Demons

Demons

The process and easier to understand formatting.

D’Artagnan le Roi Deveroix

My name. Some say that a name shapes the soul. Well if they are right, I wonder what my name has done to shape mine?

My name. I have so many that I tell others, but only one is truly mine. Is it Dirk, Cole, Cameron, Mike, Tony, Jason, Roy, or Dart? There are so many others that I don’t even know who I am anymore. Even so I have never forgotten the name my mother gave me.

D’Artagnan Jaques Demont le Roi Deveroix.

Yeah, it’s a long one. And I would describe myself more like “white trash” than French. My mother was French I think. I don’t really remember. I was seven when she was shot and killed in a parking lot for the engagement ring on her finger. I’ve always wanted to meet the asshole that did it and tell him that it was a fake. But I’m sure by now that he knows that. I don’t even know if they ever found the guy.

As I pondered things worth pondering, the bus I was sitting in came to a stop. I got up from my slouch and rubbed my eyes. Had if fallen asleep? A voice sounded over the intercom, “Last stop. All passengers must disembark.”

I looked around. The bus was otherwise empty. Standing, I shuffled down the hall, still blinking sleep out of my eyes. I waved a quiet thanks at the driver who grunted, “Have a good night.” I mumbled something back.

I stepped off the bus and as it left, I sighed, rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes. I blinked and looked around.

I had stepped on the bus at Portland, Oregon and had been transferring until I was pretty far north. I stared at the sign that read “Welcome to Canada” in English and something else that I guess could be French. I’ve heard they speak that up here. When the hell had we passed the boarder?

I have worked more jobs in more states than most, but I had never left the country before. How the hell did I get past the boarder? I don’t even have a passport.

I turned and took in my surroundings. A pit stop (you couldn’t call it a town) had a neon sign blinking the words “Inn. Room available.” I crossed the empty highway road and dug through my pockets for my wallet. I flipped it open and stared into its gaping mouth. A lonely twenty sat in the leather. I winced, but with no better idea, I walked into the inn. The bell jingled and an older woman with greying hair and a frown looked up from her paperback novel.

“Can I help you, son?”

I walked up to the counter.

“Yeah, uh. The sign outside says you have a room available?”

“You from the states?” she asked without answering my question.

“Uhhh. Yeah. I don’t really know how I got here. I mean I know how I got here, but…yeah, I have no idea where here is…”

She looked me up and down. I can guess what she saw: A young white boy with red-black hair and scars on his knuckles and face that stood out in a stark blue. Wearing jeans with more holes than would be considered stylish, a black hoodie that was worn out on the collar and hem with the ties missing and replaced with a shoelace, a tan jeans jacket over it that had paint stains amongst dirt and who knows what else and converse shoes that had seen much better days. They were wrapped in duct tape. I must have looked like I spent most of my nights in a gutter.

I felt a blush crawl its way across my face.

“I took a bus,” I mumbled.

She raised an eyebrow and said, “Rooms are fifty bucks a night.”

The blush darkened and I shoved my wallet back into my coat pocket.

“Thanks,” I said and headed for the door.

“If you don’t mind working for a place,” she called after me. I turned. She continued, “Ask for Connie, tell her Jenin sent you. She’ll put you up and give you something to eat. She owns the bar at the other side of town.”

“Thank you,” I told her and left. She went back to her book.

I stepped inside the bar. It wasn’t that bad of a place. I had worked in bars before, but they had looked much worse and had smelled of vomit, cigarettes and bad beer. This place smelled of beer and cigarettes all right, but the atmosphere was much nicer. Better music too. The patrons looked mostly to be truck drivers and they were scattered about the place. Some of the patrons talking to each other while others played pool or informal poker in the back room. Still, most sat at the bar watching the TV that displayed sport reruns, mostly football and soccer. A red-haired woman that looked on the far side of thirty with white streaks in her hair that looked like they had been done on purpose, but I could be wrong. The things that women do to their hair are beyond me. I don’t do anything to my hair, which is probably why it looks like I had escaped a tornado. I shoved impatiently at the dark chestnut bangs that always dropped into my eyes. I needed a haircut.

I walked up to the bar table and shoved my hands in my coat pockets. I sat on a stool.

“Are you Connie?” I asked, half yelling over the noise of the TV. The red haired woman set an empty glass down behind the counter.

“Who wants to know?” she said.

I glanced at the television.

“Jenin sent me here.” I looked back at her and said, “She told me you would put me up if I worked for you.”

Connie gave me a look.

“She said that, huh?”

I shrugged. She frowned.

“Where are you from, kid?”

I blew at a strand of hair that had fallen back across my face. It stayed put.

“Florida, originally.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Don’t know. Fell asleep on the bus in Bellingham.”

She gave me another look. I gave another shrug.

“Aren’t your parents worried?”

“Never knew them,” I muttered.

“What?”

I shook my head. She seemed to be thinking.

“Andy, take over for me,” she said to a young man that came out of the back. She gestured to me to follow her. I walked with her into the back of the bar and then out the back door. As the wood door shut behind us, it shut the off the sound of the bar. Connie turned to me.

She gave me an appraising look.

“How old are you?”

I smiled, but didn’t answer. I was too tired to think of a believable lie anyway. The ID I had on me said that I was twenty-one, but even I knew that I didn’t look the part.

“Have you ever worked in a bar?”

“Yes.”

She huffed a sigh.

“I don’t try to make a habit of taking in strays, but if you work hard, I can give you the extra room above the bar,” she paused. She looked hard at my face. I stared back. She sighed and gestured to the door. “I’ll feed you first. Can’t have my workers looking like skeletons. It wouldn’t give me a good name if they did.”

My stomach growled on cue. I blushed. Connie just shook her head and led the way to the kitchen.

Oh my Goooooood this woman could cook.

I shoveled the gravy-covered potatoes into my mouth and tried not to choke. Connie set another plate down in front of me heaped with bacon and eggs. A glass of orange juice appeared later when I had plowed through the potatoes. I drained half of it and then started on the eggs and bacon.

“Jesus, kid. When was the last time you ate?”

I gulped down an egg and wiped my mouth with a napkin before answering.

“A while ago.”

She gave me a look that said she knew it had been more than a while.

“Don’t make yourself sick. Come back into the bar when you’re done. The door will lock behind you; leave your stuff in here. You can get it later.”

I stepped outside to dump the trash bags in the waste bins back behind the bar. The gravel of the pothole littered road crunched and ground under my feet. One of the bags had ripped and a can fell into a puddle. I dumped the bag in the bin before heading back for it. I dug it out of the water and stood up, looking at it, not really paying attention to where I was going.

… to be continued.

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.

Demons: Excerpt

Still, silent and cold, Andy sat in the woods, ass wet from the dew on the leaf covered grass. He had his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging them to his thin chest. He liked the outdoors; life was simple here. The smell of the dead leaves and the coming rain was like the sweetest of all perfumes. Even with the full moon, it was so dark that Andy couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of his thin, freckled face. Andy felt safe here, this was the one place no one could hurt him.

“You, can’t hurt anyone here, you mean.”

Andy’s skin jumped and he twisted violently looked around, straining his eyes as he peered into he endless darkness.

“Who–Who’s there?” he called out, his voice an octave higher and thin.

A melody drifted to Andy’s ears from what seemed like all around him, the same voice singing. Andy, his hair, a soft brown mess, brown eyes wide with fear.

“Little rabbit.” The voice cooed, a sudden whisper from behind him. He bolted to his feet, white hospital clothes sticking to his skin. He whirled around. Nothing but the dark gaped back at him, unwilling to unveil the form of the speaker.

“Rabbit in the Woods, 

Ball of White,

All Alone…” The voice sang from behind him again, moving away, back into the depths of the forest. Andy stood stone still. The voice echoed as it reached the darkness of the inner woods, it’s melody reminded Andy of children’s’ rhymes that he heard as a child.

“All Alone,

All Alone…”

“Who’s there?!” Andy spun around again, shouting into the darkness.

“Wolf,

Black as Night,

Smell the Rabbit…” The voice echoed again, filling the haunting woods with it’s rough, mocking melody.

“All Alone,

All Alone…” Andy took a few steps back, trying to track the voice as it circled him. He squinted when he thought he saw movement, a flash of pink.

A person? Andy thought.

Andy jumped as the voice sounded suddenly close,

“Here Rabbit,

Here Rabbit…” The voice was creepy and coaxing, like it was actually talking to a rabbit… Like it was talking to prey. Without thought, only pure instinct, as the fight or flight mechanism was flipped inside his brain, Andy ran.

A white streak, Andy ran through the woods, hopping over fallen logs, as fast as his slender legs could cary him. Behind him, he could hear the crunching footsteps of the creature loping behind him. He ran pell-mell down a hill.

