Vagabond

by Brewer, J. D.

  Xavi frowned. “We still could have taken them to trade.” He glanced down at the spit and began to shake it off. The old man was quick to use the distraction to his advantage, and he reached out for the strap on my shoulder. His fingers were rough, as if they’d never been soft, when he grasped the strap and began to yank.

  Xavi was between us before he could finish. “Don’t push it, or you’ll get nothing.” With Xavi between me and Roderigo, his height became brutally obvious. He was a towering mass, and he said, without saying, that even age and experience would not be enough to take him on.

  Roderigo backed away and reached for his pocket, but Xavi grabbed the knife the old man was going for in a movement so quick, it didn’t register at first. He pressed the lever to unleash the blade, butterfly quick. “We don’t want trouble. We liked Randolf, and he taught us some Ways.”

  Ways. The survival skills of Vagabonds— the secrets and shortcuts that were gifts more valuable than food on the Tracks. Randolf gave us more than Ways though. He gave us friendship, and I missed him.

  Xavi kept moving past those memories though, and focused on Roderigo. “We will give you his tent and your blade back, but the girl keeps the pack. The tent will be her gift to you, and it’s generous. Had you not left Randolf, then all of it would have been yours, but you left him. He told us about you— what you did. And, for the record, he didn’t hold what happened against you.”

  “Girly. You got ditched!” Roderigo laughed. The ice in the tone put me on alert, and my back ached in the rigidity fear put there. Xavi was my protection against men like him. Xavi was gone.

  “No. Going to meet him later at the 12th.”

  “The 12th?”

  “Yes.”

  “On the wrong line? You sure about that?”

  The lie was quick and not thought out. The 12th Colony was in the opposite direction. “Not for long,” I backtracked. “Got a little sidetracked. There was some Militia inspections a bit back, and I had to redirect. Then I ran into this guy.” I thumbed in the flea’s direction. At least his persistence in following turned into something useful, and it reminded Roderigo I wasn’t alone.

  The old man took in the boy’s body. He wasn’t as tall as Xavi, but he was just as thick. He didn’t look like someone to mess with. “I wish I could believe you, but I saw Xavi with the blonde just yesterday.”

  The information pricked my eyes as if ants were nibbling at the pupils, but I held the tears back. “A boy’s got to sew his oats somehow.” I didn’t even know what the phrase meant, but it seemed to fit. Flippant. Carefree. Two things I needed to embody if I was going to get through the next few minutes, and my attempt made Roderigo laugh in a way that sounded salty and gargled.

  “You’ve never forked? I don’t believe you!” Celeste’s eyes were saucer-wide, dark orbs. They matched her brown dreads that fell in cascades of knots and dirt down her slender back. A bandana, blue on red, was tied to her neck, and, as we approached the tunnel, she pulled it up over her nose. It reminded me to do the same. Xavi called it a skank when he tied the red and purple bandana around my neck that first summer. He told me it’d help me breathe when the fumes of the train got trapped in a long tunnel. Celeste’s movements were so habitual, and I wondered if I’d ever absentmindedly remember to put mine on.

  Our voices only muffled slightly as we kept talking. Darkness fell over us, and the stagnant wind had a dirty taste that was fresh on the tongue. “I mean, I haven’t— I—“

  “Wait. You’re kidding. You? Xavi? Nothing? That’s rich. Just. Rich!” I’d seen the way she watched him— the way she drank in his every movement. Xavi got that a lot from girls, and even some guys.

  He never tried to kiss me again. After Randolf, the wall grew taller. He acted like there was right and wrong when it came to me, and, without even consulting me, he decided that kissing me would be wrong. As the year grew bulbous, and I grew my Track legs, I had this conversation more times than not. Girls would eye me jealously, discover I wasn’t competition, then become my friend. I took it. I figured if Xavi didn’t want me, then making Track acquaintances wouldn’t hurt.

  “But you share the tent every night.”

  “Spooning. Nothing else. He’s my best friend. That’s all.” And that was the truth of it. I had to accept it as such and live with it.

  She winked. “Well, then. Mind if I give it a shot?”

