Chromeheart

by Alia Hess

Dewbell let out a chuckle.

  “How old are you?”

  <42>

  He reeled, eyes drifting over Dewbell’s sweet face and low-cut top. “You don’t look that old.”

 

  “Absolutely, baby. You are still beautiful.” Dewbell grinned, and he continued. “What you guys going to do when you get back to Hammerlink? Sell those computer parts, go home, and wait for new escort job?”

  She shrugged and nodded.

  Sasha thumbed at the children around them. “You got kids?”

  Dewbell’s smile fell away. She handed Sasha the tablet without writing anything. He frowned and put it back in his pocket. “Sorry. Should not have asked that.”

  She stood and patted Sasha on the shoulder, then headed for Lucky, who still sat by the fire, smoking a cigarette. She made a series of signs and Lucky nodded.

  Dusty stood near the man with the eyepatch, talking and laughing. An itch of unease crawled into Sasha’s chest. She had promised no more trades, but if she were anything like him, slipping up was easy to do.

  Sasha approached them. “Hey. John, right? I’m Sasha.”

  John stood up and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you. Any friend of Dusty’s is a friend of mine.” Sasha shook his hand. “Damn, man, that’s quite the grip!”

  He shrugged. “Everybody in Russia shake hands that way.”

  “Dusty says you helped her find a lot of worthwhile parts to sell. That’s great. Going to make my job harder, because it means more kids to smuggle here, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Your party ready to turn in for the night? There’s an old theater in good condition that’ll hold everybody. That’s where Dusty and I stay when we’re here.”

  Sasha looked at Dusty, then back to John, with his tall, muscular physique and chiseled jaw, then thought about them sleeping in the same building together. “Yeah, okay.”

  The party followed John through town. Sasha pushed the shopping cart, their bags and the drone inside. Charred shells of buildings sat among more intact houses decorated with characterful additions: dolls and bears nailed to wood siding, open umbrellas staked into the grass, axes and claw hammers wedged into tree trunks, and rainbows, guns, and poorly-spelled swear words graffitied onto houses in drippy paint.

  Filthy sheets draped the entrances of small handmade shacks made from aluminum siding and particle board, toys strewn around in the dirt.

  Like dogs.

  This place wasn’t fit for children, but they didn’t have anywhere else to go. How many products sold by caravans had been manufactured by children’s hands? And how many of these kids had parents who had passed away? Surely not all of them. America could be a dangerous place, but in an inner city, it was more likely they had been sold to Bosses like Dusty had been. Maybe people had children on purpose to make a profit, or did people raid other towns and capture kids to take to Hammerlink, like the slavers on the Northwest Coast? Sasha wished he’d hijacked a couple more drones to fly over the city—maybe assassinate some Bosses. That would be much harder than killing Winter, however. Winter had been on a stage, giving a speech, and standing right out in the open—obvious and vulnerable. Bosses just looked like other people.

  They passed another fort resembling a dog house. Sasha had been a lucky orphan, if there was such a thing. His grandma had lived in a tiny, cozy apartment in Moskva, and although he had to make-do with a closet for a bedroom, he had clean clothes and good food, and someone who loved him.

  A small child ran past in a stained tee shirt that fell to his knees. He wore no shoes, and didn’t mind stepping through a mud puddle to pick up a toy car.

  Once Sasha’s grandmother had passed away, he turned in on himself, no longer interested in the outside world—much as he had done when his parents died. He stopped going to work and spent all his time hunched before a computer screen.

  The internet was a distraction from his grief and anxiety. Nothing else mattered much. His apartment grew cluttered and dirty, and there was never anything more than a couple of condiment jars in the fridge. He earned money through various shady websites and taught himself to be a hacker, exploring the dark web and chatting with strange-minded people.

  Sasha discovered Dr. Orlov’s website by accident on an Underground America webring. Most of the sites consisted of theories about the American way of life and stolen drone photos of trashdogs and Islanders, but the doctor was looking for people with an adventurous spirit and backgrounds in various fields, for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It seemed ridiculous—a vaccine for North American Hemorrhagic Shock, only given to select individuals who wanted a new life in America.