“Watch him Run…”

The voice whispered, so close it sounded as if it spoke into Andy’s ear,

“What good fun.”

Andy jerked forward, adrenaline hitting him hard, making him less careful.

“Wolf chase the Rabbit…” His face was etched in wild-eyed terror. The crash and earth-shaking rumble of an old tree being struck by behind him filled the dead silence of the forest.

“Run rabbit, Run…”

Andy whipped around a tree, cutting open his hand on a short broken branch as he grabbed the trunk, not slowing down. The forest was endless, suffocating Andy’s hope of escape with it’s indifferent stillness.

He jumped, fell, and slid down another hill, crashing into a large stream. Lying on his stomach, the ice cold water running over him, a large, flat rock propped up his chest and shoulder out of the stream, Andy turned. Gripping the big rock with one hand, the other pushed into the gritty silt of the stream, he looked back up the hill, waiting. Not daring to breath.

The voice was soft and dulled by the mound of earth and trees that Andy had fallen down,

“Faster, Faster…”

Andy, never taking his eyes from the hill, rose to all fours.

“Here I Come!” the voice giggled.

Andy felt sick. He waited, dreading… After what felt like an eternity, his libs rooting themselves to the stream bed felt like stone, every inch of him ached, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to let go, he wanted to allow the stream carry him away, far away, but he remained, lungs burning as he held his breath. His ears strained in the smattering of moon light, what little of it managed to trickle through the canopy of leaves, that illuminated the small valley. Time passed. Stillness. Silence.

Andy took a breath and turned away from the hill. Hot breath abruptly hit his face, the thick stench of old, raw meat filled his mouth and nose. Nose to wide-eyed nose, the creature, kneeling lazily on a rock in the stream, one arm resting over his raised knee, stared at Andy. Andy froze, even his heart stopped for a full second, his brain useless in the face of his torturer. Confusion and another surge of fear clutched his chest and stabbed into his stomach. The creature that sat before him, confident and vile, was a young man. His neon pink hair stuck out in all directions, curled, matted and unwashed. The color reminded Andy of a childhood memory of his mother’s key chain. Amongst the bronze, silver and copper keys, swung a tiny, delicate pink dog bowl.

The man smiled, hollow cheeks wrinkling as his pale mouth stretched his face. Amber eyes gleamed back at Andy, hauntingly familiar. The creature grinned canine teeth at him,

“Woof.”

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.

Ice in the Blood, Fire in the Heart: Chapter 3 – Draft

Chapter 3: Past Meets Present: The Silver Lining Takes on a Whole New Meaning

“Vlad, I swear to god, if you don’t hand me the damn burger I’m kicking your ass out right here on the side of the highway.”

Vlad snatched the burger out of reach again and proceeded to stuff his face with his own sandwich. I made another grab for it and jerked the wheel on accident. We veered off the road. I put both hands on the wheel and narrowly managed to miss the big green sign that read:

50 miles to Illinois

“Nice save,” Vlad said quietly, eyes wide.

“Give me the damn burger.”

I snatched in out of his hand. He didn’t resist. I steered with my knees and opened the wrapping. I breathed in the smell of grease and bacon. I ate. God, it was divine.

“Can you open your eyes when driving, please?”

“Mmmmh.” Vlad’s English had noticeably improved over the time it took us to get to the Prairie State.

“Colby,” Vlad said in warning.

“The road is straight, what is there to worry about?” I said, opening my eyes anyway.

Vlad munched moodily on his sandwich and didn’t say anything. We stared out at the road devoid of scenery and life in general. We were the only ones on the road. We chewed in silence for a good half hour before I broke down. If we ever had a test of who could stay silent the longest, Vlad would win hands down every time. I crumpled up my garbage and put it in the grocery bag on the seat between us. I waited a minute and then cleared my throat, preparing to go into interrogation mode.

“What now?”

I choked on my question.

“I wasn’t—I was just…”

“You have been dying to ask me something since leaving Pennsylvania.”

Vlad flashed me a glance from under black lashes and then looked out his window.

“What is it you want to know?”

So much for being stealthy about it.

“I saw you with the coyotes…you want to explain what went down there?”

“What is coyote?”

“Don’t get cute.”

He sighed.

“I can’t talk about it. It won’t be problem.”

My turn to sigh.

“Ok, fine. You said…back at the Inn…that you had a friend. You said he betrayed you…”

“Yes, Kostya betrayed me and my family to the hunters,” Vlad said tightly.

I hesitated before asking, “Was he your only friend?”

“Yes…On byl kak brat mne. My brother. We…I thought that we were close.”

I flicked Vlad a look.

“I’m sorry. How long did you know him?”

Vlad sighed, thinking.

“I was 8 or 9 when I found him in the woods. Most of my childhood was spent with him.”

“That’s a long time to be friends with someone only to have them end up betraying you.”

“Hmmm…”

I drove for another 30 minutes without saying anything. The Illinois landscape greeted us with more of the same.

“What was he like?”

Vlad sat up and slumped down in the seat.

“He was kind. And liked to do reckless things. He liked to talk,” Vlad smiled. “Very much, which was something I was never good at.”

“Well, that much hasn’t changed,” I said.

“I used to be worse. 4 years of travelling from the outskirts of Russia to Saint Petersburg forces one to be able to ask for directions and bargain.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“4 years?”

“Yes, I traveled by foot for the most part and had to…what is your saying? Keep beneath radar?”

“Stay under the radar, yeah. Why? What were you running from?”

“The hunters. I learned that there was someone who could help me in Oregon when I was working in Moscow.”

I hated to ask this, because I knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

“Are they still after you?”

Vlad looked at me raising his eyebrows.

“Who? The mob or the hunters?”

I slammed on the brakes and whirled on Vlad.

“The mob is after you?” I shouted.

“I would be more worried about the hunters. They have a better ability to track, though the mob does have more resources.”

Anger and fear burned in my chest. How the hell could he be so calm about that?!

“Why is the mob after you?” I demanded.

He raised his eyebrows again.

“Where do you think the money came from?”

I sat back in shock.

“Oh my God.”

He patiently waited for it to sink in.

“Oh my God. You stole—”

A phone rang. I stared at Vlad. Neither of us moved. He jumped.

“Oh, right. That’s me. Da.”

I stared at him, brain in frozen disbelief. My luck cannot possibly suck this bad. He talked on the phone in fast paced Russian and then hung up abruptly. He put the phone away in his coat pocked and looked at me.

“I suppose it doesn’t help to know that they just landed in the airport in New York.”

“Who did?” I whispered.

“Both,” he answered.

I turned to look out at the highway. I gripped the steering wheel with both hands. I made up my mind. Taking a breath I started to say,

“Where are you going?”

That was not what I meant to say. Vlad had opened the door and hopped out, his black duffle over his shoulder.

“You were going to tell me to get out. Keep going, they won’t care about you. I will keep them busy.”

I stared at the 19 year old, still in his stolen pajamas and navy blue sweatshirt, his thick black jacket and beat-to-hell boots were the only part of his original clothing. I stared at the look on his face that said he was confident that I was going to abandon him. He stood with one hand on the door and the other on the thick strap of his bag. He slammed the door shut and started walking. I watched him go. The landscape was desolate and Vlad looked like he would be swallowed by it.

“Goddamnit.”

I drove up next to him and opened the door.

“Get in, moron.”

His eyes and mouth held surprise…and quiet hope.

“Get in,” I hissed at him again.

He tossed in his bag and climbed up. Buckling up, he shoved his bag between his legs. He shot me an expectant look, amber eyes studying my face that I kept locked on the road.

“I was going to say to beat it, but…” I flicked my eyes to his. “As much of a pain in my ass as you are, you’re my friend.”

Surprise rippled over his face and echoed in the slight drop of his jaw.

“I know,” I said. “I don’t know when it happened, but I’m involved.” I punched his shoulder lightly. “By choice. So I can’t just abandon you now when things get complicated. I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

Vlad focused his gaze outside. A soft smile curved his mouth.

“Friend, huh?”

“Don’t repeat it like an idiot,” I grumbled and punched the nob on the radio.

“Thank you.”

“What?”

He shook his head and leaned back against the door. Amber eyes shut.

“Wake me when we get to the next break stop.”

“You mean pit stop?”

“Da.”

By the end of this I may actually learn the language, I thought to myself as I flicked a look at Vlad. I lowered the volume on the radio and stayed focused on the road.

*****

I jolted awake when something knocked on the glass by my ear. Colby stood outside my door, clutching a cup of coffee. He held up another cup with a teabag string hanging out of it. I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath, and then opened the door. A sharp cold wind blew up my coat, stealing my warmth. I shivered and took the offered cup.

“Spasibo.”

“Your welcome. I thought you might want it.”

