by C A Gleason
Royah stared down at her tiny delicate but gaunt features. She was asleep. She did look thinner than a normal baby. They were typically pudgy everywhere. She was way too skinny. Weak, as he’d said.
The baby woke up when Royah forced the nipple at the end of the bottle into her mouth. Then she closed her eyes again as she fed.
Having never fed a baby before, the pleasure of doing so was immediate. As if Royah was actually breastfeeding her. Royah closed her eyes.
For the next few minutes, it seemed she were in a home in a rocking chair feeding her own baby. As safe as she ever felt in her life. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was, how she was actually standing out in the open on the flat. With a stranger.
She was doing what she always wanted to do, except it wasn’t with a baby of her own. It was one who belonged to some stranger who was probably dead. Why else would she be cared for by a man like him?
Once feeding was over, Royah swayed the baby gently in her arms. “Where are her parents?”
He shrugged his shoulders timidly. She thought maybe he was about to explain, but must have changed his mind.
“I did what you asked. I’m going to go now.” Royah was still clutching the sleeping baby. She realized she didn’t offer to give her back.
His confusion was instant, and for some reason Royah hoped for the reaction.
Even though they were strangers, and he shot at her to get her attention, and she heard many frightening stories about him, and some of them or even all of them might be true, something occurred to her; no matter what was true, he cared for the well-being of a baby.
The man from all those frightening stories would not care about anyone but himself. She was starting to believe they were made up. But didn’t stories have at least some truth?
If he wanted to take Royah against her will, as she initially suspected he might want to do before meeting him, he definitely could have. He didn’t. All he cared about was the baby.
Royah might be able to trust him. And somewhere deep inside her, she wanted to feed the baby again no matter who she belonged to.
“Looks like we have quite the conundrum. I myself am on an important quest. And you seem to be in need of someone to take care of her. Even though she isn’t yours.”
“What’s conundrum?”
“It’s like an impasse.”
He slowly shook his head. He seemed embarrassed and obviously didn’t know what the words meant.
“It’s—never mind. You need someone to take care of this little one and I need someone to help me get to where I’m going.”
He said nothing but he was obviously considering what Royah told him, because he didn’t say no. He looked down at the baby and then off in the distance. She thought maybe he would for quite a while, so she leaned in to get his attention.
She suddenly felt even more comfortable around him. Almost warm. Buzzy. Attracted?
Royah exhaled, getting her mind right, and peered up at him. “First, we need to make more juice.”
26. Onnin
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
No. He did not. It was probably why he got lost in thought so often. His silence was often deliberate because of how people reacted to his voice. He didn’t sound like anyone else. When he spoke, they said he sounded like a giant, so he tried to keep his mouth shut if he could help it.
He only spoke if he needed to, but unfortunately his silence made some believe he was hiding something. By the time he was in the mood to explain himself, there was usually a fight.
Onnin didn’t have anyone to talk to. Nobody he’d consider a friend, not since he was young. Occasionally he greeted fellow outliers, who weren’t up to no good, and traveling as he was. Some of them greeted him in return. Most did not.
Interacting, even though often hostile, he still thought one day he would find a group who would accept him.
It didn’t make sense, especially because he was treated poorly and essentially hunted since he was young, but he refused to believe everyone was intolerant.
Most thought he was simple-minded because of how he looked. Or at least how he’d looked when he was a boy, like a Neanderthal according to kids. But also because of how quiet he was even as an adult. For some reason, adults never stopped talking.
When crossing paths with strangers, he wanted to ask them questions but didn’t because of his embarrassment, when they couldn’t get past his looks or voice. They asked their own questions instead, or hurried away. Some even going out of their way to avoid his path.
One reason he never fit in was because he’d grown so much faster than the other children. Far bigger too. He had been a muscular teenager, and over seven feet tall, so they called him giant or Neanderthal, and of course in a mean-spirited way.
One of his teachers was also unkind. He actually called him simple-minded in front of the class because Onnin wouldn’t answer a question. Onnin knew the answer but he refused to say. He was embarrassed by the recent change in his voice.
The teacher was trying to encourage him, but in a rough way, so after insulting him the other kids laughed, and Onnin didn’t care what he wanted. Maybe he knew Onnin was pretending not to know the answer, which was why he got frustrated with him.
Onnin now understood an insecure teacher like him viewed his students’ knowledge as a reflection of his ability to teach. But Onnin didn’t answer any more questions, and the teacher never called on him again.
The more he thought about it, the more he believed the comment was a taunt to get him to participate—he must have sensed Onnin’s intelligence—except Onnin didn’t like attention nor the method.
A teacher shouldn’t speak to a student that way. Even if he was having a bad day or was in a sour mood. It wasn’t professional or nice and it was more effective to encourage kids not tear them down and make them feel insecure.
