Travelers

by Alia Hess

  “Are you in trouble? Do you need help?”

  Is he talking to me? “What? Does it look like I’m in trouble?”

  “Look, you seem like a nice girl, but… I don’t know if you noticed, but that guy you’re with is an Islander.”

  She gritted her teeth at his condescending voice then feigned surprise. “No shit?”

  “I didn’t know there were light-skinned ones, but you saw his teeth, right? Those guys are cannibals. They eat Mainlanders. Probably eat each other.” Owl’s breath quickened as he continued. “I don’t even know why the city lets them in. But naïve girls like you are an easy target. I wouldn’t go anywhere with him.”

  She sneered. “I wouldn’t go anywhere with you, you ignorant, racist little worm. Now bring us our fucking food and keep your baseless, idiotic opinions to yourself.”

  She stomped to the bathroom, fists clenched, and fought to compose herself. Trav isn’t a cannibal. He’s not a savage, or a coconut, or even a foul-mouthed farmer. He’s not just some filthy drifter looking to take advantage of me. He’s not a sweet-talking, charismatic chef that’ll propose and then turn into a controlling, wife-beating alcoholic. Trav is a gentleman with a big heart.

  After returning to the table, she slid into the booth and sighed. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

  “Other than this moonshine going straight to my head? No.”

  She eyed his dwindling drink, mouth pulled tight. “Are you going to have another after that one?”

  He shook his head. “No way. I’m not much of a drinker. But if you want another, go for it.”

  She sighed in relief. “No. I don’t think I’m going to be able to even finish this one. I would like to keep all my brain cells intact.”

  Trav nodded in agreement, looking into his glass.

  Don’t let that idiot waiter ruin your good time. How long has it been since you had moonshine and good food? And moonshine and good food with a good man?

  Owl slid over until she was beside Trav. He glanced at her with a small smile. “Hey there. That moonshine working already, huh?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I just have a much better view from here.”

  “…Of the wall?”

  “That’s right.” She folded her arms and smirked. “I happen to be a great admirer of quality walls.”

  “Ah. Well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.” He chuckled.

  She scooted closer until their legs touched and Trav grinned. Bill returned with their food, his face pinched in revulsion. He dropped the plates with a clatter. “Enjoy.”

  Trav raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Owl shrugged, picking up her knife and fork and cutting into the ribs.

  Trav took a bite of his steak. “Mmm, much better than seagull.”

  She laughed and nodded.

  “This is good, but I really miss fish. I used to eat it fresh every day on Nis. You like fish?”

  “There’s one kind I know I like. My parents would only buy it for special occasions because it was pretty expensive. I never bought any after I moved out, though, because I couldn’t remember the name. I can’t imagine how much it would cost here.”

  “Gimme some fermented fish viscera on cucumber, and I’m a happy man.”

  Owl wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Just eat your steak, weirdo… Why wander way out here for years? Why not stay near the coast and eat your fish every day?”

  “Makes me too homesick.” Trav took a bite of meat. “Don’t get jealous, darling, but the ocean is my one true love. Have you ever seen it?”

  “No.”

  “Most beautiful thing in the world. Turquoise water as far as the eye can see. The salty air. Soft, warm sand…”

  Owl smiled. “Sounds really nice.”

  “It is.” He sighed, face momentarily drawn, then continued eating.

  After they finished their meal and the mugs of moonshine were half-empty, they returned to their rooms. Trav swung the door open, looking at her.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  She tugged at one of her stone earplugs, pulse increasing. “I don’t know.”

  Trav frowned. “I’m not asking you to—I just want to spend time with you. That’s all.”

  Owl nodded, following him inside. She sat on the bed, self-conscious, and pushed on the mattress.

  “Your bed feels softer than mine.”

  “Really? Anything is soft compared to my bedroll, I think.” He sat at the end of the bed, a deliberate distance between them.

