by Talis Jones
“Well you should’ve kept ‘em anyway. Better something than nothing,” he chastises me gruffly.
“Not my choice,” I snap.
“Well then what happened to ‘em?”
“Smashed under a boot.”
“Who’s boot?”
I lift my chin defiantly. “Doesn’t matter.”
“No, I don’t suppose it does,” he agrees somberly. His gaze looks to the horizon for a silent minute then returns to my face. “Kid…”
“What?” I ask finally, but he just shakes his head. Shrugging I turn back to the map still resting on my lap looking up when a shadow blocks the light. “What?” I ask again.
Another deep rumbling sigh leaves his chest. “Come on, Vizsla. Let’s go,” he says softly.
I fold the map carefully, then stand up and square my shoulders. “You don’t call me that.”
“What?”
Injecting force into my words I repeat, “You don’t call me that.”
Confusion twists his face. “It’s your name—”
“It is not my name,” I interrupt with salt on my tongue. “Vizsla is a dog. When I arrived at the homestead they had a dog named Tally. She was a Vizsla and she was blind. They shot her and gave me the name to make a point of where I stood on the totem pole. But I’m not there anymore relying on them for survival so you don’t get to call me that. Give me a new name if you want but I won’t answer to that one anymore.”
“How dare he?” he purrs dangerously, anger sizzling with each quiet word.
I nod, just a sharp short bob of my head. “He did but you don’t.”
Connors bows his head for a moment before looking me in the eye, head tilted to the side. “What’s your birth name?”
The memory wheezes with dust and the sound catches in my throat but it all dies before it can slip through my lips. I'm not her anymore. Not for a very long time.
“Is there a name you'd like to be called?” he offers softly.
My eyes scour the dirt beneath my boots then stretch to the horizon seeking an answer. Who am I?
He takes my silence in stride then bobs his head understanding. “Then for now I’m just gonna call ya Kid.”
I grin. “Sounds good Old Man.”
“Call me that and you’ll be walking the rest of the way.”
I smile. “Fine, you salty cucumber. I’ll call you Connors.”
“I don’t find being called a pickle an insult. Pickles are the crown of foods,” he retorts.
I walk over to one of the bags and heft it up into my arms. “Yeah, okay. Weirdo,” I mutter under my breath.
“I heard that.”
CHAPTER 15
Connors hums an old tune and Horse’s feet plod slowly along the road creating a steady beat, my hips sway with Horse’s shifting footing and their music calls up that crisp colored light. It feels warm, bold, comforting, a smell of polished wood teases my nostrils, but when I push further the memory slips away.
Days have breezed past leaving my body exhausted and aching from the journey. I lean around Connors’ large frame to glimpse the road before us just as his deep voice croons out the last wavering hum of melody. “Are we stopping there?” My eyes fix on the long shadows of a town popping up not so far away on the horizon.
“Yep,” he nods. “Gonna get you a horse and things.”
“You got money hidden in one of these bags?” Jokingly I start patting them down.
Reaching back he swats my hands away. “Hey now, you promised no robbing me blind. I gotta pawn a couple things first but it’ll be enough.”
“Ooo so you’ve got treasure in these bags then.”
“Not anymore I don’t,” he grumbles. “Just a few shiny trinkets I picked up as souvenirs from my last stop and a kid who knows how to wind me up.”
I choke on a laugh, torn between disbelief and applause. “You stole from Hans?” I notice the set of Connors’ jaw as he fidgets uncomfortably. “What about Sanctuary’s rules, the Commandments and all that, eh?”
“We’re not there yet,” he dismisses. “Besides, if Jesus hadn’t come then we’d be living back on the “eye for an eye” rules so really that Mister Hans got off blessed considering what he allowed in his own home.”
Biting back a grin I merely nod. “Mhm, okay Connors.”
He strikes up another tune that rumbles in his chest and it carries us into town. In the distance I can see a few houses and even further away some small dots that must be scattered homesteads and the like. Everyone pitching their home within reach of a town but not so close as to risk the trouble that might ride through.
