“Arthur.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m a girl. Shoe shopping is not troublesome.”
He paused. “All right, then.” As he investigated the first pair of shoes, he added, “Did you find anything for yourself?”
“No shoes, but these are fine, anyway.” She tapped a heel on the ground. “I did grab some athletic shorts. It’ll be nice to have a spare”—she looked at Arthur sideways—”without a huge hole in the leg.”
Seating himself, he got out a weak laugh and took off a shoe.
Dalton raised an eyebrow at her.
“What, he didn’t tell you about our first encounter?” She grinned down at Arthur, whose forehead went red.
“Wh-why would I?” He loosened the laces of a new shoe with a bit too much vigor. “We met—that’s the only important part.”
Dalton smirked. “Dunno; I hear first impressions influence the rest of a relationship.”
As Arthur blanched, Charlotte giggled and leaned on the banister, unaware. “Your dork roommate shot me.”
Dalton snorted, turning to him. “Well, that’s not very nice.”
“There wasn’t much light, okay?” Arthur started, frowning as he tugged the shoe on. “And I, uh, had been under the impression there weren’t any humans left, so… Right.”
“I see.” Dalton stroked his chin, lips pursed.
Letting Arthur off the hook for now, Charlotte turned to him. “How’s that pair working for you?”
He got to his feet. “They’re working well, I suppose.” He bounced on his heels. “I’m, uh, not used to fresh footwear anymore, it seems.” He eyed the other boxes. “Any chance either of those is a bit less…”
She eyed the bright orange sneakers he was currently wearing. “Another pair is red, and the last one is black.”
“I’ll check out the black ones, then.” He sat and unlaced the eyesore pair, and she found the box of black shoes for him.
Setting it next to him, she started, “To match your new shirt better?”
“Eh?” He glanced at his chest, immediately regretting appearing so out of it as to forget his first real clothing change in months. “Um, yes, I suppose so.” He tugged the black shoes on. Tying the laces tightly, he stood and bounced on the balls of his feet.
“Well?” Charlotte crossed her arms.
“Er—” he looked at his feet “—they seem fine.” He looked at the near-setting sun and rubbed his elbow. “Yes, I’m done, then.”
“Great,” she replied, peeking at the last pair before shutting the lid again. She looked at Dalton. “You don’t need any new shoes, do you?”
“No, but thanks,” he replied, standing back up. Following Arthur’s unfocused gaze, he glanced at the reddening sun. “Are you going to shelter here for the night?”
Charlotte exhaled. “We might as well.” She glanced at Arthur, who fumbled with the straps of his backpack. “Only if it’s all right, though.”
Dalton said, “No, it’s no problem. I don’t use most of the bedrooms, so there’s definitely space for two. Do you want dinner first?”
“Definitely.” Thumbing her scabbard strap, she eyed Arthur. “In a shooting mood tonight?”
Arthur only opened his mouth before Dalton cut him off with a series of “ah ah ah”s. “No bueno, guys. If you’re staying at my place, you’re gonna eat my food, too.”
“Are you sure?” Charlotte caught a flicker of motion in the corner of her eye, but it was only trash blowing down the street. “I’d hate to cheat you out of a meal.”
Dalton shook his head. “No, it’s fine.” He looked at his roommate. “Arthur? You up for food now?”
Arthur managed to stop fidgeting by putting his hands in his pockets. “Of course. Let me know if I can help.”
“No, Rosalind will be enough help. Thanks, though.”
Arthur nodded as Dalton opened the door.
“Rosalind?” Charlotte started as they gathered their things and stepped inside.
Dalton glanced over his shoulder at her. “My baby sister. Well, nineteen-year-old sister.” He shrugged. “Once they’re so many years younger than you, they’re always babies, you know?”
“Oh, yes.” Smiling with a tinge of sadness, she realized he was leading her away from the stairwell. “Does she stay in the dorms, too?”
“Yeah, about a hallway away from me.” He glanced at the ceiling. “Gramps refuses to leave his house for here, but it’s not like we don’t check on him. And, uh, that’s everybody.”