  She scooted back, resting against the headboard. “You know what I miss? Flowers. And I don’t mean these poor excuses for them here in the desert. My neighbor lady growing up had the most beautiful flowers. Little yellow ones that grew all over her yard, and big purple ones with petals the size of your hand. I remember them towering over me when I was little. The petals were sparkly if you looked close enough. Sparkled in the sun. …Isn’t it funny how magical things seem when you’re a kid? Then you grow up, and it’s not the same anymore.”

  “I know what you mean. I used to think that about the sand on the beaches of Nis. All wet and sparkly. We have those purple flowers too. They grow in the forests. They’re called Stargazers. …But what made you think of that?”

  “I think I want to go back home. Get my shit together.”

  Trav bit his lip, nodding slowly.

  “I’m tired of these places. Tired of walking. I used to think the city was so dull. That’s why I moved to Waterton. I was afraid I would end up as a boring farmer’s wife if I stayed in Hawthorne. I was looking to get away from my farm life and find some excitement. Some adventure. But I’ve realized my hometown is really the only place of comfort I’ve ever had. And you. You’re comfortable too. …Would you want to escort me up there?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Escort you?”

  She shifted and shrugged. “You know, come with me.”

  He shook his head. “Escorting someone isn’t the same as coming with them. You don’t expect me to stay… Or you don’t want me to.” His mouth twisted. “Is that all I’ve been to you this entire time? An escort?”

  Her brows pushed together. “What? No. I told you before that I thought that initially, but now I want to be with you for your company. Not just protection.”

  Trav’s gaze narrowed, mouth pulled down. “Now that I think about it, you didn’t want to kiss me when we were in that cave—which is fine. But you didn’t have a problem doing it after I protected you from that guy near the airplane town.”

  Owl’s mouth parted. “What are you saying?”

  His frown deepened and he looked away. “I should have known.”

  “Known what? That I’m using you? I’m sorry for my poor choice of words but that’s not what I’m doing. I do have feelings for you. And—and I kissed you after you protected me because”— she huffed—“you make me feel safe, okay?”

  Trav nodded and folded his arms. “Because you want my protection.”

  “No. That’s not…” She pulled in a breath. “Do you know how long it’s been since I felt safe? Really safe? I trust you, and I like you. I want you with me. I can’t think of many other people I could say that about.”

  He stared at her uncertainly. “You’re not just using me?”

  “No. I promise. I just figured you wouldn’t want to stick around after we get to Hawthorne. You don’t really seem like the settling down type.”

  Trav stared into an empty corner of the room then sighed deeply. “How long would it take to get up there?”

  “A month. Maybe more.”

  “I’ll come with you, but not as an escort. I don’t know what I’ll want to do once we’re there, though; I can’t promise I’ll stay.”

  She nodded. “I understand. Thank you for wanting to accompany me. I’m sorry I said ‘escort.’”

  Trav smiled weakly. “Just don’t invite me to dinner with your parents, okay? I don’t think it would go very well.”


  She wiped her eye. “Yeah, probably not. My parents aren’t the most accepting types. My brother was my mom’s favorite. She let him get away with everything. But my dad hated him. I turned out a disappointment too.” An altogether different pang hit her heart as she thought of Corvin and their last day spent together—sitting under a tree and eating peanut butter from a jar outside his commandeered Old World house, with its collections of tastefully arranged junk. Then everything had gone to shit and he’d left, even after promising he wouldn’t. He promised to write letters to her too—one a month. She’d received one, then heard nothing from him since. He’d sent their parents a letter a few years ago, stating that he was fine and living in the East. That was it. Maybe she should go that way instead and find him… But that would be months of walking and she didn’t even know the name of his city.

  Owl scooted closer to Trav, pushing the distant memories from her mind. “Will you tell me more about Nis?”

  He leaned back, resting his head on his arms. “Well, it isn’t very big, but much of it is covered by forest, especially around the volcano. Lots of room to roam and be alone. I spent afternoons exploring, avoiding my father, and playing with my cousins.”

  “Were you a disappointment too?”

