by Burgy, P. J.
She felt bad brushing by Tommy Reed, mostly because she didn’t have anything to say to him. Kara glanced at him, saw that he had seen her, and turned to keep walking. Tommy Reed took a few quick steps away from the crowd, his legs long and his strides covering a lot of ground.
He blocked her path a few feet from the chattering fort folk, standing in her way and studying her face. His big, brown, puppy dog eyes looked tired. He hadn’t shaved recently, nor had he bathed by the smell of him. He was a tall, lanky man with wide shoulders, in great physical shape save for his middle, which seemed to have expanded ever so slightly since he’d stepped down from running two years back. He still dressed like a runner, in the camouflage and long-sleeved shirts all year round, his long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail that hung to the middle of his back.
When he spoke, he was all teeth. Like a horse. It was a wonder that he could close his lips. Tommy Reed had a natural snarl, harmless but strange to see on his otherwise passive face. “Kara.”
“Tommy. Hey.”
“Any news on Frankie?” he asked.
“No, Tommy. I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “Oh. Okay.”
“You know I’ll tell you, the instant I find out anything, right, Tommy?” She watched as Tommy Reed nodded again and stepped back. She was grateful for the fact that he didn’t hound her anymore, like he used to. But yet, it wasn’t any better that he just accepted her answer. “I will.”
Tommy shrugged. “Yeah. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“You should be careful out there too.” He eyed her face.
She tried to smile. “Yeah, I will be.”
Tommy’s gaze traveled away from her. He looked out over the crowds of people, and he might as well been looking over fields of grass or through a forest of dense trees. “Yeah. Good. Have a good day. Safe paths, Runner.”
“Safe paths,” she echoed.
He turned away, moved along, lacking purpose in his pace. His gait was awkward, but Kara had seen the man run, and he was an agile creature, faster than her, faster than most Wailers. His brother had been the exact same. Frankie Reed, his double in every way, the other half of the infamous Reed twins. The two fastest Runners in the fort chain. She had found herself with very big shoes to fill when one went missing and the other stepped down from grief. And it was grief that had crippled Tommy Reed. She watched him wander off toward the spoke he resided on, far toward the end of the square, and saw him pass by another set of familiar faces.
Young, pretty, fair haired Brooke with her sky-blue eyes and pale skin. Broderick Tate, built like a brick shed, brown hair and beard, tan skin, his eyes blue like the lake water. And then, Brooke’s little son Aiden, only three, pale like his mother, but dark haired and blessed with intense, jade green eyes. Kara looked at the little boy and saw the way he smiled at his mother with Gencho’s lips, and her heart hurt. Brooke smiled to Kara, waved, and Kara waved back.
Brooke would be coming over to talk to her now, Kara was sure of that. And, a few seconds later, after picking Aiden up and saying something to Tate, the little family approached Kara as a unit and Brooke bounced Aiden in Kara’s direction.
“Kara, how was Pleasant Tree? That’s where you ran to, right?” Brooke asked. Aiden was tugging on his mother’s collar, distracted. Brooke had seen Kara’s injuries by the look of her expression. Her smile faded.
“Yeah,” Kara answered, hands in her pockets as she swayed in front of Brooke. “It was good, it was good. You know. It’s a nice place.”
“How are you?” Brooke studied Kara’s face.
“I made it. That’s what matters.” Kara shrugged.
“Shit,” Tate said. He had seen her face too.
“Bad word, Daddy,” Aiden scolded him from his mother’s arms.
“Bad word, yes.” Brooke shot Tate a look before bringing her attention back to Kara. “I bet it was beautiful there. I want to see it someday. The farms.”
“They build on solid land. That has to be nice. Living in a house on grass,” Tate commented. “If we ever aimed to move, Fort Pleasant Tree would be it. I can farm.”
“Ricky, you can’t even grow a flower in a pot, baby.” Brooke smiled, shaking her head at him. He smiled sheepishly back at her and Brooke bounced Aiden softly on her hip. “Aiden, can you say hello to Kara?”
“Kara. Ouch.” Aiden touched his face.
