Chapter Text
Wilbur, why did you take us in? The long sleeves of the yellow sweater keep falling over her fingers, interfering with her sign, and she struggles to push them back. The rain is drumming so hard outside the veranda that the backyard disappears behind a sleet of silver droplets.
He chuckles softly, and, with gentle hands, helps her fold the massive sleeves around her elbows. What? You mean, like, why did I let you into my home? Tallulah, of course I would.
She looks down. I was just curious.
Wilbur’s gaze goes distant. I mean, how could I not? You were shivering and you looked hungry, and I thought you were alone. His voice goes all funny. I didn’t know there were any kids left.
She pauses, something thick and weighted settling into her throat. Are we really the last ones? Part of her doesn’t want to know.
He holds her gaze for a moment, hands stilling, before he busies himself with fixing the sweater once more. He’s wrapped and unwrapped that fold three times now. This fickle thing , he says. It never stays stable.
She thinks that’s the end of the conversation.
A little dragon folds her wings tight over her body, hoping they will keep out the cold.
**
This island, as Four was quickly learning, had a whole lot of forest.
She had not foreseen this being a problem. The man with the bandana—Cellbit, he’d said—directed them towards the town as if the route was easy. Down for a long time, and then left. That simple.
The only problem was, after a day and a half of walking, the steep slope of the mountain had begun to even itself out. It was still a downhill trek, but the path wound itself into patches of earth that were so flat that Four was sure they’d reached the bottom. And then they’d keep walking and walking, and realize the flat earth tipped downwards once more into another earthy slope. It was maddening.
Cellbit certainly hadn’t warned them about it—if that really was his name. She liked to think it was, because then she would finally know a name that was true to its owner. Everyone else around her was labelled by a number. Even Cucurucho’s name was made up by One.
The night was infinitely more treacherous than the day. Which was unfortunate, really, because they’d thrown themselves into the woods right at the beginning of the evening. It didn’t take them long to figure out that the entire population of the forest was out to get them, but luckily One, who’d picked up a long, jagged stick and wielded it like a sword, was proficient in poking anything that came along their way.
It worked better sometimes than others.
Just as the moon turned the pine trees to silver, they stumbled across an abandoned cottage tucked deep into the woods. All the windows had been broken, and most of the place had been raided, but they were lucky enough to find a case of disposable water bottles and three cans of beans tucked into the back of a dusty cupboard.
Which was good, Two explained, because then they wouldn’t die from dehydration.
And great, Four had never even considered that as an option. She knew the monsters and ex-humans ruined by virus posed a threat to their lives—even infection was a risk—but nobody ever told her she could die from being thirsty . Next, they’d say she could die from hunger or something, too.
It sounded ridiculous. But then again, she hadn’t eaten in a long time, and the longer she walked, the more her head spun. Her muscles were sore and tired, and eventually numbed out from cold the longer they had trudged through the forest.
Huh. Her body was a lot weaker than she thought.
She was learning that living in the real world was harder than she’d expected, especially as sheltered by the Federation as she’d been.
They searched all the closets for any blankets and layers they could find, and huddled together in a mass on the floor. She and Five, as the little ones, got to go in the middle where the older ones would keep them warm. She didn’t know why, but the older three seemed to understand it as a sort of instinctual thing, without even explaining it.
One insisted on keeping watch. Three tried multiple times to get him to sleep, but it wasn’t until she and Two offered to take shifts that he settled down.
She fell asleep with Five clinging onto her body for warmth, constantly aware of the rise and fall of his little chest. Her fingers on one hand were interlocked with Three’s, and her other hand went to fidget with the bandana tied around her elbow, the one Cellbit gave her. She kept it close without quite realizing why. Part of her thought it was because it was a testament to the man’s existence, proof that they really had been saved, and that this wasn’t all a strange dream.
They left the next morning—much to Five’s dismay. Two insisted they couldn’t stay there: the rations would only last them another half day, and they were screwed anyway if they didn’t have more water than what was left in the bottles. So they spent the morning searching the cabin for supplies. One filled a backpack with the leftover rations and water bottles and a pocket knife, and a second backpack for Two carried rolled up blankets, a half-used first aid kit, and a hand-held, cylindrical thing that One said was a flashlight.
