She was leaving. He realized it in an instant, and he nearly lunged after her, nearly grabbed onto her and refused to let go. She was leaving him here. A part of him understood that it was only for the day, that there was no way she was abandoning him permanently in this strange place with these people's distrustful eyes, but the idea of being left on his own, of having to deal with these people on his own, made him feel like he was about to panic. He didn't like people. Didn't Kaya know this?
Of course she knew this. How could she not know this? There had to be some reason for this. Something obvious he was missing. Something he probably couldn't understand because he just wasn't meant to work that way. But still, what was he supposed to do if something went wrong? How was he supposed to act?
But Kaya was walking away, and the woman was watching him with eyes torn somewhere between interest and suspicion. He suddenly remembered that she had asked him a question, and that she was probably expecting an answer. Drink. Water. He almost nodded, before suddenly remembering that would mean uncovering his mouth. His teeth. He shook his head. The air within the city was somehow cooler than out in the desert, as though it was collected and held by the height of the walls. He would easily be able to go a full day without anything to eat or drink. He normally went much longer, and he'd had that surplus for all those days during the storm.
"Well, alright then," Liana said, slightly uncomfortable again but obviously doing her best to set it aside for Kaya's sake. "I'll go get Trent, and you can get started before the others show up."
Others? His heart leaped again. He told himself to calm down, that it couldn't be anything compared to facing down his childhood nightmare. People couldn't be any worse than the lickers. Could they?
Trent emerged from the small farmhouse just a few minutes later, Liana at his shoulder, a barely concealed scowl on his lips. The tension, if it had ever started to fade at all, came riding back in on his shoulders at he looked him. It was clear Liana's husband was just as uncomfortable with the situation as he was. He couldn't begin to guess what had lead the man to agree to this arrangement, and a part of him wished that he hadn't. A moment later, when Travis hesitated and Liana gave him a small shove on the back, it became a bit more clear that the woman was somehow responsible for this. But he was no expert at reading people. He was not Kaya, and could not guess that Liana had insisted, however meekly, and Trent had been forced to agree.
"Mornin'," Trent said gruffly, only meeting his covered eyes for a brief moment before looking away in disgust. "Liana says you're here to work, so that's just what you'll do. Won't be easy. But we can feed you long as you're here, and we pay good and fair wages. Need someone to clear out what the storm brought in on the fields today first. You get that done, come find me. The others'll be out to help once they get here. You got it?"
He hesitated for a moment, glancing out at the field. He was used to the randomness of the desert, and had not thought there was anything odd about the scattered items that lay throughout the field. But now that he took a closer look he could see how the piles of sand and other objects he could recognize but not name were crushing the small green shoots underneath them. At least that should be a good indication of what actually needed to go, and what was supposed to stay. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, looking for Kaya, only to suddenly remember that she wasn't there anymore.
He nodded, and started to turn, before thinking of something. "Where do I... put it?" He hated words. At least this sentence had come out somewhat acceptable.
The other man watched for a long moment, as if quietly taken aback. Or perhaps threatened. Then he said, "There're a couple wheeled carts 'round the back side of the shed there," he pointed. "Small enough to go between the crops. You fill those, you dump everything that isn't sand out here in front. Have folks come by and sort what is and isn't useful, and the rest is dumped outside the gates. Everything else we can use to make sand bags for next time the rain comes. That'll go at the far end of these fields here. Got canvas bags there already'n that's what you'll be doing if you finish clearing the fields out quick."
He reached in a pocket and pulled out something that looked too short and stout to be a pipe, poking it between his lips to start chewing. He considered another long moment.
"Now, listen up. I don't know how they do things wherever y'all came from, but we got people to feed here. Good, hardworking people who can forget more can come from the sand than all this brown and…and other junk. Those folks you met last night is counting on our crop to last at least through the next couple night freezes, which means you can't run around in there crushing things however you see fit just 'cause you ain't watching what you're doing. Be careful. You understand?"
You understand. That was a request for confirmation. He knew that much by now. He nodded, not even entirely sure what it was he was agreeing to understanding. It didn't really matter. That agreement was what the man needed to let him get on with his job. At least he knew how to do that much.
