11.19
“Hey.”
Someone pokes me.
“Hey, don’t be passing out on my floor. Get up.”
I cover my face with my good hand, not really feeling threatened but wishing the old woman would leave me alone. I did pass out, but now I just haven’t gathered my courage to try to stand back up.
“Hey—”
“I’m awake,” I croak.
“Then what are you doing?”
Put the pieces together. “Being miserable.”
There’s a long enough pause I think—without opening my eyes—she’s left the bathroom. Eventually, I hear, “You can come out and be miserable on my couch if you’d like.”
Alright, she’s kinda a nice old lady.
Still, that’s going to require getting up. Which I know I’m going to have to do eventually, and I know would be smart considering lying on a hard floor isn’t the greatest. But I don’t really want to. If I move, it’s going to hurt even more.
Stop being a baby and get up.
Missing my humans—well, not mine, I suppose—I push myself up into something resembling an upright position. Squinting at the old woman, I find the same unimpressed expression as before. At least she isn’t freaking out on me. Maybe selfishly, I feel like I could use a little more sympathy, but I also know I’m accustomed to Zane and Lalia and the princesses. Most people would’ve left me in the tunnel, so I shouldn’t feel so bitter.
“Do you…” I start, then have to swallow painfully to continue. “Do you have anything I can use to make a splint for my arm? It’s broken.”
She stares at me, blinking slowly.
I try again, “Anything solid like…I dunno, a stick…rolled up paper, anything like that? And maybe an old rag you don’t mind if I rip up?”
She looks me up and down. “You’re bleeding too.”
“I know,” I say weakly. “That’ll stop on its own…probably.”
“Why aren’t you dead?”
“Unlucky, I guess.”
At least that seems to amuse her. Off she shuffles into the living room, leaving me to struggle to my feet with what little dignity I can scrape together by being alone. Aside from the hard floor, I’d rather stay in here, away from anyone’s eyes. She’s not a terribly judgy old woman, and who cares what she thinks, but I hate being looked at on the best of days. Right now, it wouldn’t be too bad if I shrunk into the cracks of the floor and stayed there.
Leaning against the doorframe, head spinning, I glance around the living room. Nothing’s changed, although she seems to be making toast in the kitchen. If she lives with anyone, they aren’t here.
I can hear her rummaging around someone, so I ask, “Do you have a radio transmitter I can use to call my friends?”
She appears from around the corner and hands me what appears to have once been a long wooden spoon for cooking. The end of it seems to have broken off ages ago, the sharp edge of the wood dull with age. Better than nothing.
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to let my hand shake when I take it. “Do any of your neighbors have radios?”
“Mmm-mmm.” She shrugs, busying herself in the kitchen.
Before I can ask, she waves an old rag at me and tosses it onto the couch. Apparently, I’m to sit down and stay out of her way. Easing down into the corner of the couch, I close my eyes and lay my head back, trying to think about things that don’t involve crying. It’s gonna be hell if I have to walk around searching for the engines to this place. How many hours will it take until my body starts healing on me? It doesn’t feel as if it’s going to be of much help anytime soon. In the back of my brain, I know what I actually need is to sleep for a few days at the bare minimum. Real medical help of any kind would hasten it along.
I don’t have the option for either.
Using my teeth and my less injured hand, I rip the cloth into more manageable sections and make the best splint I can out of what the old woman gave me. At least it’ll keep the stupid bone from moving. I’ve never been more glad that mental bones breaking doesn’t mean I need an entire replacement—I’m not usually appreciative of Amerov’s tech, but I am at the moment.
If Captain’s augmentations could make me heal a little faster, that would be fantastic.
At least I didn’t break a leg. Though if I think about it too much, my ankle starts throbbing.
“Will your neighbors be afraid of me?” I ask. My voice sounds weird, and I mess with my ears before giving up. I probably damaged something internally. I hadn’t considered it, but a concussion is very likely—probably why the damn room spins so much whenever I make the stupid decision to open my eyes.
“Mmmm…maybe.”
I don’t know what she’s doing back there, but she doesn’t sound like she’s paying attention.
“Do you have a tablet?” I ask.
No response.
“Do you have any sort of tech at all?”
“Tech?”
I sigh, forcing my eyes open and glancing around the room. I don’t know if she doesn’t understand or is just screwing with me. Either way, I don’t know how to get a clear answer. I can’t precisely snoop around with her right there, but I can look for any obvious signs of things I can use to call Bat.
It’s all extremely basic down here. I think that family back on Yayth had more technology in their home, and that old man used an old-fashioned shotgun.
I don’t know what to do.
If I go knocking on doors, any hostility isn’t going to be great. It isn’t as if I can defend myself at the moment. I don’t even have my guns. And I can hardly ask this old woman to go asking around for me—she’s been nicer than expected already, and I don’t even know if she comprehends what I’m talking about enough to go asking.
I could ask, I suppose…
“You didn’t tell me your name?” I say, hoping to break the ice a bit.
“You’re right.”
Or not. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but if you want me out of your house, I need to find a way to get back to my friends on my ship…do you know if any of your neighbors have radios or tablets? Could you ask them?”
“No way back to the surface.”
Right. I don’t want to argue with her, but I know there’s a way given she says there are engines in this place. It isn’t feasible for them to be sealed off from the rest of the city with no way in or out.
“I know…but I still have to call my friends.”
Again, I don’t get any response. I suppose I’ll have to go looking for help on my own. The idea makes me want to cry, so I bite the insides of my cheeks until I taste iron.
Get a damn grip, Aaron.
“Do you think I’ll get shot if I go talk to your neighbors?”
“Probably not. We never see things like you down here. Very interesting.”
Things like me. How lovely. If I wasn’t feeling so near death, I might be bothered. If she’s seeing me as a fascination rather than a threat that’s a good thing, at least for now.
With a ridiculous amount of concentration, I get back to my feet, cradling my arm carefully, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. I’m bigger than her, and obviously scarier, I don’t want to frighten her now that she’s been nice to me.
“If I try to go outside and talk to your neighbors, is it alright if I come back?”
I hate the way I sound, nearly completely helpless in the face of all this. But I don’t have any other place to hide out. If she’s going to bolt the door behind me, I’m not certain I should leave yet. I don’t know where I am, and I’m not thinking straight. I can’t be throwing away the only help I have.
She shrugs. “If you want.”
It isn’t precisely reassuring, but nothing she’s said has been.
Ignoring my body screaming at me to go back and lie down, I slide open the door and step back out into the strange little tunnel, leaning against the side of the house. A few people peek out their windows only to shuffle away. I try to pick out someone who doesn’t look like they’re frightened of me, but it’s difficult to tell. This place is odd and damp, another tunnel leading out the other direction. I listen to the tremble of the ground and walls at what the old woman says are the engines of this place and wonder if I can simply follow the trembling out. If I was in better shape, I’d do that in a heartbeat, but the idea of just walking around this tunnel makes me queasy, let alone wandering aimlessly about the core of this city.
An old man across the street is still watching me through his window. I can’t see much of his face with my eyes acting up, but he doesn’t hide when I look at him. His little house is close enough, might as well knock on his door and try to look non-threatening.
Glancing over my shoulder at the empty tunnel we came in, I head across the street.