The closet had been mostly raided of clothes, but in the pocket of a moth-eaten jean jacket, Three found a folded up slip of paper. She spread it on the table, and with some decoding, they recognized it as an old map. The Federation was not located on the map, unfortunately, so they couldn’t estimate how far they’d walked, but it was useful, anyway. Three said she’d be the navigator, because she was the only one who could make any sense of the map, which was probably a good decision.
One found a metal bat hiding under a creaky floorboard. It was a much better weapon than a stick, he said.
And so they set out again, and struggled once more to follow Cellbit’s bare-bones, too-good-to-be-true directions.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so difficult if the forest would just end . If she didn’t know the town existed, she would’ve thought the entire island was just forest. After about the first ten hours of walking, the deep green pines eventually gave way to shorter, white-trunked trees whose paper-thin leaves shone red in the early sun, and several hours after that, they’d stumbled into an array of trees with dark, chipping bark and fluttering pink petals.
They didn’t sleep the second night. They couldn’t afford to, not when the forest was crawling with things that wanted them dead. They just kept walking and walking and walking.
And then they were back into another green pine just like the first. It was all forest, regardless of appearance. Woods upon woods upon woods. Like they were walking in an elaborate circle without even realizing it.
It wasn’t long until Five started complaining. He was hungry and he was tired and his prosthetic leg, which was shorter than the other after his last growth spurt, made him slower than the others. Two eventually handed off their backpack to Three so he could carry Five on their back.
By noon the following day, they came across a river that ran in the direction they walked, which was a blessing in disguise, because they could fill up their water bottles whenever they needed. It didn’t taste great, and little pebbles and bits of debris got stuck in the water, but it was better than suffering from dehydration.
Plus, the river was located on the map, if the little blue line that cut through the forest was any indication.
It meant they weren’t too far from town, either. In fact, it was only another hour of walking before they were sure the mountain ran flat, and then it was finally time to turn left.
So, all they had to do now was keep walking towards the sea until they reached the village.
Four kept her head down as she walked. Eventually, her environment faded into grey before her eyes, and Three’s hand still clutching hers was the only thing keeping her grounded in the present. Otherwise, she let herself drift off into the world of her imagination, let her daydreams spin the wheel of reality in a different direction.
She’d never spent time with people in this way before, she realized. She got to hold Cucurucho’s hand sometimes, sure, but it was a discomforting and unsettling thing, a reminder he had complete control over her existence.
This was nice. Three was like a reminder that things would be okay. Even if they were cold, hungry, dehydrated, and sore, even if they had no home and they were throwing themselves into a world full of decay and virus, it was still better than the Federation.
Out here, they had each other.
It wasn’t until Three stopped in front of her that she came to a halt, barely stopping herself from crashing into the other girl’s back. Three’s eyes were wide and sparkling, lips parted slightly, and a flush of painted sky through the trees washed her face in pink light. She squeezed Four’s hand.
They had approached the treeline.
**
When they found the town, they were greeted first by a street that stopped at the edge of the forest and hosted two houses that remained intact. The one on the left was long abandoned—door breezing wide open, planks of the front deck sagging and rotted, paint faded to a greyish-black from mould.
Gross.
The one on the right side of the street, however, stood out in sharp contrast to its abandoned companion. It was clearly inhabited, if the warm yellow light pouring through the windows and washing the grass in comforting gold was any indication. The house was perhaps two stories with a backyard, and it looked cozy. Like a lovely sort of relief after days of walking. The exterior was a soft cream colour upholstered by a mid-toned wood trim and a sage green tiled roof where dewy moss grew in patches. Even in the early evening, its French-style windows were propped open, looking over a front lawn that had grown a little wild. Flowers and climbing vines were featured around every window.
Four’s insides felt as though they were buzzing. Her hands began stimming quietly, a small expression of the warm bubbles tickling her skin.
Five brightened, hopping off of Two’s back without warning and pointing at the house excitedly. “We can stay there!” He grabbed Two’s hand and yanked him forward.
One shook his head, gaze remaining fixated on the house. “No chance. We’re finding somewhere uninhabited.”
Three’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped in front of him, tilting her head in confusion. “One, Cellbit told us to get help from the townspeople. He said they’d keep us safe, remember?”
“And you believe him?” One scoffed, and his sign became extra expressive. “For all we know, Cellbit could just be another elaborate trap set by the Federation. Or punishment. I don’t know why we should listen to him until we can scope out the town for ourselves.”