Kara lowered her head, trying to hide what she could.
“I’m okay, buddy,” Kara said. “How you doing, little man?”
“I saw a bird.” Aiden shifted in his mother's arms.
“Yes, Aiden, we saw some birds flying today, didn’t we?” Brooke was smiling. She looked so happy, so warm and full of life. Kara’s heart hurt again as she watched Aiden reach for Tate, holding his little arms out and saying ‘Dad’. The monolith of a man took the boy, scooping him up easily, as if the toddler were merely a doll stuffed with feathers. Brooke continued, “Aiden was asking what it was like outside the walls, and we saw the birds flying. He asked if he could fly too, over the walls. I told him Kara would know, and she would tell us all about it, being outside, out there.”
“I never seen it,” Aiden said to Kara.
“Well, your mommy and daddy have. And I have too,” Kara said. The boy’s eyes burned into hers, staring like only a child could. He held his little arms out again, this time downward, toward Kara. “Oh, no, buddy. I’m sorry.”
“Kara,” Aiden said, wriggling.
“Kara had a long run back home, Aiden,” Brooke told her son, who was still struggling in Tate’s arms. “She can tell us all about the other side of the wall later tonight, right, Kara? Did you want to come by and visit us later?”
Kara searched for the right words. “Maybe tomorrow, Brooke.”
“Oh. You’ll probably be eating dinner with your family tonight, I think,” Brooke said and Kara nodded. The fair-haired girl rubbed Tate’s back as she continued talking. “But tomorrow night, if you want to stop by, we’re up pretty late, well into the red lights. Assuming it’s a quiet night again, it’ll be nice to have some company and play a board game, maybe talk a bit.”
“I’m no good at board games. That’s why she’s inviting you,” Tate stated, making a face as Aiden tugged on his beard.
“I’m just saying, it’s nice to have a little feminine company sometimes. Kara, I’m stuck in a little hut with two boys. I’m sure you can empathize.” Brooke smirked and then glanced away.
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying. And I’ll be around tomorrow, I’m sure,” Kara said to her. “I don’t have any assignments yet. Free as a bird.”
“The birds all flew that way.” Aiden suddenly pointed toward the sky, toward the east.
“That’s right, they did,” Brooke said to the boy.
Kara took another look at the toddler. He smiled at her, showing off his tiny baby teeth.
“Kara? Did you see the birds?” Aiden asked.
“Maybe. Maybe I am one.” She looked over both of her own shoulders, turning around and then blinking at the little boy. “Do I have wings? Hm? Birds have wings.”
Aiden laughed. “No. You are not a bird.”
“Maybe I am a goose,” Kara stated.
“No. The goose can’t fly,” Aiden said. “They cut their wings. Chop.”
Aiden held his hand out, fingers held tight together, and made a chopping motion. Then, he made some pretty awful squawking noises and shook his little head back and forth.
“Do you want to go play with the geese, honey?” Brooke asked Aiden and he nodded enthusiastically. “Ricky, can you head down toward the east shore? I’ll be right behind you.”
“Mommy?” Aiden asked.
“I’ll be right behind you, sweetie.” Brooke waved at her son as he was carried away in the large and powerful arms of Broderick Tate, waiting until the two were both about ten or so feet away before turning to look at Kara. “Kara, are you okay?”
“Been asked that
a lot today. I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.” Kara shook her head, hands up, palms out. “I’m just tired. Been a rough day or so.”
Brooke hesitated. “You saw Gencho today…”
“Yeah, your boyfriend there did him in good,” Kara said, tilting her head in Tate’s direction. “Look, I don’t want to get into it. I don’t belong in the middle.”
“I know, I don’t want to do that to you,” Brooke told her. “I let it go. Ricky let it go. Aiden never has to know. But Gencho… Kara, he’s intentionally instigating fights with Ricky. I don’t want to see your brother sent out of Blue Lagoon for a third strike. That’s the only reason Ricky didn’t report it the way it went. I know you don’t want to be in the middle, but please, please, try to talk to him.”
