Vagabond (5 page)

“One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand.”
 

“You realize that’s a stupid way to time me,” I growled.
 

“Nope. Stop concentrating on me and concentrate on the task at hand,” Xavi retorted.
 

I shook out the ground-tarp and fanned it out over the ground. “Then count in your head. It’s annoying.”
 

“Your face is annoying.”
 

“Your big-toe is annoying.” The insults fired back and forth as I unrolled the tent over the tarp. I grabbed the pile of metallic poles and began piecing them together so that short grew into long. They criss-crossed over the tent as I popped them into each hole on each corner. “It’s not going to work like that!” Xavi hooted.
 

“Watch me.” I knew he hated being inefficient, but I knew the heart of every success only happened from experimentation. He always focused on one cross-section of the pole first, making sure one catty-corner was secured before concentrating on the other. I wanted to see what would happen if I focused on one side of the tent first, then one catty-corner. I had a theory it’d shave off a few seconds. It did. The cross-section was up in the air quicker than quick, and I clipped the tent’s fabric into it. The only thing left was the rainfly.
 

“Done! Booo-yah!” I shouted into the air.
 

“Now. Deconstruct.”
 

“What?”

“That had to have taken longer than a minute and a half. I wouldn’t know. Someone stopped me from counting.”
 

“Xavi!”

I unzipped the door and climbed in. The leech followed suit. “Hey! Out.” I tried to keep my voice firm, but it cracked in indignation.
 

He frowned. “Come on! It’s going to rain. You’re really going to make me wait out the storm outside?”

“Yes.”
 

Shadows shifted across his face. The calculating look that flickered in his eyes made me realize he could always just push me out and take the tent for himself. He was bigger than me and stronger than me. It made me realize that none of my supplies were safe. He had none— not even a water-bladder. His voice was scratchy from thirst, meaning he’d had no water when I’d had a few water breaks already. I wondered if he’d do
anything
to survive? After all, he’d blown up an entire train.

 
A fear I had not felt in a long time, not since that first night when my whole world readjusted so that my old life could no longer include me in it, came up into my throat. My heartbeat skidded, accelerated, sputtered, and accelerated again. Danger.
 

“I won’t hurt you,” the boy promised, as if he could read my mind. “You’ve done so much already, but if you could just help me a little bit more.” He clambered into the tent before I could agree, so I gave up protesting. It was his dehydrated voice that made me feel bad. Sometimes kindness did more good than harm when stuck in a situation, so I put my pack between us. The hose to the water-bladder rested along one of the straps, and I picked it up.
 

“You put it in your mouth, like this, and bite down on it. When you suck, the water will come out.” I pushed the pack closer to him. “Small sips. Conserve it. Swish the water in your mouth before you swallow. It’ll help with the dry mouth.” I don’t know why I did it. I guess it was that I’d been thirsty many times over, and no one deserves that achy feeling. Whether or not he planned on harming me, maybe he wouldn’t if I helped.
 

He followed my directions, and I watched him drink. It drove me crazy not to know if I should be afraid of him, and I wished there was some beacon attached to everyone that warned of danger.
 

I’d been running for who knew how long. The Militia was combing the woods for me, but I still managed to escape. I didn’t know how I’d done it. I was just a kid, after all. A fifteen year old shouldn’t have been able to escape what felt like an entire army.
 

I didn’t even have the right shoes on. Thin flats. All the girls at school were wearing them, but now, I cursed ever trying to keep up with fashion trends. It wasn’t like anything ever looked good on me anyways. My jeans were equally lacking warmth, and I had no way to pull back my hair. It fell in my face in waves of brown-red.
 

I’d finally found a way to make myself stop running. The decision went back and forth in my head until logic won out. Every part, in and out of my body, burned by the time I realized if they found me, they found me, and at least it’d all be over. Even if they didn’t find me, I’d still probably die. Either way, I was in trouble. So I let the tears come. They needed to escape because they were breaking my heart in half, speeding it up even faster than light. I crumpled in on the tears, and they crumpled in on me.
 