Avoiding attention by pretending he wasn’t as smart as the other kids eventually brought on a different kind of attention.
Because they thought he was dumb, the other kids thought they could outsmart him, take advantage of him, or make fun of him whenever they wanted. They were right in a way because he put up with it. For a while.
There was no way for him to know how strong he was then. Because he was a child and hardly communicated or interacted with others physically, there were no experiences to compare. He thought of himself like them, but bigger.
He looked down on all of them for years, but he didn’t know how much stronger he was until he found himself surrounded at recess, forced to listen to their taunts and laughter. A few boys got bold and started poking at his stomach, saying mean things, and even punching his forearms.
By then Onnin had had enough. He lost his temper and grabbed hold of the boy who was closest. It was effortless. With both hands, he lifted him up easily, over his head and threw him back down on the ground.
The playground went silent. All had been watching. Their voices vanished. As quiet as Onnin wished they always were.
He remembered the fear in their eyes afterward. And the following days, until he was forced to go into the terrible place.
Even the adults of town looked at him differently. They were afraid of him too. They looked at him with wide eyes and he could hear their whispering.
After Onnin did what he did to the kid—he’d lived but many of his bones were broken—even Onnin’s own parents seemed to be fearful.
That’s what hurt his feelings the most. He hadn’t killed the boy. Even though he could have. He didn’t tell anyone that part. It wouldn’t have helped because he didn’t know anyone who cared. Not after that day. He saw it on their faces.
But the teasing stopped, which was a benefit for what he’d done. It lasted a few days until he saw a strange man with a long, gray beard speaking to the teacher. He was clearly intelligent based on how the teacher reacted to what was said.
Even though Onnin couldn’t hear them, the other kids were always talking too loudly, h
e knew it was about him because the old man glanced in his direction numerous times during their conversation.
He didn’t observe anyone else or take interest in them as much as he did Onnin. After, Onnin didn’t see him again until a few days later. Outside the classroom staring in. He was a ways off and probably thought he was far enough that Onnin couldn’t see him, but of course he could.
The way he was watching him was how they were made to examine inanimate things during class sometimes. Knowing he was being watched made him angry, so Onnin got brave and glared out the window.
The old man must have realized Onnin could see him at a distance because he moved out of view. Onnin didn’t know how long he was watched or why—not then—but it was shortly after, when everything began to spiral toward chaos.
His parents were told, the teachers couldn’t decide among themselves what to do with him. Eventually he wasn’t allowed to attend the school itself. It was because of what the other kids’ parents thought about him.
Apparently all of them would have removed their kids from the school and started a new one if Onnin remained a student there. When Onnin tried to explain what happened, his parents weren’t interested in hearing him out. They were on the side of the faculty.
He didn’t like to talk, to anyone, including his parents, and it didn’t take much frustration to keep him quiet. He never did fully explain himself. The beginning of his young life was the beginning of his alienation from the rest of the planet.
Back then, he didn’t believe he’d ever meet someone understanding. A special someone, a woman, as many other emergers did, or even a friend. Aside from the Alien, Onnin often wondered if he was the loneliest person on Home.
It was a long time ago. He was an innocent child and his behavior could be unpredictable, but he didn’t deserve to be treated so poorly. No one did.
But he didn’t know then what he knew now; how the natural way young humans interacted was primitive, barbaric, and often brutal. Not much changed when they were adults.
There was always someone willing to steal or be violent or worse. He learned early. But he also learned that young people didn’t always remain the same. They matured, changed for the better, as they got older.
Onnin wasn’t treated any differently but often people became civilized and contributed, respectfully, to whatever group they belonged to. Whether it be townsfolk or outliers. Many of his tribulations as a young man happened even before that place.
He didn’t like to think of its name. What it was called. It was so terrible, he didn’t like it having power over him. The place materializing in his mind brought forth the worst in him. The worst in anyone.
The place was a dread for anyone who went in, and anyone who went in it held a grudge toward humanity.
As a full-grown adult, he still felt alone. His apprehensive and cautious nature came across even now, but he was correct to feel that way. He understood other emergers better than they understood themselves.
Even if there was no ill intent today, it likely occurred to them sooner or later.
Life on Home was brutal. He’d gotten skilled at identifying who would take advantage of him or try to kill him or steal his things or want to eat him. A man his size could feed a group like the one the baby was with, for a week or longer.
He’d steer clear of people altogether or patronize them until business—whichever kind—was over. But sometimes, there were so many people that there was no choice but to endure their little society before he could sneak off into the night.
He could put off sleep for over a week if he needed to, which meant everyone he’d ever run across fell asleep before he did, so he could always stay ahead of someone if they were tracking him.
Navigating the planet alone, while searching for a quiet life seemed impossible. Even though he wasn’t exactly sure where he wanted to go or what he wanted, other than to be alone, he felt the need to search out a quiet life anyway. And visit the mountains.
