“What am I gonna do?”
“Do something manly like fix a truck or shoot a gun or drink a beer with the boys. I don’t know, figure it out.”
“Ain’t that a little sexist?”
“Not if it’s true.”
“’Ight. ’ight. I’ll figure out something to do. Heaven’s name, kid.” Appetite opened his mouth to stuff a whole fried fish and a biscuit inside, swallowing effortlessly. Kindle winced. “What, you wanted me out now?”
“You can take the plate with you…”
Appetite laughed, pulling up the sagging straps of his white tank top. He grabbed the halfway-done plate. “Guess I’ll take my company somewhere else.”
“Yup.”
“Can you at least sound a bit hurt for your lonely old man?”
“Um. Dang. You will be missed for a whole couple of a hours. Better? Now git.”
When it came to keeping the house clean, she was the leading expert. He would only get in her way. Grabbing a few beers from the counter, slipping on some cheap plastic flip flops, and grabbing a hoodie in case the weather got cool, Appetite shouldered through the front door to the yard of the Homestead.
The sweet smell of grass and trees filled his lungs as he stepped onto the porch. His yard was a small plot of wild grass, budding vegetables, and thick reddish mud fenced off by barbed wire. Over the wire and a walk away was Drifter’s cabin; the wood glowed a soft red in the setting sun. It wasn’t much different than his - small, with a garage on the side for their vehicle.
The garage door was up, and the truck was on the dirt sidewalk. The familiar sound of the water hose sputtering listlessly against bluegrass music ran through his ears. Appetite wandered over, the sounds of his flip flops following his every step.
For a few long seconds, Appetite stood with his father as he washed his truck. The memories of doing this as a child filled his head. Jo and Evan were always there, playing in the wildgrass behind the house. Mom was there, sitting on the porch in her massive wooden rocking chair, knitting. He gave a rueful smile. Loner and the Rancher Queen had their own lives now. Mom preferred the warmth of their cabin, the company of her husband, and the lure of her dreams. That left them remarkably unchanged through the decades, only a little older and a little different.
“Pa,” Appetite said, sitting down on the dirt road, plate and six-pack in hand.
“Eh? Oh, ’ey, what’s going on?”
“Nothin’ much. Need a drink?” Appetite raised the six pack of beer.
“Won’t say no to one.”
Everyone knew that it was almost impossible for either of them to get drunk or even buzzed, but not outta lack of trying. They had drank everything from their own brews to stolen alcohol from anyone that stepped foot on this planet. Not one thing did the trick. Still, it made a good trade for them to smuggle off planet.
Appetite opened a can with a satisfying hiss and spray of white foam. He handed it to his pops. “Working kinda hard. Need some help?”
“Nah, I’m getting it. Vermin’s gunk’s hard to get off.”
“Urgh.” Appetite opened another can in a satisfying hiss. “You might need this one for later.”
Drifter laughed. There was a tinge of sadness in his voice, soft on his words. “You’re still young, Appetite. But you’re right.”
“What am I right about?” Appetite stroked his chin. Wasn’t much like his pa to admit that he was wrong about much of anything.
“We’ve been looking down on the Coats.” Drifter rubbed his temples. “When will they come over to get rid of us? The refugees and mutants from the Civilization. Worse, when will Buck and his Hounds lose their patience with them? It’s only gonna take one spark and we’re gonna be in flames.”
Appetite had no response to that. Pit and his branch of the Caldwells, known collectively as the Hounds, had tempers. They weren’t the nicest or smartest fellas. They were bold, brash, dangerous, and violent. Given the chance, they would start a war with the Bluecoats over their Junkyard alone. “Uncle Moses is the only one that can stop that from happening.”
“Moses doesn’t like to fight, but he ain’t nice either. You haven’t seen him pushed over the brink.”
“Reckon that’s true.”
Drifter wiped the door of his truck clean again before grabbing his beer. He downed the entire can within a second. “We’re gonna keep doing what we’re doing, but I got a bad feeling, sonny. Mary Lu has been getting more and more restless. I feel it in my gut.”