  The answer was always, “Go for it,” by that point. Xavi never took their bait, so I never worried. It became a sick game, in many ways, wondering if he’d ever leave me alone in the tent— if he’d ever go with another girl?

  “Don’t worry, puppet. A boy’s got to sew his oats somehow.”

  The flea-boy, at least, was keeping his trap shut. He stepped up near me, and it surprised me that he possessed Xavi’s trick— the one where his height dwarfed mine. “I guess a girl has to sew her oats too. Who’s this?”

  “P—“ the boy began.

  “Flea,” I interrupted and glared at him. So much for him keeping quiet.

  The boy’s face hardened at the name. I’d have to explain I’d saved him later. We didn’t want Roderigo to have any more information than he already did, especially about the boy who blew up the train. Flea’s scowl made his soft skin turn to stone, and his angry appearance only helped our situation. If he’d kept up that wide-eyed crap with his too bright eyes, then Roderigo would have seen there was something more to him. So much about the boy had been bothering me. Next to Roderigo’s wrinkled skin and frayed gray hair, the perfection of his genetics screamed out volumes, but when his eyebrows narrowed, Flea looked Track-tough… hard.

  “I see Randolf’s pack is serving you well?”

  “His gift has been honored.” I pulled the phrase out from a distant memory of Track-conversation.

  Roderigo clicked his tongue against his teeth, “The Girl learns fast.”

  The Girl. Names held so much more out on the Tracks. Real ones were only given if someone cared enough to share them, but when people neglect to exchange formalities, other names are tacked on instead. I’ve become many things to many people, and I can tell my ranking on the scale of endearment by the tenderness or blandness of a nickname. The Girl. I was merely a cockroach to Roderigo, but he was something more to me. He was an unpleasant memory, and the fact that I knew his name shifted all the power of fear over to him.

  I forced myself to concentrate on Roderigo repositioning his stance and not the ice running through my veins. “You’ll have to excuse me, but this boxcar is taken. I don’t much care to share, if you get my drift.” He wasn’t going to forgive and forget, and he began to close the space between us.

  Flea stepped slightly in front of me, and the protective act would have surprised me if Roderigo hadn’t been a bad dream coming back to life. I cleared my throat. “We’ll tuck and roll then—“

  “No need to be a jerk,” Flea interrupted. “Looks like there’s plenty of room here.” His voice lost all pretense of the confused, lost Colony-kid. He actually sounded authoritative, and it made Roderigo really reconsider him. Flea’s tone was as perfectly stitched as his jacket, and his meaning was as rich as the shoes he wore. Roderigo calculated every inch of Flea’s worth, and a smile grew on his face.

  “Girl. Interesting company you started to keep. Don’t fool yourself though. This creature isn’t an upgrade.” Roderigo squared up his shoulders.

  I tapped Flea on his shoulder, and shook my head when he glanced at me. I wanted him to connect the dots, that he was about to sign his own death warrant. Roderigo was aware of the boy’s Colony status, and he didn’t look forgiving about it. I was so busy trying to get the idiot boy to see this that I didn’t see the other shape coming out of the shadows of the crates piled along the walls. I didn’t see the hands that pulled at my pack and made me lose my balance. I didn’t see who it was that pushed me back through the door. Whoever it was didn’t get the pack, but I lost my footing so fast I was unable to prepare for the jump or br
eak my fall. I landed on top of my pack with a thump and hit my head on the gravel. The train meandered past me, leaving me behind.

  Roderigo wasn’t alone, but I couldn’t think about that shock. I hurt so badly I could only cough, and I squeezed my eyes shut like the action could squeeze out the pain. This fall only reiterated the one I’d had the night before, and my entire body screamed. My vision went in and out of black and bright, but I knew I had to get up. Who knew if they’d risk losing the ride they’d caught to come after me or my pack?

  I rolled over and pushed myself up, but dizziness did not help the standing up part. I looked along the train and saw that no one was jumping off to follow me. I sighed with relief. No one was—

  Flea?

  “Flea!” I screamed and ran along the train. Fear ate up all the dizziness I was feeling. The boy was an idiot, but he didn’t deserve what Roderigo had in store for him.