“All right. How did it go?” Kara exhaled, covering her eyes with her hand. “Because Gencho looks like someone stomped on his face pretty good, and Tate looks fine to me.”
Brooke frowned, looking down. “Gencho didn’t swing at Ricky. He started a fight with Brock, because Ricky was set on ignoring him. So Ricky, well, Ricky hit him to get him off his brother. Gencho didn’t stay down, and swung at Ricky, so, he hit him again. Ricky and Brock took him out to main lane, and he started getting loud. It was getting close to curfew so Renshen had to come down and get him to leave. It was bad. Ricky told them that Gencho fell on his face after starting an argument, but, I think Renshen knows what happened. No one wants to see your brother fort kicked.”
“Dammit.” Kara rubbed the side of her neck, feeling the ache in her muscles.
“Maybe you can do something, say something.” Brooke touched Kara’s upper arm, getting closer to her. She blinked those large, blue eyes and sighed. “I feel like he’ll listen to you. I’ve never seen him this bad. He says he hates me, Kara. Hates me. I’m not the one who ended it, you know that.”
Kara straightened up, her eyes tracing over the hanging wires of lights strung between the metal roofs above them. “I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do.”
“Thank you. I still care about him, Kara,” Brooke said.
“I know you do,” Kara said, and placed her hand over Brooke’s, fingers interweaving over her upper arm. They exchanged warm smiles and then hugged. “It’ll be okay.”
“I saw you talking to Tommy Reed. Nothing on his brother yet, I guess.” Brooke said as they parted from their brief embrace. She looked concerned to Kara.
“No.” Kara shook her head.
“I can’t imagine it, losing someone that way.” Brooke took hold of her own upper arm. “Not knowing what happened. I can’t imagine it. It’s got to be scary.”
“It’s been two years. Frankie is dead,” Kara stated.
“Well, yeah, he’s dead, for sure.” Brooke shrugged. “But I think it’d be better to see a body. Makes it easier to move on. Burn a pyre and say a prayer, find some peace any way you can.”
“If he was eaten by Wailers, there won’t be much of a body to burn,” Kara muttered. She saw that Brooke had stiffened and so, covering her face again, Kara cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I say dumb things. I know it’s sad, and it’s awful. But it’s the Runners risk, you know? One day, if you’re too slow, or you trip up, or you choose the wrong path, it’s all over. But at least you died running.”
“I’m not sure that makes it any better,” Brooke said, “He was your mentor, wasn't he?”
“Ah, yeah. Sort of. Went on a few runs with him is all.”
“You and Frankie, you were close, before-”
“Yeah.”
“And you did look for him, I remember...”
Kara cut her off. “I'm really tired, Brooke. I'm sorry.”
“Why don’t you get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Brooke said.
“Yeah. Sounds good.” Kara gave her another hug, and Brooke walked off in the direction of the docks, to cross and eventually make her way to the east shore, to feed geese and play with her son, to laugh with Broderick Tate and be happy, smiling and glowing bright.
Kara frowned and made her way through the square, aiming for a cart manned by a very disgruntled looking middle-aged man. The word ‘LIQUOR’ was painted on the front of his mobile stand, and Kara soon found herself talking to him.
The communal eating area was on the island, right across from the square, on the block in the very middle. It was sectioned off and identified by the food stands, with tarps and tents above, hanging lights, rows and rows of picnic tables, benches, and various stations dedicated to grilling, frying, or boiling. Wisely, there was metal grating and sheathing near the cooking areas. Wood and fire were kept separate. The whole area smelled of spices and cooking fish. Citizens of Blue Lagoon milled about, played board games at tables, or talked among themselves while sitting around with their friends and family, children on hips or sitting bored beside their parents.
The common area was not a place for rowdy behavior, the children being allowed to play in their own little space, partitioned off by fencing where they could climb on the playset that had been built especially for them. The welding was familiar to Kara, as it was Renshen’s style. Dens and huts, two to three story metal or wooden homes, surrounded the common area, accessible from the wooden boardwalks branching out from the center block.
