Dean-Na and the Hairless Rose

by Robyn Fraser

  “Special today is a dozen plum-sauced chicken wings for three gold,” he said, pointing a lazy thumb over his shoulder toward the far side of the store. There was a table filled with square take-out type boxes on it. “Comes with fried potatoes.”

  Deanna forced a smile. He didn’t seem too concerned with her and clearly hadn’t recognized her as the girl on the poster. She made a decision.

  “Umm, water bottles?” she asked, trying to keep her voice as low as possible. It came out raspy.

  The cashier frowned. “Got a cold or something?”

  Deanna nodded and pointed to her throat. “Sore.”

  The cashier seemed to accept that and pointed down an aisle to the right. “End of Two.”

  Deanna nodded again, and after grabbing a basket near the door, made her way along the row, trying to hurry but unable to ignore the boxes and cans lining the shelves on each side of the aisle. ‘Chicken breast in apple sauce’; ‘chicken feet with carrots and gravy’; ‘breaded boneless chicken’; and on and on. It seemed as if almost everything in the store contained chicken. Which wouldn’t have fazed her a day and a half ago. In fact, she had put Rose out to thaw yesterday morning (Was it really only yesterday? It seemed eons ago) for the exact purpose of cooking her for dinner that night. She was glad that Rose was safely tucked into her pack and couldn’t see any of this, even though she knew her friend was fully aware of what people ate around these parts.

  At the very end of the aisle, she found bottles of water for sale and chose four of the largest ones, hoping it would be enough to get them to the Dehydrated Desert and beyond.

  Deanna headed back toward the cash register along Aisle One and was relieved to find a shelf stacked with something that both she and Rose could eat: Loaves of dense bread. She grabbed four of these and added them to her basket, which was now rather weighty. She wondered how she and Rose would be able to carry all this for so many miles. On the other hand, the farther they went, the lighter it would get as they ate and drank.

  Deanna continued along Aisle One, found jars of pale-colored ‘Concretaberry Jelly’ and added two to her stash. While heading back to the cashier, she came upon a display of army-green backpacks for sale on a table. She added one to her now over-full basket.

  “Should get yourself some chicken soup,” said the cashier, as Deanna placed all the items on the counter in front of him. “Good for sore throats.”

  “Got some at home,” she croaked, making her voice sound as sick as possible.

  The cashier nodded, punched the buttons on the register and placed her purchases in two plastic bags. “That’ll be twenty-two gold, five silver,” he said.

  From her damp jeans pocket, Deanna pulled out Mr. Poisson’s coins. Her heart spluttered and stalled. She had no idea how Concreta currency worked.

  Quickly, Deanna scanned the objects in her hand. There were several gold ones with the number ‘20’ etched in them, several with the number ‘5’ and a few ‘1’s. Some numbered silver coins completed the pile.

  Hoping she was right and that she hadn’t taken so long as to seem suspicious, Deanna dropped a gold ‘20’ and two gold ‘1’s onto the counter, then scanned the silver coins and found one with a ‘5’ on it. She added this to her payment.

  “Perfect,” said the cashier. “I was low on change.” He scooped up the money and deposited it in the register, then tore the receipt and added it to one of the bags. “Have a good day.”

  Deanna nodded, grabbed her bags, left the store, and began walking to the north end of town. The vice grip that had been squeezing her heart was letting up. She’d made it without being discovered. She could do this. She’d get past the town, then she and Rose could follow the shoreline to the Dehydrated Desert without having to pass through any other populated areas. It would be fine. In a few days she’d be in her old home of Magitoria and—

  “I said, stop NOW!” The harsh words shook Deanna from her thoughts. She froze for a moment, then slowly turned around. Striding toward her were two tall, burly men, both wearing grey and black uniforms. Gun holsters were attached by belts to the sides of their hips. Neither was smiling. ‘South-West Concreta Command Corps’ was written in red across their shirts.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” said the one on her left as they stopped just in front of her.

  Deanna shook her head.