I looked around at the vacant lot and coughed into my hand.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“A 3rd of the way through Illinois, wherever that is exactly.”

Surprise widened my eyes.

“Why didn’t you wa—“

“I tried. You were dead to the world. It started to freak me out, honestly.”

I felt my stomach go cold even with the hot tea sitting in my belly. Colby gave me a concerned look and shrugged.

“I put it down as stress,” he said. “You’ve been going through a hell of a lot.”

“Yeah…can we get something to eat?” I asked, changing the subject more for the purpose of redirecting Colby’s attention than for the sudden need to eat an entire cow, hooves, horns and all.

“Sure, let’s go.”

“Uh, Vlad? Most people chew their food.”

I paused, in the middle of ripping off the meat on the barbecue ribs, and looked at Colby in innocent hunger. I ripped off the flesh, chewed, and swallowed, grabbing another rib. He widened his eyes.

“Dude.”

I kept eating.

“You’re wearing a hole in my wallet.”

I still kept eating.

“Remember to breathe.”

I paused. Breathed. And resumed.

“And this is why I can’t take you anywhere other than to a buffet,” Colby said through an exasperated sigh.

I reached to grab my water glass when Colby grabbed my arm and shoved a paper napkin into my hand.

“You are a total mess.”

I wiped my hands and face and then gulped down my water.

Colby rested his head in his hand and watched.

“I’m not even eating and I feel full.”

“Mmm,” I said and dived back into the platters of food.

“I don’t see how it is physically possible for you to eat this much. Where do you put it all?”

I swallowed the rice noodles and broth down as fast as I could without spilling any. I burped.

“My stomach. Where else?”

“I wonder….”

Colby looked at the bill to divert himself from the spectacle I was making.

“It’s a good thing you come with a bank. I’d be broke 5 times over if it was just my wallet the cash was coming from.”

I finished my platter of coleslaw.

“Can we go?” I asked.

He shook his head and stood up.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Heads turned and eyes followed us out.

“I feel sorry for the guy who has to wash the dishes.”

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.

Ice in the Blood, Fire in the Heart: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Man VS. Rat

Colby slipped and fell on the floor, laughing. Oh, shit, I’m drunk. I couldn’t help laughing and walking really was out of the question, so I couldn’t go around the island to see if he was all right.

“You alright?” I asked, trying to sound unsuccessfully serious.

I didn’t get a coherent answer. I snorted in a laugh.

“Colby, you ok there?”

A hand grabbed the edge of the counter and Colby pulled himself up off the floor. His other hand, still holding the margarita mix bottle, kept him from falling back down, his elbow resting on the top of the island as a balance. He was trying not to laugh. We made eye contact and both fell over laughing again. We had no idea what we were laughing about, but it was comical all the same. Sitting on the floor I hugged my bottle to my lap and rested my back against the kitchen wall, drawing up my knees that were still sore and stiff even with the alcohol running through my body.

Still chuckling, but feeling the buzz start to wear off, I decided that now was a good a time as any to interrogate my thoroughly drunk transporter.

“Colby, man, what the fuck we doing out here?”

“You were the one who wanted to find the fucking Inn,” he slurred back. “Which, somehow we did even though we started going back.”

I smiled.

“I mean,” I started, sitting up more. “What the fuck we doing here in Pennsylvania. I thought best route to Oregon was I-80?”

“It is,” he said. I could hear him take another swig from his mostly empty bottle.

I tried to set my bottle down, but ended up knocking it on its side. It rolled away and I let it. I couldn’t tell which double was the real one anyway.

“Soooo, we taking scenic route?”

Colby chuckled.

“Don’t worry, kid, I’ll get you to Oregon. I was,” He grunted and sighed as he sat up against the oven under the stove on the other wall. “Just going to drop some gear off for a friend out here. It wasn’t going to take this long originally, but I guess the weather had other plans.”

I shoved my bangs out of my face and propped my elbows gingerly on my knees.

“Why you going to Oregon anyway?” I asked.

“My sister is getting married. About damn time if you ask me. She and her fiancé have been setting a date for the damn thing for the past 2 years. Damn inconvenient timing if you ask me.”

I frowned.

“Why is that?”

Colby sighed.

“She want’s me there a month in advance.”

I raised my eyebrows and hiccuped.

“Seems little early.”

“It’s not as over bored as you might think. She purposefully told me an early date so that I might actually get there on time.”

“Ah,” I said.

“I think she and Trent also wanted to give some time for me to find a date. Like that was ever going to happen after last time.”

The light of the lamps set on the end of the island and the counter above me had attracted a few moths. They fluttered, twisted and turned in dizzying circles around the glass lamps, their numbers multiplied by the my double vision and made my stomach turn. I shut my eyes and leaned back against the wall.

“What you mean?” I asked.

Colby sighed. I heard his bottle touch the ground with the chime of empty glass. He managed not to knock it over.

“2 years ago I was in med school, studying to become a trauma surgeon.”

I raised my eyebrows, but didn’t open my eyes.

“Wow.”

“Yeah…” Colby said. “It was nearing the end of my fourth year in the four year program.”

“Why did you drop out?”

I was guessing. It didn’t occur to me that I may be being insensitive. He didn’t say anything for a while.

“You have to put in so many hours of work under a practicing surgeon in order to graduate.”

“Ah, apprenticeship,” I said.

“Yeah, exactly. You don’t usually work that closely with that surgeon too often, but…we ended up working together for over 6 months.”

I opened my eyes.

“I’m guessing it not just business relationship.”

“…It…wasn’t. I didn’t do it to get good marks or anything. I was already at the top of my class anyway,” he said hurriedly. “But…I don’t know. One thing lead to another, I guess.”

“You dropped out because of the relationship?” I asked.

“Yeah. Lindsey was married,” Colby said quietly. I barely heard him.

My eyebrows rose.

“Oh.”

“Yeah…it didn’t help that I didn’t know until I was invited to their anniversary.”

“Very awkward.”

“You cannot imagine,” Colby said bitterly. “I haven’t really been able to get back in the dating groove since then.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I heard Colby stumble to his feet.

“Vsye bol eeschezayet s tyecheniem vremenee,” I murmured quietly.

“What?” he asked as he sat down in front of me, propping his arms on his knees in a mirror image of me.

“I said, vsye bol eeschezayet s tyecheniem vremenee.”

He gave me a look. He pointed at himself.

“French-Canadian, not Russian-Canadian.”

I kicked his foot lightly.

“It something my mother used to tell me as child.”

I didn’t say anything. Colby waited. I didn’t elaborate. He gave me another look.

“Do I have to beg?” He asked.

I chewed on my thumb nail, then stared at it intently as I said,

“All pain fades with time.”

Colby didn’t say anything for a while.

“That’s some pretty heavy advice to tell a kid.”

I chewed on my nail again and said,

“Yeah, well, it work for adults too.”

Silence stretched between us.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Colby started. “But, can you at least tell me what is in Oregon that you are willing to pay 2.5 million dollars for to get you there?

I stopped chewing on my finger.

“Colby—“

“It doesn’t bother me to take you there,” he interrupted. “But I would at least like to know something.”

I looked at him in the dim light of the kitchen; the alcohol was wearing off.

“You know my name,” I said quietly. “That’s more than I have told anyone in long time.”

“Damn it, Vald, don’t get all mysterious on me. Hearing that does not make me feel any better about hauling around a kid without a green card across the entire continent.”

“I have—“

“You would be taking a plane if you did. That, and with as good a job as you have done to get rid of your accent, you know next to nothing about American culture other than how much we swear, what roads lead where and how many miles it takes from point A to point B.”

I felt cold. Colby’s expression was hard.

“I’m not saying this to put you in a hard spot, I’m just worried,” he finished, his face softening.

“I can help, Vlad.”

“No you can’t,” I said reflexively. I looked away from him.

“The last time someone said that to me, I let them and they died.”

I looked back at him.

“That was my fault. I’m not going to let it happen again.”

Colby opened his mouth to say something. I stood up.

“I’m going to bed,” I muttered and left the room.

*****

I didn’t bother saying that it was only 12:30 in the afternoon. I knew that pushing this kid’s buttons was not a good way to get him to talk about himself, but Christ, I really didn’t know anything about him other than his name…and the scars.

What had he gone through to get them? He had said that his family was dead. 

Had he seen it? Had he been nearly killed himself? 

I didn’t know.

Why was he in America? What was so important about Oregon? 

Is it really any of my business?

Why do I care? Or do I?

I watched the moths dance around the glass lamp. Their shadows cast large fluttery images on the walls. I stood up slowly, still unstable. What is it about unattainable people that I find so damn intriguing?

Those eyes of his, not quite human. 

His effective use of curses and still managing to sound cultured when saying them. 

