ME2 (S.E.E.D.S. Book 1)

by J Peregrine

  I wanted her to know I was no threat to her, so I wiped my forehead and tipped my head. Then I pushed my hair back away from my face hoping that might help and said, “Yes, I’m all alone now. I’ve been traveling for several days.” Then, I nodded towards the well. “If I could trouble you for water and directions, then I'll be on my way,” I said, hopefully.

  I could see her consider my request for a moment, “All right, but if you have evil intentions, dog’ll tear your heart out.”

  She had quite a strong accent. I’d heard similar accents in some of the old movies I’d watched but I hadn’t heard one quite like hers before.

  She scowled and spoke sharply to her dog, “Danny, come.” and turned, walking back toward the house. Her dog, hackles still up, circled round to the side and followed but no-longer barked. I followed her carefully and when we got to the house, she pointed me to the bench. “Sit,” she said, and then went to the well. She drew a bucket out of the well and poured water into the cup that hung there. I watched her carefully, entranced by this other female. She was thin and every muscle was defined.

  She handed me the cup and watched while I drank thirstily. “Now, who you are and how did you get here?”

  As I finished the water and lowered the cup, I saw how different even her hands were from mine. They were thin but calloused and worn looking like her face.

  She looked at me and cocked her head. “Cat got your tongue?” she said, as she took the cup and filled it again.

  I realized I was staring at the girl and the smile on my face surprised me. I had finally met another person, and a female. Considering her wariness, I wondered whether a smile would be considered inappropriate. So, I let my face give way to the frown again and remembered what I had rehearsed. “I’ve come from the north. My grandfather and I lived up on the mountain.” I nodded to the northwest with my head. “He died recently so I’m hoping to reach what you call Shadow Perch, in search of my father.” I only omitted a few things. I felt that telling her or anyone that an Albino man had shown up, blown several holes in our home, killed my grandfather and then pursued me down the river was too fantastic to be true, so I had stuck with what seemed more plausible.

  “What about the wound on your arm?” she said, without breaking eye contact.

  I nodded as I drank. I had thought of several stories that might explain the wound but now I realized that none of them seemed quite right. "My first day out I ran across travelers, they tried to steal my things. When I ran from them, they shot at me. It’s not bad,” I said, as I looked down at my ragged bandage. Even though this story was nearly the truth it seemed ridiculous the moment I said it.

  The girl merely nodded and considered me solemnly. “You need to be more careful.”

  “Have you ever been to the city?” I asked.

  She stared at me, then turned. “I was born there, it is a very dangerous place, more dangerous than the wild lands,” she said, as she went back to the well. “You won‘t see me goin’ there. Come, I’ll clean and dress it for you,” she said, as if she treated bullet wounds every day. She unhooked the water bucket and lifted it down then motioned for me to follow.

  I looked to Dog but he gave no warning signs, so I got up, thankful that she had offered before I had to get up the courage to ask for her help. We started to follow when the girl’s dog jumped forward barking and growling at our movement to follow. I jumped sideways but the girl raised a hand and said something to her dog, and he became quiet again although his hackles were still up, and he stalked to the house with us. The fact that he listened so well impressed me. As we got close, I realized that although the shack looked like many different things pieced together, once we were inside it seemed to fit into a more cohesive unit. The fire in the hearth was crackling merrily, and a pot hung at its center. A table sat near the hearth and a long counter ran along the length of the wall to our right. The smell of food filled the air, and I realized again how hungry I was as my stomach rumbled.

  Chapter 8

  She directed me to sit on the bench next to the fire. There were already cups and bowls set out on the table so I assumed she must live with at least one other person. I watched as she pulled a bowl and some rags and then a bottle from a nearby cupboard. From the bottle she poured a thick, sticky substance that smelled of herbs. Then she filled the bowl with hot water from a small kettle at the base of the hearth. Setting it on the table she stirred the contents. Steam rose from the surface and I could smell an interesting mix of herbs.

  As I watched, she pulled my improvised bandage off the wound and let it fall to the floor. “Not too bad,” she said, as she wiped my shoulder and the wound. The smell from the herbs was strong, and it stung but I figured that made it all the better. “You must have gotten this longer ago than you remember, it's already healed over. I'll have to cut the skin to get at it but its right under the surface,” she said, as she surveyed the damage.

  I was confused but nodded as I stared down at my arm. It hurt again now that it was being tended to. I knew the bullet had not been at the surface from the start because when I had put ointment on the wound, I could feel the hole and no bullet.

  From a basket near the hearth, she pulled out several items that looked useful for digging out a bullet, and the thought of them made me sweat a little. “Don’t worry, I’ve had plenty of practice. The Agency scum ‘ave tried to run us away from here several times. George is very stubborn though, but not as fast as he used to be,” she smiled at me, but I didn't smile back. I was intent on her next move. “It shouldn't hurt much but it is best if you distract yourself,” she said. “You could try counting the knots in the wood on the wall there.” She pointed. “That’s what George does.” She handed me the wooden handle of a large spoon. “Here, bite on this,” she said.

  I didn‘t question her, I took the spoon and closed my eyes. Then I bit the wood as she doused my arm with something that bit me back. “Ugh," I groaned.