Three did not seem happy about that. “I swear to God, One, I have been walking for forever at this point, and if you suggest we live in that abandoned house right now, I will deck you. I don’t even care.”
But One only shook his head. “No. It’s not protected enough.” He squinted into the blooming sunset and the town slowly darkening below it. “There have to be some other uninhabited places in the town. We’ll search until we can find something that will keep us for now.”
Three raised her hands to sign her response, but Two butted in. “I agree. We can’t just trust any adult that comes along.”
And, listen, Four knew it was easy to protest against One. He was often impulsive and irrational, decisions led by his innate need to keep the other children safe. But when Two , the logic of the group, agreed with him?
Four was more inclined to listen.
It seemed that Three was the same. She gritted her teeth, raising an eyebrow and schooling her face into an expression that made her look much more mature and intelligent than what was common for a twelve year old. For a long moment, she paused, seeming less than pleased.
“Fine,” she eventually signed. “But if this turns out to be a bad decision, I’m blaming both of you.”
By the time they slipped away from the trees and made their way into town, the sun was halfway hidden by the horizon, and it tugged a sheet of scarlet over the sky. The houses turned into black silhouettes around them. Two searched through their backpack for the flashlight, but One stopped her. A light would only draw attention to them, apparently.
The abandoned house and the cozy cottage were the only two buildings still intact along the street. The pavement was wide and the houses were spread far apart, and as they continued down the road, they came across the skeletal ruins of what must have once been other houses.
Four didn’t want to think about what might have happened to their owners.
Like they had a habit of doing every night, the group all linked hands so as not to lose each other in the dark. They wove through wide streets and crumbling alleyways, past houses that varied in decay, until they came into a larger part of town where the residential area gave way to a number of densely-packed businesses and storefronts. This part of town was so brightly coloured that, long ago, it might have looked cheerful.
At one point, they passed by a brick building with a vibrant mural spray-painted on one side that depicted a number of small children who bore halos above their heads. Below the mural read the fading words, Our lost heroes.
The child furthest to the left, for whatever apparent reason, made One falter. It was only for a second, but Four was good enough at reading One’s emotions to notice a flash of something dark crossing his eyes—perhaps disappointment, or even nausea.
The child on the mural was small—probably around Five’s age—and raised a sword high into the air, a wide grin slapped upon their face. Long blonde locks almost obscured the child’s effervescent green eyes. An inflatable duck floatie sat around the child’s waist.
And then, as if it was merely Four’s imagination, One moved on, undisturbed and unaffected. “We should move. The monsters might be coming soon.”
Two had their eyes narrowed, tracking the buildings with perhaps something that resembled familiarity. “If I’m correct, we shouldn’t be too far away from an old schoolhouse. Given the whole virus situation, it’ll probably be abandoned.” He frowned. “If it’s still intact, that is.”
Five widened his eyes, curiosity blooming brightly in his gaze. “How do you know that?”
Two shrugged. “I grew up here. I think all of us probably did, although I doubt anyone but One and I would remember anything.”
Three pitched in, “I remember some things. Pictures. Individual buildings.” Her eyes flitted up to One. “You’d probably remember the most of any of us.”
One didn’t respond. He seemed a bit lost in his own world, face paling and eyes going distant.
Four didn’t comment. Of course she didn’t remember anything—she’d been taken by the Federation when she was two. Her earliest memories existed only within blinding white walls.
At this point, everyone was too exhausted to try to protest against the schoolhouse idea, so they trailed silently after Two as he tried desperately to remember how to get there. They took several wrong turns, leading them back into a string of houses, before Three pulled out her map and the five of them craned their heads together to try to distinguish which tiny dot on the map belonged to the school.
They’d been aimlessly wandering for over forty-five minutes when they finally came across it, though it hadn’t been more than six blocks away from where they were in the first place.
The schoolhouse was small—only one room, from what it looked like—and it sat upon one side of the road, blanketed by overgrown green grass on either side and a spiked black fence.
Inviting.
Despite what they’d expected, the building was still in relatively good shape, which meant someone was probably still taking care of it. Four thought the light grey exterior may have been white at some point, and the window situated in the front door had been smashed in. When Four peered inside, she noticed all the little desks were coated in a layer of dust.
Otherwise, it was in good condition.
It would do for tonight. If they stayed out of view of all the windows and blocked off the door, it would be perfectly safe.