The feel of his muscled body against mine—

“Ok, brain, shut up now.” I ordered out loud.

The flash Vlad had given me this morning ran through my head. I sighed.

Sexual frustration, I know thy name.

I walked into the hall and looked into the room with the wood stove. Vlad was curled up under the covers. The stove was putting out adequate heat now that made the whole room a cozy temperature. There wasn’t any need to check in on Vlad, since he probably wanted nothing to do with me right now, but I was still nervous that he might come down with pneumonia.

“Might as well explore,” I decided and walked down the hallway into the main part of the Inn.

Each room had plastic covered furniture and snow piled over the windows on the first floor. The walls were covered in off-white or off-blue (it could be green, it was too dark to really tell) wallpaper with delicate leaf and vine patterns in dark red or white. The wood floors looked old and worn. It reminded me of the stone steps of cathedrals that had been around for hundreds of years with thousands of feet that had worn away the stone into a bowed shape that cradled the foot.

It felt weird to be in someone else’s home without permission. Treading on other people’s territory was never something I went out of my way to do. I brushed my hand over a wall absently as I walked up a staircase. The old, dark wood creaked and groaned under my weight. I slid my hand up the white painted railing as I continued up the stairs to the next floor. A hallway stretched down the house on either side of me as I stood on the second floor of the Inn. The walls on this floor were stained yellow from cigarette smoke; sharp, crisp rectangles were left from pictures that used to hang on the walls. I could still smell the sharp scent from the years old smoke. I randomly chose to walk down the hall to my right and stuffed my hand in the front of my jeans pocket (that had finally dried) reaching for the crumpled packet of cigarettes and dug out a pathetically bent roll-up. I stuck it reluctantly in my mouth and lit it anyway. I stopped in front of a window and stared out at the white whirlwind beyond, contemplating nothing. I was tired of thinking.

I ended up sitting on the floor, back against the wall, staring up at the window to the white world outside. I had gone through almost all the cigarettes in the pack. I looked in it and sighed. Shoving it back into my pocket, I felt my shoulder cramp. Wincing my eyes shut I felt my hand reach inside my jeans pocket and brushed something soft and fuzzy.

Squeek!

“Holly shit!”

*****

I jumped up off the floor, blankets flying in every direction. The scream came from upstairs. Digging through the black duffle bag that I had carted around through all the fucking snow for the matte black Glock I had hidden in an interior side pocket.

“Shiza,” I swore as the hammer on the gun caught on the zipper.

Another scream and thud came from the second floor. Something broke and a heavy thud sounded overhead. I moved quietly on bare feet to the main staircase, gun lowered and at the ready.

“Colby?” I called up the stairs.

No answer.

“Colby?”

Another thud came and I was halfway up the stairs. I started to call his name again when I saw an object hurl across the hallway and Colby practically fell down the stairs in his hast. I had all but 2 seconds to shove the gun into the back of my waistband of my pajama bottoms. Knocking me back against the wall, Colby bolted down the stairs, swearing up a storm. He was throwing his hands up and wriggling around. He grabbed at his shirt, then frantically ruffled his hair and ran his hands over the back of his neck and shoulders. I stared at him, beyond confused. Just then he noticed I was on the stairs and gave me a panicked look.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, forcing myself to speak clear English.

Colby continued to run his hands over his body and snipped quietly in a near whisper, “Rat.”

“What?”

“RAT!”

I crossed my arms.

“Alright, I heard you,” I hissed back at him.

Still flipping out, Colby gave me an expression that I didn’t know how to read. I lowered my arms.

“Yooouu ok?” I asked quietly.

“No, I’m not ok!”

“Dude, calm down.”

“I AM calm!”

“Ok.”

He looked like he was going to calm down and then all of a sudden he pointed at the top of the stairs and let out a freaked chirp.

“What?”

He pointed harder. I turned to look up the stairs behind me. A grey blob of fur sat on the top stair. Whiskered pink nose, twitching in curiosity, wiggled in my direction as it hopped closer on small pink feet. I looked back at Colby. I raised my eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Vlad, don’t fuck with me right now!”

“It’s a mous—“

“Vlad!”

“Ok, Jesus.”

I walked down the stairs calmly, hands at my sides.

“Ok, Colby. Calm down. Let’s go in another room.”

Without saying anything, he walked hurriedly into the living room of the Inn, casting nervous glances over his shoulder. I stood in front of him.

“Kill it,” he hissed at me.

“What? Why?”

“I hate rats,” he said.

“It is mouse.”

“It. Is. A. Rat.”

“Ok, fine delude yourself. It is mouse. I have seen rats. Forest rats in my home town, Verkhoyansk, and the city rats in Moscow and Saint Petersburg. That,” I said, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb, “is not rat.”

“Just kill it.”

“You do it.”

“I,” he stopped. “Can’t.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Colby? You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

I stared at him for a second, and then started to walk back to the stairs.

“Go to the kitchen, I’ll deal with it, slabakom.”

“Vlad!” Colby grabbed my elbow abruptly as I turned. I frowned.

“….Uh…thanks,” he said hesitantly.

“Sure…”

I watched as Colby walked off to the kitchen and then stared up the steps. The mouse (it really was a mouse) sat up on its hind feet, whiskers still twitching. I sighed. This is ridiculous. 

“Sorry, little guy. Guess tonight is not your night.”

It squeaked and skittered off down the hallway. I walked up the stairs and followed it.

*****

Had that really been a gun? Where the hell did he get it?

Still in shock from the rat crawling around in my shirt (I didn’t care what Vlad said, that had to be a rat), I took out the cigarette pack and tried to light the last one I had to calm my nerves.

Maybe I’m just delusional. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But still, seeing that flash of black and the odd shape in the back of Vlad’s PJs had me wondering. I couldn’t get the damn lighter to work.

“Oh, come on. You were working a second ago.”

I heard a loud whack! and jumped, dropping the lighter.

I heard the ceiling creak softly and followed the sound with my eyes as the creaking continued down the stairs. If I hadn’t been so on edge, I wasn’t sure I would have noticed the sound at all. Vlad walked into the kitchen.

“Dude. Make more noise when you walk. You’re freaking me out,” I said tensely.

He gave me a look like, what’s wrong with you, and walked over to me. He picked up the lighter I had dropped and took the cigarette out of my mouth.

“Stop smoking, it’s bad for you,” he said and stuck the roll-up in his mouth and lit it.

I swallowed. He blew the smoke in my face. I sighed.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that.”

“Yeah, well,” he took a drag. “I wasn’t the one flailing around like someone had put pepper flakes in my clothes.”

I took the lighter from him.

“I think you mean pepper dust on my clothes.”

“Boleye-menee.”

I closed my eyes. Don’t hit him.

“I didn’t realize you smoked,” I said instead.

He exhaled and stared at the cigarette in his hand, held in between his first fingers near the tips.

“Ya zayadlyy kuril’shchik.” He smirked at my expression. “That means I’m heavy smoker.”

“You enjoy making me feel like an idiot, don’t you?”

“Da, nemnogo. V samom dele, ochen’ mnogo,” he said, cigarette in mouth, grin in his amber eyes.

I growled and took it away from him and leaned back against the island.

“So, you going to tell me what that was about?” he asked, still smug.

“You going to tell me why you are in America?”

He gave me a cold look.

“Then, no. I’m not.” I breathed in the dry smoke, foul taste sticking to my tongue.

Face pensive, Vlad rested his elbow on the island counter top. We stood like that for a good long while, thoughts in our own heads.

I looked at Vlad out of the corner of my eye, studying him, trying to determine his mood. His mouth and eyes were tense, but his body was relatively relaxed.

“I can’t stop wondering, you know,” I began, cigarette held tight between my lips. “I’m naturally curious.”

“I think the word is nosey,” Vlad muttered.

“Yeah, I’m nosey.”

Silence.

“I used to have dog,” Vlad said quietly after 10 minutes of nothing, his accent coming back.

I raised an eyebrow.

“The dog have a name?”

Vlad folded his arms over his chest with a sigh. He stared at the floor.

“Vovka.”

“Ok. Did you like it?”

“Him. And no, not really. He was wolf. I’ve had him ever since I can remember.”

Vlad’s expression softened into a sad smile as he remembered something. He tilted his head and hunkered back against the counter. He let out a soft laugh.

“I—The dog and me. Used to go running in woods and chase rabbits during summer. We lived far outside of town, but the woods,” he gestured. “Even farther out. If you go all the way through them, you can see the tundra on the other side.”

He stopped. His smile fading.

“My mother used to warn me never to go out there. ‘Never go farther than the woods,’ she would say. But Vovka was wolf. He needed to run, to hunt and wanted to be part of pack.”

I watched Vlad quietly, not wanting to push him and have him clam up.