“Yeah yeah, I getcha. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“We got a few things to take off planet. Ain’t nothing big, trading for a bit more ammo and batteries, maybe get rid of some of the stuff that I managed to, uh…”
“Procure?” Appetite offered.
“Yeah, procure. Shouldn’t be a problem though.”
“You’re taking Buck?”
“I am.”
“Should I come?”
“I can handle your uncle, if that’s what you’re askin’. Getting him and his kin out and about might cool their blood.” Drifter paused, motioning for the other opened beer. Appetite handed it to him. “I’d honestly prefer you here with your mom in case things get outta hand.”
Appetite nodded. “I getcha.” He chewed on the rest of his food, downing everything on the plate in minutes. “This might be what we’ve been lookin’ for. If they’re right, Captain Xan’s a big shot. A real player. With a real player comes the good stuff - real good stuff. Actual stuff we can use and survive on. Purifiers, ammo, guns, and crap that we can’t create on our own. If they wanna fight, we can give it to ’em. We gonna have to play it smart though. Ain’t no playing around with people like this, Pa.”
“You ain’t wrong, son. You ain’t wrong. We have to play it smart. For now, we gotta see what they got. Have you gotten anything on this fella?”
“I can if I try.” Appetite shrugged his big shoulders. He knew people that could get some info on the Bluecoats. Might need to leave the mountain for it, but they were nice people, so the trip would be well worth it. Besides, he hadn’t seen them in a bit. Would be nice to catch up on some old times, maybe take Kindle if she was ready for it. She’s said no for the past few times, though. Appetite wondered if she would ever be ready to see the other side of her family. “They’ll know what’s cookin’ down there.”
Drifter smiled. “I’d like that. Gotta know what’s happening. Can’t do much if we go in blind.”
“Gotta agree with that.” Appetite wiped the crumbs from his lap. He stood up, feeling the amplified energy of the food coursing through his body. “You missed a spot.” Appetite wandered over, grabbing underneath the truck and lifting it up easily with one arm. He pointed to the green spot dripping underneath the truck. Drifter cursed underneath his breath, grabbing his bucket and muttering about ripping all four of Vermin’s arms off their shoulders. He began cleaning with an old rag and a sweet-smelling soap used often for ships.
“I’m proud of you. I don’t feel like I tell you, Jo, and Evan that enough.”
“We’ve always known, Pa. Always.”
“Y’know, I never expected to have kids.”
“You didn’t?”
“I didn’t. Not ’cause I didn’t want kids; I did. I thought I wouldn’t be a good pa, y’know. There’s a reason why we don’t talk about your grandpa. He wasn’t...a good man. I mean I ain’t either.” Drifter finished cleaning, wiping his hands dry. “You can put it down, now; you don’t need to strain your back or anything.”
“A strain? On a full stomach?”
Drifter gave him a stern look and Appetite knew what was going to be said next. “Full?”
“Relative term, Pa.” Appetite groaned.
“Thought so. Thanks for the help though.”
Appetite eased the truck down, muscles bulging for a second before deflating back to their normal f
labby state. He rolled his shoulders and took in a deep breath. Doing something like that wouldn’t put a scratch on the abnormal amount of energy he got from food. Habit made him wish that he had something else to snack on to replenish himself. Appetite rubbed his neck and relaxed for a moment.
“Heavens, you’re strong. I forget how strong sometimes. I don’t know how; I’ve seen you rip a man in half and then--”
Appetite shuddered. That was a little after Kindle’s mom left him high and dry with a baby. He didn’t talk about those few months sitting on a broken heart. He had taken every job the family needed with violent eagerness. The incident his pa talked about was an extraordinarily terrible day, ending with a man ripped in half, the man’s muscle and sinew hanging from Appetite’s lips. He learned how to pray that night. I needed to be better for my baby girl. “I wasn’t in the best head space right then.”
“Fair point.”