The moment they were inside and had put down the backpacks, One was pushing a desk and chair in front of the door. Five dug inside the packs. Ceremoniously and without hesitation, he threw down the blankets on the floor, sending up pillowing clouds of dust in the process.
The room was sparsely decorated, although perhaps it had been raided. Old cubicles full of books were crammed against each wall, which immediately drew Two’s attention. About two dozen desks faced the front of the room, where a long, mahogany desk sat under a stained-glass window, collecting dust.
It was kind of a sad sight.
Not long after they’d settled down, Three dragged Four into a mess of a storage room in the back to search for more useful tools or rations.
Four’s eye caught a cardboard box sitting on the edge of a shelf, and her mind immediately went flute. Flute flute flute.
Moments later, she pulled out a flute sculpted from bamboo and wasted no time blowing into the mouthpiece. A puff of dust came out the other side, and she coughed, causing Three to giggle with a sound that made her feel warm.
They didn’t find much else worth bringing with them, unfortunately, but Three did pull out an unused notebook and a set of pencils. She clutched them protectively to her chest, and it was only then that Four remembered she had to leave her precious diary behind. She’d have a lot of signs to draw again, if she wanted to keep developing her secret language.
The moment they got back into the main room, Three shoved the new sketchbook and pencils into the front pocket of Two’s backpack, explaining that she didn’t know when they’d have to make a quick escape, but she didn’t want to risk leaving them behind.
Four thought that was probably smart. She added her new flute, too.
By then, the schoolhouse’s floors were awash with the silver light of the moon, and the other three were already settling under the blankets. Three’s hand settled gently around Four’s fingertips as always, and she pulled Four into their pile of warmth.
Four fell asleep listening to the gentle symphony of breaths rising and falling. Again and again and again.
**
She woke to a rustling and a jingle of something thin and metal. She launched into a sitting position, hands curling into her blanket, chest heaving quick breaths and heart fluttering. Through the crack of the splintered window above the door, she saw the top of a man’s head.
Someone’s coming in.
Oh, someone found them already. Before she was aware of what she was doing, she was shaking Five’s shoulders, yanking him out of sleep, and then she moved to Two.
Where was One?
Cold hands pressed down on her arms, and she flinched—hard—and twirled around to face a pair of stone-cold grey eyes. One shook his head at her slowly and pointed at the man on the other side of the door.
Oh. There was One.
He flicked the side of Three’s head to wake her up—which did not go over well with Three—and when Four peeked over the tables to get a better look at the man, One pushed her head out of sight. He slipped his hands around his bat in preparation for an altercation and pressed his back against the legs of a desk, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the door. The rest of the children followed, using the desks to hide themselves from view as much as possible.
Four counted in her head. One. Two. Three.
The door swung open with a creak that had Four’s shoulders rising to her ears uncomfortably. She tucked herself into a ball beside One, and, like always, her hand clamped around Three’s as a sort of silent comfort. It was very quickly becoming a habit, or perhaps a method of self-soothing.
The man entered with a slow, even gait, face blank and unaware of the children hiding only twenty feet away. The door tapped shut behind him quietly, and he sauntered over to the massive mahogany desk at the front of the room.
He was a short man—shorter than One, and definitely shorter than Two—and he walked without any sort of worry, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders turned down slightly. Black hair stuck out in tufts from a grey beanie, and when he turned his back to them, Four noticed small yellow wings fluttering gently against his back.
Some sort of hybrid, then. An avian, if she remembered correctly.
One tightened his grip around the bat. He was at just the right angle now so that the man wouldn’t see him over the desk. Four reached out to stop him, but he’d already darted away, crouched low and moving in pure silence towards the desk.
She could practically feel Two sighing in disappointment behind them.
The man kept his head pointed towards the desk as he dug into his pocket and pulled out something that made the jingling noise again. Keys. He flipped to the right one, past jagged and rusty bits of metal, and inserted the key into one of the desk drawers.
Meanwhile, One pressed his back against the desk, the side where the man wouldn’t be able to see him, bat clutched in still and steady hands.
A long moment passed. Two.
“You can come out, you know,” the man spoke into the silence, and Four flinched. She hadn’t been expecting that. “I know you’re there, little mouse.”
She watched as One’s eyes widened slightly. But he’d been so quiet.
