Vagabond (4 page)

Once we found our way back to the horizontal ground, we waded to the islands in the middle of the river. Under the brush, there was a spongy, clear space with a canopy roof. It let the sunlight filter through, and it reminded me of a sea-glass mosaic made of variegated greens. There was a different shade for every fragment of sunshine, and our skin became dappled, like freckled bird eggs.
 

That was when it happened. The world shifted, and I felt my heart unstitch itself from my chest to become sutured to his. I’d been feeling the tugging since I’d met him, but kept reigning it in. He was something I could never have— an abomination. But the way he looked at me just then made me wonder, and just by wondering, I couldn’t untie myself from a different truth and how I felt about him.
 

His brown eyes were still bright against his coconut-brown skin. It reminded me of lightly tanned leather. Not in texture, but in color, because his skin was smooth and soft despite it all. And his hair was black— blacker than tar. Blacker than soot. I could never think of beautiful things to compare Xavi to, because that was him. He was beauty in the strangest of places. So leather and tar and soot always felt more honest.
 

And when he leaned in close, he smelled like sweat and fresh water and train and air. He hovered near my face and judged my reaction. I was pretty sure the world was freezing and my heart was exploding because there was no way on earth it could have been moving the way it was.
 

But, as he leaned in, an awkward cough came from the shadows.
 

“Hey there. Care to share a camp?”
 

Chapter Three

The boy was determined, I’d give him that. Not a single obstacle had deterred him yet, and this one was no different. The only way back to the tracks past the bridge was to climb— in the dark.
 

I went first. I didn’t know if he’d ever climbed before, and I wasn’t going to be under him if he fell. I blindly felt with my hand for every solid hold. I had to trust my fingers more than my eyes, and I felt my forearms tense as I gripped. Climbing had a way of using muscles that weren’t supposed to exist, but I’d grown into those muscles over the past two years, like I’d grown into many things about life on the Tracks.

The boy didn’t slip once. We made it over the ledge and worked our way through the rest of the trees, until I found what I was looking for. Just as the river had done, the train-tracks cut a different road of stars in the sky. It was narrower, but the traveling would be smoother from there.
 

Of course, I was operating on several assumptions: that the Militia would least expect us to take the closest path to them, that they wouldn’t have walked over the bridge, that they may not have realized we’d climbed the wall down in the river, and, if a distress call went through and reinforcements came, they’d come from the other direction (since we were in front of where the train was heading). I was banking on it… willing it to be the case.
 

I hopped on the track and tried to look on the bright side. We were close to a Colony, and I could foot it within a few days if I walked fast.
 

I adjusted the length of the straps so that my pack hugged my back snugly. Running with a bouncing pack could get painful. My feet hit the wooden planks that looked like lines on paper between the rails. Xavi taught me how to move comfortably on them.
“It’s the one part of living out here where there’s no need to read between the lines. Think of the planks like rungs on a ladder and the pebbles between them as air. Stay on the rungs to prevent twisting an ankle.”
It took a different type of stride to run on the tracks compared to running on the ground. Momentum and speed had to be steady to stay on the planks, and I had to become train-like in rhythm. Patient. Constant. Never too fast. Never too slow.
 

I began to run and didn’t much care if the boy followed by that point. I’d gotten him as far as I was going to, and I didn’t feel like waisting time or words to officially ditch him. I figured running the tracks would do the job for me. It was one of the rare instances where having short legs had advantages, and my stunted stride made the timing of steps easier. Plus, he was a Colony-kid— a Republic-kid. It’s not an easy transition into this life, and I had my experience going for me. It’d be difficult for him to keep up. I found a steady pace, but I stopped to rest a few times. The boy was always farther and farther behind me, lost in the darkness, since he couldn’t find the right rhythm.
 

Every time I thought I lost the boy in the dark though, he’d find a way to catch up when I took my breaks. He was a machine, and he never needed to stop. The nearer he got, the less breaks I wanted to take.
 