“You okay?” It was the first time I ever heard Xavi’s voice. It was tender and harsh at the same time. Eventually, I’d learn that Xavi was full of contradictions in everything he did.
 

“Oh. I’m fantastic. Just. Fantastic. Do I look okay?” It was a response neither of us expected. I guess I was just glad he wasn’t a soldier, and sarcasm replaced relief.
 

“You look just peachy. Everyone needs a good cry every now and then. I hear it’s good for your skin.” He laughed. Even his laugh held sadness— a sadness that may have even trumped mine. He neared me like a trapped animal, slow and cautious. “You look cold.” He shrugged off his jacket. Under it, he wore one of those thermal vests— the puffy kind stuffed with synth-e-down. It looked worn and dirty— the way the jacket smelled as he draped it over me, but I was instantaneously warmer and the smell no longer mattered. “I’m Xavi.” The way he said it sounded like laughter. The HA sound collapsed into the V sound. It rose and fell in my ears, and I wondered what his name would feel like in my mouth when I had to say it out loud for the first time. It was such a strange name.
 

“Nikomedes.”

“Ah. From 18?” He asked like he didn’t know. Of course I was from the 18
^th
Colony. I thought about being sarcastic again, but instead I nodded. “Interesting,” he said in a way that told me the story wasn’t interesting at all. “You’re a long way from the 18
^th
, huh? I can help you find your way back if you like?” Everything he said was like a question, like he realized he could do nothing but put himself in danger if he tried to help.
 

“I can’t go back. They’re all dead,” I whispered. Saying it out loud made it real. It took everything out of the realm of bad dreams and vivid imaginations.
 

“Oh?”
   

Chapter Four

I fished out the tee-shirt I’d worn in the river and became thankful it was still damp. I hated to waste any water, and I needed to clean the cut on my cheek. I wiped off the drying dirt and blood, knowing that, if I didn’t, infection would not have been a fun game to play later. It wasn’t deep and didn’t even hurt, but even the shallowest of cuts could be death out on the Tracks. I fished around for the Neo-spray. It didn’t take long to find because it was in the place meant for it in the front pouch, where bandages and hygiene items were stored. I shook the small can and swore. It wasn’t as full as it used to be, and it’d soon be time to swipe more.
 

A few years ago, a cut of this size wouldn’t have cost me much thought. Colony doctors could knock out any illness in a reasonable amount of time, but there were no doctors out here. There was only risk and reasonable risk assessment.

A cut was easy enough to clean up.
 

Death wasn’t.
 

“Be obsessive about your scrapes out here, love,” Randolf reminded me. He shook the Neo-spray and it wooshed-wooshed over my hand. It stung a little, and I sucked in air. “Sepsis is no fun thing…”
 

“What’s that?”

“Death. Happens when a cut gets infected. It sneaks up on you and kills quickly.”
 
He peeled off the plastic from the bandaid, then laid it against my hand. The bandage looked peachy-pale next to the rest of my dirty skin.
 

“It’s just a cut, Randolf,” I reassured him.
 

He sighed. “You say that until you see it take someone. I knew a girl your age once. Lilly. A pretty little flower, done in by a scrape—a scratch— right on her thigh. So never say a cut is just a cut, okay hon?”
 

The way he said it spoke of a loss I recognized. I knew that no matter how similar they were, no two losses were the same. But despite his loss being from a different circumstance, I felt his sadness as my own. We sat there in silence, with my hand resting in his. My bandaid told its own stories, while we remembered the girl who taught Randolf such a valuable lesson about the small turning into the big.
 

“Can you help me with this?” I pointed to my forehead and his eyes widened. “Seriously. I can’t see it. Is it clean or not?”
 

He leaned in carefully so he could examine
the cut a little better. His breath smelled like distant peppermints, and I couldn’t help but wonder how his breath still smelled good. “Looks like a tiny scrape.”
 