“I don’t know who it is this time, but unless you’re infected or stealing from me, then I don’t plan on hurting you.” The man’s face remained still. His voice was accompanied by the rustling sounds of him digging through the desk drawer. “I’ve played this game of paranoia long enough to know when it’s my imagination and when there’s actually someone in my school.”
My school. It dawned on Four that this man was a teacher. Or, perhaps he had been one seven years ago, before the virus hit.
Now, there weren’t any kids left to teach.
“You can stay,” he added, voice softening strangely, and cleared his throat. “If you’re passing through or escaping something, I mean. It happens more often than you’d expect.”
Oh. For a second, Four thought that perhaps that would be a good idea. If this man was offering shelter, then wasn’t he worth their trust? Hadn’t Cellbit promised these people would help them?
One certainly didn’t seem to think the same. He rolled his eyes in response to the man’s words, obviously distrusting, and gripped the bat tighter. His body shuffled against the desk, impossibly silent, and he slipped behind the man, rising on unsteady feet.
He raised the bat higher.
If the man noticed, he certainly wasn’t worried about it. He tilted his head to the side and continued digging through the drawer, pulling out an ink-stained envelope that was already ripped open and a pair of dull-edged pencils.
One snuck behind him gently, arms outstretched and bat held in front of him like he was planning on hurting the man. Maybe he was. Knowing One, it was probable.
The boy had a thirst for violence. Not that it was his fault—it had been ingrained into him early on in his life.
But the man must have had acute hearing, because the moment One swung the bat, he turned and wrapped his hands around the metal, stopping the blow from landing.
Four stifled her gasp. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried.
Both One and the man froze as their eyes landed on each other, and for a brief period of time, it was as though the world was still. The room went quiet, only interrupted by the thick pounding of Four’s heartbeat chugging dully in her ears.
And then the man’s face fell. He faltered, eyes crinkling and brow furrowing in confusion, mouth turning downwards. “Wait. Wait, are you a fucking kid? What the fuck?! ” His wings followed the trajectory of his emotions, flapping as if to punctuate his question with alarm. “You’re a kid?! ”
Fear flashed on One’s face. It was a subtle expression on him, one he knew how to hide well, but Four had spent enough time around the boy to diagnose the way his eyes went all sharp and darted around, looking for escape routes, and his shoulders tensed, white dragon wings pressed firmly to his back.
He pushed harder with the bat, and the man reacted by pushing back. The weapon shook between them.
And then, taking the man by surprise, One pulled away. The man stumbled forwards. One recovered faster, and—quicker than Four thought possible—jammed the handle of the bat into the man’s back, right between his shoulder blades.
“ ¡Ay, cabrón! ” The man shouted in pain, and dropped to the floor. His face twisted into a scowl, shoulders hunching, and he sucked in a breath. “ Motherfucker, that hurt. Jesus Christ. ”
One wasted no time. He slid around the desk, white sneakers slipping on the floor, and ran for Four and the other children. Four felt Two’s dead, unimpressed glare burning into One from a far distance, but she still stood when One gestured wildly to follow.
The man was staggering to his feet. “Wait, wait, asshole, come ba—oh my God, there are more. There are so many children. What the fuck, why are there so many children.”
Four didn’t have time to think. She felt the man’s gaze on her face as One grabbed her hand and pulled her into a stumbling run. She tried not to limp, ignoring the searing pain in her leg.
They didn’t have time to pack up the blankets. They only grabbed what was left in the backpacks and ran. She saw Two scooping up Five out of the corner of her eye and bolting.
The man’s distant shouting faded into silence the further they ran from the schoolhouse. Apparently, he didn’t try to follow them. Perhaps he was in such a state of shock that it didn’t cross his mind.
It was still early in the morning, and the rest of the town seemed to be deep in slumber. The sun was barely a gold spot on the billowing red silk of the horizon, and it showered the path in front of them in orange light. One’s hand was tight around hers as he practically yanked her down the street and into the thick of town, and she tried her best to keep up.
They didn’t care about being quiet this time. Their footfalls were dull slaps echoing off the walls of the desolate little market that flashed by them. Scraps of cloth in various bright colours sat, tattered and blowing on a faint breeze, on long wires above their heads. Terracotta bricks crumbled under their feet, packed into what had once been a tight formation and had since fallen apart. It would’ve been a beautiful place if she’d had the time to admire it.