Maybe alone wasn’t accurate. Safe and content was what he was after with a rare hope to be close to a woman. Something better than the life he lived in the past because he was always moving forward.
Far away from crippling hardship causing humanity to die, changing people into something else. Something worse. Like outliers he often faced, fought, and sometimes killed.
Wanting to be alone never completely prevented him from attempting to blend in. It didn’t happen much anymore, but the drive to be around others was powerful and he’d get especially hopeful for a companion when he’d been on the move and alone for months.
He liked to fantasize about someone who would answer his questions and be his friend and be nice to him and care about his well-being. But they’d probably have to be blind.
He stayed in various towns for short periods of time, sometimes a few days, trying to blend in, hoping the people who lived there had never heard of him or what he’d done.
What they believed he’d done.
Eventually everyone seemed to catch on to who he was. Who they thought he was. People liked to talk about each other too much.
27. Onnin
What Onnin had done when he was younger was what interested them most and they called him what the woman said. If they knew the truth, they might let him live among them. But no one would believe his side of the story.
No one could do what he did to survive the terrible place, just him.
And he was always far bigger than the biggest man in town, sometimes twice as tall, and his past usually caught up with him in one way or another. Often, old people had nothing better to do than sit in front of their radios and gossip about what they overheard.
Someone always wanted to blame him for something he didn’t do or were fearful he’d do or one of the many things he was feared to have done. He was an easy target because he didn’t have any relationships.
Some rumors were partially true. He learned long ago that those responsible for the accusations often did the deeds themselves and blamed someone else for it, even him. No one ever seemed to be interested in what he had to say.
So he never stuck around long enough to find out what the actual truth was. He never stayed anywhere long and someone could say whatever they wanted. Who would defend someone known to be a cannibal?
Now he avoided towns whenever he could, setting foot there if he absolutely had to. Like if he needed supplies because almost everything he hefted around in his backpack got used up or broke down eventually.
The irksome radio net made it difficult to know whether he could safely enter a town or not. He didn’t carry a portable radio, even though he could handle the extra weight. He didn’t need one. Or really want one.
He was still curious about what was being said over the net because not all radio chatter was about him. Or a sighting of him. Or what he did in the past. When he felt like it, he would identify a radio, sneak up, and listen out of sight, learning a lot about the history of Home.
Far more than he learned during school. Teachers altered the truth for some reason. Maybe they didn’t know or think anyone could handle what really happened. They probably didn’t want to frighten children.
Being oblivious didn’t help anyone because everyone grew up eventually. Not preparing them for how things really were, turned them into frightened adults.
The rumors of what happened to this planet, the cause of the destruction, were true because he knew people. Knew what primitive animals they could become. And all the savagery they were capable of. Understood their destructive and barbaric nature all too well.
Usually the whine of a gunblast was the obvious sign he’d been recognized. Sometimes emergers were ready for him while he was walking the flat. Always a great way to begin the day but it happened so often he was hardly surprised.
He heard the scary stories about himself over the net many times, so if he approached a town and wasn’t shot at, he knew he could at least stop at the nearest supply store for a short while and have a
look around.
Before moving on, he always hoped to be done browsing before anybody developed a dangerous interest or recognized him.
Almost every time he entered a town, women pulled their children closer when his shadow fell over them. Ironically the people who smiled at him the most were children. He didn’t smile back though. Not anymore.
He stopped smiling at strangers on the streets of strange towns a long time ago, not caring if anyone accepted him or not.
Their kids were rarely the ones who were afraid. Most of the time it was the parents. He didn’t blame them. He looked like any outlier with his long hair and beard, except he was far, far bigger.
Still, and even with all he’d been through when he was young, he knew children were sometimes the best judge of character.
The ones who were mean to him when he was a boy, were boys too and must have sensed the way Onnin felt about himself. They wanted to prove themselves in ways he didn’t understand, by toppling him.
Most kids sensed the person he truly was today. It was why kids he encountered weren’t afraid and often smiled in his direction. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever have children himself.
He understood what was required in order for it to happen. He felt himself blush, wondering if the woman saw. Intimacy for him seemed as likely as him returning to the terrible place to live under his own free will.
Whenever women stared at him, not with fear but with lust, it was embarrassing. He got nervous and wanted to leave.
A woman in a town he couldn’t remember the name of, reached up and touched his arm and said, “so strong” while looking him in his eyes. She definitely wasn’t afraid. But her husband was. Onnin left before there was trouble.
He couldn’t be sure, but the woman next to him looked at him in a similar way as women occasionally did, with lust. He did feel something for her, other than lust too.
Unfamiliar, as he never allowed himself to be this close to a woman before. Typically, there was a man standing right next to her and guarding her like property.