Drifter took a long draught from his second beer, turning off the hose with his free hand. This time he took it slow like his son, savored the drink. He exhaled again, his long white hair a veil over his eyes. Again, he looked a little bit sad - but this time there was something else, something that Appetite hadn’t seen often. The thoughts of a big pull brought something out of his old father. He hadn’t even considered the thought of this working to their advantage. Still, there was a look in his eye that danced on the edge of worry. He hid it well enough. If not for the years of living with his father, it would’ve slipped passed Appetite as easily as oiled snake.
That ain’t the whole story.. “Did Ma say something?”
“She had another dream.”
“Oh?”
“It’s better that you hear it from her. Come in.”
After drying off the truck and gathering their things, father and son wandered into the Homestead’s main cabin shoulder to shoulder. Appetite walked to the big brown door and felt a wave of nostalgia the moment his feet hit the porch. He came over often, but every time he wondered if he could ever stand in this house without thinking about the chubby little boy raised here. Every stone underfoot, every board and nail felt unmarred by the decades. He could make it to this door from the road blindfolded.
He remembered sitting outside, looking at the crashed remains of his father’s escape spaceship, and thinking of traveling. Funny, when he got old enough and did get to traveling, he only thought of here. Sometimes where you are is where you belong.
Drifter opened the door to the cabin. They stepped into the warmth of the fireplace, wood crackling in the air. The living room always made the big man feel smaller. Appetite took off his flip flops out of habit, feeling the familiar slick wood and then the thick fur pelt from a giant beast that Appetite and Kindle hunted together.
The cabin was barely furnished. A small table was set in the corner, covered with that ol’ red-and-black tablecloth, a few mugs, plates, and silverware. The soft, unsteady hum of the fridge inside and the hobbled generator was a sound he remembered. The smells of light cigar smoke, cedar-scented candles, and cheap beer also brought the memories on. His mother was sitting by the fire, knitting and rocking in yet another rocking chair.
Mary Lu Caldwell was a small woman, petite in her massive chair. Her white hair was tied tight into a bun atop her head. Her skin was paler than his father’s, without any of the redness that came from the sun. She looked over her shoulder and smiled, the light in her bright aqua eyes shining as she put down whatever she was making and rose from her chair, grabbing for her cane.
Drifter rushed over to offer his skinny arm as leverage.
“Dear, you should know by now that I’m stubborn,” she admonished him.
She was the Augur of Owls. No one spoke of it, not even the family. Drifter, Appetite, Kindle, Vermin, the Hounds - those were names they chose for their abilities and personalities. The Augur was a legend, a title; something brought over from a time long ago. Appetite felt his heart pound in his chest as his mother approached. She grabbed his hand, rubbing his hairy white knuckles with her old, cold hand.
“Sit down. I made some tea for the both us.” This time she caved and rolled her eyes when Drifter offered his arm. “Fine, if you’re gonna treat me like an old woman at least act like an old man, Luke. You’re not a young stag anymore.”
Drifter kissed her on the brow. “Everyone’s gotta have a hobby.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Mary Lu sat down at the the table. A small kettle whistled a high-pitched note. She poured the scalding water into cups painted with white and yellow flowers, along with a single stick of cinnamon. This was a rare occasion, so rare that Appetite had a hard time remembering when they’d last had that otherworldly tea. She stirred the drink with the cinnamon. “I’ve had dreams of black fur and fire.”
“Black fur and...fire?” A sharp wooden crack struck Appetite on the side of the head, sending stars in his eyes. “Oww, Ma!”
“I wasn’t done. Don’t ask questions until the end.”
Drifter laughed. He had been on the receiving end of that cane too many times.
“Fire and black fur. Rot and mud.” She took a sip from the tea, relaxing her shoulders. “There’s howls of pain, of rage, of death. There’s a small fire among them, keeping them warm. There’s a laughing man wrapped in shadow and a white mare riding on the distance. There’s a young boy on a ship and a fire in the woods. There’s a man swathed in sunlight, a sweet smell on his lips and coppery smell in the air. An old city and a broken spire…. It’s…” His mother’s voice stopped cold as though she’d slammed on the brakes of her own mind. “There’s a lot. Too much even to speak. What you need to get out of this is simple: your daughter is going to be involved. She’s important in all this.”