They ran and ran and ran, weaving their way through tight alleys and empty streets, until they’d navigated their way to the edge of town once more. The familiar forest of green pines sat like a mockery to their left, smiling at their failure.
The moment they’d stopped, Four doubled over, planting her hands on her knees to gulp down as much air as possible. Her lungs were tight and her leg pulsed in pain and her stomach growled.
Two arrived last, slower than the others because she was carrying Five, and they set him gently on the ground. They walked up to One, crossing his arms, and oh, they did not look pleased. “Dumbass,” he signed, before promptly slapping One across the face.
One clutched his cheek, giving Two a wide-eyed look of shock. “What was that for?”
Two frowned. “We’re taking the abandoned house. And you’re not complaining, or else you sleep on the porch.”
She left no room for argument.
**
Well, at least the abandoned house had more blankets.
Scratch that, it had blanket. Four liked blanket.
She did not, however, like sharing Blanket with four other people, two of whom were blanket hogs.
This was very apparent over the next five nights that they spent cold and shivering, all pressed up together on an old bed frame on a sagging mattress that reeked of mould and sadness.
She didn’t get much sleep those nights, but the daydreams made it better. She imagined her situation away, and at least that made her warm. Plus, Five had a tendency to cling onto her body as tightly as possible in sleep, so that wasn’t too bad.
What sucked were the chores. One went out every day to try to catch some food, and he spent the rest of the day cooking it for them. Two was in charge of lists—taking note of supplies, needs, and working with Three to develop a plan for protecting the property. They all had cleaning and house restoration duties, so those were the only tasks given to Five, but Four was on scavenging duty. Meaning that she spent most of her day outside, and it was scary outside.
However, if she didn’t go with One to the forest, she stayed as close to the property as possible. Mostly sneaking up and down the streets closest to the house, rummaging through garbage cans for food that hadn’t spoiled or hopping fences to see if anyone was growing vegetables or fruit in backyard gardens.
Most people weren’t. Many of her efforts were in vain, and she felt like a failure for it. Once, she’d even stuck her hand into a trash bag and cut herself on the shards of a broken bottle. Three had shushed her gently and wiped the tears from her eyes as Two disinfected and cleaned the wound, and then she had to go back out and continue with a fresh bandage wrapped around her palm.
She didn’t like it out here in the real world. Well, she didn’t like it in the Federation, either, but this was different. Perhaps she was just impossible to please.
After all, she was free. She wouldn’t trade that luxury for anything.
On the sixth day living at the house, she was sitting on the curb, stomach growling, and staring longingly at the little cottage directly across the street. It was well-maintained, soft and cozy if not for the spikes and barbed wire decorated around the fence, and that same warm yellow light always shone through the window. Sometimes, Four would give anywhere to live in a place like that.
It was raining that day. Hard enough that, when she saw a figure appear in the window of the cottage, she had to squint to make out their features.
It was the first time she’d ever spotted the person who lived inside.
He was a tall man—maybe even taller than Cucurucho, as impossible as that seemed—and wore a mustard yellow sweater that made his hardened edges appear soft. He was pale, perhaps tired, but his eyes glistened even from afar with undeniable warmth. He leaned close to his reflection in the window and adjusted his fluffy brown curls. Then, several minutes later, the man entered his garden from the front door, something large and wooden with a long stick out the end in his hand.
Without noticing Four watching him from across the street, the man settled into a cushioned chair seated on the edge of the porch, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, and settled the strange object in his lap.
Calloused fingers fluttered over six strings pulled taut from one end of the object to the other, and when he plucked them, Four shivered.
That sound.
It was music. He was playing an instrument.
For several minutes, she watched the man play in pure awe, unaware of the fact that she was completely in his line of vision. Luckily, he seemed distracted enough with the heavenly instrument that he didn’t seem to notice her. It helped that the splattering rain somewhat hid her from sight.
However, the rain also acted as a partial blanket for the music, and Four found herself straining to hear the lulls and dips of the melody. Cold droplets plinked lightly on her arms and slithered through her eyelashes, slipping off the tip of her nose.
She moved a little closer. It wouldn’t hurt, after all. The man was too engrossed in his music—he wouldn’t see her.
Four edged closer to the building, her runners sliding across wet pavement and stepping onto the sidewalk that harboured the cottage. The girl had to stand on her tiptoes to see the man over the fence.
