Not even an hour awake, his mind wandered to stress eating. He muttered curses to himself. Fine way to eat my folks out of a house and a home, Appetite mused. He supposed it couldn’t be helped.
Appetite wandered to the kitchen to see Loner already awake. He was hunched under the small dining room table, naked aside from a pair of boxers and the respirator on his face. His long flesh colored tail slapped against the floor in frustration as he too muttered out his thoughts. Using the prehensile nature of his tail, he picked up a tool with it . to help with his tinkering, his weak lungs wheezing hard from the work. It was odd seeing his tail. Loner was often pretty ashamed of it, keeping it wrapped around his waist underneath his clothes. Other family members had more or less extreme mutations. He had every right to feel the way he did, but Appetite wished that he could show his younger brother how talented and cool he was.
Appetite approached his brother, putting a big hand on the slim man’s shoulder. Loner jumped, hitting his head on the underbelly of the dining room table, screeching like a small animal.
“Woody, don’t do that!”
“Sorry. Whatcha doing up this early?”’
“I always get up this early,” he muttered, crossing his legs. “What are you doin’ up this early?”
“Why d’ya think I’m here?”
Loner snorted. “I wouldn’t mind breakfast.” He put down his tools, unfolded himself, and squirmed out from underneath the table. It reminded Appetite of a small animal leaving his nest. No doubt I look about the same.
“Any reason you aren’t wearing clothes?”
“It gets hot when I’m workin’.”
“What are you working on?”
“Jesse’s mind core.” He shrugged. “They need their sleep too. Also, it helps me think.”
“Didn’t look like it.”
“Frustration helps too. Helps me think.”
Loner wandered to the fridge. He pulled out a bundle of frozen chickens, an arm full of tomatoes and carrots, and a couple of eggs from Moses’s farmlands. He turned, grinning underneath the thin plastic of his respirator.
Appetite rolled his eyes and waddled towards the counter. When their parents were gone, the cooking often fell on him. He began to wonder what they did for food in their own homes down the mountain. They knew, though, that if they ever asked, he would make them a meal without question; that was what families did for each other.
Appetite washed his hands and got to work on breakfast. “Two rules,” he said, heating up the oven his father had made and finding some of the metal pots in the cabinet. “No work at the table, and you’re the one that’s going to have to wake Jo up.”
Loner winced at the thought but said nothing; rumbling, he padded off, his little three-pronged feet making small taps into the dragon’s den. Waking Jo had to be the worst chore either of them could ever conceive of for the other - being notoriously stubborn awake must’ve given her an unbreakable will asleep. Sending Loner to do it might’ve bought Appetite enough time to get some of the cooking done.
Grinning, Appetite began his much easier and much more mindless task of cleaning and cooking.
With the care he would give his own kid, Appetite moved each piece of Loner’s workstation onto the living room’s table. He had broken somethin’ with his “sausage fingers” before - one of the few times he had ever seen Evan upset with him. He’d learned to take things at a slower pace after that. He left everything exactly as he picked them up, not even an inch outta place. Treat their stuff like you want your stuff to be treated, his pa told him after he broke that device. Funny how decades later, he still remembered.
Loner’s tinkering safe and outta the way, he began breakfast.
Thawing and cleaning the chicken took most of his time. He found himself staring out of the window, mindlessly watching the rain pour over the lip of the roof. Streaks of lightning cracked over the grey sky in large forks, streaking across the charcoal black that was now the sky. He sliced one chicken, cutting it into his family’s favorite pieces. He kept one whole for himself - he could eat more, but he didn’t need to be greedy. A bit of oil heating in a pan and and a deep pot, a lot of cracking of eggs, and a bit of slicing of tomatoes - breakfast was on its way. This was usually a good feeling for him, but this stormy weather only made things worse. He only hoped the generators held.
“You’re not alone, Woody.”