  “Sir, we’re doing a spot check,” said the one on the right, his tone less nasty than his partner’s. He held out a paper. It was the reward poster that had been on the door of the market. The one with Deanna’s face on it. “Have you seen this girl around? She might be with Magitorian poultry.”

  Deanna shook her head. “N…no,” she said, trying to keep her voice low. Someone was sure to see through her disguise soon.

  “We just need to look through your bags,” he continued, pointing to the groceries and to her backpack. “Place them on the ground.”

  Oh dog, what should she do? Once they found Rose, they’d be sure to figure out who Deanna really was. And what would they do with her chicken friend? Should she run? But she was half their size and carrying heavy bags. She wouldn’t even make it down the block before they caught her.

  With dread, Deanna placed the plastic grocery bags on the road and then removed her pack. The two officers scanned briefly through the groceries. Seeing nothing they cared about, the one on the right moved on to the backpack and unzipped it. His eyes widened. Deanna’s heart stopped.

  “What is this?” he asked, pulling something Deanna hadn’t expected from the pack. It was a featherless, wingless chicken, its eyes closed, its head hanging limply.

  “Rose!” Deanna gasped, before she could stop herself.

  The officer on the left looked at her sharply. “What was that?”

  Deanna’s mind raced. “Froze,” she said, trying to put on her sick voice. “Thawing it in bag.” She pointed to her throat. “Sick. For chicken soup.” Was Rose dead? Maybe she couldn’t breathe after all in the bag. But what had happened to her wings and feathers?

  The officer on the right nodded. “Chicken soup is the best thing for a cold. Or chicken wings, but they seem to be missing from this hefty beast.” He laughed and stuffed Rose back into the pack. “Well, if you see anyone who looks like this,” he showed Deanna the poster of herself again, “let Concreta Command Corps know.”

  Deanna nodded, barely able to believe her disguise had worked, but overwhelmed by what had become of Rose.

  The officers walked on. She stood there for a few moments, unable to move, and watched as they crossed the street and stopped another person on the other side, showing the poster and rummaging through the woman’s bag.

  Eventually Deanna got herself together enough to pick up her things and continue on, trying, unsuccessfully, to stem the tears of grief over her dead friend.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hensurrection

  The town ended abruptly two blocks north, the paved main road curving inland, the occasional side road leading off to scattered grey factory buildings in the east.

  Deanna headed west, back toward the shoreline. She was in a daze—not quite able to believe Rose was dead. She tried to focus on getting away from the town and the people and doing the one thing she knew she had to do: follow the shoreline to the Dehydrated Desert and beyond.

  The sun came out as Deanna reached the barren, rocky shore. The yellow ball of light was overhead, but to the east; where she now knew the sun would be setting several hours on.

  There was no one around, so Deanna sat down on a large rock, placed the backpack and grocery bags in front of her, and with much dread and renewed tears, unzipped the top of the pack where her dead friend lay.

  “Well, that was a close one, wasn’t it?” said Rose, sitting up and staring with wide, very much alive, eyes at Deanna.

  Deanna jumped. “You…you’re alive!”

  Rose furrowed her featherless brow. “Oh! You didn’t think I was…oh bumblepoop! I’m so sorry, D.” She hopped ou
t of the bag, stumbling due to the lack of wings for balance. “When I heard them stop you and demand to look through your things, the only thing I could think of was to play dead. Thankfully, it worked.”

  Deanna let that sink in. “But what about your feathers? And your wings? They’re gone again.”

  Rose nodded and sat on a small rock facing Deanna, her clawed feet digging into the rocky beach. “I think it’s because we’re in Concreta. It takes the magic and imagination of a place for me to be whole again. That’s why my wings and feathers grew back and stayed intact in the Juggernaut Jungle and Slightly Silly Sea. And why they didn’t back in Mundaland.”

  The chicken shook her head. “There was a time when I would have been fine in Concreta too, but I guess all magic and imagination are gone from this realm, thanks to Mr. Sactual.” She shrugged her wing stumps. “It’s sad, but on the other hand, if those officers had found me with my feathers and wings intact, they would have realized I’m from Magitoria and then, even with your wonderful disguise, they might have figured out who you are. Or at least harassed you over why you had a Magitorian in your pack.” She peeked into the backpack. “And thankfully, since my feathers are now made from magic, they’ve completely disappeared in this non-magic void.”