  “You’re bat-crap-crazy!” I screamed. I couldn’t leave the crouch I was in, but Celeste stood with her arms out in a T.

  “Nonsense! Just pay attention to your stance!” She yelled. “Keep your knees slightly bent and move with the train.” The wind whipped her knotted strands in a thousand different, heavy directions behind her. She stood without fear on the top of the boxcar to hug the wind and tried to coax me into copying.

  “Xavi won’t think this is smart.”

  “Bleh. Who cares? He’s sleeping through all the fun anyways.” She turned so she was facing me, and the wind tore her hair in front of her face. “Do it! Stand!”

  I tried to push my body up, but my knees wouldn’t obey. The train was picking up speed, and I didn’t really have the balance figured out yet. She gave up on watching me, and sat down so we were face to face instead.

  “Niko, you’re a hoot, you know that? I’m glad you hopped onto my boxcar.”

  “Your boxcar?” I laughed, and she reached over to ruffle my tangled hair.

  “You should always be careful when getting into a boxcar. You never know who’ll be in it. Sometimes Vagabonds. Sometimes Militia. And sometimes Vagabonds who don’t want much to do with you.”

  I frowned. “What happens then?”

  “Oh. You know. They’ll push without any qualms… The sad thing is, we’ve all lost someone because of that one. There’s no honor among some Vagabonds. Most are pretty decent, but…” Her eyes skimmed the fields that stretched under a blue-blue sky. It took on her sadness as she remembered, and I took on her sadness as I remembered my own people.

  But her frown disappeared just as quickly as it came, and she started laughing again. “Let’s grow those Track legs of yours, puppet. You’ll be surfing these boxtops in no time.” She stood back up and held her balance the same way she held her breath. Slender fingers reached out to help me stand, and I grabbed them nervously.

  I pulled myself back onto the train. I wanted to scale the boxcars, but, with the exception of the ladders, everything else was too smooth. There were no handholds to get back to the boxcar I’d just been pushed out of. I climbed to the top, and planted my feet on the flat roof. The train wasn’t going nearly as fast as it could have been, so the wind barely combed through my hair. I got my bearings and caught my balance before I began to run. The gap between the boxcars was only about five feet, and, with a running start, I made the jump easily. Before I reached the next car, I saw a lump being thrown from about fifteen cars up. This lump got up and ran in my direction. It only meant one thing. The boy was dead, and I’d be next if I didn’t get off the train. I jumped for the ladder and swung myself down. My feet slipped on a rung, but I caught myself before I lost my balance completely. I had to hurry. Roderigo could drag me down and push me under the wheels if I didn’t get off and get a running start. All possibilities flew through my mind. All but the one that was actually happening.

  “Run!” Flea yelled just as I leapt to the gravel. I landed on my feet and stumbled, and I took a deep breath of relief at the voice. By the momentum of the train going towards him and him running towards me, I was nearly even with him when I landed. We left the train behind us and darted into the woods. The running was hindered by fallen logs, but at least it was day time and we could see. That also meant they could too.

  “What happened?” I gasped as I pumped my legs faster and faster.

  “I knocked the man out.”

  “You what?”

  “Fought them off. Punched the guy. He was slumped over when I jumped. The girl was trying to slap him awake. They wanted my jacket.”

  I stopped running. There was a girl. That’s who pushed me from the shadows of the car. She wouldn’t come after us alone if Roderigo was knocked out, and that meant, by the time Roderigo came to, they’d be a distance away. But knocked out? Who was this kid?

  Then I saw the pack on his back— the pack that had not been there before. “You stole it?”

  “They tried to steal from me,” he reminded me.

  I glared. “Yes. And there are too many rules you don’t know about for you to play cowboy. A pack is not something they’ll just let slide. They’ll be back for it. Next time, don’t butt in. Let me talk, and when I say tuck and roll… Tuck. And. Roll. You idiot.”

  The boy’s nostrils flared. “I wasn’t playing cowboy.”