Appetite wheeled around to see his mother sitting at the table, smiling and clutching her cane. The soft sea colors of her eyes roared with a distant understanding. She leaned forward a little, her hair in a thin curtain over her eyes. “The rain always did bother you. Somethin’ bout it always got to ya. Keep in mind, though; gut feelings ain’t something to be ignored. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s - ” A pop of oil coming close to his face interrupted him. He kept to his frying, stoking the meat with a set of tongs. “Cassie’s out there in the swamp. Pa defending the brews on the other mountain. They’re fine, but I can’t shake the feeling - ”Bang. A crash of thunder this time, accompanied by a high snap of lightning. “Can’t shake the feeling that something big’s gonna happen today. Somethin’ mighty big.”
Mary Lu nodded. “I feel it too.” She tapped her fingers against the ball of her cane. “How long have you been having this?”
“Hm?”
“These feelings. How often do they happen?” she asked after a long while of waiting for the rain to peter out. “Do they come with anything else?”
Appetite frowned. He hadn’t thought much about it, but he was picking up what she was putting down. He couldn’t put words to what he felt - it was like asking a blind man to explain shapes. His mother watched him go through his thoughts with a calm, measured patience. It made him feel proud the way looked at him. She didn’t rush him, didn’t so much as make a sound. He focused instead on making the breakfast, thinking of dropping the topic all together.
“You don’t think its - y’know - I’m - it’s nothin’ like that. It’s a feelin’, that’s all. Don’t happen much.” He pushed the thought into a corner of his mind. “I don’t feel comfortable talking ’bout it.”
His mother nodded and let the topic go. She knew when he was uncomfortable talking about a thing, nothing would break him outta of it.
“That’s not unlike your pa.” She smiled. “It’s alright. I do want to ask you how you feel about what he revealed the other day.”
“’Bout the experiments? How we got the way we got?” Appetite licked some chicken grease from his fingers. In all honesty, he hadn’t wanted to think about what his dad and his uncles had gone through. He had heard stories. They always left a sour taste in his mouth. “We can’t change what we are. It’s all we’ve ever known.” He flipped over the quartered chicken in the pan and checked his deep fryer again. He tossed the eggs into the pan, followed by the tomatoes, and scrambled it all together. “Were you…”
“Experimented on? Yes. But my abilities was there before,” she laughed. “"It’s amazing how cruel a person can be when they’re faced with something they can’t understand. If it wasn’t for your dad’s...stupidly reckless plan, I wouldn’t have gotten to this old age. I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting my children and grandchild. But, all in all, I’m happy that the family has taken it how they have. It gave them a little more to fight for.”
Appetite found himself respecting his mother more than even before. She didn’t look like a woman that had seen hardships. Who does, though? he reminded himself. With care, he took his scrambled eggs, plated them on the three plates, and carted them over to the table. He set the table in silence, his mother watching him. The proud look in her eyes made a good feeling rise in his chest. “Eat ’em, Ma.”
He placed the other two plates on the table before finishing up his significantly larger breakfast. Another rumble of thunder boomed throughout the room followed by a sharp bang within the house. Jo shouted a cu
rse back. This went back and forth until Loner dragged her by her arm out of her old room to the table, his two drones wheeling behind him. One buzzed a little louder than the other, lightly smoking.
“You didn’t flash her, did ya, Evan?” Appetite asked, frowning.
“She wouldn’t wake up.”
Jo growled. “If punching a sick man wasn’t okay, I would’ve punched you in your stupid, skinny ribs.”
She looked a mess collapsing in the dining chair. Her hair was all over, her eyelids heavily lidded, her face slumped and tired. Appetite brought them some coffee in large tin mugs. Rare stuff, really - it was one of the few things they didn’t have the means to grow. Until another shipment came from offworld, they had to be sparse with it. Appetite never really cared for the stuff. Didn’t give him the jolt of energy it gave others. Probably for the best. There were two types of people in the galaxy: people that didn’t need their morning coffee and people that did. Appetite respected that.