  She chattered as she worked, “George and I have lived here for a while now. He goes to town to trade, but he’ll be back soon.”

  “Can you give me directions to the city?” I asked as I held onto the bench beneath me.

  She had cut the wound open and held a pair of tweezers in her hand as she prepared to pull out the bullet. “I’m no good at directions but if anyone can tell you how to get there that'd be George. Besides, he will want to meet you, he loves meeting new people.”

  I could feel her as she removed the bullet with the tweezers and then I could feel the wound bleed a little as she dropped the bullet onto the table. She looked at me a moment. “Do you want me to stitch it?”

  I shook my head. She brought a finger full of sticky paste from another jar and plastered it over the wound. It was cool at first and then warming and smelled good too. “Wasn't much, you’ll be fine," she said, as she wiped her hands on her apron. "George will be back soon but I’ll get you some soup and bread, that’ll fix you up,” she said, as she put away her supplies and then went to the hearth with a bowl.

  “Thank you for tending to my arm,” I said. It felt better knowing the bullet was out.

  "Ain't nothing," she said, as she ladled soup into the bowl and then set the bowl before me. Turning, she went to the end of the counter and came back with a hard roll and a mug of dark liquid. Then she sat down across the table from me and watched me.

  I looked back at her. “Aren’t you having any?”

  “No.” She gestured towards the door. “I’ll wait for the others, but you can eat,” she said, and watched me intently.

  The soup smelled like nothing I had ever smelled before. It was earthy and spicy and so I stirred and then took a spoonful. "Mmm," I said, as I ate. Then I took a small bite of bread and chewed. I murmured approving sounds as I chewed and looked around the room. It seemed bare. There were no books, or maps, or gadgets, or art, only necessities. It looked more like a scene from an old black and white movie from long, long ago than a modern dwelling. I was about to
ask about this, but she interrupted my question with one of her own.

  “I have never seen anyone dressed quite like you nor with a dog like yours before. Where did you say you were from?”

  “The far north.” This wasn't that much of a lie, but I also still felt I needed to guard my truth. “I’ve lived with my grandfather since I was very young, and we didn’t get many visitors from the outside world.” That much was true.

  “Hmm,” the girl said, considering. “Can I pet him?” she said, gesturing toward the dog.

  “Yes,” I said, and put my hand on the dog’s sleek hide.

  The girl touched him hesitantly, and then cocking her head to the side, she said, “I have never seen a dog like yours before, with no hair and all.”

  “He was given to my grandfather a long time ago,” I said, leaving it at that. “This reminds me of....”

  Suddenly she had a shocked look on her face, and she interrupted me, “I was so surprised at having a visitor I forgot myself...” She jumped up, shaking her head. “I'd forget my name if it wasn't engraved on my arm. My name is Piper. My George will be back soon, and then we can have a proper celebration. It’s not often...” She hesitated and looked out the door. “No it's never, that we get visitors, not real visitors. George brings home travelers, but that’s his job. No one has ever just shown up at our door before.” She threw her arms wide and spun around to busy herself in the kitchen. “You want more soup?”

  She seemed nervous suddenly and I had no idea why. “No, thank you,” I said, as I pushed the bowl back. “What did you say George does?”

  "Oh," she stopped her cleaning and turned, looking out the door. I seemed to lose her for a few moments then she tied and retied her apron. “Um, well, it’s a job of sorts. He just, well, he finds people, people who need help. And then he finds them work. Yes,” she said, seeming pleased with herself. Turning, she busied herself with re-cleaning the counter.

  I decided that I must be treading on delicate topics, so I sat quietly for a moment. “If you grew up in the city, how did you come to be here?” She looked at me as if I had again asked her something extremely private which made me wonder whether there were any safe topics. “I don’t mean to pry,” I said, “I’m just curious how you came to be here. I have only known my life with my grandfather and....”

  “Oh, you want to know my story? Ha!” She laughed. “It’s not very interesting, but it’s not over yet so who knows.” She had started measuring and mixing ingredients into a bowl. “When I was much younger, my mother and sister and I, we were in the city. They had left me asleep and gone out in search of food. I stayed where they had left me, but they didn’t come back. I was cold and hungry and crying when George found me...”

  She talked on, but as she did, I looked about the room and realized this was probably where Piper spent her days. I could see that there was a cot in the back corner behind a curtain and window openings that ran along the front looking out onto the yard. I decided there must be a window in the ceiling behind the curtain where the cots were since fading light shone through from the top. It dawned on me that there was nothing that was not essential to cooking, eating, and sleeping in this space... “Sorry, what?” I said, as I realized that Piper must have asked me a question.

  “Why didn’t your grandfather ever take you to see your father before?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “I think he was afraid. Like you and George, he didn‘t like the city, he left it years ago and he never wanted to go back.”

  “It's a very dangerous place,” she said, as she took down several lanterns from a shelf by the door. She lit the lanterns and hung one outside the door and the other above the table. Then she wiped her hands and the counters again and also the table. I couldn’t decide what was happening. Was our conversation making her nervous or was it that her partner was about to arrive?