This town is small, dusty, and pale as the earth with the angry sun high above. We pass a large ornate sign but it’s so faded and raw all I can make out is that we’re somewhere in Kentucky. Hairs on the back of my neck begin standing one by one as unease settles in my gut. Too quiet, this town is too quiet. Despite my prickling fear threatening to rise up and grip my throat Connors moves with his usual calm ease. I pull my dress’ sleeve down my arm, hiding the tattoos there.
Is this what all towns are like now? Nothing but ghosts and dried hopes? Thinking on it I realize I haven’t been in a town since Hans took me home and we passed through the one by his homestead. But it was deep night so I saw little but shapes hidden in shadows to hide their bare bones and withering faces.
Connors nudges me and I reluctantly slide off Horse, almost flinching when my feet strike the cracked ground sending up a cloud of dust into the eerie silence. He swings down beside me and ties Horse’s lead to a telephone pole full of splinters and pits while I survey the buildings around us. The windows are so smeared with dirt I can hardly tell if the shadows moving belong to people inside or the shifting of light playing with my eyes.
“What are we here for, besides a horse?” I ask, my tone hushed.
To my great horror Connors responds in his usual booming voice, not at all trying to soften his bold baritone. Once more I almost jump from surprise or maybe fright but I tamp that need down deep. “You need clothes and we both need a bath. I also realize that you might need certain feminine supplies.” Gratefully he did lower his voice for that last part.
I glance down at my worn attire and can’t help but agree. This dress has lived past its last days and now that I’ll be traversing the country a dress just isn’t practical. “Lead the way,” I offer, gesturing to the very abandoned town around us.
Connors sets off towards a small building with a wooden sign that says General Store. Stepping inside brings me close to shock. Instead of broken glass or the scramblings of a long ago panic I see polished white floor tiles, blue painted walls, and a dozen or so shelves stocked with an impressive variety of products.
“Go pick what ya need,” he smiles then walks over to a small checkout counter where a middle-aged woman with a square jaw and gray streaks in her brown hair sits, arms folded and wary frown set.
Pacing up and down a few aisles I pass by camping equipment, gardening tools, candy, shaving cream, and finally a selection of clothes. I don’t know what size I’d fit so I grab a pair of pants that look about right and slip them on. They just fit, so I choose a size up to buy instead with the promise of adding some more weight to my bones. I pick a black tank top and a package of underwear then my hand freezes over the long-sleeved button-downs. My fingers itch for a plaid plum but my eyes can’t tear themselves away from the plain red one, a dark red the color of cold blood.
I snatch the purple and rush down a different aisle. Just clothes and yet it’d made me freeze. I’d had to deal with the blood of Kody’s kills but for whatever reason that stupid shirt shot fear and memory through my veins. Almost without thinking I snatch a happy red bandana from a box and wrap it around my wrist, tying it tight with my teeth.
What else did Connors tell me to get? Ah, right… I eye a box of tampons but ignore it for a clump of hair-ties then dash up to Connors and the owner. Smacking my purchases down on the counter I hold up my sad limp d
ress. “Do you got a trash can I can use?”
While Connors picked up a few things of his own I found out from the store lady that this town happened to have an actual doctor. Not just someone with a good idea of what to do but someone with a bona fide degree. I’d left the store right then shouting over my shoulder that I’d be back later. Connors had shouted something back but he didn’t finish before the door swung shut behind me. He didn’t drag me back though.
My feet stop in front of a tall brick building, I can tell it used to be nice. Finding courage from my determination I push inside finding dusty carpet and cracked leather chairs lined up against a wall. I walk toward the desk with silence even on my breath but my boot crunches on a piece of overlooked glass and someone stirs.
Waiting with baited breath I question my decision to come here a thousand and one times but despite my fear I can’t seem to make a break for the door. “Hello?” my mouth calls hesitantly. I say my mouth because it sure wasn’t me.