“Wolves in Russia not good. You kill on sight. There are hunters out in the tundra hunting big game in summer. I ran into the open fields and forgot the danger there. It is so beautiful in that time of year. The red and green grasses wave in the wind and clear sky stretches for miles and miles. I ran and ran. I had never had such feeling of freedom before…” he drifted off.

“Hunters followed me home.”

I felt my stomach clench. I knew there was not going to be a happy ending to this story.

“They burned the house down with my family inside. I tried to get out, but…I was trapped. Part of the roof caved in and pinned me against the fire.”

I stared at Vlad in disbelief. What kind of person would try to kill a whole family over a wolf?

“Vovka got me out and we ran away,” said Vlad, breaking the tense pause. He looked up at me.

“It was my fault.”

His amber eyes stared at me hard. Anger and guilt chiseled sharp lines on his young face. He stared at me like he was expecting an accusation. I didn’t know what to say.

“Vlad. You can’t blame yourself for that. How would you have known that these crazy guys would try to kill you and your family over a wolf?”

His expression shifted into a blank wall. He looked down at the floor, long bangs falling over his face.

“I guess,” he said quietly.

“Where did you go after that?” I asked.

“To friend…but…it turned out that he was not friend after all.”

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled up at me suddenly from under his hair.

“Thank you.”

I stared at him.

“Do you have any good memories? Of the dog, I mean.”

He shook his head.

“Not really. He always got me into trouble.”

“What happened to him after..?”

“He ran away. Never went back.”

I assumed he meant never came back, but something about the way he had been talking about the dog seemed odd. Like he was talking about himself.

“Why are you telling me any of this anyway?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hair out of his face.

“You keep saying you want to know more about me. I don’t think you will stop asking, so I will just tell you.”

“As much as I love winning an argument or making a point…but, what happened to the whole don’t try to help or you’ll get hurt spiel?”

He shrugged again.

“You man. There is nothing I can say to make you do something that you don’t want to do.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. His use of the words “a” and “are” had been noticeably lacking since day one. I thought it was funny and couldn’t help bugging him about it.

“I think you mean, ‘You are a man.’”

He rolled his eyes.

“Da. That is what I mean.”

“Ok, well thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He gave me a shrewd look through bangs that refused to stay out of his sharply angular face.

“I am not telling you because I trust you, Colby. I am telling you because I hope you will never know the risk you are taking. Because the more you know about me, the higher risk I have of getting killed. I will not blame you if it comes to that.”

I felt the blood drain out of my face. What the fuck had I gotten myself into with this kid?

“Glad we could have this talk,” I said and started to leave.

“Just one thing, though,” I paused in front of him. “If we were friends, I would do everything I could to help you. This scare tactic you are pulling for whatever reason, isn’t helping your chances for us becoming more than strangers. Keep that in mind.”

I left the room.

*****

It was hard to breathe. Friendship had never been on the agenda. But Colby was the nicest person I had met since leaving Russia, since abandoning my family and from the time I first talked to the asshole I knew that it might be fun to have him as a friend. I know I can never get involved in his life like that though, because I didn’t expect to live much longer than the time it was projected to take me to Oregon. I felt the time slip by and hated that I couldn’t do anything. This was supposed to be simple.

I moved to the cabinets and opened a bottle of whiskey I found stashed with the other bottles of margarita mix and what looked like really old wine. I unscrewed the cap and took a deep drink from the bottle. Wincing as the alcohol burned its way down my throat, reflexive tears stung in my eyes.

“That could have gone better,” I choked out in my preferred language.

“Papa would be ashamed to call me his son. All I’ve ever done is run. It is not very Russian of me.”

I snorted and took another drag on the bottle.

“Not very human of me. I’m just a damn animal ruled by instincts. Kostya was right about me. As much as I hate to admit it.”

The name of my old friend nearly stuck in my throat. He was my first and only friend. Kostya was from the nearest town Verkhoyansk. He had gone into the woods and gotten lost. My parents had told me to stay away from strangers from the village, but I had run across him by accident and couldn’t leave him. It was at night and the temperatures dropped well below zero around that time of year. I didn’t mind the cold then. I used to feel like I was apart of it. It was as silent as death.

I had taken him to my home and put him up in our barn. My parents would have made me leave him. In the morning I took him home to the outskirts of the village. He had promised not to tell anyone what had happened. Before I knew it, we kept meeting up in the woods. We became friends. He never said anything about how different I was. Like how I could run so fast or how I could know exactly where everything was and hear things that no one could hear. We used to play a game of hide and seek and I would always find him.

I thought that we were close. He would talk about his family and problems. I listened to him quietly, his low voice breaking the stillness of the woods. I would go to his house sometimes and we would meet up outside and share a bottle that he had stolen from his father and act like morons. He held his liquor far better than I did. We did young and stupid things.

It got to the point that I would talk to him about exactly how different I was. One day he wanted to see. I refused. It was the one rule that my parents had ingrained in me not to break at any cost. I could truly be myself at home, but not outside. It was too dangerous. After a few weeks of wearing me down, I granted Kostya one look. Only once.

I didn’t see him for almost a month. I was worried and afraid.

I saw him again finally. He was more distant. After a while he seemed to relax around me again. A week later he persuaded me to go out into the tundra. I didn’t like it, but agreed to it anyway. We ran out into the fields. He called out to me as I kept running. He had said that he didn’t want me to hide myself. I frolicked in the fields as I truly was. Vovka, he would call out to me. I ran back to him as fast as I had ever run. We laid in the grass then and contemplated the sky. I remember thanking him. It had been the happiest day of my life. I thought we were close.

I kept thinking that, even when the hunters came and murdered my parents and trapped me inside my burning home. My baby sister had screamed and screamed. The fire burned and ate my flesh. I didn’t really remember how I escaped, but I ran to the only other place that I trusted. I kept my faith in Kostya right up until he let his father in the room to try to kill me.

I don’t know how I survived.

It was the last time that I had trusted anyone, even 4 years later.

I lay on my back in the living room, the bottle of whiskey empty. I was shivering from the draft coming through the window I had broken. The blanket Colby had taped to it did little to keep the cold out. The gun in the back of my PJs pressed painfully into my lower back. I sighed and stared at the ceiling. I heard the mouse crawl over to me from a hole in the wall. I had stuffed the mouse down a hole in the wall on the second floor. I hadn’t been able to kill it. It hadn’t done anything wrong. It just existed. Tears burned in the back of my throat. I wondered if anyone would do me a similar kindness. I could relate to the rodent. The mouse crawled up my arm, bypassing the liquor bottle and sat on my chest.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I told it.

“You’re on the run remember?”

It chewed on my sweater. I sighed.

“I guess we are both ignoring our instincts today. But you do realize that if Colby sees you he’ll flip out and I will have to pretend to kill you again.”

The mouse continued to nibble. I let it until it pinched my skin.

“Ow! Ok, you’re done.”

I sat up and it scurried off, back into the wall. I looked down at my shirt. A nice quarter sized hole was left from the mouse. I sighed, stood and almost fell, and then staggered to the room that served as the bedroom. Colby was thankfully asleep. Clumsily putting my gun back into its hidden compartment in my bag I zipped it up and flopped onto my end of the “bed” and curled up on my side with the empty whiskey bottle cradled in my arms. I shivered and half dragged a blanket over me.

I was out like a light.

*****

I woke up. Rubbing at my eyes I tried to figure out what had woken me up. I looked at my watch. 12:45 am. I huffed a breath.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I groaned quietly and flopped back to the covers, burrowing my face into my pillow. I sat up again as the reason I woke up in the first place clicked. I looked around the room. Vlad was a dark shape next to me, his steady breathing the only noise in the room. That was it. There was no wind. I got up and walked to the living room. I stared out the windows. Everything was still outside. No more snow fell from the sky. Bright stars glittered.

“Finally. We might actually leave soon.”

I walked back to the “bedroom” and quietly got back under my covers after tossing a few chair legs on the glowing coals to get the fire going again. I shook Vlad’s shoulder.

“Vlad. Vlad, wake up.”

He groaned. That was about all I could get out of him. A sound of glass sliding along the covers caught my attention as the kid rolled over. An empty bottle of Bourbon whiskey was clutched in his arms. The Russian was dead to the world. A parade going through the house wouldn’t wake him up.

“Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

He, of course, did not answer. I gave up and rolled onto my side willing sleep to come back.

*****

“Yeshche pyat’ minut,” I slurred. Burrowing away from the light, I nodded off.

CRASH! 

Noise split through my left ear and had me bolting out of bed as if I’d been electrocuted. Swearing incoherently, I lay on my back, holding my hands to my vibrating skull. I had hit my head on the only table in the small room and felt sick. I moaned for the better part of a minute before I could hear again.

