his, caressing his knuckles with her thumb. He looked up, lips parted. “Maybe we should get some air in here.” He slipped his hand away.
Owl tuc
ked her own hand back into her lap. “Sorry. I guess I got the wrong impression from you. I thought that—that you were attracted to me.”
“I am.” He stamped the cherry of the cigarette into the tiled floor until it grew dark. “But you’re high. I don’t want you to do something you’d regret.”
“My anxiety is what I regret. And I don’t feel it right now. Not to the same degree I do normally, anyway. It’s like the bad memories in my head don’t have any weight right now. This is going to sound cheesy, but the past week and a half with you has been the best time I’ve had in a long while.”
He smiled. “Then I must be cheesy too.”
Thunder cracked overhead, filling the room. Owl jumped and automatically reached for Trav. It wasn’t protection she wanted, though. Maybe it had been in the beginning, but his presence was a comfort deeper than any scorpion leaf could provide.
There had been so many negative signs with Adam. If she’d looked harder, she would have seen them.
She swallowed a hitch in her throat. “I have feelings for you. And I’ve been in a constant tug-of-war with myself about it. I’ve made so many stupid mistakes in the past, and they still affect me now. I’m not saying you’d be a mistake; I’m just afraid of trying again. But the longer I’m with you, the less frightened I am. Now especially.”
Trav’s gaze traced her face, then settled on her lips. His soft, exotic voice rolled against her ear like a distant wave. “Then can I kiss you?”
She nodded, and he leaned closer, taking her chin and tilting her head up to him. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird. He pressed his soft, full lips against hers and there was a ceasefire in her mind. Attraction won—at least for now.
He pulled back. “You’re shaking. That was a bad idea.”
“I’m just cold. …And insanely nervous.”
Trav laughed. “Me too. You know how long it’s been since I’ve kissed a woman? It’s really sad.”
“Probably not as long as it’s been since I kissed a guy that wasn’t an asshole.”
“Will you be okay? When you sober up later? You don’t think you’ll regret it?”
“I don’t think I will. But I can’t guarantee I’ll have the guts to do it again. And I really don’t want to get high just to kiss you.”