  “Will your wings and feathers grow back once we’re in Magitoria?”

  Rose nodded. “Yes. In fact, once we exit the boundaries of Concreta, which is west of the Dehydrated Desert, and head into the Riddled Ridge, I should be fine.” She stared down at her naked self. “I’m fine now, as a matter of fact, except that I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you carry any supplies until I have wings again.”

  “That’s okay. I’m just glad you’re not dead.” Deanna rummaged through the two grocery bags. “I bought another backpack for the bread and water—I can wear one pack on my front and one on my back. It’ll be fine.” Deanna wasn’t actually so sure about that—it was going to be heavy—but she didn’t want Rose to feel guilty for not being able to help.

  “So what now?” she asked. “Do we just follow the shore?”

  Rose nodded. “Yup. With any luck we won’t run into anyone else. Of course, it’s going to take us about two days to reach the desert and another one or two to cross it, so we’ll have to find places to sleep along the way.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize it’d be quite that long.” Deanna cringed inwardly at those time-frames; even though Hercules had said something about several days, she’d thought that, being a water-dweller, maybe he didn’t really know land distance and it would actually be a much shorter time. It didn’t look that far on the map. But Deanna had to admit that she’d never been much good at reading maps and estimating times and distances. She wondered if the water and bread would be enough.

  “At least that long,” said Rose. “That’s if we keep a good pace, walk past sunset and start out before sunrise each morning.” She stood up. “So I’m going to suggest we get going right now.”

  Deanna nodded. “Just let me repack all this stuff.”

  Once that was done, the chicken and human headed north, the lake to their left, the concrete factories and roads of Concreta to their right.

  They traveled through the afternoon and into the early evening, stopping occasionally to have a drink of water or something to eat—the Swiss Army Knife coming in handy to slice the bread and smear jam on it. It definitely wasn’t an easy trek for Deanna—her shoulders and back ached from the extra weight of two bulging backpacks—but she didn’t complain even once.

  “There’s a tree farm about another hour north of here,” said Rose during one of their rest stops. She pointed with her beak to a small green square on the map that Deanna had laid out on the ground, and then glanced at the eastern horizon. The sky was a pinkish-purple hue, the sun no longer visible. “We’ll be walking in the dark for a bit. That contraption of yours doesn’t have a flashlight, does it?”

  Deanna had the Swiss Army Knife in her hand. “No, but I do have one.” She rummaged through her pack, pulled out the light and pressed the ‘on’ button. A significantly decent beam of light spread out from it.

  “Perfect,” said Rose. “You’re so well prepared for anything, D.”

  Deanna flushed at the compliment.

  They made it to the edge of the tree farm a little over an hour later. Using the flashlight, they found a place amongst the symmetrically planted trees to bed down for the night, the companions gathering whatever fallen leaves and weeds they could to lie on.

  With the sun gone, the air had grown cool. Thankfully, Deanna’s soaked clothes had dried through the day, but Rose was shivering.

  “You’re cold,” said Deanna.

  “No, no, I’m fine. Just missing my feathers a bit, you know. It’s one thing to be featherless in a freezer when you’re dead, but I’m not used to being naked when I’m alive.” There was a rustling sound as Rose tried to gather more leaves around her.

  “I have a sweatshirt,” said Deanna, sitting up and rummaging through her pack. “You can wear it.”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine, really—”

  “I insist.” Deanna held the hoodie out to Rose.

  “Oh…well, in that case.” There was a pause while Deanna waited for her friend to grab the sweatshirt. “Umm, maybe you can just wrap it around me, D? No wings, remember?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry.” Deanna wrapped Rose snuggly, looping the hoodie twice around the chicken’s torso, leaving just her head exposed.

  “Warmer already. Thanks. Now, I think I’m ready for a deep, deep sleep. I have to admit, I’m exhausted.”