Appetite shook, feeling cold and helpless. He drained a cup of tea and a can of beer in hopes to gain feeling back in his fingers. This was the first dream she had ever had involving Kindle, and it involved fire, rot, snow, and Heavens knew what else. Bad signs. Bad signs everywhere.
The Augur of Owls. The seer of bad omens. The Caldwells were always superstitious, believed in hunches and luck - both good and bad. Her visions weren’t words to be taken lightly. They were truths, though they were vague and took some good ol’ fashioned thinking. What does any of that mean?
“Whatcha mother’s trying to say is that there’s some hard times ahead. Tougher than anything we’ve faced in your lifetime.”
Appetite shrugged. “Ain’t nothing we can do about it.”
“Is there much any of us can do when hard times creep on us?” Mary Lu gave a soft laugh, her voice low as though tiring from the very prospect of the dream. “You’re smart, Wood, much like your father.”
“Much smarter,” Drifter corrected.
“Ain’t true, but thanks, Pa.” Appetite tried to gather his thoughts. “I’ll think on it.”
“Don’t. That’s my job. It was a heads-up. Your job - like my husband’s, your father’s - is to do what you do best. Protect our family and provide for them; that always comes first. That’s all I needed to say. Do you have anything to add, sweetie?”
His father held his mother’s hand and gave her another kiss on the brow. A million expressions flashed against Drifter’s face; from love, to thoughtfulness, to something Appetite knew all too well.
People often wondered where he got that look from, that hungry-for-everything look; and though Appetite’s hunger was considered more literal than anything, Drifter had been who he inherited it from. If dark times were going to come, they were going to take whoever brought it down with them. That was how they worked.
The Caldwells didn’t back down from anything.
***
Appetite returned back home at night to a clean but empty house. He frowned as he walked through with heavy footsteps. Kindle was gone, not even a trace or a letter left behind.
In any other situation, he wouldn’t have worried; she was a smart gi
rl, resourceful, and a good shot to boot. Tonight, though, as the night grew cold and the dark turned black, he felt a sense of dread roll through his body.
He wandered their three-room house, heart thumping tight in his chest. Only his own footsteps echoed through their cold wooden halls. His throat tightened further. Kindle would’ve been back by now; she would never let him come home to a cold house. She never liked the cold. She must’ve left hours before. But where had she gone?
Despite her efforts, his mother’s words had clung to him. She meant well, of course; perhaps that was why she told him. His father’s family trusted the Augur’s words warily. They knew it was true, yes; that’s why they were wary of her. They didn’t want to hear something that they didn’t need to hear. They acted like Mary Lu had no control over what came out of her mouth, but she knew what to tell them. The fear for his daughter rolled in his stomach. She hadn’t spoken of Kindle’s death. Or did she? Dangit, Ma. Only she could do this to them.
He walked through the empty house to his bedroom, which was as clean as the rest of the house; his massive bed perfectly made, blankets folded back, four pillows stacked up. Appetite walked through room to his closet, hearing the crickets outside his window and thinking for a shockingly brief moment of his night clothes and the fixed bed. The very thought of his girl hurt rammed the tiredness out of his bones. A new energy rolled through his body, thick like curdled milk in a glass. He frowned and rushed to his closet, the closet. He opened the door to his armory.
It was nice to be able to keep the arms unlocked now that his girl was old enough to have her own. Shotguns were his favorite weapon. Something about them, the sound and the mess they made, satisfied that thrill. He owned other things: pistols, knives, rifles, swords, hatchets, composite bows. He found devices, energy weapons, and bombs in his travels as well. Instinct alone brought his hand on Ham Bone, a sawed-off shotgun from a gunsmith off planet. He remembered having it made in the deserts with--
Nevermind that. He grabbed a knife, a pistol, and all the shells he could carry.
He laced up his nice boots and threw on some body armor - his body had some resilience of its own, but he needed to be careful. The energy of passion rose through him again. Where would I go at her age? He would want to go somewhere to prove himself, but she wasn’t like him. Someone must’ve pushed her.
Dusk Mountain Blues Page 3