  However, a new life was something he desperately needed. It only took a passing glance at the state of his apartment to see that. Cleaning it up and getting a respectable job wouldn’t fix his emptiness, or the loathing he had for his country. The smoggy city, angry crowds, and oppressive government that thought it knew best what a Russian citizen should be, clashed with Sasha’s fun-loving attitude. He had mulled over the decision for a week—an agonizingly long time for him—before finally sending Dr. Orlov an email.

  And now I’m here.

  He didn’t regret it. Not even with the side effects from the vaccine. Not even with what happened with the virus.

  He paused. If I hadn’t moved to America, I would be dead like the rest of Russia.

  The photos of corpses and bloody streets on his tablet surfaced in his mind and his stomach churned. He took a deep breath, pausing in the street.

  “Sasha? What’s wrong?” Dusty put a hand to his arm. “Sit in the cart. We’re almost there.”

  “Don’t need it. Not my heart.”

  A concerned frown creased her face. Should he tell her what happened with the virus? Did she need to know? And what would she think of his failure to save the world?

  “Maybe is my heart.” He sighed, pulling out the drone and dropping into the cart. Dusty grunted and pushed past Gentlewave and Dewbell, then overtook John and Lucky, aiming for a faded but ornate movie theater on the left.

  John pointed at the cart. “He okay?”

  “Yeah.” Dusty puffed, slowing down. “But first come, first serve, and we’re going to get the little room up top.”

  John raised his eyebrows, his good eye jumping from Dusty to Sasha. “We?”

  “That’s right, John.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t doing trades anymore.”

  “I’m not. Sasha is my consort.”

  A huge grin spread across Sasha’s face as he climbed out of the cart, his chest filling with pride.

  John frowned at Dusty. “I thought you just met this guy last week.”

  “I did.”

  “You work fast, man.”

  Sasha shook his head. “No, this is slow for me, actually. Longest week of my life. But Dusty is nice girl—”

  “Yeah, she is.” John shouldered past Sasha with a scowl, headed for the theater. “I get the little room up top.”

  Thoughts of the virus surfaced in his mind again and he shoved them away. It wasn’t my fault. I have to focus on what’s ahead of me now.

  John marched into the building, slamming the door. Sasha frowned. “What’s wrong with that guy? He jealous or something?”

  “Nah. He’s just protective. He doesn’t know you, and he’s always trying to look out for me. He’s like a brother to me.” Dusty pushed the cart. “If he was attracted to me, he would have made a move a long time ago.”

  “Was John slave too?”

  “Yeah. He had it really hard. Lost his eye from his Boss. The man let him go when he was fifteen. I met him in Starburn a few years ago and we came up with that plan to smuggle kids out of the city.” She pushed the cart toward the theater. “You okay now? Don’t need to sit down
?”

  “I’m okay.”

  The movie theater loomed. Intricate scrollwork ran along the sides and roof eaves, and strips of broken fluorescent lighting hung out in jagged spears. On a tarnished marquee, among such epigraphs as, “fuk bosss,” were the words: “Johns Hows.” Someone had painted Dusty’s name above “Johns.”

  Dusty pushed past a ticket booth to the broken glass doors. “Hey, open the doors so I can get the cart inside, will ya?”

  “Why not just leave it out here?”

  “Because the kids will steal it.”

  Sasha let out a chuckle and opened the doors. Dusty shoved the cart over ragged carpeting and into the building. He kept the door open for Lucky, Dewbell, and Gentlewave, then walked inside. Beyond the long concession counters of the lobby, lights glowed from a theater doorway. What was the last movie he’d seen in a theater? He couldn’t remember. It had to have been before his grandmother died. He probably took some unwitting date to one and put his hand in her lap when the lights went out.

  I’ve been an asshole for a long time.

  If he had his apology list, would there be a lot of names still needing to be crossed off? Dewbell said he was sweet and a gentleman. Gentlewave and Lucky found him helpful and interesting. And Dusty called him her consort. Maybe he was doing okay.