At last, his breakfast was finished. He pulled his whole chicken (though a little underdone) from the vat of oil, scrambled the rest of the eggs and tomatoes, and carted his bounty to the table. Everyone else had already begun eating. Jo was scarfing down food. His mother ate politely at a measured pace, and Loner sat with his respirator aside and eating happily. Appetite pulled up his chair and started to sit down. Lightning snapped, thunder boomed...the door knocked?
He stood there, confused for a second, ears straining against the rain and the wind. It wasn’t his imagination. There was a knocking at the door. He put down his silverware and wandered out of the kitchen. “Put some pants on, Evan,” he said on his way out to the main living area.
He came to the open door to see Zeke standing in the doorway. The teenage boy, all red faced and pimply, stood with his hands in his pockets. A few of his older cousins stood behind him, armed with rifles pointed at a much shorter third man...in a blue coat.
The cold feeling rippled through body, the one he had been feeling all day.
Second Major Debenham stood on the porch, wiping his muddy boots on the wood. Appetite almost lunged at the man. “Good morning, Woodrow. That’s your name, but you prefer Appetite, right?”
In all his years, he hadn’t felt a simpler rage.
“Don’t…don’t do that,” the Major said, putting up a finger. “Some of your people have already tried.” He pointed out hundreds of holes on his coat. “And I chose not to act. So please, don’t act rashly again. You saw how that goes.” The Major patted Zeke on the head. “Mind if I come in? I brought a little something for your trouble.”
“Let the Major in, Woody.” His mother’s calm, leveled voice on the inside of the cabin surprised him. “Don’t attack him.”
Appetite sent the armed men away. If the holes in Debenham’s coat were any indication, it would take more than what they had to kill a man like this.
The cyborg major dipped his head, walking through the frame much too short for him. Reining in the urge to crush the smaller man, Appetite moved aside. Major Steven Debenham placed his coat and his hat on the rack by the door, revealing his metal arms and metal eyes. He shook off some of the water.
“I brought a little something for breakfast,” the major said conversationally. “Good thing, too - no one tells you that scaling a mountain works up an...nah, I’m not gonna say it. Mind if I sit down?” Appetite took in a deep breath, but Debenham interrupted him. “I know what you’re thinking. You can search me if you want to. But if I made it this far without killing any of you, do you really think that I need a gun or a weapon of any kind to do it if I wanted to? So, let’s pretend that I’m not murderous killing machine bent on wiping out the Civilization’s mess across the galaxy.”
That’s a fair point. Appetite grumbled. “This way, Major.”
“Please - call me Steve. Only my airmen call me Major. Boots on or off? It’s raining bad out there; don’t want to track in the mud...cats and dogs, like my grandpa used to say.”
“You can keep ‘em on. I’ll clean it later.”
“You really need a doormat. Would’ve brought one if I’d known. You don’t think to bring something like that. Guess we take stuff like that for granted.” He took off his boots anyway. Appetite couldn’t help but notice the knapsack over the man’s shoulder. “Alright, time to eat.”
Appetite led the major into the kitchen where his family still sat. Jo and Loner had finished their meals; they stared up at the Bluecoat standing in their presence. His ma didn’t raise her head; she sat plucking the remaining chicken from her plate.
“Augur of Owls, Rancher Queen, Loner. I’ve heard much about all of you. Been giving some of my airmen trouble; more than trouble, some say. Again, I’m not here for that. I’m here to be cordial and eat at your table.” He took the knapsack off and pulled out its contents: a large tin container, a sizeable bag, a canteen, and a small flat circular device. “Don’t worry, it’s not an explosive. Your kin checked it. Not that I can have explosives - lost the quals. Long story. Actually it’s not a long story more than an embarrassing one. Just...let me open it.”
Major Debenham popped open the sides of the container with satisfying snap. He popped off the top, revealing a normal, perfectly brown ham-and-hashbrown casserole underneath. “I made this at camp. It’s not as good as I would’ve made it at home with the wife and kids, but eh. It is what it is.” He took the small circular device and hovered it over the meal. It began to burn bright, heating up the small container, melting the hardened cheese against the shredded potatoes. He held it in midair and used his other hand to open the pack. The scent of fresh coffee grounds rose into the air. Once the meal was finished, he brewed the coffee using the same device and a strainer he produced from his pocket. “Aww, here I am rambling and you haven’t eaten your breakfast yet and your food done got cold. Want me to warm it up for you?”
