Wasteland

Leona woke early the next morning. Faint light of dawn peaked up over the horizon, affording just enough light to the room for her eyes to see. For a few seconds she did not know where she was. Memory after restful sleep brought on by exhaustion was a slippery thing to recall. She felt the heat of a body next to her. The snores of a man rumbled softly in his chest and exhaled with heat on the back of her neck. One of his burly arms was slung over her waist, the rough fingers of the hand attached curled around the mound between her thighs. The wetness there told her of his explorations in her sleep. It was just as well. She need not be conscious for his pleasure to be had, and she lamented not the experience.

Snaking her fingers around his palm, she eased his hand from her loins, then carefully rolled from under his arm. Toes found the softness of the old rug on the floor as she settled his arm gently down on the mattress. She found her clothes, dry, and still hanging from the line. Dressing quickly, she took her jacket and denims from the floor and found her boots still by the window. Glancing down as she pushed her feet back into the worn leather, she noted that no other soul appeared to be about save the guards. No worries of them troubled her mind. Folks were always more willing to let another mouth leave than they were to add a hungry belly to the table.

She crept slowly across the room toward the door, mentally kicking herself for not waiting to put the boots on until she had reached the lower floor. She managed to make it to the door without waking him. Grateful to find the key still in her pocket she unlocked the door. The tumbler clicked loudly in her ears. She looked back sharply over her shoulder to find, to her relief, the still sleeping man. Slowing turning the knob, she waited to open the door in time with one of his snores in hopes of concealing the creak of the hinges. She shut the door just as carefully, but didn't risk waking him to lock it back. The other doors no longer moaned or sighed as she past. The same could not be said for the floor or the steps leading down to the tired pub. Her eyes searched the dark corners for any that may be hiding there. Her ears listened intently for sounds of scuffling feet or creaking planks that were not from her own movements. There were none to be heard. The need for haste threatened to quicken her steps, that would surely echo loudly in the empty space and wake any who slumbered. Virtue of patience prevailed and she continued her silent journey to the kitchen.

The hinges complained softly as she pushed open the rusty, metal door. Beyond it the simple kitchen promised everything she sought. She found an empty burlap sack by the door and moved quickly to fill it with potatoes from the basket nearby. Searching the open cabinet shelves she found a few tin cans of cram, and a several boxes of sugar bombs and Blamco Mac and Cheese. She stuffed what she could in the sack, then turned to the fridge that hummed steadily behind her. The door was a little sticky, and opened with a sucking and cracking sound. Each shelf was loaded to capacity with meats and even bottles of milk and purified water. These she exchanged for the boxes of sugar bombs. Water was more important than sugar. When she could fit no more into the sack she closed the door only to spill the contents to the floor, startled by the unexpected face of the ghoul that waited for her. He stood, arms crossed, blocking the door regarding her with a cool, disapproving gaze. She wondered why she hadn't heard the squeaky hinges when he entered and silently cursed herself for her inattention. When the bar tender didn't move to apprehend her she hurriedly gathered up her loot and repacked the sack, watching him with wide, curious eyes.

"Are ya goin' t' stop me?"

She asked him, trying to think of questions he could answer with a 'yes' or 'no'. He slowly shook his head, but his gaze, nor his feet faltered.

"Are ya goin' t' help me?"

Again he shook his head. She wanted to ask 'Well, just what are you going to do?', but that question could not be answered with a nod or shake of the head. She could read, and he could write if he remembered how, but there was a sore lack of pencil and pad. She sighed with frustration and a growing sense of alarm. Blood pulsed in her ears like a drum beat on the heels of the pounding of her heart. Her mouth and throat felt much drier than they had already been. There were no windows or back doors. Only a small opening than ran the length of the back wall near the ceiling for smoke. Big enough for a small rodent or roach maybe. Certainly not of adequate size for her escape. She was wholly at the mercy of a ghoul whose intentions were disturbingly unclear.

"Will ya let me leave?" She asked, then glanced down at the sack full of food and added, "With the vittles?"