  “Yeah. He was never satisfied with how I did my chores. Never impressed, no matter how big of a fish I caught. I think deep down he just didn’t like me. He thought I was a bastard half-breed because of the way I look. That’s what everyone thought.” He uttered a hurt-filled laugh. “The idea of my mother cheating on him with a Mainlander is ridiculous. But I guess no one had any other explanation for my appearance.”

  A tear rolled down Owl’s cheek. She left it and slid over, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face to his broad chest. He no longer smelled like a campfire. His new scent evoked deep forests and riverbanks—cool, wet and green. Trav’s heart thumped rapidly as they lay wordlessly tangled together. He slid his hands along her back, caressing the bare skin between her pant waist and the edge of her shirt. Discomfort cut her like a blade.

  Don’t push away. She grazed her lips against his, and he kissed her. His liquor-laced breath flipped her stomach, and she wiggled from his embrace. “I think I’m going to go to bed now.”

  Trav’s brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes.” It didn’t sound convincing. She pushed off the mattress. “See you in the morning?”

  “Hang on. Did I do something wrong? I have a hard time knowing how I’m supposed to act around you. We don’t have to touch. You just want to sit in here with me?”

  “I’d rather be alone right now.” Going back to her room, she parted the heavy window curtains on the far wall, looking out the thick warped glass and imagining Trav’s gentle touch, his bare porcelain skin against hers. Adam invaded the image—his sweaty, meaty hands clumsily pawing at her and breath stinking of moonshine, and his coarse beard scraping against her as he tried to kiss her. She wouldn’t say anything—just go along with it—pretend she liked it. Her performance was never convincing enough. He’d scream at her, demanding to know why he wasn’t man enough. He’d call her a prude, then a whore, yanking her hair and pushing her against the wall. That’s when she would pray that he was drunk enough to lose interest and stagger away before anything worse happened.

  “Ugh!” Owl jerked the curtains closed and flopped onto the bed. She screamed into the mattress, wetting it with tears of hatred and frustration.

  She had been so calm—standing over Adam’s passed out form in the bedroom’s dim light. It was frightening how easily the knife had slid into his eye. The dark gushing blood hadn’t even looked real.

  Owl rolled over, tears wetting her face, then reached for her pack, digging through it for the quartz crystal Trav had given her. She pawed through several pockets, pushing mealcakes, pencils, and eyeblack aside. Owl frowned and peered into a new pocket, angrily pulling out the contents and dumping it on the bedspread.

  Her chest tightened and tears stung her eyes. “Where is it?”

  She overturned the bag and shook it over the bed. Knives, playing cards, needles, thread, and her notebook fell onto the mattress. The quartz crystal hit the bed and bounced onto the floor.

  Owl sighed in relief and retrieved it, squeezing it in her palm until it hurt and left an indentation. She sat and turned the crystal in her hand.

  “This is your new life now. You’re not old you. Not the old you twining Jesse, and Rocky, and Stitch at the same time and working in the fields without a care in the world. And not the old you trying to survive your life with Adam. You aren’t either of those people anymore. This is new you. You left all that shit behind when you left Waterton. You need to leave it behind in your mind as well. Move on.”

  It was easy to say—hard to do. She kicked off her boots and pants and climbed into bed, clutching the crystal. A small knock on the door startled her from semi-sleep. She opened it a crack. Trav stood shirtless in the hall, braid undone.

  He shifted his feet. “Uh, I know you said you wanted to be alone, but these walls are really thin and you sounded pretty upset. I’m sorry if I—”

  “It’s not you.” She pushed the door open all the way and Trav entered. He paused, looking at the mess on the bed, then cleared away a spot and sat. She slid her hand across his large, rough palm, then laced her fingers through his. “Your breath smelled like moonshine. Like his breath.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t drink that often. I didn’t realize it would bother you.”

  “I didn’t either.” She squeezed the crystal in her other hand.