She had been drinking alone for an hour or so now. She smelled pipe smoke, saw the older men sitting at the far corner tables in the block. She knew them. She knew everyone there. Not everyone would wave to her, but she knew them well enough to call their name should she need their attention. It was still early evening, well before sound curfew, so a few of the musicians were practicing their art in another corner, making noise while they still could for the day. Kara had to admit that Barklay Jackson, the olive-skinned young man with the wooden guitar, sounded the best out of the group. She heard him laughing and joking with the other two, a man and a woman. Jackson reached out to the other fellow, Herman Lamont, and was handed a fiddle, or whatever Kara had heard it called once. They were sharing their instruments, playing around with the sounds. Herman was an older man, white haired and dark-skinned. Like Renshen, he had seen the world before this one. He sung stories about those days.
Jackson saw Kara looking over and waved at her, calling over and declaring a need for more string next time she made a run to Little Greenland. She waved back, nodding, agreeing to his request. The woman was Maryanne, and she had a pan flute. She looked over at Kara with her big, brown eyes. She reminded Kara of a woodland creature, like a deer, with her long face and wide set eyes. Mostly she just made noise on that flute of hers, but Kara thought she was getting incrementally better each time she heard her play.
Kara herself was sitting at a table farthest from where the food was being cooked. Some people were eating, some had finished. Dinner was served for an entire three hour window and leftovers were picked at voraciously, even if they were dried out and overcooked by the time the scavengers and more antisocial citizens of Blue Lagoon crept out of their dens. It was still early, so the crowd hadn’t gathered yet. The citizens in charge of cooking were talking among themselves, leaving their stations only briefly. Kara enjoyed her drink, something strong and smooth, and she took a sip from the stubby glass as she looked over the faces she had grown to know so well.
As was his way, Renshen was the first to arrive, and he spotted Kara quickly, making his way over and having a seat directly across from her. “It’s been a while since we all sat down and had a dinner together, Yusha. It’s good.”
“We’re not all here yet, Dad,” Kara stated. She glanced around the block.
“Oh, Tengen’ll be here,” Renshen said, but then smirked ever so slightly in that odd, stone-faced way that she knew meant anything but amusement. “But, you’re not talkin’ ‘bout him, are you?”
“What’s changed? He wasn’t like this the last time I stopped in,” she said.
“Last time you stopped in? Yusha, you’re a ghost.” Renshen told her, tilting his head, his hands folding on t
he table. “You were back and forth ‘tween here and Pleasant Tree the last week, but ‘fore that, you didn’t step foot in Blue Lagoon for near a month. Runnin’ ‘tween the other three forts, not even callin’ in when I know you spent the night. We all got radios, Yusha. You know our channel and our hailin’ code. No ‘scuses.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“The last time you stepped in, what did you two do anyway? Have a few drinks?” Renshen asked. “You came and went. Gencho’s been all screwed up the last few years. You couldn’a missed that. Not ‘less you tried to.”
“I don’t want to fight about it.”
“Not startin’ a fight, Yusha Senshi. Just statin’ the facts,” he said said, his smile lacking any mirth, and then turned around on the bench. He raised a hand up, signaling, his index finger held out and up. He was signaling to Troy, as he always did. Renshen only drank one thing at dinner, the apple wine that Troy and his wife were so famous for.
When Troy came over and gave Renshen a big glass, their exchange was terse but friendly. Troy walked off after being thanked and Renshen turned back around again before he took a drink, looking over the rim of the glass at Kara. He set the glass down on the table, nearly a third of its contents missing. “Your brother’s been circlin’ the bowl for a long time now. He’s the fort drunk. I’m tired of fightin’ for ‘im. When he can’t fix anythin’ anymore, when he can’t help build, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep ‘em from tossing ‘im. Hell, he lost a finger last year. Clumsy bastard.”
“If I spoke to Brooke, maybe got him some time with Aiden-” Kara began.
“It ain’t just the kid.” Renshen stared into her eyes. “Somethin’ started falling apart in that boy longer back than that, and he sure as hell won’t tell me what happened. He won’t tell Tengen. Judgin’ by your face, he ain’t told you either.”