“Slow and steady is the often the best course,”
Xavi would have said, but I didn’t want to listen to Xavi in my head anymore. For the life of me, I still couldn’t understand how, despite his reasoning for everything, he’d do something so illogical? How he could so easily fall into the tramp-trap that was Legs? Xavi was the last person I wanted to hear.
 

I kept running— my own feet tha-thrumping against each plank. I listened to my momentum instead of listening to Xavi. I didn’t stop until the moon was on its way out and the sun was on its way in. The cramps in my side stitched me to the plank I stopped on, and I knew it was time to rest. The track was about to cut out of the trees into another prolonged meadow, and it’d be easier to camp in the trees. I stepped off onto the gravel that lined the rails and turned to see where the boy was. He was a dot on the tracks, and he was moving steadily my way. I contemplated waiting for him since he was so persistent, but decided against it. He ruined the ride I had, and I’d have to foot it to the next Colony because of him. Who knew if I’d be able to hitch another ride before then? And once in the Colony, who knew what type of security his stunt was going to draw? He’d been trouble enough. Fall was coming, summer was losing its hold, and I was running out of time. He didn’t deserve anymore help from me.
 

I sighed and walked into the meadow and traced the line of forest with my steps.
     

“In a meadow like this, if you need to camp, it’s best to walk along the tree-line for a mile to two. It gets you off the track, and the tree-line can lead you back when you’re ready. If you settle in for the night in the trees directly along the tracks, you’re too close in. You can’t light a fire or even set up camp because you risk being seen. Sometimes, they stop the train unexpectedly for inspections or they spot-light the trees to hunt us out as the train passes.” We weren’t planning on setting up camp, but Xavi still taught every chance he got. The meadow was blooming in colors and buzzing in bugs. The horseflies were fearsome predators, and they were all I could concentrate on. Despite this, Xavi assumed I was paying attention.
 

“And, girlie, if a train comes now, you dive,” Randolf added. His beard was grayer than moonlight, but his eyes were young, blue, crystalline orbs that floated above his bulbous cheeks. He made me miss the Nicholas Celebration, because he looked just like all the pictures of Doctor Nicholas. As a kid, we’d decorate the tree, and I’d revel in the smell of pine in the living room, the lights, and the single present we were allowed to give and receive (although Mama and Daddy always snuck me two). It was my job to hang the picture of Doctor Nicholas on the door— the stock picture with his bulging cheeks and knowing eyes. They were the eyes that cured cancer between genetic pairings and medical innovations, and Randolf was practically his clone. It wasn’t his fault he made me homesick, but he annoyed me just the same because of it.
 

He camped with us the night before. He considered Xavi’s body and concluded that Xavi’d destroy him if he tried to rob us. Still, Xavi didn’t sleep the entire night so he could watch over us. He wouldn’t even trust me to a stint, and much to my dismay, the old man followed us out the next morning.
 

Randolf was spry. He climbed the wall better than us and taught us a few techniques that even Xavi didn’t know. Then, the two began swapping stories, and their Track chatter filled the empty air as we walked. Randolf grew on us throughout the day, the way rust grows on worn metal after each new rain. To watch the two reminded me that Xavi would one day become a Randolf, and I found comfort in the fact that there could be a future for boys like him out on the Tracks. I followed behind them, listening more than speaking. I couldn’t shake the feeling that every question they bounced back and forth to each other contained a million other questions between the beginnings and ends of each sentence. There was a subtlety to learning the Tracks, and Xavi knew the hidden cues better than I did.
 

I half listened to Randolf as he continued to say, “Even if you dive into the meadow and hide in the grass, I’ve heard tales of the Militia firing their riffles into the grass just for shits and giggles. Although I’m unsure of the accuracy of that rumor, always remember that nowhere is completely safe.”
 