  Trav placed his hand over hers, caressing her skin. Her heart thudded rapidly and she shut her eyes.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No. Just stay like this with me for a moment?”

  “Of course.”

  7 ~ Detour ~

  November 23, 152—I’ve been walking with Trav for 17 days now. We’re camping outside a little town tonight at a highway stop. Going to go exploring tomorrow.

  “I think we can climb in through here.” Trav wrapped his cloak sleeve around his palm and pried several large glass shards from the doorframe. They tinkled on the ground among red plastic chunks from an askew cross sign above the door.

  He hunched over and stepped through the broken door panel and into the medical shop. Owl did the same, carefully avoiding the sparkling glass points still present in the frame.

  She blinked, eyes adjusting to the hazy, dusty light. Warped product boxes, smashed leaves, and glass covered the floor. She kicked through the boxes, trying to read the labels. Trav bent over a counter, picking up plastic pill bottles, shaking them, and tossing them aside.

  “You think there’s even anything good in here?” Owl squinted at a box on a shelf labeled: “Stomahesive Paste.”

  “Yeah, if we can find suture needles, tweezers, syringes—things that haven’t fallen apart after all this time. I have needles and tweezers already, but extra things we can always sell.” Trav tossed another pill bottle aside. “What was in these bottles is long gone.”

  Owl pawed at a different shelf’s boxes, glass crunching underfoot. Shadows moved in the alley across the street.

  “Trav…” She stepped behind the shelf, her eyes glued to the spot. The silhouettes moved again, then six people emerged, sunlight giving them form and color.

  Owl emitted a small squeak. Dented metal armor in various shades and shapes covered their bodies, and several of them sported helmets with bristly mohawks. Strange, welded-together weapons made of saw-blades, hooks, and other gristly implements hung from their hands. Blood stained their fronts.

  “Trav!”

  Trav stood up from the counter, squinting out the window. He donned his spectacles and his face fell. “Get over here!”

  Glass cracked as she stepped backward. The highwaymen stood in the street, laughing and making slicing gestures. Her heart beat so loudly she worried the gang would hear. She backpedaled slowly, p
raying the medical shop’s darkness would conceal her.

  Trav slid his arms around her waist and hauled her up, depositing her on the other side of the counter into a pile of pill bottles. He hopped over, crouching behind a broken register.

  “This is no good. If they come over here, they’ll still see us.” Owl peered through a hole in the counter. She couldn’t see much from here, but raucous laughter drifted from the street, then indistinct conversation.

  “They’re getting closer.” Trav screwed up his face, looking around. Still squatting, he ventured past a shelf, batting boxes and bottles away.

  “What are you doing?” She dared to peek above the counter then immediately regretted it. The bloody highwaymen stood right in front of the display window. One of the men swung his weapon into a postal box, smashing its side. She ducked her head.

  “Kids aren’t any fun to kill,” a voice protested. “They’re scared no matter what. That’s a given. Now grown men—especially ones that think they’re tough—you get them to show fear and that’s rewarding.”

  “Whatever. You can have the men. Just lemme have the women.” Someone chuckled.

  “Women are scared no matter what too. Talk about boring. Gimme a challenge.”

  Trav pulled at Owl’s cloak. She scooted backward, crawling through the litter, adrenaline shooting through her.

  “Okay, homo. You keep your men and their fear. More women and kids for us.” Laughter.

  Trav pointed to the floor. Square seams cut through the tile, and a small handle protruded from the top. He pulled on the trapdoor. It didn’t budge.

  A different voice said, “But women and kids can be the cause of the men’s fear. You threaten to kill them, that’s what really gets to the men.”

  “Why you gotta get all philosophical on us, Rat? I don’t like to think too much. I just wanna enjoy the moment of smashing in a person’s skull. Like today. The only thinking I did was deciding which side of my mace to use. …I used the hook, by the way.”

  “Yeah, and it made a real mess.”

  Glass shattered and Owl’s organs clenched.

  “You ever find ether in these places? Man, what a trip.”