Before she could respond, Dalton stopped at a door and unlocked it.
“Okay, try not to let any out,” he started, turning the handle. “Have some fun while Rosalind and I are cooking.”
Charlotte and Arthur exchanged a glance. Dalton opened the door enough to slip through and waved them in. They stepped inside, and Dalton shut the three of them in for the moment.
While the room was free of personal belongings, the small beds perched at its sides indicated it had, in a past life, been a bedroom. It had no human tenants at present; little space wasn’t occupied by cages. Most of its inhabitants were contained, but a few scampered over the floor and the tinted plastic tubes scatted over it.
With a squeal, Charlotte dropped to her knees to investigate the guinea pig nearest her.
“They don’t bite, do they?” she started, going nose-to-nose with a light brown one as it sniffed her.
“No, they shouldn’t.” Dalton sat and stroked a black guinea pig. “Can’t hurt to be careful, though. If nothing else, you’re a whole new sight to them.”
“Okay.” Sitting up, she scooped a guinea pig into her arms before glancing up at Arthur.
“What?” she started in a petulant voice. “Our macho man doesn’t think anything is cute?”
Arthur blinked. “I mean, I think you’re cute…” He coughed, adjusting his cargo so he could lie down. “Er, guinea pigs,” he coughed. “We’re talking about them! R-right!” He snatched the closest one and put it on his chest. “Um, nothing wrong with guinea pigs.”
Upon catching Charlotte stifling laughter and Dalton not, he thunked his head back against the ground. “I need to learn how words work sometime,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
With a grunt, Dalton got to his feet. “I’ll leave you with these for now.” He reached into a cage and tucked its residents between his arm and chest. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
He was out the door before Charlotte could completely register the chain of events. She proceeded to hug her squirming guinea pig tighter.
“We’re going to be eating these, aren’t we?” she whined.
Arthur shrugged, his shirt bunching up against the carpet. That didn’t seem to comfort her much, though, so he sighed. “Probably.”
With a disappointed “ohh,” Charlotte stroked the guinea pig in her arms. A few others were wandering through tubes, completely unaware of their eventual fates.
Arthur tried to figure out what to say, but his thoughts were interrupted by a guinea pig burrowing under his shirt. With a yelp, he sat up, sending the little thing tumbling off him as he hurried to pull the fabric back down.
Charlotte laughed, and his face reddened.
“Stupid thing.” He prodded the culprit away when it tried to walk back onto him.
Charlotte looked at him sideways. “I thought you said there was nothing wrong with guinea pigs.”
“Well, that was just my mouth running.” He lay back down, glancing at his supplies to make sure no one had gone beyond sniffing them out. “I’m, uh, more of a dog person myself.”
After a while, the speechless skittering of guinea pigs got the better of him, and he cleared his throat. “So, what kind of person are you? I mean, uh, pet-wise.” With a silent sigh, he rubbed his forehead. Words. He’d figure them out eventually.
“Hmm, if I had to choose…” She crossed her legs, watching a white guinea pig explore the outside of her shoe. “I guess I’d say I’m a cat person. It’s hard to resist anything ador
able, but—kittens.” She hugged her guinea pig with a grin.
“Ah.” He shifted his legs. “I feel like I should have known that.”
“Why?” Still petting her chosen guinea pig, she scooted next to him. “Do I act like a witch?”
“N-no!” Apparently not registering her smile, he buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just going to stop talking, forever.”
“Fft.” She patted him on the back before turning to watch one of the plumper guinea pigs try to squeeze through a blue tunnel. Once it had finished its endeavor, she turned to see Arthur in the same abashed position.
“You okay over there?” she started.
He opened his mouth but snapped it shut again and nodded.
She snorted. “Come on, you can’t be serious about your vow of silence.”
“It would be better for everyone involved,” he mumbled, rubbing his closed eyes.
“Better for who?” She folded her arms loosely. “Not me. I wouldn’t get to giggle at you.”
