Darkness began to fall as they grew closer to the walls of Hock City; new faces emerged. Langston saw no one that looked familiar. Most of the people appeared to be scavengers. They looked for items that they could use or barter. Cheerless, focused facial expressions.
They all wore the same outfits with small modifications. Some wore extra clothing underneath like a sweater, jacket or shirt. It provided warmth for the cold climate at night. They carried book bags and trash bags full of their belongings, while using makeshift wagons for transport. These people fought each other often, because everyone needed something. Sometimes stealing was the only way to get what was needed.
Langston and Jesse arrived at a gas station. A malfunctioning, cracked logo was in front of it. A robot drinking a cola was displayed in an ad, hanging in the window. Langston noticed another sign dangling, spinning between ‘closed’ and ‘open’ due to the short, sporadic bursts of wind. The movement of the sign generated a constant, fluttering sound. Crows, on the roof – cawed. The sound of the birds alerted Langston.
“I’m going to stop here. Maybe someone in there can help – tell me how to get home.”
Langston looked toward the station. Jesse walked in the other direction as Langston continue to walk toward it. He stopped for a moment and then looked back in a concerned fashion. He picked up a rock and threw it at cans on the ground. The crows, startled at the sound, widened their wings.
Jesse paused before speaking, “Oh. Okay, Mr. Langston; I will see ya’ later I guess. If you need anything, just look for me here.” He jogged back towards Langston to hand him a faded, worn flyer that he pulled from his pocket. It was partially unreadable. Langston did his best to decipher the words.
C’mon by -- Pearl’s Cas --o and Girls! XXX Bet---en 777 P---- and Nor-- -- amond Drive.
“Why is a kid – like you- at a joint like this?”
Jesse couldn’t have been no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. He had a young face with a voice that was light and crackled at times. His skin was golden like the sun, right before setting. He had peach fuzz around his mouth and chin, as well as curly hair and oversized clothes.
“Madam Pearl got the only place with food, clean water and a place to rest my head. Well, there is also Guardian’s Grove, but only big line folk can go there. I only heard about that place. I ain’t never been.
As long as I do what Madam Pearl tells me to do, I can stay with her for free. She takes care of me and some others. It’s better inside those walls then out here. Trust me, you don’t want to be out here in the dark. Remember those people you saw on that sign? They come out sometimes. And you don’t want to be out here when they do. Anyways, I best keep moving. See you around, I guess.”
Jesse picked up his pace, and continued in the direction of Hock City.
Langston thought about what he was told: Guardian’s Grove. Sounds like a place with answers.
He watched as Jesse maneuvered the Pines, greeting various people he passed, waving at times. He moved like a politician, desperate for that last vote, but with the cool to not show it.
Most of the people looked at him with a despondent expression, keeping their business while scavenging. Some shewed him away. Other swarmed him to see what goods he had found. No matter what was going on, the exchange of goods was the top priority when Jesse was around.
Langston was surprised at Jesse’s confidence. He watched him travel alone in what seemed to be an unsafe environment for a child.
Just the facial expressions on some of these people were creepy; Jesse stood in the midst of it all. The other children seemed to be attached to adults by the hip, even protected. But Jesse operated like an adult, or at least with the respect of one.
The area in which he stood was miles away from the walls of Hock City. Miles away from better living, or so it seemed. A place only some people could visit. The others – well – they could only dream of getting inside the walls.
Outcasts.
The Man with the Scar
Langston took time to gather himself. He was hugged by the desert atmosphere. The dry air that filled his lungs left him feeling just as woozy as it did when he awoke. But the cooler temperature soften the blow, as daylight subsided in the desert.
He needed nourishment before his body started to eat him alive from the inside. His stomach knotted and tightened like a snake’s coil. He was barely moving on fumes. He stood for a moment, looking into the depths of the desert and the Pines. He took a deep breath, relaxing the pain moving inside him.
Sluggish, he continued toward the gas station where he looked inside. Tire & lube services available a metallic sign read above the door, which hung behind the counter. More advertisements, for cigarettes and candies, were displayed on an adjacent wall.
The grime on the building was thick, so much that it was a challenge to see inside. Unkempt grass grew rampant in several areas on the pavement. A rusty gutter spout rattled, as it tapped the side of the building. What was left of a torn recliner, with the cotton from the cushions exposed, sat near the front door beside a tobacco spit-jar.
Unleaded gas read as seven dollars and some change a gallon, posted on a tall sign at the edge of the station lot. The price remained, even though there wasn’t a running car in sight.
The roads were mostly gravel and chunks of broken concrete; aged with fading lines. The only cars Langston saw were piled up on the side and in the rear of the station. It appeared that this station became a scrap yard – full of decrepit and abandoned cars.
He grabbed the door of the station to open it; it swung open without much help. He continued to observe the remains of what appeared to be a once thriving business.
The shelves were empty, with the exception of depleted bottles of liquor, toiletries – rotten apples and molded bread. ‘Schmick’s, sliced thick.’ Dust was now the new hot item. Large bugs scattered in the darkest corners of the room. Another set hovered in the air in front of him. A bird flew out of a crack in the wall. The mild light from the sun setting, pierced through this crack, providing the only real lighting in the room, due to the grime that covered the windows.
He stepped on broken glass as he moved around. The sound betrayed him.
“Don’t move another fucking step,” said a voice, with a pause between every other word. The voice was calm and manly; gravely but at a whisper.
Langston put his hands up near his shoulders as slow as he could. He trembled as he felt unstable on the scattered glass, which slid with each of his steps – piercing the bottom of his feet.
“Turn around slow… and I mean slow, dammit,” the voice spoke again.
“I don’t want any trouble, friend. I’m just looking for—” Langston’s voice shivered.
“I ain’t your friend, and I don’t give a squirrel’s left nut what you looking for wanderer,” the voice cut him off with a mild but fierce tone.
Langston turned around slightly to face the voice head on during the brief exchange. Almost instantaneously, a 12-guage double-barrel shotgun appeared out of the dark through the ray of light that shined through the cracks in the wall.
Before Langston could turn around completely, the mystery man put the barrels at the tip of his nose. He was already weak from the lack of food and water. Now his legs felt like they would give way, as he felt the coolness of the barrels on his skin. He grew even more wobbly. If he had any fluid in his bladder he would have pissed himself.
“Sir, please – I promise you I am not a threat. I just need help. Food if you got any. You can frisk me if you want. I don’t have anything on me. Look, all I have on is this gown. What could I possibly hide?” he pleaded as he continued to turn around, proving he was not armed.