  “Me too. I hardly slept at all last night with those Mignons talking the whole time.”

  “We set out at first light,” said Rose with a yawn. “Good night.”

  “Night, Rose.” But the chicken was already snoring. Or at least doing what Deanna assumed was the chicken-version of that breathy noise—it was more like a rolling chirp.

  Deanna settled into her mound of leaves and shut her eyes, rubbing her upper lip and chin where she’d removed the mustache and goatee for the night. The leftover glue was making her skin a bit itchy. To be honest, she missed having it on.

  It had been an incredible and overwhelming two days, but even so, Deanna’s fatigue took over, and before she could really start to mull over everything that had happened to her, or fret over all the trials that were sure to come, she fell asleep.

  She woke suddenly. The sun was just breaking the western horizon and a feeling of dread was filling her chest. Deanna glanced over at Rose—she was still asleep, still chirping. Deanna sat up and looked around. The tree farm was a mass of shadows, but there was nothing out of the ordinary that she could see.

  “Rose, wake up,” whispered Deanna. The chicken didn’t budge. A little louder: “Rose. Wake. Up.” She wasn’t even sure why she was worried about keeping her voice low. There was no one around.

  “Rose!”

  “Huh? Wha—” Rose startled out of her sleep.

  “Morning,” said Deanna. “Sun’s up. We should eat something and get going.” She decided not to mention the anxious feeling that was still lurking.

  “Right you are,” said Rose, shaking her head and sitting up. “I’m hungry. You mind cutting me a slice of bread, D? And helping me with the wat—”

  “Well, well, well, what have we here?” The voice came from somewhere to their right. Deanna swung her head sharply in that direction. About fifty feet away, a teenager in a ragged flannel shirt and ripped jeans stepped out from behind a tree trunk and started toward them. He was carrying something that looked like a big stick.

  More noises from other directions. Deanna got to her knees and looked around. At least half a dozen scruffy-looking kids were surrounding them. The group closed in, creating a circle so that Rose and Deanna had no chance of escape. The chicken jumped up and stood in front of Deanna. Then she tripped over the sweatshirt that was still wrapped around her and fell to the ground.

  “Who are you?” said
Rose. She was trying to sound tough, but her voice quivered and her awkward position did nothing to add to the effect. “What do you want?”

  The group was only feet away now. All wore grim expressions. All held large, weapon-like objects in their hands.

  “We,” said the one who had spoken a moment ago, “are your worst enemy. We are your darkest nightmare; the ruin of your existence as you know it. We,” he gestured in a circle to the group, “are the V.E.G.A.N.S.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Where Deanna Dies

  (It’s getting really serious now)

  “The Vegans?” asked Deanna. The word was vaguely familiar to her—something about weird eating, she thought, but she didn’t really know. Whatever they were, there were eight of them, all teenagers. “What’s that?”

  The boy who seemed like he might be a leader answered. “Not vegans, whatever that means. I very clearly said V.E.G.A.N.S., which stands for the Very Emphatic Group Against Nincompoop Sactual, of course.”

  Deanna shrugged.

  The boy frowned. “You must have heard of us? The glue-gunning of the South-East Concreta munitions factory? The suspended steering of two of the Royal Concreta war ships? The rocky roadblock through the Riddled Ridge? We’ve been in all the papers.”

  Deanna shook her head. “No, sorry, I’m not from here.” It did sound impressive, though. And rather anti-Sactual.

  The girl nearest the boy, who looked similar in age, stepped closer to Deanna and stared hard at her. “You look familiar.”

  Deanna realized that she wasn’t wearing her disguise. And that it was too late to put it on now. And that the sun was very quickly lighting up the tree farm. And her face.

  “Yes!” shouted the girl suddenly. She turned to the boy. “This is the one from the wanted posters. There’s a reward for her.” She glanced back at Deanna and scanned her up and down. “Or, sorry, do you prefer ‘them’ to her?”

  Deanna’s intestines wriggled at the word and she was certain her eyes had dilated to the size of golf balls. Someone else saw in her what she was wondering about herself. How?