“Get up, Vlad. We have to go, the storm’s over and the snow is melting.”

Colby dropped my duffle on my stomach. I grunted and reflexively curled into the fetal position.

“Vlad—“

“I’m up!” I stretched an arm above my head, palm open and shouted at Colby before he could do something else to spur me into action. I felt a powerful need to vomit.

“I’m—going to be sick,” I said quieter.

“Too bad, we need to get gone. The owners might be on their way back. You can vomit on our way to the car.”

The light hurt my head in a way that I didn’t know that part of the body could hurt. I nearly fell down the stairs of the porch as I followed Colby out of the Inn. I missed a step and crumpled unceremoniously to the thinning snow that covered the walkway. Colby called over his shoulder without looking back.

“Walk faster, kid.”

I picked myself up and stumbled after him, in too much pain to complain.

I kept my promise and didn’t puke until the Inn was a mile behind us. Bent double, I emptied what little I had in my stomach onto the white snow and ice on the side of the road. Bulldozers had already been out clearing the road. At least this time we knew where we were going.

Even though I had nothing left to vomit, my stomach still heaved. I was dizzy and sweat broke out over my skin. I took a breath and tried to swallow, which was a bad idea, and walked a few steps forward. Colby had not stopped walking. I fell to my hands and knees, coughing. I held my stomach with an arm and practiced breathing. The nausea faded a bit and I grabbed my bag and struggled to my feet. I veered off the road a bit. Footsteps crunched over to me. Colby grabbed my arm and pulled me back on the road. He took my bag without saying anything and walked shoulder to shoulder with me. I panted, dry heaved and kept going. We walked like that all the way back into town.

I sat on a wet bench and waited for Colby to get the snow and tarp off the car and chain the wheels. I shut my eyes tightly. The white light bouncing off the snow from the sun hurt my eyes and increased my growing headache.

“Vlad. Vlad, come on. Let’s get breakfast before we go.”

I almost puked again.

“Net, spasibo. I’m good.”

Colby stood in front of me and put his hands in his jeans pockets. I still had my eyes squeezed shut, but I knew he was staring at me with a look that meant he wasn’t going to give me a choice. The sound of cars driving by and the bustle of people coming out of their homes to get on with life, filled the air around us.

“I’m sorry if I made that sound like you had a choice. Get up. The café is just down the road.”

I whined and cried like a baby in my head. Outwardly I sighed and got up. I hobbled after my fearless leader and contemplated all the ways that I could kill him.

We entered the café and sat in a booth at the back of the small food place. I slumped down and glared at Colby. He studied the silverware for a minute when a waitress came over and introduced herself.

“So is there anything I can get you guys started on? Coffee or water?”

Colby smiled up at her. He was in a rather chipper mood. Apart from his need to kill me today. Or maybe it was because he was trying to kill me that that was what was making him so damn cheery.

“Sure, coffee sounds great.”

The waitress turned her attention to me.

“Anything for you, sugar?”

“Call me sugar again and I’ll eat your children. Tea would be appreciated. No caffeine.”

She gave me an odd look. Colby cleared his throat.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s not an early riser. Thank you, Stacey.”

The waitress smiled uncertainly and left us our menus. Colby kept up his amiable smile until the waitress was out of earshot.

“What the hell was that about?” he demanded, leaning over the table.

“She happened to be in my line of fire,” I grumbled back at him.

“What did you say?”

“If she called me sugar again, I’d eat her children.”

Colby gave me a what the hell look.

“What are you? The werewolf of London?”

“I’m from Verkhoyansk, actually.”

“Vlad,” he hissed at me. “You’re not funny.”

I raised an eyebrow, still limited to small actions from my queasy stomach.

“Russian’s don’t joke.”

Colby glared at me and then changed gears faster than a race car as the waitress came back.

“Here you go. Coffee and tea. I hope ginger tea is ok. It’s the only thing we have on hand that’s decaf.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked Colby.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll take your breakfast special with extra bacon.”

“Would you like gravy with that? Or would you prefer the hash browns?”

I gagged.

“Gravy, please.”

She smiled and jotted the order on her notepad.

“And for you, sugar?”

Colby gave me a warning look and kicked me under the table. I forced a smile.

“Steak.”

The waitress blinked.

“And bacon. Sausage would also be nice. I love me some sausage.”

“Alright,” she said hesitantly. “How would you like your steak cooked?”

She drew out the word steak a bit as if she were wrapping her mind around the idea.

“As rare as possible.”

Her smile was about as strained as mine.

“Coming right up.”

She took our menus and made good her escape.

“Dude. What is wrong with you?”

I smiled.

“She’s vegetarian.”

I took a sip of my tea.

“What the hell does that have to do wi—oh, you can’t be serious.”

Colby wiped a hand over his face.

“You’re a monster.”

I smiled, showing my teeth.

“Only when I’m hung over and threatened with sugar.”

“She was being nice.”

“Didn’t like it.”

“Gee, really?”

We paused in our verbal sparring and I waited for Colby’s next move. He sighed.

“Are you going to eat any of it?”

“I’ll take it to go,” I said behind my teacup.

He tapped his fingernails on the tabletop.

“You’d better eat it. I like my meat well enough, but that sounded disgusting.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I believe in balanced diets,” he said.

“Yeah, because the amount of gravy you getting must count for both food groups of fruit and vegetables.”

His plate arrived a minute later.

“Wow, that’s a lot of gravy.”

“Told you.”

Colby was making decent headway through his dish when mine came out.

A heaping pile of meat lay spread out before me. My stomach growled. I guess nibbling at it couldn’t hurt. I went for the still red and bleeding steak. Colby stopped eating.

“Tha’s goss,” he said around a mouthful of biscuits.

I breathed in the bloody goodness.

“Mmmh.”

I took a bite and had the satisfaction of seeing Colby hit a gag reflex. He strained to swallow.

“Is that an artery?”

I chewed at the body part in question.

“Yes. What did you think was in meat?”

Colby made a noise and shook his head, eyes closed.

“It’s blue inside.”

“And cold. Just how I like it. Straight from the animal is close second. Too much blood, though at least it is warm.”

I took another bite chewing loudly. Colby looked like he might actually vomit. Deep satisfaction dulled the pain in my head. Unfortunately, my stomach did not appreciate the moment of revenge or the raw meat going down my throat. Saliva gathered and I had a bad feeling.

We both shouted at the same time.

“Check!”

We got back to the truck. Putting the boxed food in the toolbox in the back, we got in the cabin. The engine started without a problem and we were on our way. We passed by the police station on the way through town and saw an elderly couple making angry gestures and holding a for sale sign and an empty margarita mix bottle. The policeman was doing his best to calm them down. I smiled and rested my forehead against the glass. The cold felt divine against my hot skin. I nodded off to the static of the radio and the heaters on full blast.

*****

I glanced over at Vlad. I still couldn’t make up my mind whether to drop him somewhere where he could find someone else to hall his ass around or keep him. He was complicated. This whole situation was complicated.

I sighed and looked away from him. It was easier to be angry with him when he was awake.

He looked vulnerable when he was asleep. None of his mysterious looks off into the distance or the cold I could kill you with my pinky and a Ping-Pong ball look was there when he was asleep. He looked lost. And very young. His straight black hair was plastered to the wet condensation on the window he was resting his head against.

He was visually contrasting. Black hair and white skin. Elfish features and a strong brow. Scars and youth. He was deceptively strong. I was 6’ 2” and 200 some odd pounds of muscle from working on the docks and fishing vessels. Vlad was a good 4” shorter than me and thin as a rail. The first time we really tussled back at the town, I had been caught by surprise. I had figured that I could take the pipsqueak no problem, but when he grabbed the front of my shirt I felt completely at his mercy. The kind of life he must have led to be as fit as he is and still eat enough for a family of 10 was almost beyond me. He couldn’t hold his liquor worth beans, which I suppose is a good thing. It wouldn’t have helped my pride any to lose a drinking match to a kid that was almost a decade younger than me.

I turned onto Daniel’s gravel road and tried to dodge the potholes. I didn’t succeed of course; they kept multiplying the farther I got up the road. Vlad jerked awake shouting something that I think was a swear word and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. He blinked them open and tried to focus.

“Where we?” he mumbled, still not 100 percent awake.

“We are on my friend’s road that I told you I was dropping some stuff off for,” I said, expecting resistance.

Vlad blinked again still absorbing where we were. Then he curled back up against the window.

“Ok. Wake me up when get to highway.”

With that he was out.

I stared at him. At least as much as one can stare while paying attention to the road. That was easier than I expected. His grammar was more atrocious than usual, but no one is really intelligible when we are half asleep anyway. I shrugged with my eyebrows and drove on.

“Guess this means I’m getting the gate.”