  “Really? Really? That’s the sentence you’re hanging onto? You could have gotten us both killed back there!” I shoved him on his shoulders with both of my hands, hitting him with each sentence. I wanted it all to sink in. I wanted him to know he didn’t know anything.

  It only made Flea laugh as he stumbled back. “You came back for me,” he taunted.

  “I shouldn’t have.” I grabbed the strap of his pack and yanked it off him.

  “But you did. I think I’m growing on you. I think—“

  “Shut. It.” I unzipped the pack to take inventory. A bit of clothing. A half-full water bladder. A full canteen. Tobacco in a round canister. Peanut butter and jerky. Whiskey—two bottles— more whiskey than food. A water purifier. A jetpack-mini stove/lighter. A sleeping bag. There was a pouch with money, and I pocketed that. The tent was gone. I wondered if he’d traded it for the whiskey.

  I came across some documents. They were folded into a small square with a stamp that said Prometheus in the middle. I was about to unfold them when Flea interrupted.

  “Pretty awesome, huh?”

  “Awesome? They may have left us be if you hadn’t taken the pack. Are you really that dense?” This kid was really crawling under my skin. I shuffled the things back into their correct place, forgetting to open the documents in my frustration. “We should keep trekking. We may run into trouble— after all, you sure do tend to get me into a lot of it.”

  “I’m sor—“

  “Sorries are worth nothing out here.”

  “I’m sorr—“

  “Now you need to stick with me for a bit in case they come back. I’m not the most intimidating on my own.”

  He laughed and rubbed his jaw. “I wouldn’t say that Knuckles.”

  “Knuckles?”

  “Flea?”

  “Okay.” It was better than him knowing my real name in case he got caught one day.

  Flea put on the pack and tightened the straps. He did it fluidly, like he’d done it a million times before.

  We stayed in the forest, far enough from the tracks to remain out of sight, but near enough to reach a train if we heard one. Hours passed and so did silence. It slid off us like comfort and solidarity, and before long, our already shortened day turned to dusk, and dusk ushered in night. It was a different kind of night than the one before, because clouds littered the sky and blotched out the stars and moon. It was too dark to stay in the trees, so we continued on the tracks since the planks were easier to judge with our feet than haphazard roots. I wasn’t ready to quit for the day. I wanted to cover as much ground as possible to put distance between myself and the many scenes of Flea’s crimes.

  “Favorite color?” Xavi asked.

  “
Snap-pea.”

  “That’s a color? What happened to plain ol’ green?”

  “There’s so much more to green than the plain ol’ kind. I used to grow snap-peas in the nursery for experiments—“ I caught myself too late. I hated thinking of the past. “It has just the right shades of green. Not too dark. Not too bright. Just light enough. You?”

  “Red-brown.”

  “Like that makes sense either. Like rust?”

  He stopped with his big boot landing on the small plank in front of him. It engulfed it— dwarfed it. “I like rust. It’s the color of your hair you know, like it can’t decide what color it wants to be. Be kinder to rust, rust-head.” He reached out and tugged a few strands of hair escaping my beanie cap and laughed. I swiped at his hand, and searched for the compliment he may have layered in there. It was hard to find. “So, you studied in a lab, huh?”

  My jaw clinched.

  “It seems to fit. I could see it now. Niko, president of the Genetic Engineering Guild.”

  I hated the way he mocked me, and I hated how he picked up on the one dream I’d ever had. “What’s wrong with that, huh? I made some amazing discover—”

  “You must have had something to prove if you slaved away in a lab as a kid. What’s wrong with your genes?“

  “Nothing’s wrong with my genetics! I was going to be paired with someone named Par—“ I caught myself this time, before I said more than I could take back. Thinking of before made me think of what would never be. Plus, his question hit a different nerve, because, for the longest time, I thought I was a genetic anomaly. I’d been flagged, and my parents weren’t permitted to have another child. We went to doctor after doctor, but no one could find mutation risks in my genome. So we waited, and I grew up, but not taller. I grew out, but not upward. I figured that was the reason I’d never be paired. I must have had a hidden mutation, and I learned to accept it. Then one day, we got the notice and things changed.