“Exactly.” He hunched his shoulders. “I don’t like looking like an idiot, especially not in front of you.”
“Oh?” She set her guinea pig on the carpet and lay on her stomach. “You mean you wouldn’t like—” she tilted his chin so his lips almost brushed hers “—this?”
Arthur may have passed out for a few microseconds but snapped to quickly. He could only stammer until Charlotte released him. Sure that all the heat rushing to his face was at the cost of his brain’s blood supply, he finally managed to eke out, “No, I, um, d-don’t.”
She sat back up with a shrug. “Okay, then.” With that, she located her guinea pig and proceeded to give it her attention.
Watching, Arthur rolled onto his side. The blood had yet to leave his cheeks, but at least she wouldn’t try that again. If she really kissed him, it would be because he had earned it.
Except that was utterly impossible.
“I-I mean,” he started, tugging at his collar, “it’s, um, it’s sort of okay, if you want. I act like an idiot no matter what happens, so I don’t, um, I mean…” He swallowed, turning to face the wall rather than see her reaction.
“Well, make up your mind, at least.” She grinned.
At that moment two distinct raps came from the door.
“Come in,” he cried too loudly.
She chuckled as Dalton opened the door.
“The meal’s almost ready, so I can lead you over there,” he said.
“Sounds good to me.” She released her guinea pig. In the dimming light, it blended in with the rest of its companions.
Arthur was already fumbling to get his quiver back on and pushing past Dalton to wait in the hallway. Stretching, Charlotte followed.
~*~
The cafeteria was approximately the same as Arthur remembered. Most of the facilities were stored elsewhere, but the floor was still its well-scuffed self. One long chain of tables, still speckled across the top, stretched across the center of the room. The same old chairs lined up at the long table’s sides, although in much more orderly a fashion than usual. He supposed there were no longer so many groups of chattering girls in short shorts all wanting to sit with their besties.
The overhead lights cast soft double shadows about the room. Arthur wondered if Dalton was using energy just for the occasion, or if there was enough to do this whenever the sun set. Either way, it was nice to have a place with enough light at this hour.
Dalton drummed his fingers on the table, watching one of the doors.
“Apparently she doesn’t want to come out right now.” He took a few steps back from the table. “I’ll go see if she needs a hand.”
“Have fun,” Arthur said as his roommate scuttled towards the kitchen.
Resting her hand on the back of a chair, Charlotte looked over the table. Textured plastic cups, a few with shallow cracks, stood empty at each spot. Four straightened sets of silverware framed shiny, white plates.
She wasn’t sure what was in store as far as the food went. A charred but sweet smell diffused through the wide room—as did the savory scent of meat, which she tried to ignore. Both were too faint for her to be certain, but these days, food was food. Something fancier than usual couldn’t hurt, though.
“You may now have an audience with the queen,” rang Dalton’s voice as the kitchen door swung with a soft whoosh. He held the door open for the young woman walking through and bowed as she passed. She ruffled his hair aggressively before sending him back into the kitchen.
“Hello, everyone,” she started, still approaching as the door shut behind her. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders in an orderly sheet, but she kept pushing her bangs to the side. Her clothes were plain but intact. From the way they hung on her small frame, Charlotte suspected she had gotten them recently from some other girl’s dorm room. Charlotte also suspected she wasn’t a blood relative of Dalton’s, as her face bore a stronger resemblance to his roommate’s.
“My name’s Rosalind.” She held out a hand. “If my brother told you to call me Frankie, ignore him.”
“Nice to meet you, Rosalind. I’m Charlotte,” she said, shaking.
“And yes,” Rosalind said, grinning at the look on Charlotte’s face, “I’m adopted.”
Charlotte laughed. “I figured one of you had to be.”
Rosalind turned to the other one present. “And you’re Arthur, right?”
“That is correct.” After a minute, he realized she intended to shake hands with him as well. He did his best to give a proper few shakes, but she seemed unimpressed.