“Colby!” Daniel gave me his customary bear hug and gestured toward the log cabin.

“Come in and have a drink. Miranda and the kids are at her mother’s for the weekend.”

I glanced back at the truck. Vlad was a fogy blur in the passenger seat.

“Ah, you know I’d love to, but I’ve got to hit the road soon.”

Daniel followed my glance and gave me a knowing look.

“Moving on are you? Damn time if you ask me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m just the ferry.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Daniel replied, smiling.

“Let’s just get your gear out of my truck, alright?”

We carried the tools and boxes of equipment to Daniel’s barn. Setting the last box of extension cords on the floor, Daniel waved an irritated hand at the stalls.

“Would you just go say hello to the damn horse? She’ll make herself sick bellyaching like that.”

I smiled and walked over to Star.

“Hey, baby. This grumpy old farmer taking care of you?”

Prancing in place in her stall, the mare shoved her nose inside my jacket, searching me for a treat. The horse looked like she had a run in with a paint war. She had misty splashes of white brown and black all over her body. Her platinum blond mane and tail was the only part of her that was a solid color.

“She only acts like that because you spoil her rotten. If you came over more often she’d be the size of a blimp with all those damn apples you give her.”

Star let out an ear shattering winey at Daniel. I winced at the volume. She snorted and stomped her hoof. She stuck her nose back in my coat. I laughed.

“I think she just told you off.”

Daniel grinned. He took off his hat, brushed a hand over his hair and put his cap back on.

“I forget that ladies are sensitive about their waist line.”

I smiled and brought Star’s search to an end and handed her the apple I had hidden behind my back. She took it and retreated back into her stall and crunched happily, finally going still.

“Your welcome,” I said to her still smiling.

“Her manners are about as good as my daughters’.”

“How are the girls, anyway?”

Daniel stood beside me and fussed with his hat again.

“They’re good. Just started elementary. Time goes by so fast.”

I nodded.

“Bet you’re glad you don’t have to change diapers anymore, though.”

He laughed.

“Damn straight. Me and the Misses can finally get some real sleep. And quality time when they’re at school,” he said and gave me a wink.

I scrunched up my face.

“Ah, man, Jesus, I didn’t need that visual.”

He smacked the back of my shoulder and jerked his chin at the door.

“Come on, you said you needed to hit the road.”

Still trying to scrub my brain with imaginary bleach, I followed him out of the barn and walked back up the grass hill to the driveway.

“Daniel, shut up for a second,” I said, grabbing his shirtsleeve up by his shoulder.

My eyes were glued on the scene ahead of us.

“What the hell?” Daniel whispered next to me.

Vlad was outside, back against the truck. He seemed relaxed with the heel of his boot hooked up on the edge of the step up on the truck and a hand in his coat pocket. His eyes were locked on the woods ahead of him. The soft crunch of twigs, snow and gravel was the only noise other than the melting snow falling from the treetops in scattering water droplets. Large brown shapes emerged from the woods and loped over to Vlad who remained still. I was almost too far away to see him clearly, but a smile curved the kid’s mouth. He reached a hand out to the shapes. Coyotes walked over to him.

Coyotes are shy and never approach humans, but this pack walked right up to Vlad without any fear. The pack leader climbed up Vlad’s legs to thrust its head into the boy’s hand. The animal’s big paws were braced on his legs and left muddy prints on his pajamas. It wagged its tail.

Vlad laughed.

He spoke softly to the pack and rubbed them all down with scratches behind the ears and along the neck. One animal leaned its side against his leg and looked up at him in what looked like adoration. I had only ever seen that look on a domestic dog that truly loved its owner. I didn’t know whether to be more afraid of Vlad with this new development, or to be afraid for him.

“Who the hell is this kid?” Daniel asked quietly.

“I honestly don’t know,” I whispered back.

One of the wild animals perked up, ears alert. It twitched its ears and the pack disappeared into the woods, soundless as ghosts. Vlad stared after them, his smile fading. He straightened and turned to stare directly at us. I moved forward and acted like I hadn’t seen anything.

“Thanks for taking my shit, Daniel. I’ll see you after the wedding.”

“Uh,” Daniel said. “Yeah. No problem. Happy trails.”

“Tell the wife and kids hi for me.”

I walked up to Vlad.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

“Waiting on you,” he said.

We got in the truck and I waved at Daniel who was still in shock, but was faking it well. I started the engine and headed back down the road, leaving the ranch and the uncomfortable scene of the coyotes and Vlad behind.

I turned on the radio to fill the tense silence.

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.

Ice in the Blood, Fire in the Heart: Chapter 1

It’s a little rough, but tell me what you think! – mkrepky

1: Caught in a Blizzard – Break out the Margaritas!

“Why are you such a bitch all the time?!”

Almost slipping on the black ice in the road from the shove Colby aimed at my shoulder, I wheeled back on him, grabbing the front of his jacket and yelled back in his face.

“If you not nag me all the time like goddamn bitch yourself, I wouldn’t be!”

Colby grabbed the fabric of my coat on my shoulder and collar, trying to push me off of him. I was close enough to his face to see the gold and blue flecks in his eyes even with the only light coming from the street lamp at the crossroads behind us. A small scar unnoticeable from a respectable distance cast an odd shadow on his cheekbone, red hair glinted with yellow gold from the flickering light, slivers of it caught in his close shaven beard.

“Back the fuck off, Vlad!”

I snarled at him, giving him one more shove, then backed up a few feet, letting the thick fabric of his jacket slip from my fingers. We both stood staring at each other panting in the near dark. Colby ran his hand over his cheek and jaw, looking off into the still, dark deserted town street. He sighed and dropped his hand. Slanting me a look from the corner of his eye, he growled at me.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

I snorted and shoved my hair out of my face. I stared out at the sleeping town.

“Da, I know.”

Colby sighed again. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and shifted his weight. We both felt the silence stretch into an awkward thing that sat between us. I shivered and dropped my chin under my coat collar. A slight wind picked up and I wished I could grow a decent beard.

“So…,” Colby started oddly. “We actually going to fix the car instead of standing here in the middle of main-street like a couple of morons?”

I stared at him from over my coat collar. He rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, Vladimir, I thought you were born in Russia. It’s only 20 degrees.”

I glared.

“It’s meer, not mir,”I muttered.

Colby rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, Vladi-meer.”

I glared harder.

“I may have been born there, but it doesn’t mean I have to like the cold for fuck sake. ‘Sides, you practically a fucking polar bear. You wearing a fucking t-shirt.”

Colby flashed his white teeth at me in a smug grin.

“I’m Canadian.”

I rolled my eyes.

“See? Exactly my point. Asshole.”

I looked at the car, beat to hell, made in the 70’s, and stalled. It was a 1975 Chevy 4X4 Silverado, and a total piece of shit. I was still amazed it had gotten us the 500 miles from the New York City harbor to the middle of fucking nowhere Pennsylvania, somewhere between Sunbury and Pittsburgh. It was also Colby’s car and he won’t let me badmouth it, but goddamn. Of all the fucking times to stall, it had to be in a fucking blizzard. Not that it was actually blizzard weather, but still. It was the kind of cold that sinks into your flesh and won’t let go. I gave in and wrapped my arms around my chest and bitched,

“I’m fucking freezing, man.”

Colby rolled his eyes and shook his head, smile still in place.

“Get in the car, useless. Give me 20 minutes and we can go. I think it’s the damn spark plug that keeps popping off. Don’t look at me like that, I know my car, and yes I can fix it, so shut up and get in.”

I held out my hands in a calming gesture.

“Fine, whatever.”

I walked around to the passenger’s side and opened the door. The sky caught my attention and I swore. Colby had the hood propped and muttered from behind it,

“What now?”

“Shut the damn hood, there is no way we getting out of this town tonight.”

This time Colby peeked at me from behind it.

“What is it?”

I sighed, grabbed my black duffle bag and shut the door with a loud slam that made Colby frown from where I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

“The plus side from being born in Russia. I know what the beginnings of blizzard looks like.”

Colby swore. The hood shut with a slam.

“Now what?” he demanded.

I shrugged.

“Cover car with tarp and find a hotel, I guess.”

Colby looked at me with a dubious expression.

“In this tiny place? Please. They don’t even have a Starbucks.”

I looked to the heavens.

“Fine. Inn. I’m sure they have one of those. Come on, I think I saw one few blocks back by that bridge.”

I started walking. Colby grumbled and started covering the car with a tarp in the back of his truck. He ran to catch up to me.

*****

“You said a few blocks, right?”

I was so cold by now that I could no longer feel my legs or my face. My feet and hands had long since gone numb and stiff. I shivered again and sunk into a low patch of snow up to my knees.

“Shiza. Yeah, I saw one. I said it was by bridge we went over.”