The ghoul huffed and narrowed his eyes at her, perhaps frustrated with the double question. He raised one finger and nodded, then added a second and shook his head. It was as she feared. She had no weapons. Her last gun had, for all intents and purposes, fallen apart in her hand fighting off a rabid mole-rat. She'd yet to learn the art of repair of the weapons she acquired, though not for lack of trying. The useless shells felt heavy in her jacket pocket just then, as she stared back at the sentient rotting meat that blocked her path.

"Why not? I earned 'em!" She retorted, even more frustrated as panic threatened to take hold.

"I sure as shit didn' go through hell jus' fer a days rest in a horny man's bed!" She spat.

The ghoul took a step closer to her, still blocking her way out in the narrow room. Opening his mouth he pointed at the gruesome display that he'd shown her the night she arrived. Then he took a potato from her sack and acted as if he were eating it and put it back, once again pointing to the gore of his missing tongue. His mouth snapped shut when foot steps could be heard over head. Dust sifted down from the ceiling with each thud in a trail leading across the floor above toward the door. The ghoul's eyes grew wide and he snatched the sack from her, quickly putting everything back. She wasn't sure she understood what he had tried to tell her, but she knew her moment was lost. The ghoul grabbed her arm firmly with his free hand, balancing the sack against his hip with the other, and ushered her out the kitchen door. He her toward the tattered curtain just as the door above creaked on it's hinges, and vanished back into the kitchen. She took the hint and ducked behind the colorless fabric. Fumbling with key from her pocket, she shakily unlocked the washroom door and slipped inside. The chain from the light clicked against the plastic of her goggles on her head. Reaching up she turned on the light and proceeded to pull down her pants and take a relieve her bladder in the toilet. As the dust sifted down on her from the stairs she realized she'd forgotten to lock the door behind her. The coarse paper she found stuffed between the tank and the wall did the job she needed it to do. She flushed as she yanked her panties and denims back up. Her fingers were electric with nervous fear as she zipped, buttoned and yanked off the light, grabbing the knob to open the door. To her dismay the knob was ripped from her grasp when it opened from the other side.

"Ye jus' finished, I see."

Jack grinned down at her. There was something in that grin she didn't like. Something that had been there from the start, but she'd ignored it. She was only going to stay for one night, steal what she needed and run. Now it seemed she should have listened to her instincts more closely.

"Yeah. I, uhm, was gonna see 'bout breakfast." She said, tentatively.

"Yeah, I 'spect ya are mighty hungry. I s'pose ye've earned 've met Egor. He's 'ready in 'ere I'm sure. He'll help ya anyway ya need. The food's prob'ly not like what they got in the vaults, but it'll feed ya."

Alarm screamed in her mind. He must have seen the device poking out of her jacket pocket or noticed the weight of it when he removed the jacket from her shoulders. She should have hidden it. How could she have been so careless? Surely she had not been so foolish as to allow her physical attraction to him muddle her mind so severely. Unconsciously, she patted the bulge in her pocket.

Jack's eyes flicked to the movement, then back to the girl's face. He grinned again and shook his head at her.

"Don't ya worry yer perdy self 'bout nothin'. I don't want yer gizmo." He assured her.

His calloused hand left his hip where it had settled after finding her inside the washroom, and cupped her cheek. His fingers kneaded into her unkempt hair as his palm lifted her face to his.

"I jus' want ya to feel free to stay h're with me fer as long as ye like." He said softly.

His voice was kind, and there was no malice in his eyes, but his words send a chill down her spine and set a knot in her gut. He leaned in as if to kiss her, but his lips brushed past hers over smooth skin to her ear. He did kiss her then, on the sensitive area just behind her lobes. Butterflies danced around the knot in her stomach, her heart beat harder against her chest, and her breath caught as a lump in her throat. No other profiter had said such things or acted as kind or genteel, to say nothing of his libido or ability to encourage pleasure in her body. Her mind, however, was ripe with paranoia and sending signals to flee to legs and feet that were numb to hear them.

"Okay." She breathed.