It wasn't hard to find the wagon, but before he began he carefully explored the fields, locating some of the things that needed to be picked up. It truly was a remarkable place, this farm. So many plants in such a small space. It was only in that moment, as he bent down to gently caress the leaves of a young sprout, that he finally understood what Liana's husband had been trying to tell him. He had been telling him not to crush the plants.
For a moment, only one brief moment, he was indignant. Obviously this man had never left the city, had never seen the utter emptiness of the desert, where even a single survivng plant was a miracle. This man, who would see hundreds of little sproutlings in his life, had no idea how truly precious and amazing each one was. The idea that he might wantonly crush them was revolting.
It was also saddening. Because, for the first time, he had an impression of how the people here saw them. He wasn't even a monster, capable of rational harm. To them, he was nothing but a brute.
He pushed that thought from his mind, and settled back to work. For all that but Liana and Trent had said it was hard work, he didn't find it particularly exhausting. Most of the debris were not all that heavy, and the cart made it easy to roll large quantities of the stuff out of the field at once. Every time he lifted up a piece of rubble and saw the little plants underneath lift themselves back up again, he felt a small smile cross his face. By the time the others began to show up, he had already cleared most of the debris from the field.
'The others', as it were, consisted largely of young men from the town, all sharing a similar age and appearance. What he didn't know, though, was that the number of hands had nearly doubled, apparently over night and that among them was the boy who had carried his far more well-received companion into the city on the night of the storm. Thomas looked less formidable without his weapon and official guard dress, but whatever effect lost through his clothing was somewhat recouped by the small crowd he had amassed. At first, he was confused by the group, wondering why Liana had said she was in need of aid if so many people were here to help. What he learned soon, though, was that most of them were only there for the purpose of staring. The few that weren't, were there with torment on the mind.
Thomas was the first to approach the bandaged giant in their midst, however timidly. As a matter of fact, he didn't even notice the approaching man until he felt something catch on the back of his foot as he was pushing the cart down through the rows of sproutlings. He turned around in surprise to see Thomas behind him, a look of stubborn bravery mixed with poorly concealed alarm on his face. His chest puffed out, before nudging him even more firmly with the cart.
Uncertain how to react, but knowing that he couldn't simply stay walking in front of Thomas, he stepped carefully around the plants to either side of him, before lifting up the cart, stepping carefully over the dividing row of plants, and setting it down again, away from Thomas. The cart was partially loaded, but he considered himself lucky that it hadn't been any fuller. If it had been, his plan, however poorly formulated, wouldn't have worked.
Thomas seemed both relieved and irritated by his decision to simply evade confrontation, but paused for only a moment, glaring across the line of tender shoots before moving on down his row. He hissed again under his breath, "Freak," as he passed, but after that left him alone to get back to work. At least for a moment. A couple of the men got grabbed by Liana and dragged into the farmhouse, where they were set to work on the task of finding a way to feed twice the expected number of mouths.. Trent, for his part, took a few of the latecomers to the shed, where they began filling sandbags and moving debris from the storm.
Things continued like that for sometime. For the most part he simply applied himself to his work, watching with a quiet sort of nervousness as the with the farmhands rotated around him, like the strange eye of a desert storm made from resentment and suspicion. For the most part, none seemed to want to get too close, though Thomas toed the line ever closer as it became more and more clear he had no intention of reacting to their pushing. At least not violently. He didn't understand that his lack of reaction only bolstered their resolve. By the time lunch began, it had somehow become a game of how close they could get without crossing the invisible line he didn't know even existed.
It was a boy named Derren who finally cornered him when he went to go dump one of the last loads of debris from his cart. There were a few of them, a small handful, led by Derren, followed by Thomas. All of them created a sort of half ring around him, their carts as barriers to trap him against the shed. He tensed, his fingers silently curling into fists as the tightness of the bandages pressed against his heaving chest. He knew the feel of violence in the air. He knew it well.
