Thorn doesn’t obey, but comes scrambling after me, still clutching my cloak. So be it. He’ll have to witness my shameful acts.
I saunter over to the man, seeing up close that he’s at least a tiny bit younger than Stiles. But still, his face is a craterland of pocks and burn marks from working in the sun. A scarf around his neck must’ve been white once, but now, is smeared with brown sweat streaks.
“What brings you out?” He studies me, and then my small brother. A knife gleams from his side holster. I’m sure he has to deal with all kinds of shady folk coming to rob him—or eat him—under the shroud of night.
Raising my mask, I force my mouth into an alluring grin. “I came out for air and—”
“Air out here, eh? It’s bad tonight—dangerous carbon dioxide reading. You like breathing fumes?”
I swallow my disgust and add, “That and … some fun.”
“Fun, ha!” The man grins back. So, I’ve amused him. Good. “Aren’t you cult people all supposed to be at your Founding Ceremony tonight?”
Cult, that word again. For a second, this catches me off-guard. He’s not a member of our Fireseed group, so how would he know what night the ceremony is? But I can’t look unnerved. I widen my smile. “It ended a little early.” I wink. “Men, you know.” With this I let out a girlish giggle. As if I know all about men and what they do.
I can improvise, if they’re anything like Stiles.
“Missy, you look pretty sweet yourself,” the depot man says. “You sure you weren’t in that ceremony—one of them special full moon girls?”
I shudder. Too accurate a guess for comfort. Thorn is hanging behind me, using my cloak as cover. I need to get out of here. Fast, and I need my brother to go too.
“If you give us a lift,” I start, “I’ll give you something too.”
“Oh?” His eyes move over me the way Stiles’ did, clearly taking in everything he can see and imagining the rest. “Well, now,” he says, “where would you want to go on a night like this?”
My mind is foggy from fear. I warn myself to think fast. Returning is not an option. “How about taking me and my brother west?” I suggest.
“Where west, Missy?”
“Anywhere west, the further, the better.”
“You don’t care where? What kind of crazy is that?” he asks. “There’s nothing much from here to hell except for miles of Skull’s Wrath Desert. What say we take a short spin to uh, get acquainted and … leave your brother right here? I’ll feed him a real nice treat. Depot Man has the goods.” He chuckles. “Meat? Sugared Fireagar? Kids like treats, right kid?”
My mouth is watering at the mention of food, and probably Thorn’s too. But Thorn’s mask is down and he’s scowling at the guy. He knows better. I give Thorn a warning look to keep his feelings buttoned up and raise the mask. We walk to the depot where I see shelves and shelves of goods. The guy must be fat from skimming the food allotments.
I can play a hard bargain. I’m used to smiling and flirting with the elders to get extra helpings of cake or avoid a lecture when I score a C on a test. I’m also used to swerving around a groping hand. I touch Depot Man’s plump arm. “I like adventures. Skull’s Wrath sounds exciting! Why not take my brother along? Feed him in your vehicle. He’s quiet. He won’t, um … interfere.” These words have their price. I’ll need an extra dose of Oblivion Powder tonight to drown out a new set of repulsive memories.
“Okay, Missy, okay. But I don’t know how far I can carry you. I can only leave the depot for so long before—”
“Take us to the next settlement?” I have no idea where the next one is, or even if there is one down here at all.
He doesn’t answer, but hurries to shut the depot’s heavy corrugated screens and lock them with padlocks. Then he loads us in. Larger than our glider, this one is crafted from old plane parts and other machine bits I can’t identify. It’s messy inside, with food wrappers and a jumble of wrinkled, grease-dotted clothes. All I care about now is that it has wings and flies.
Thorn settles into the backseat with a generous hunk of something that actually looks and smells like meat. I’ve only had meat a couple of times this year, and my stomach screams for it. Thorn hands me a chunk of it between the two seats.
Chewing deliriously, I gaze out in wonder at the sights—tall stone formations and cracked earth, dunes that rise and fall the way I imagine ocean waves must. I saw a photograph once. That’s how it looked but blue, the bluest ever. I wonder if there still is an ocean, and if so, if it’s still as blue. I wonder if I’ll ever find out. It would be such a beautiful living dream.