  They entered the illuminated theater room. Glowing string lights hung from the rafters, the cord winding out of a small hole in the roof. There was probably a solar panel attached above—which seemed to be the prefered source of power for American towns. Rows of theater chairs blemished with stains and rips filled the large room, and balcony seats sat in either wall. Ragged velvet curtains draped either side of the empty space where the projector screen should have been.

  John descended the stairs from a small room, a large glass bottle hanging loosely from one hand. He gestured around the theater. “Help yourselves to wherever you want to crash. There’s room up in the balconies or up front. You could stay in a different theater too, but I’ve cleaned this one up a bit more than the others. Plus, there’s light.” He lifted the bottle. “I’ve got some moonshine too if you guys want to partake. Brought a new bottle because the kids got into my other stash and drank it all.”

  Shit. Sasha looked at the bottle. You’re doing good right now. Don’t blow it.

  Dusty put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, sounds like fun. What about you guys?”

  “I’ll never turn down liquor.” Lucky grinned. “Dewbell doesn’t drink.”

  “I’ll get some glasses.” John headed back up the stairs.

  “I bet you’re really fun when you’re full of moonshine.” Dusty elbowed Sasha.

  “Eh, you might change opinion after I start. Don’t know if it’s good idea.”

  “Aw, c’mon. Just have a drink or two.” Dusty tugged at his arm as she sat in a theater chair. “I’m sure Lucky and Gentlewave can keep you under control.”

  Sasha sighed. “Problem for me is I can’t have just one drink. You give me one, I will drink whole bottle and get into lots of trouble.” No one will think I’m a helpful gentleman after that. “Think I’m just going to go to sleep. You want moonshine? Have good time. I see you in morning. …No trading, yeah?” He kissed the top of Dusty’s head.

  “I’m not going to trade.” She gave him a scowl. “But I wish you’d hang out with us.”

  John walked back down the stairs, plastic cups in one hand and the moonshine in another.

  “Can’t, baby. I would mess something up for sure. Sorry. Going up to balcony, okay?”

  He walked up the aisle and paused as Dewbell patted his back; he gave her a sad smile and left the group, heading up the dark stairs to the nearest balcony. Sasha unrolled his newly-acquired sleeping bag and sat on it between the theater seats, his back to the lip of the balcony. Conversation and laughter drifted to him and he sighed, rubbing his face. He pulled out his tablet, scrolling through pictures, new and old. He had taken one yesterday of Dusty and himself, him grinning at the camera as Dusty planted a kiss on his cheek. Looking at it made him smile.

  Doing this for her whether she wants me to or not.

  After a while, he put the tablet away and climbed into the sleeping bag, trying to tune out the loud voices below. He awoke to several thuds on the stairs and sat up. The glow from the string lights illuminated Dusty as she stumbled into view through the arched doorway.

  She wavered, lids half-closed and a small smile on her face. “Hey, you.”

  “Uh, hey. You okay?”

  Dusty stared for a moment. “I’m drunk.”

  “I can see that. Come sit down.” Sasha scooted over and patted the sleeping bag.

  She staggered over and plopped down next to him, pressing her forehead against his arm. “I drank a lot. And you missed out.”

  “Trust me, I have been drunk more times than I remember. Actually, most times I don’t remember.”

  She exhaled onto his arm. “You remember when you… kissed my bruises better the other day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about that. It was so sexy. And romantic. You want to do that again right now? I have more. I can show you.”

  Sasha bit his lip. “No. Can’t do that right now. You are drunk. Think you need to go to sleep.”

  “With you?” She looked into his face with hopeful, bloodshot eyes.

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Sleep is okay, but not sex. I am trying to to be good guy here, and you are making it very hard to do.”

  “But I like you.” She ran her soft hands along his bare stomach.

  Sasha squirmed. “I like you too. That is why I am trying to be gentleman. Go to sleep, okay? I will sit here with you.”

  She gave him a sloppy, moonshine-scented kiss. “I love you, Sasha.”