A shadow bobs down the hall to the left of the desk and sweat drips from my palms. Literally drips. I’ve always had a problem with sweaty hands, particularly when afraid. My breath loosens at the sight of a woman, maybe in her late forties, with short blonde hair and clear gray eyes. She smiles and I seem to be as big a relief to her as she is to me.
“Can I help you?” she asks. Her accent surprises me. Russian maybe?
“You’re the doctor?” I swallow down my fear and take a step forwards.
“Yes,” she smiles again. I’ve seen a lot of smiles but hers don’t make me run away. Instead I find my feet taking another step in her direction.
“Can you help me with something?” I bite my lip worried that she’ll say no. Or maybe I’ll be relieved. I’m not sure. I’m not sure. I’m not—
“Of course.” She beckons me to follow and I do. My feet follow her path down the dusty white hall and into a small room. The filth of the entry had me extremely unsteady but the startling cleanliness of this room restores my faith to the brim.
Propped up on the exam table she begins doing a routine check: reflexes, glands, pupils, throat, spine, etc. I watch the seriousness that has overtaken her bright eyes and mashed her smile into a focused line. Vaguely I wonder if she’s missed this, her work. “So am I alive?” I joke.
She takes off her gloves and assesses me carefully. “Surprisingly good health considering your history,” she answers with a slight nod towards my left arm. “A bit dehydrated and underfed but otherwise quite fine. You’re a very lovely girl, a shame about your scars though.”
My hand flies up to my cheek where I know it shows acne scars that match the other cheek, both pitted and hated. The scar through my right eyebrow came from a rock back in the Corral that some idiot threw at me when Hero was standing nearby. He might have had a good heart but he wasn’t one to turn the other cheek. When it came to friends he reverted to the “eye for an eye” rule except he often tweaked it to “two black eyes and a broken nose for a cut to my friend’s eyebrow.”
My fingers glide over the gently pitted texture of my skin. “The ugly ones get taken out and the pretty ones get taken under. It’s safer to walk that fine line and remain pleasant but utterly unremarkable to gaze at.”
She holds my heavy stare for a moment before looking away and tossing her gloves in the trash. “Well, you might not have perfect runway model skin but you clearly haven’t spent enough time in front of a mirror if you think you’re not still beautiful.”
I say nothing but wait for her to turn back around. When she faces me I open my mouth to speak but she beats me to it. “I’m guessing that for a girl in such good health, you came here with something specific in mind.”
My jaw snaps shut with a sharp click of my teeth. Brain spitting out a million arguments for both sides of my choice. “There are some things I can’t control about my life but there are some things that I can. I can scar my face, I can refuse to stoke the fire, I can choose if life enters or leaves this world…and I need your help to make a change because it’s my choice. I don’t want to be forced to choose death so I want to take away the option of life.”
The doctor says nothing but she stares at me very long and very deep.
“Now before you start telling me the reasons not to I’m gonna tell ya that I already know. But this is a different world from the one where those reasons worked. This is a world of chaos and an angry sun that makes angry people do angry things. I didn’t suddenly decide, I’ve pondered it since—for a long time but you’re the first doctor I’ve met and I’m asking for your help.”
Suddenly her stare becomes too heavy and I drop my eyes unable to watch the thoughts churning within them. Scrutinizing my clasped hands with their dirty nails determinedly I wait for a response.
“I will help you, but I’m sad to do so. I’m sad that this world has thrown you down a path full of weeds that choke you and thorns that take from you. I’m sorry that you couldn’t have grown up in the world that I did. I’m sad, but I understand and I will help.”
I lift my eyes and meet hers, still filled with cold professionalism but with warmth crackling within. My back straightens and I smile with a shrug. “It was never on my to-do list anyway.”
Hours have passed and I know that Connors must be worried sick, although he never came barging in to find me. I move slowly but was too determined to find him to stay and rest any longer. As the drugs fade from my system I begin to regret this decision. Maybe Connors could’ve waited a bit longer.