He played. And he played, and he played, and he played, and though Four’s hair was plastered to her forehead from rain and she was shivering from cold, she could’ve watched the man play for another hour without complaint.
She’d never heard music like that before.
And then the man looked up, and Four didn’t have the chance to hide before their eyes locked.
“Oh.” The man’s movements slowed, eyes fluttering wider. The music came to an abrupt stop. “Hello, little one.” And she thought she heard him whisper, “ Holy shit. ”
She understood his surprise. He probably hadn’t seen a child in seven years.
The instrument was long forgotten in his grasp. He looked as if he was about to stand, but then he remained in place, mouth opening and closing like he was looking for the right words. Any words. He ran a long-fingered hand through his hair, looking positively bewildered.
Four’s gaze flitted down to the instrument in his hands again, and he must have followed her eye-line, because he said, “Guitar? Do you like guitar?” His fingers strummed the strings softly, and she felt herself smile. Her hands flapped excitedly. “Yeah? You like music?” The fingers of his other hand pressed down onto the tops of the strings, and when he strummed them this time, they made a different sort of sound.
She nodded. She did like music. Especially whatever music it was that he was playing.
Faintly, she realized the others might kill her for getting close to one of the townspeople like this. Even a man isolated on the edge of town. They never knew who might be secretly working for the Federation.
“Okay. Good,” the man said, his voice wavering only a little, and he laughed a little apprehensively. Four thought he might have been so shocked that he didn’t know what else to do. “Good, me—yeah, me too.”
Four tilted her head to the side, watching the man with wide, unblinking eyes. He was a bit of a strange man, that was for sure.
Gosh. Adults were weird.
He watched Four’s expression change, watched her momentary excitement fade into a profound sort of curiosity, and he softened, something like worry entering his gaze. “Hey, uh, do you—I mean, are you okay, little one?” He pushed his thin-framed, round glasses further up his nose. “You look hungry. Do you want any food?”
Four blinked at him.
“Okay,” he said nervously. “Uh, if you want to come inside, I can get you something to eat. Would you like that?”
Again, she remained quiet. If he was anything like the adults at the Federation, he would not take well to her signing back at him.
In absence of a response from Four, the man slowly put the instrument—guitar, did he say?—on the deck, and stood, one hand held steadily in front of him as if he was approaching a frightened animal.
Maybe he was.
And then he took a step forward, and Four’s brain leaped into action all at once. Because that meant he was coming for her, and oh, God, she’d revealed her existence to another townsperson, hadn’t she? Which not only put herself at risk, but her entire chosen family. Each of the other children hiding across the street were now in danger of being discovered.
She inhaled sharply and scrambled backwards, heart hammering in her chest.
She shouldn’t have done this. She knew she was doing something wrong, and she still did it.
The man’s face dropped. “Wait, wait—no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He backed up again, hands raised high in the air. “I shouldn’t have come towards you like that without warning. I’m sorry. Please don’t be scared.”
Oh, it was too late for that. Now, Four couldn’t take back the damage she’d caused.
She backed away, eyes pinned on the strange man the whole time.
“Wait, little one, come back. It’s not safe out there.”
It wasn’t safe with him, either. One said they couldn’t trust the townspeople, so certainly this man wasn’t worth a shred of her trust.
She couldn’t run back into the abandoned house now—that would just give away her location. So she was stuck, wasn’t she?
She couldn’t get out of this.
She turned on her heel and ran into the woods, ignoring the man’s fading shouts.
**
Were you really that scared of me? He asks, watching her through glasses tinted a greyish-blue in the reflection of the rain.
Cold air pours up her spine like an old, familiar song, and she shivers. I thought you wanted to hurt me. I thought all the adults did.
Oh, darling, we would never hurt you , he promises, his voice warm and sweet like honey. I know I certainly won’t. We’re not like the Federation, you know.
She nods. I know. I didn’t know that back then, though.
He frowns. Looking as if he wants to reach out, to pull her close, but he knows better. Eventually, he says, Tallulah, I promise you that as long as I’m around, no harm will ever come to you. Alright? I mean it.
She dips her chin into her collarbone, letting her bouncy curls hide her soft smile.
She thinks she likes her new name. She thinks she likes it a lot.
A little dragon hides behind a tree, wings pressed nervously against the bark, waiting for the man on the edge of society to go back home.