“Does it need a bandage?”

“I thought you Rebels were supposed to be tough.”
 

“Not a Rebel, you idiot. Cuts are pretty dangerous out here.”
 

“You hop off speeding trains, but you’re afraid of a cut?”

I growled. “It’s not fear. It’s being smart. You don’t get it, but you might one day. Is. It. Clean? That’s all I asked.” He grinned, and I scowled. I’d let the boy get under my skin, and I wanted to punch that smile right off his face. “Forget about it. I’m going to get some sleep. Two spoons in a drawer. Don’t even think I’ll fork, or I’ll cut you.” I tried to keep my voice firm. If I acted harder than was in my nature, maybe he’d keep his hands to himself. I should have been safe since he was a Colony-kid, but sometimes even that was hard to tell. Apparently worrying over a cut hadn’t made me look tough enough, and I didn’t have much more time to convince him he didn’t want to mess with me. I needed to sleep, and the tent was small. I needed to let my guard down soon, or it wouldn’t be my choice at all. I was so, so tired.
 

“What the heck does that mean?”
 

I sighed. I kept forgetting he was new to it all. “Two spoons in a drawer. We sleep back to back.”
 

“What’s forking?”
 

It was the first rainy night Xavi and I
faced together, and we were still giddy from the events of the day.
 

I stole my first pair of hiking boots that morning.
 

Before we even got to the Colony, we scrubbed ourselves and our clothes clean in the river. Then, we hid his pack so we’d blend in easier. The heat of fear was everywhere, and I wondered if anyone’d recognize me. “Breathe. We’re in 22. You’ve never been here. No one knows you,” Xavi whispered, but it didn’t slow my heartbeat. We took clothes into the dressing room to try them on, but on the racks, next to the clerk, we left our old ones. They didn’t even look twice. The department store was busy, and the clerk was too focused on watching the newest vids on her tablet. With new wool socks and new boots on my feet, I left my flats, muddy and torn on the stand where the display boots had been. No one even blinked.
 

Despite the blisters that followed from breaking in the boots, I was the proud, new owner of layers and warmth. Victory was everywhere that day, until the storm clouds started congealing in the sky. Back in the safety of the woods, we set up the tent just as the rain began to plop-plop down on us.
 

Sitting with my legs folded in on themselves, I realized the predicament. The tent was entirely too small for both of us to sleep comfortably. Then, Xavi began to explain the silverware drawer. “The breakdown.” He laughed. “Two spoons in a drawer means back to back. It’s awkward to sleep next to strangers, but sometimes it happens. It’s always good to explain your intentions before, so there’s no confusion. Spooning means you lock together, like when you rest a spoon on top of another. Don’t wrinkle your nose. You have your clothes on, and it’s handy when it’s cold and you need body heat. You’re lucky. The smallest is usually the little spoon, and you’ll get more warmth that way. But it’s better than freezing to death, and there’s nothing intimate— or sexual about spoons and knives.”
 

The implication set my cheeks on fire. “Knives?”
 

“Knives are awkward. It’s when the cold is cutting like a knife and the only way to share enough body heat is to strip down together in the bag. Heat transfers better between bare skin.”

I shook my head and tried to imagine being that cold. I couldn’t fit the image of putting my bare body against a stranger’s for warmth, but then again, I couldn’t imagine stealing a few days before either. It had been something I’d never needed to do.
 

Regardless, these drawer dynamics made me feel anxious in ways I couldn’t explain.
 

“And then there’s forks,” Xavi was relentless. “It’s when one thing leads to another…”
 

I gasped.
 

“Don’t be shocked. There are no regulations here, and it happens.”

My face became red beyond red, and my breathing slowed. Without the proper license, that act meant instant trial followed by an execution.
 

“Look. Think on it this way. Out here, there are no laws, and because there are no laws, how can people get permits? There’s not a Vagabond Department of Human Relations in the middle of the forest, is there?”