It was all she could do to walk away when he took his hand from her face and stood aside for her to pass. Dazed, she crossed the hall to the kitchen and sat down on the crate on which she'd found the empty burlap sack. Igor promptly presented her with some Dandy Boy Apples and a mug of milk. She took them absently from him and ate them more slowly than she'd eaten anything since leaving the vault. She couldn't stay, could she? A glance up at the ghoul busy about the kitchen, cleaning and preparing for business told her there was a dangerous side to this man. There was a dangerous side to anyone who survived beyond child hood that didn't come from the vaults. She wondered if he was honorable enough to trust him, to stay with him. But for how long? She was a toy. He didn't know her, didn't love her... if anyone loved anyone any more. He would tire of her and then send her out. Would that be so bad? He was handsome and he had food and good water, shelter. The town was protected from the dangers of the wastes. She'd never considered staying in one of the towns she passed through, none had so tempting an offer.

Glancing up at the ghoul again she remembered his animated warning against taking the food. At first his display had confused her in her state of panic, but now she wondered if he'd been caught stealing food and that was how he lost his tongue. She would have expected the loss of a hand, or a finger, but that could inhibit his ability to work. The tongue was a better choice in that circumstance.

"He's asked me t' stay." She said suddenly.

Egor continued to work silently, washing pans and mugs, drying plates and cooking meat for Jack's breakfast. She thought he might be ignoring her, but changed her mind when he grunted nonchalantly in response.

"Do ya think it a bad idea?" She pressed.

Egor turned to her and shrugged then pointed at her. His brow was lifted comically high to exaggerate his expression. She giggled a little, but she got the drift. It was her choice, her decision. It would sort of be like living in the vault again, but after living in the open for the last two or three years... she wasn't sure exactly how long it had been. She wasn't sure she could live among other people again for one, or live within walls again for two. It was a lot to contemplate.

"Maybe I'll stay a few more days." She said plainly.

The vernacular was common and easy enough to learn, but speaking it was difficult for her. Too many dropped vowels and consonants strung together didn't fit her mouth. She preferred to speak clearly when afforded the necessity to speak at all. Using the native dialect seemed to help make the locals more at ease about accepting in a wonderer from the wastelands. So she became proficient in order to archive her goals.

The unmistakable scent of cooked mole-rat filled the kitchen. She'd finished her apples and milk. Egor took her glass and the empty package and shooed her out of the room like an old maid might shoo away children poking their fingers in the pie. She noticed Jack sitting by a dirty window at a rickety, round, wooden table big enough for two or three people. The yellow light that drifted in from the dawn highlighted the muscular tones of his form sitting shirtless in an armless chair. His strong face was pointed toward the light, eyes closed as if in prayer. The morning shone almost as gold on his skin, revealing the lines of age in the creases of his eyes and forehead, and the corners of his mouth. She wondered at his age and what his life had been up to this point. She wondered why she cared. She'd thought about joining him, but the realization of her thoughts prompted her to return to the room instead. Her decision was altered when two men, one from each of the other doors up stairs, emerged bed ragged and sweaty. They descended the steps and left without a word, eyeing her as they went with open carnal curiosity. She like their's even less than she had liked Jack's.

The bar keep must have been distracted by the opening and closing of doors, for he ceased his idle waiting to look at the girl in clothes that didn't fit properly and hair that had not known comb or brush in some time. He watched her as she stood, undecided of where she should go, in the middle of the parlor. His silvery eyes caught the light as it beamed through them at an angle, illuminating his irises with color like amber. When she turned toward him and took steps to sit with him, he smiled. It was a warm, close lipped smile that welcomed the company of the girl as she took the seat opposite him. The bang of the kitchen door being pushed open by a metal tray, pulled his eyes from her adolescent freckled face.

The scent of mole-rat steak and steamed fruit waft over to them long before the breakfast arrived with two sets of forks and two glasses of water. He had expected her to join him. She wasn't sure if this made her feel special or manipulated. Perhaps it was both. Only time would tell, and she had time to give. A few day, just a few days. Then she would decide if she would stay a while longer.