“I think I saw you on move-in day,” Rosalind said, letting her hand drop to her hip. “You’re part Chinese, aren’t you?”
“Er, yes.” He wrung his hands, eyeing a flickering ceiling light. “Chinese, bit of Korean, all of it utterly overshadowed by the British side of my heritage.” He cleared his throat.
“Oh.” Rosalind nodded. “Well, I’m trying to put together a decent Chinese meal, although there won’t be many dishes. I—” Peering over his shoulder at the table, she stopped. “Excuse me a second, will you?”
No sooner had Charlotte nodded than Rosalind spun around, charging for the kitchen. “Dalton! What the heck did you do with the lazy Susan?”
Dalton popped his head into the room. “The what?”
“The—” Rosalind sighed loudly— “let me translate it for you—spinny table thingy!”
“Why do we need that?”
Rosalind seized the door handle and swung it open. “Because I said so! Fix this—I’ll finish the meal.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Dalton cleared the doorway before she could shove past him into the kitchen. He gave his guests an exaggerated “she’s going to have my head” look before disappearing behind her.
“She,” Charlotte surmised, “seems nice.”
“To us,” Arthur added, sitting on the edge of a chair.
She laughed. “She’s not required to be nice to her brother.”
He grunted a vague response as Dalton barged back into the room, arms stretched around a large circle of glass.
“Hey.” He hobbled over to the long table and brought the lazy Susan down onto it with a thud. The glass wobbled as he gave it a preliminary spin.
She chortled. “Hey.”
With a crash, the door to the kitchen swung open, and a dish-laden metal tray rolled through.
“Did you get it set up all right?” Rosalind called as she pushed the meal towards the table.
Dalton scoffed, arms akimbo. “Frankie, I can set one thing on top of another without getting confused.”
Pulling the cart to a creaking halt, Rosalind shrugged. “You make me wonder sometimes.”
Two clanks later, dishes shining with sauces were poised on the lazy Susan. The closest plate to Charlotte had small pieces of fried meat. Mixed in were strips of eggplant and several different green things she couldn’t identify. That didn’t put much of a damper on the smel
l, though, and it took a significant amount of willpower to wait as Rosalind poured their tea.
Arthur was twisting the butt of his fork in his napkin when the chef took the seat across from him.
“Hope you like the meal.” She set the teapot on an empty part of the lazy Susan.
“You, too,” Charlotte hummed, scooping out some food onto her plate. She didn’t fork a piece until the cook took a bite. After a brief examination, Charlotte bit down on it. Snow pea. A little rubbery, but covered in a tangy sauce and crisp nonetheless.
~*~
“Is it any good?”
Shoulders hunched under the blanket, Charlotte had continued chewing. “Yeah.”
She had been more concerned with the weak but warm fire in front of her. The bowl of food may have warmed her hands, but her face had to stay closer to the flames.
Between the nearness of the flicker and the dimness of the basement, she could only see a sliver of her brother’s side as he exhaled.
“Good.” He nudged her backward and gave the food one last good stir over the fire. “I didn’t think it had thawed out too much.”
Making a noncommittal sound, she thrust her fork blindly into the pan. She ended up with one of those miniature corn things. Usually she thought these were cute. She chewed this one up too quickly to worry about that.
A scrape grated her ears as Timothy took his first piece of the freezer stir-fry. An extra patch of warmth soaked into her shoulder as he placed his hand there.
“Feeling all right?”
She looked up at the ceiling. As if in response, some other creature clanged on the cellar door.
With a sigh, Timothy stayed silent. He gave her shoulder a squeeze before snagging another mouthful for himself.
She gnawed on a piece of freezer-burnt chicken. It was better than more crackers and canned tuna. She should have been celebrating. But the fire was dying, Timothy would have to go outside for more wood, and he wouldn’t let her cover him. So she’d just have to huddle up and pray that the only family she had left wasn’t going to get himself killed.
No—Blake could have made it this far without them. Their parents could still be out there somewhere. It had been months, but… Maybe, somehow…
Along the Winding Road Page 9