"What's wrong with you?" the boy demanded boldly. He looked young than Kaya, younger, even, than Thomas, and there was a light to his eyes that spoke of both boldness and recklessness. Even Thomas, who had showed up behind Derren, seemed wary, if a bit peeved.
"What're the bandages for?" Derren went on. "My father's been out to the wastes dozens of times, and he never saw anything that could do…all that." A vague gesture took in his entire person. "How did you come out of the desert all wrapped in bandages while she came nearly naked?"
At this, Thomas flushed bright red and stepped forward. "What'd you do to her, freak?" he demanded, his voice a throaty growl. "We can still throw you out of the city, you know."
Do to her? It seemed like such an absurd question he didn't know what to make of it. He knew he was missing something, but he had no idea how to get himself out of this situation with words.
The other boys seemed to pick up on Thomas' indignation. "Why doesn't he say anything?" one hissed to another.
"He's guilty," came the reply. "That's what silence always means. He knows he can't lie to us!" There was a rustle of indignation; the circle pressed in tighter.
He could feel his heartbeat, pounding away in his ears. It was uncomfortable, and for a moment he left like a child again, surrounded by the lickers, pressed back into a corner. He ducked slightly, letting out a faint whining noise, before desperately starting to walk forward, hoping the circle of boys would simply cave out in front of him.
"Oh, no, you don't," Thomas growled, stepping forward aggressively and shoving him on the chest.
He had clearly expected something. A stumble, a falter. Perhaps, in that wild moment of self-confidence, he had even expected him to fall to the ground under the force of the blow. Nothing happened. He barely even noticed Thomas' hands against his chest. He certainly didn't feel unbalanced. It was as though Thomas had just tried to push over a brick wall with his bare hands.
The sudden panic that flitted across the boy's face just as quickly dispersed into the group behind him. The tension in the air escalated abruptly, now tinged with fear. These emotions were familiar. Had they made a mistake, trying to corner him? Had they made him angry? The moved closer together, unconsciously trying to draw strength from the group, and succeed together where one alone had failed.
Thomas, pale-faced, staggered a step backwards, instinctively seeking the support of those around him. An instant later, two of the boys panicked and broke, leaving their carts to sprint back to the field and farmhouse, as if Liana in her kitchen could protect them from the desert creature. Thomas was left with the boy Derren, and two or three others all sunk into vaguely defensive positions.
It was Derren who spoke first, his voice a high tremor.
"You…you can't hurt us, not here." The sound of his own voice seemed to lend him, and then the others, some courage, and when he reached down to pull a stone from his cart, the others did the same. He grinned cruelly. "There are…more of us than there are of you, freak!" He hefted the stone in his hand and hurled it at his head.
It was almost a relief. He knew nothing of words, nothing of motivations, or how to keep a situation like this from coming about in the first place. But aggressiveness he understood. Physical actions he understood. It was familiar. It was a small matter to understand exactly what Derren intended, long before he did it. Even though the filter of the bandages, it was possible to read his motions as he moved. And, even as the boy was moving, so was he.
His hand lifted into the air as the rock flew, before it laded solidly in the middle of his palm. His fingers curled around it, reflexively, as he caught it. Uncertain what he was supposed to do with it, not wanting to drop it when he'd just have to pick it back up again later, he tossed it back into Derren's cart.
Two more of them scattered, dropping heavy rocks and stumps as they fled. Thomas went another shade paler until it looked like he was ready to fall over, but Derren's face was contorted with fury.
"Go on, then," he growled. "Aren't you going to fight back, freak? Give us a reason. If you attack us now, the whole city will know. They'll have you out on a pike by sundown. You can't fight all of us. You can't – "
"Derren Johnson! You step away from…from Eli right now!"
The rock he was holding abruptly dropped from limp fingers as Derren and Thomas turned with mingled expressions of irritation, surprise, guilt, and relief. Liana was coming upon them quick, with a small army of sandwich bearing lookers-on, all of them wide-eyed and gleeful. One, easily the smallest of the group, stood at her elbow red-faced and breathing hard. Liana herself looked stricken, but firm. And Trent stood behind her, tense, certainly, but quiet. He held a rifle limp in one hand.