“Kid!”
I whip my head around and see Connors exiting a building that lets out a faint waft of food smells as its door flies open. “I told ya I’d be back,” I smile. But my smile must not have been as convincing as I’d hoped because he runs right up to me and catches me before the earth smacks my face.
“If that doctor lady hadn’t calmed me down I would’ve lost it, seeing you lying there unconscious,” he says, sliding a hand down over his mouth as his eyes revisit the memory.
I frown, unsure why he’d care so much about a kid he’s only just met. Then again I know I’d be awfully hurt if I’d woken up to find him gone.
“Why’d ya need that doctor, kid?” he asks, concern dripping with every word. The store lady must’ve told him I was asking about a doctor. “You should’ve told me if you were sick.”
“Not sick,” I tell him. “Just planning ahead.” His arm sweeps up my legs so that I’m cradled in his arms and I feel his chest vibrate with a question but my mind is too tired to respond. Sleep sweeps through me and I drift off with only one more precaution on my list.
CHAPTER 16
“Wake up, kid,” an urgent voice pokes me. I scrunch up my face and turn over. “Come on, kid. Time to get up. Anymore beauty sleep and you’ll kill every man in a fifty-mile radius.”
“No,” I snap sleepily. At once memories flood my brain and I jolt straight up. “Wait, what?”
“Gotta go, kid,” Connors orders.
“How long was I out?” I wonder.
A small snort of disbelief tinges his words, “An inconveniently long time. That doctor lady gave me some pills to give you but boy they laid you out flat. The world could’ve ended again and you’d probably still be dead as a log and happy as a baby.”
Darkness surrounds us but I can’t make out anything distinct. “Give me my glasses,” I growl, although the sharp tone is sabotaged by a mighty yawn. Cold metal is shoved into my palm and I place it on my face. My eyes blink and blink but I still can’t see more than vague outlines. “Where are we?”
“Camped a little ways from the town,” he explains, fingers quickly snatching my blanket and shoving it into a bag. “Now let’s go.”
“Go where?” I ask a bit exasperated.
“To get you a horse.”
I force my weary bones to hop onto Horse behind him and we take off swift but silent in the night. An ache whimpers low below my belly but I grit my teeth and focus on the stars.
“Found a man
with a horse to sell, a good horse,” he starts to explain. “Problem is that I know this man and he doesn’t like me much.”
“So?”
“So he won’t sell her to me.” The moon gives off little light but I can still make out the annoyance chiseled into his face.
“Great, so the only horse available is owned by your grudge-holding nemesis.” Connors lets out a sort of scoff but says nothing. “We could always just find another horse at the next town, ya know.”
“Nah, the next town not crawling with Rangers will be miles and miles from here and you should have your own horse. Don’t lie and say sharing a saddle is comfy.” He hesitates like he’s about to say more then shuts his mouth with a snap.
“And?” I ask, drawing out the word teasingly.
“And there’s an added satisfaction to taking this particular horse from its particular owner,” he replies lightly.
Laughing softly I ask, “So how’re we gonna get it?”
A house appears before us but we head to the barn set a little ways off. Leaving Horse outside with me in the saddle I watch Connors sneak into the barn. Although little more than shifting shadows I see him pet a creature gently then begin hoisting a saddle onto its back and a silver bit into its mouth. A light flickers on in the house and I whistle a warning to Connors.
“Hey! You there! What are you doing on my property?”
Eyes wide with panic I watch a man running towards us but it’s not until he’s within range that I notice the steel gun in his hand. Connors rushes towards me and when he sees the owner with a gun his hand reaches for his own but changes his mind.
“Get out of here, kid!” he yells at me as he unhooks a shotgun from a makeshift harness hanging from Horse's saddle.
“What? I’m not gonna just—”
Connors cuts off my protests of solidarity. “I have to finish gearing up the horse, now get!” With that he slaps Horse’s rump setting him off with a whinny of protest.