“No.”
“Come on, it’s safe. I promise. All of it is. I wouldn’t poison you with food. I’m not a savage.”
“Then what are you?” Jo snapped. Appetite was surprised that didn’t happen sooner.
“A man doing his job.” The major exhaled an exaggerated breath. “I do take pride in my work, but I like to think I’m fair. You see, my job is to rid the galaxy of threats to the Civilization, specifically lab-related threats such as rogue A. Is, androids, cyborgs - like myself - mutants, and other types of experiments done by the last Chairperson. It took me a long time to find the former Chairman’s mutants from the Daedal. I didn't expect an entire family, a clan per se. I admittedly got curious. So, I’m here.”
“Will this change a thing, Steve?”
“No. No it won’t.”
Appetite tore into a chicken leg, practically ripping the meat from the bone and crunching into the marrow with a single bite. Steve was right about one thing: his food had grown cold. Brooding, he continued his breakfast without a word. No one said anything for a very long time.
Major Debenham must’ve seen Appetite’s discomfort; he leaned over and used his warming device without a word. The skin of the chicken crisped up and the eggs warmed within seconds. Afterwards, he cut off some pieces of his casserole and plopped it on both of their plates. “I’m not a monster, believe it not. This is the first mission I’ve actually gotten the chance to talk to people that wasn’t completely savages. I mean, you are. But you’re not. So, I’m giving you a heads up and I’m gonna see what you do.”
You had every reason to attack here instead of the distillery. Why? Another boom of thunder. Why waste the time?
The Major forked up another piece of hash brown casserole and plopped it in his mouth. “Why would I come all the way here and not bring my people? ’Cause I knew that the Drifter would be elsewhere, and I couldn’t help but take that chance. There’s just some people that you can’t ignore and he’s one of them. After you’ve done my job for as long as I have, you see that there’s patterns. First few, I trie
d to work my way up. You don’t do that. You work your way down. Who’s at the top? Your husband and your father.” He relaxed his shoulders further as though he finally found comfort in his chair, his metal eyes eying them in a glow of green lights. “Right now, as we speak, Captain Xan and dozens of his boys from his strike team are headed your way. I, believe or not, am an observer in this. I’m not even supposed to be here.”
“You’re here to stall.” Jo stood up, pulling a gun from her side. “What’s stoppin’ us from keepin’ you here?”
“Nothing, I mean, aside from the fact I could kill you all in a blink of an eye if I really wanted to. But that’s complicated and messy. Just look at your mother’s face. She’s seen someone like me before; haven’t you?”
Appetite turned to his mother’s face. There was something there he hadn’t seen before. Mary Lu kept the pleasant smile on her face, warm and grandmotherly, the one that he had always known. Deeper though, there was a frosty glint to her features. She never broke eye contact with Debenham. She placed down her fork.
“Somewhere along the line you’ve met someone like me. Not as dashing and ruggedly handsome, I hope, but someone nevertheless. Stop your children from doing something stupid for their sake. They’ll get their chance at me. Right now, I’m eating breakfast and you’re on the clock. So instead of thinking about how to kill me, start thinking about how you’re going to get this information to your dear ol’ pa.”
He’s right. Appetite let his mind slow down and focus on the real problem. This was a battle in itself. The Major wanted to get them nervous, throw them off their game. Appetite extended his arm. Jo stared at him, exchanging thoughts with a simple glance. Patience, Jo, patience. Out of all of them, that was one virtue he learned. That was his strength. Slow and steady, Woody, slow and steady. They had a way out of this, but they needed to play it smart. Appetite straightened his back and took a bite out of the Major’s casserole. Huh. “Not bad, Steve,” he said, his low voice turning sweeter than syrup. “The food I mean, it ain’t bad.”
Dusk Mountain Blues Page 12