  “No, you don’t. You only know me one week, and I am trying to use all my… what is American word? Will power? That is why I don’t want to drink with you. If we were both drunk right now? We would ruin it for sure.” He unzipped his sleeping bag and spread it open. Dusty squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, then laid down. Sasha pulled the side of the bag over her, then scooted away and slid down, trying to get comfortable.

  He shut his eyes, then opened them again as Dusty started to sob. He frowned. “Why you crying? I make you upset?”

  “No… I don’t know why.” She pressed her face into the sleeping bag, chest hitching. “I’m sorry.”

  He slid over and she put her arms around him. His pulse rose as she pressed her warm body against his naked torso. “Hey, maybe you just drink too much, yeah? It’s okay. You want to cry? Go ahead.” He stroked her fuzzy head as she wept into his neck.

  I’m sure I’ve done this before when I was drunk. Crying and telling people that I love them. But she has a lot of legitimate reasons to cry, too.

  Sasha kissed the welt on her neck, but it only made her cry harder. She put a hand over her eyes. “You’re so nice to me. And I’m so embarrassed right now. Don’t leave, okay?”

  “Don’t be embarrass, baby. You don’t got to be tough with me. Maybe that’s why you crying? Need to get it out. You can cry all over me. I don’t care. And I’m not going to go. I stay here with you.”

  Before long, her sobs died out, replaced with rhythmic breaths. Sasha pulled the sleeping bag up around them, wiping tears from her cheeks. She shifted, pushing her chest into his. He shut his eyes, running a hand along her back and inhaling the faint floral scent of her skin. The confusing mash of arousal and guardianship within him made it very hard for him to fall back to sleep.

  10 ~ Birthday Party ~

  Sasha awoke to Dewbell’s hand on his shoulder. She stood, beckoning to him. He carefully plucked Dusty’s arm from his chest and slid from the sleeping bag. After pulling on his shorts, he followed Dewbell to the stairwell. “She drank way too much last night, huh?”

  Dewbell nodded, glancing at Dusty, then held out a closed fist. She opened her hand over his, depositing a silver chain necklace an
d a gold tube. A tarnished, puffy heart charm hung from the chain. Sasha pulled off the tube’s lid and twisted the bottom, revealing a stick of hot pink lipstick. He put the cap back on and grinned.

  “Hey, lipstick color I can actually see. And it’s my favorite color. This things are great. Thank you!” He hugged Dewbell. “I gave Dusty all my money. You want some of my motherboards for trade?”

  Dewbell shook her head. She squeezed Sasha’s arm, then headed back down the stairs. Sasha put the items in his pocket and sat back on the sleeping bag. The glow from the string lights fell on Dusty’s sleeping face, highlighting her long lashes and pouty lips.

  He rubbed his scruffy face. It’s her birthday and I don’t even know what the date is.

  Remembering the date and day of the week was hard while traveling. He checked his tablet: June 05, 2172. The Americans called the year: 155. There wasn’t a way to change that on his tablet. Four days had passed since the motherboards, since Cal, since their new deal. They would be in Hammerlink in a couple of days.

  Then what? What happens after we get to Hammerlink? I’ll find Owl’s brother, but then where am I going to go? Keep walking? Keep almost passing out because of my stupid heart? Will Dusty come with me?

  Sasha ran the back of his hand across Dusty’s cheek. She stirred and opened her eyes, then sat up.

  “Happy birthday, baby.” He grinned.

  She looked at the sleeping bag, then at Sasha’s bare chest. “Hey. Uh, thanks. Oh, my head.”

  “Think you drank too much last night.”

  “Yeah.” She groaned. “It was all John’s fault. Kept refilling my glass as soon as it was empty. And then I came up here and cried on you like a baby… Sorry.” She toyed with the edge of the sleeping bag, dragging her nails along the zipper. “Did we have sex?”

  Sasha beamed proudly. “No, we did not. Only slept.”

  Dusty dropped the hem of the bag and looked up. She held his gaze, then smiled. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

  “It was my honor. Hey, I got presents for you.” He dug into his pocket and produced the tube of lipstick, holding it up like a prize.