“We don’t have enough gas to go anywhere,” Brayson sighed. “But I promise we won’t be a problem.”
“Of course, you’re stuck here.” The woman let out an exasperated huff as she looked to the sky. “Get them some gas, will you Roger? You kids pack up your gear and follow me back to the village.” Roger pulled a gas tank from the back of his ATV and walked over to fill the truck.
“Thank you for the gas,” I said, standing firmly where I was. “But we will be okay up here. I can give you some cans of beans in exchange for the fuel.”
The woman laughed. “I’m not taking your food and I’m not asking. You two will come down to the village. We’ll put you to work in exchange for teaching you some skills. If you choose to leave after that’s up to you, but your blood won’t be on my hands then.”
Brayson turned to me with pleading eyes. I reluctantly nodded and dragged my feet as we both moved to load up our belongings. The other ATV riders left, and the woman waited by her bike until we put the last box in the back.
“What are your names?” she asked before we got into the truck.
“Fawn and Brayson. What’s yours?”
“Juniper.” She looked down at my long sleeve. “Show me your trackers.” I bit my lip and avoided her gaze. “That’s what I thought. Don’t tell anyone in my village. I don’t want them scared that you might be bringing trouble.”
“Thank you for doing this,” Brayson said.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Juniper laughed as she put on her helmet.
Chapter 4
∞
The road leading down the other side of the mountain was eroded and hard to travel in the truck. The grated dirt road Juniper turned onto was much smoother than the broken asphalt. Through the dust she kicked up from her bike, we saw rows of rusted trailers with tarps and tents extending out from their sides.
Barefoot, dirty children ran into the yards and waved as we passed by. A few older boys chased the truck with a stick until a woman wearing a faded yellow apron and waving a threatening spoon called them back inside.
“It’s so alive,” I gasped as I turned to wave at the kids through our back window.
“I don’t know if you can call this living,” Brayson said. “It looks like a hard life. There is nothing here. It’s all desert. Why don’t they move up to the mountain?”
Past the trailers was a small town boasting a handful of rundown business structures. Juniper dropped her kickstand in front of a decaying building with the word “HOTEL” stamped on the front. She walked inside without waiting for us. We stood awkwardly on the sidewalk, leaning against the truck.
“Here,” she said after she came out a few minutes later and placed a key in my hand. “There’s a town meeting tonight at the courthouse down the street. Be there at six.”
“How can we pay you?” Brayson asked. I slid my arm behind my back, suddenly very aware that we didn’t have currency to live in the real world. Juniper noticed the movement.
“Don’t worry about that. We don’t use credits here. You’ll work for what you get.” She fixed the helmet onto her head and jumped back on her bike.
*
Inside the dusty old hotel lobby sat an ancient woman with deep wrinkles creasing her face.
“Welcome,” she smiled with missing teeth. “I’m Mrs. Shaw. Your room is just up the stairs. Dinner is normally at six, but with the meeting tonight I’ll have it ready by five. Come on down to the kitchen once you’ve unpacked.”
We lugged our boxes up the single flight of stairs. The room was wallpapered in fading orange and brown strips. There was a simple burgundy sofa in the main sitting area and a small table with chairs that sat below a window overlooking the main street. A single bed, dresser, and nightstand were tucked away in the side room behind French doors.
“This isn’t that bad,” I said while kicking the entrance door closed behind me.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Brayson dropped his stack of boxes in the corner.
“That’s not fair.” I reached for the door handle. “I’ll go ask Mrs. Shaw if we can get a second room.”
“Leave it Fawn.” Brayson sat on the sofa and closed his eyes. “I don’t know how much debt we are already racking up. Until they tell us how we are supposed to pay it back, I don’t want to add any more.”
The scent of cooking food wafted up the stairs. My stomach rumbled. It’d been a few days since we’d eaten anything that smelled that good. I pulled Brayson down the stairs and into the kitchen.
A large table set for five took up half the room. Mrs. Shaw carried over a plate stacked high with brown crinkled rocks and placed it on the table. A man about the same ancient age as Mrs. Shaw carried over a steaming tray of meat from the oven.
“Smells delicious sweetheart.” Mr. Shaw grinned at his wife and she swatted him with a dishcloth.
“Go fetch Olie and tell her dinner is ready,” she instructed him.
Oleen was a freckled little girl about twelve years old. I can’t believe that’s how young I was the first time I was sent to the realm. She came running in from the back alley when Mr. Shaw called her name.
Brayson and I stood transfixed watching the homely scene. This didn’t exist in the world we grew up in and I felt like an intruder to their happiness.
“Come eat.” Mrs. Shaw pushed us toward the table. We took our seats quietly and waited for the tray of meat to get passed around. When Mr. Shaw and Oleen grabbed the brown rocks, I eyed them skeptically. Oleen cut open one of them with a fork and smeared a yellow cream over the steaming inside.
I didn’t want to seem rude, so I grabbed a rock for my plate. It wasn’t as firm as I imagined it would be and it was hot enough to burn my fingers. I copied what Oleen had done with the yellow spread. After it melted into the white fluffy inside, I scooped out a tentative bite.
“It’s like potatoes,” I exclaimed, and instantly covered my mouth.
“It is potatoes.” Mr. Shaw raised an eyebrow at me. Brayson quickly handed over the meat dish and I spooned some onto my plate.
“What kind of meat is this?” Brayson asked as he took another bite.
“Venison and gravy.” Mrs. Shaw held her fork midair as she studied us. “Where are you two from?”
I swallowed my spoonful of meat. It was different than the canned meat. Richer, less salty, almost pungent. “The city. Down south.”
The Shaws muttered a simultaneous “ah” and continued to eat their food. After dinner, I helped Mrs. Shaw clear away the dishes.
“Where do you get real potatoes?” I couldn’t help but ask. “We can sometimes find the boxed kind, but I’ve never seen real ones before.”
Mrs. Shaw looked at me like I had two heads. “The box kind is just a dehydration of the real kind, but Fallon grows potatoes and sells them at his market.”
“Oh,” I nodded, hoping to brush off my ignorance.
“Where are your parents, girl?” Mrs. Shaw crossed her skinny arms over her chest.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I’m an orphan. So is Brayson. So is pretty much everyone I know.”