"We gave you boys a job and those fields aren't yet empty. I'd wager by now Eli's done thrice the work you have."
Thomas turned almost purple. "Don't you defend that thing – "
Liana now looked incredulous, comfortable with this threat if with nothing else. "Excuse me? Don't let your newfound fame become insolence, child, I won't stand for it, and I never have. Now, all of you, get inside. Derren, Thomas, Peter – you can all wait to be served last." She held up a hand. "And if I hear a single word of argument, you can wait until you get home to eat. Don't make me strike your pay, too."
Trent shifted behind her. "Now, Ana, let's not be – "
"Go grab the sandbags, dear, I want Eli to move to something…else."
There was a tense moment where it seemed no one would move, and the handful of men and boys might find it in themselves to argue. Then Liana turned impatiently, and they scattered, slowly, to their places. She waited until the crowd had dispersed to offer awkward condolences to Eli.
"Right, then," she said, clearing her throat. "Are you…alright? Randall Johnson's boy can be…a bit of a handful. They mean well, but they're young and stupid and…well. Wouldn't count it right to have you here working on land and send you off injured."
For a moment he stood there, silent. He had been prepared to bolt, to push his way past the small ring of boys in order to get himself out of that situation. Instead, he had found himself frozen, as it felt like he was washed away by a sudden flood of words.
He still didn't know what had happened. He didn't understand why the boys had stopped. More importantly, he didn't understand why Liana had come to his rescue. Everything he had learned about people had led him to practically expect what had come from his small group of aggressors. Liana's actions were the ones that were out of the ordinary.
He hadn't realized how long he'd stood silent until Liana reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Eli?"
He flinched away from her, and her hand recoiled immediately. There was a brief look of hurt on her face.
"It's okay," he said, and left it at that.
There was a long silence which Liana ended with another uncomfortable clearing of her throat. "Well, okay, then," she said. "I…Come. You can work filling sandbags for the afternoon. It's…typically a two-person job, if only because it gets a bit lonely, but…well, maybe you'll appreciate the quiet. You seem the type you who does."
She led him back around to the other side of the shed, farther from the fields, and just visible from the back of the house. She pointed to a small open square on an otherwise blank wall. "That there is the kitchen window. If…if you need me, I'll be just…well, you know."
She shoved a few sandwiches and a pitcher of water into his hands and hurried away.
The rest of the day passed surprisingly comfortably. Trent never put his shotgun away, and the rest of the boys seemed to take the hint. No one ever got any closer to him than was absolutely necessary to load the next bag of sand.
It took him a little bit of time to get the hang of the shovel, but after that he settled into an easy rhythm. A pile of sand had built up from the morning work of the boys, so it was simple, repetitious movement. Push the shovel into the mound, swing it over to the empty bag, dump, repeat. Occasionally pause to lift the bag, so that the sand wouldn't spill over the edge. When it was full, tie up the top, and move it over to the pile of rubble, where someone else would grab it and take it far, far away.
He dropped into a nearly trance-like state, only paying attention to what he was doing whenever someone walked over to empty another cart of sand. Other than those brief pauses, he didn't stop. The sandwiches and water lay untouched, hidden out of sight so that no one would question why he hadn't stopped to eat. But, by the time the end of the day came around, his efforts had enabled him to not only keep up with the sand getting dumped in front of him, but even nearly catch up. There was less than a full bag's worth of sand left unbagged when Trent finally walked over to him, bringing his work to a halt.
The man still seemed more than a little uncomfortable with the situation, but he no longer looked at him with distrust, even if he was still obviously suspicious. "Ms. Strong is here," he said shortly. "You can go."
He set the shovel down promptly, but did pause long enough to wrap up the half full bag he had been filling. Trent watched him for a moment, turned to go, then hesitated. "Good work today," he said, roughly. "And... sorry about the lads." He paused, before throwing one final set of words over his shoulder as he walked away. "See you tomorrow."
He looked up, and behind his face a small smile bloomed. As he grabbed the sandwiches and hurried out to meet Kaya, he decided maybe today hadn't been all that bad.