  “My father is the only family I have so I want to find him,” I said, as I watched her nervously move about the kitchen.

  “Perhaps you could stay here instead. We have a good life here, everything you could want really, a garden, fresh air, a roof, even goats. Then you won’t be alone.” She looked away then like a shy, little girl.

  I had thought it would feel good to sit and talk with another girl, but her comment and her nervousness made me want to run. “That’s very kind of you, but as I said, my father is in the city, so I won’t be on my own.” I reached down to touch Dog. I had always used Dog to comfort me when I was sad or nervous and I loved that he always seemed to know when I needed him, even though I knew it was probably just his sensors that told him to rise to meet my hand.

  Chapter 9

  She was silent for a few minutes and I thought perhaps I had hurt her feelings. But then she began to chatter again about all the advantages of living in the wilds, gathering wild edibles, like mushrooms, berries and the like, the quiet, and peace. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed out on having someone my own age and sex to talk to, but something definitely seemed to be wrong. She seemed more and more uncomfortable. Was it something she was saying or not saying? Or maybe I wasn't as good at reading people’s signals as I had hoped.

  Suddenly the dog outside signaled his alarm with much barking, and then with one sharp bark, he became silent. When she opened the door, I could see her dog in the lantern’s glow as it slunk back out of the light and out of the path of the boisterous newcomers. Their laughter came before them from out of the darkness.

  Piper turned. “I told you George would come, and he's brought a traveler."

  She wiped her hands on a rag she had tucked in the waist of her apron and looked back out the door, waiting to see faces. “He’ll be surprised I have a visitor, won’t he?” she beamed and winked at me as she went to the door and waited for the others to arrive.

  I felt odd, I didn’t know what to do so I stood up. I felt like an intruder. Meeting Piper had been hard, but she was just one, now there were at least two more by the sounds of it and it made me uneasy. Grandfather and I had talked about the day when I would meet people my own age, that is why I spent hours watching the old movies and documentaries he had found. I wanted to meet people and I wanted to find where I fit in, but I was also afraid. I had a vague idea of how to act around strangers. I just didn’t have any practice.

  “Georgie.” Piper stood in the doorway and shouted so she could be heard over the commotion in the previously silent dark. “I have a surprise for you, Georgie.” She tipped up on her toes she was so excited.

  “I’ll have one for you if you don’t move out of the doorway,” the voice in the darkness barked.

  “Don’t you want to guess what my surprise is first?” Piper said, with such excitement I couldn’t help but smile.

  “What could you have that would surprise me?”

  Piper stood in the doorway but before he got to the door, he stopped and turned to his companion. Just then, Piper reached around him and put her hands over his eyes. “Come on, take a guess, Georgie.”

  George knocked Piper backwards with his elbow, stepped inside and stopped short.

  George was built square and strong. He had short, dark hair as black as coal and his cheeks, already ruddy, flushed even more as he saw me. His eyes widened and his face filled with questions, but he said nothing.

  Piper moved around George, ignoring his reaction as she beamed at him and me and explained how I had arrived. “She stepped out of the rock she did, just like a present.”

  George held my gaze for a moment, then smiled a little too broadly and leaned back out the door. Turned out his companion had been leaning against the door frame attempting to stay upright. “Sasha, come here. This is Sasha,” George said, as he reached over and pulled Sasha toward him. “Now we both have presents,” he said, grabbing Sasha’s ass and then her chin, kissing her hard on the mouth.

  George looked for a reaction but I gave none even though he made my skin prickle and crawl.

  Sasha squealed as George pushed
her down onto the bench. Then she laughed so hard she toppled sideways off the bench and onto the floor. George had to reach down and with Piper’s help lift Sasha back up onto the seat. Piper grabbed a hunk of bread and pushed it into Sasha’s mouth, but it was not clear to me whether it was to sober her up or quiet the drunken laughter.

  Turning back, George gave me a quick once over and then clapped his hands. “Cause for a celebration I think.” He went to the cupboard and from a high shelf took down large mugs, much larger than the ones Piper had set at the table.

  Since neither of them seemed interested at all in supper, Piper cleared the bowls and filled the mugs with the dark brew. I had tasted the drink from the mug she had brought me, it was bitter and strong, so I had not had more. Even the small amount I had tried had made my head buzz.

  George called to Sasha, “Bottoms up, wench.”

  Sasha smiled and took a long drink from her mug. She set down her mug when she was done and stood as if she was very grand then turned on her heel and bent straight over, throwing her skirts up over her backside. They all laughed. She laughed till she fell on her head.

  George helped her up again with one hand and finished his drink. Then called to Piper, “All right, bitch, play us a tune.”

  I looked at Piper with concern and then at George. Why was he so rude? Was this normal? Was this her life? I didn't understand. She was his partner, of sorts. At least that's how it seemed. Was this how he treated her?

  Piper seemed not to care. At George’s request she had gone to a cupboard and gotten out a beautiful instrument. Although the instrument was beautiful and the music she played was gay, the notes were not always in tune and there was a fair amount of screeching. The dancers reeled and spun around the small room running into the table and knocking over the benches, laughing and stopping to drink and then demanding another tune.