But safety was the last thing on my mind right then. I was still stuck in the moment under the trees before Randolf interrupted. I was still lost in the way Xavi’s eyes opened and swallowed me whole. I didn’t see that look again, because Xavi hadn’t looked at me the entire night. He hadn’t looked at me all that day either. The light had drained out of his eyes the way it drains out of the sky, and the moment that almost happened between us was gone.
 

“Hey! Wait!” I looked back when the boy called out. He was far enough so that his voice landed faint on the ears, although, had I been closer, it would have been kick-drum loud. I was still in the meadow, following the tree-line as the sky caught on morning fire. Once off the track, the boy was fast. The uneven ground of the meadow was not an obstacle in the same way the tracks were. I thought about ducking into the trees, but he’d find me eventually since I needed to rest. So I waited.
 

I tried to be understanding. Patient. He didn’t yet know the Vagabond language— the clues we dropped or the signals that gave people easy outs. Life on the Tracks was cruel enough, so we avoided being blunt when possible. We danced around awkward moments by laying the right clues, but there were certain people dynamics to learn before being able to pick up on their cues. Sometimes, camping with others happened out of convenience, or we’d go the same direction with someone we’d crossed paths with for a little while. Sooner or later, it always happened. The time would come when separate ways was optimal and the vibes were subtly lain. I never thought it’d be that way with Xavi, and I forced the awkward conversation. For reasons beyond me, I couldn’t let him off the hook that easily.
 

This boy, though, he just didn’t know better. I tried to tell myself that as he grew bigger in my perspective. The lighting painted different features on the boy’s shape as he approached. Smooth skin the color of soft chocolate. Grey-green eyes, like marbled counter-tops. The hair that had reminded me of Brillo-pads in the shadows softened in the sun, and they were perfectly curly rather than haphazard.
 

“Hi.” He grinned.
 

I didn’t answer and turned into the forest. Despite the sun, the temperature didn’t rise much. The sweat and river water that kneaded into my skin under my armpits and bra chilled me now that I’d stopped running. All the heat of adrenaline still did not make up for the temperature dipping down below comfortable. This drop irked me, seeing as morning usually meant the sun would burn off the freeze, but the fact that it was getting colder meant more ominous weather news as I entered the shade of the trees.
 

It felt counterintuitive, but we hiked a mile in, back in the direction we came on the tracks. Exhaustion tugged at me, and I tripped a few times. I felt my alertness slipping away, and I knew I needed to stop. Besides, it’d take too long to find my way out of the forest if I mislaid a marker.
 

Xavi always called this the
“Hansel and Gretel.”
It was a forgotten tale his mother had told him, and he morphed his voice as he mapped out a story about two kids, an evil step-mother, and a witch who wanted to eat them. They’d tried to lay a trail of breadcrumbs to get back home, but birds ate them. Our markers were supposed to be more subtle, but stronger than bread: a broken branch up high (or as high as I could reach), a scraped off part on a tree so that the flesh was wet and white, or a kicked up root. Anything that looked like wind, weather, or animals did it better served the purpose of a hidden trail. It was only necessary when we needed to retrace steps, and I very much wanted to find my way back to the tracks later.
 

In the twenty minutes it took to walk, there was a rumble in the sky. I swore at our luck, but that was the way of the north. Within the blink of an eye, storm clouds became contiguous with open sky. It’s why the world took on so many shades of summer-green— the sky was constantly crying.
 

“Storms make their own train sounds,” the boy commented. “They sound pretty beautiful if you think on it.” His voice was a reminder that he was still with me— a fact I’d been trying to block out during the hike.
 

“You won’t think so when the rain comes.” I yanked off my pack and unhooked the tent from the bottom of it. It was Xavi’s tent. He felt guilty enough about leaving that he made me take it. Besides, Legs had her own they could share.
 

The tent was green in ways the forest could never be and small in ways I never understood fit Xavi’s big body. I hadn’t slept in it alone yet. He had always been with me when we had to use it, and when the weather was nice, we’d opt out of the trouble. It was always easier to run if we didn’t need to deconstruct camp, but, in the rain, the tent saved a whole lot of drama.