“What bridge?” Colby demanded in an exasperated tone of voice.

I blinked and looked up at the sky. The wind was up in force and snow was starting to flutter down from the black-grey clouded sky. I groaned.

“Vlad, come on, we’ve walked over 4 miles by now.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really. My body was shaking so bad I could barely see straight.

“Don’t Canadians walk? Or do you get your moose to take you everywhere?”

“Very funny. Cut the crap, Vlad, you really have no idea where you’re going. We are going to die out here. I saw a house an hour back, we could see if they’d let us in.”

I stopped and looked at the sky over by the horizon of evergreen trees.

“That might be good idea,” I said, lifting the strap of my bag higher up on my shoulder and turned back.

A gale of wind whipped up out of nowhere, almost pitching me head first into the snow. Snow dropped out of the clouds like a broken pipe pours water.

“Vlad! Come on, move it!”

Colby grabbed me by the arm and hauled me forward. Wading through snow, we hauled ass.

*****

“Can you see where we going?” I had to shout over the wind to be heard.

“No! I was kinda hoping you could, seeing as you’re in front,” Colby shouted back.

A blast of wind hit me in the face and pitched me to the ground. Snow went down my coat and shirt as my head and shoulder fell into a snowdrift. I flailed; trying to figure out which way was up. Strong hands grabbed my free arm and pulled me free of the drift. I kept a strong hold on my duffle.

“Fuck, that’s cold!”

“You alright?”

“Yeah! We need to get out of this!

“Keep walking!”

I looked forward, putting my hand in front of my face to ward off the speeding bullets of falling snow. Leaning forward into the wind I walked on.

*****

My face slammed into something solid and knocked me on my ass again. Snow closed over my head. I struggled to get up. My heavy coat was soaked through and felt like it was made of lead. Colby pulled me to my feet, saying something.

“What?”

He repeated it, but I still couldn’t make it out even though we were only a foot apart.

“Sign!” Colby shouted into my ear.

“What?” I asked, this time not sure what the hell he meant.

Frustrated, he pointed in front of us. A white wood sign with elegant black words swung in the wind. I put the pieces together.

“Why the hell I the one who had to run into the fucking thing?!”

Colby looked at me. I shook my head in a never mind gesture. He couldn’t hear me either. I looked at the sign again. I blinked and couldn’t focus. Grabbing his coat collar I yelled into his ear,

“You wouldn’t happen to be French-Canadian would you?”

“Yeah, why?”

I pointed at the sign.

“What’s it say?”

Colby blinked and squinted. He grinned suddenly. I stared at him in question. Speaking into my ear again he said,

“Running River Inn!”

I felt my knees give slightly.

“Fuck, nakanyev.”

“You alright?” Colby asked. He hadn’t heard what I said.

“You see the house anywhere?” I asked.

We looked around.

“There’s so much snow! I can’t see a damn thing!”

I saw a very faint orange glow off to our right. I pointed.

“Do you see that?”

“What?”

“Light!”

“Uhh…Off over there by that shadow?”

“Yeah!”

“A house light?”

“I guess!”

“Alright, let’s go!”

I nodded and followed Colby’s lead.

*****

We tripped up the steps to a porch and knocked on the door. There was no answer or light on anywhere other than the porch light that we had followed up the road. Colby banged on the door shouting a “hello.” Still no answer. I moved to the side and wiped the piled snow off a window and peered through the glass.

“There’s no one in there.”

“Why the hell would no one be in an Inn?”

“I mean it’s empty. There’s no pictures on the walls or rugs on floor and there is plastic covering furniture,” I clarified as I looked at the lock then started knocking snow off of outside furniture and staggered around the porch.

“That’s just fucking fantastic. Now what? What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for key,” I ground out through chattering teeth and straightened. “Which there does not appear to be one. They even took the welcome mat.”

“Dude,” Colby said, his face wearing an expression that I have come to call his “pansy” face.

“For Christ sake, Colby. It’s simple: We go in, or we freeze to death on fucking porch.”

Colby glared, but didn’t try to stop me as I broke the window with my elbow. I tossed the duffle trough. Taking off my coat with numb fingers, I laid it across the jagged glass and climbed through the window. More like fell through. I went ass over teakettle when the toe of my boot caught on the edge of the window frame. Colby jumped through after me and was of course far more graceful.

“Idiot, you alright?”

He helped me off the wood floor. Blood stained my pants and the sleeve of my grey sweater.

“That cool. Can feel damn thing.”

“Shit. Damn it, Vlad. That is not cool.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well…”

“You alright? Your shaking like crazy.”

Colby pulled his sleeve back.

“Why the hell’d you take off your coat?” He moved to press his wrist against my forehead. I flinched, jerking my head back.

“Jesus, Vlad. I’m not going to hurt you,” Colby said quietly. I didn’t say anything, just stood there feeling dizzy. Colby draped his coat around my shoulders.

“You need to get out of the cold, come on.”

We walked to the staircase in the middle of the living room. I sat down on a stair, my eyelids shutting. I blinked them open forcibly. Goddamn I was tired.

*****

“Vlad. Vlad, cut it out, look at me.”

I opened my eyes, confused. When had I nodded off?

Colby loomed over me in a blurry shadow.

*****

Worry sat in my gut and tightened my throat. Vlad’s jet-black hair was plastered wetly to his skull. Frost clung to the tips of his hair and eyelashes. Blurry, heavily lidded amber eyes tried to focus on my face. His skin was damp and ice-cold under my palm as I gently felt his forehead and cheek, brushing the backs of my fingers over his face. His eyes shut. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

“Oh crap.”

Symptoms: Shallow breathing, confusion, low energy level, lack of coordination…

I rubbed my hands together vigorously, trying to get some feeling back into my fingers. Pressing my first two fingers against the artery in Vlad’s wrist, I counted beats in my head.

…Weak pulse. Probably Hypothermia. Okok, can’t move him around a lot it, might cause cardiac arrest…

“Shit. Why didn’t I pay better attention to Darrow’s lectures?”

I tried to drudge up as much info as I could remember from my time in med school as well as covering Vlad with a few blankets I found stashed in a box in the hallway leading to the door.

“Cover with blankets: got that. Move to a warm environment…Oookay..”

I looked around and found a door down another hall open. Half jogging toward it, I looked in, seeing a wood stove.

“Perfect.”

The kitchen was in another room and had a table with four classic antique wood chairs. I felt a pang of guilt with destroying them for firewood, but with life on the line, I ignored it.

“Come on, Vlad, don’t die on me,” I said and gingerly picked him up and moved him into the back room. Laying him down, I continued through the checklist and started lighting a fire with some balled up wallpaper and the legs and arms from the chairs. I took out the metal lighter from my coat pocket and lit the paper.

Monitor breathing: a person with Hypothermia may look unconscious with no apparent signs of breathing or pule. If breathing stops, start CPR.

After making sure the fire was going, I leaned over on my hands and knees, listening for breathing. It was shallow and quiet, but there.

Breathing a sigh I remembered the next step.

 Remove wet clothing… 

“And this is the awkward part…” I muttered. With numb fingers I dug out the Swiss army knife from my jeans pocket. Taking off the blankets I had laid over him, I cut open his sweater, the thick cotton fabric had soaked up a good amount of melted snow and was plastered wetly over Vlad’s chest and stomach. Mindful of the glass stuck in his right arm and knees I removed his clothes, all of which were wet and stiff. I covered him with the blankets again, feeling the heat the fire was finally putting out at my back.

Next step: Share body heat….

Removing my own wet clothes without burning myself on the cast iron stove proved to be a trick. I kept banging my elbow against the open door.

Keeping Vladimir close to the fire I slipped under the blankets next to him and shivered as his ice cold skin touched mine. I was thankful that my underwear was still dry. I would deal with the glass in his knees and arm after his tempurature had returned to normal. They didn’t look that deep and had already stopped bleeding.

I let myself zone out and fell asleep within a few minutes.

*****

I felt cozy. It was the only word to describe the comfy warmth that cocooned my pained and achy body. A weight on my chest shifted and I opened my eyes. The walls and ceiling of the room were stained a dull orange from the dim light of the fire from my right. It could use some prodding, but I didn’t want to move. Just then I noticed the sound of soft breathing blowing on the nape of my neck.

I turned my head.

Long orange lashes framed Colby’s cheeks. His long bangs sprawled across his angular face and clung to his prickly beard. His expression was calm, but worn. Since he was stuck in his own dream world for a while, I didn’t feel embarrassed for staring.

Not for the first time, I wondered why this stranger had offered me a ride. We were both headed in the same direction, but he has more than done what a transporter would do. I remember making the plan for this trip purely by going on land and sea. I couldn’t have gone on a plane, since passing through customs was out of the question. I had spent a good amount of money to come here from the harbor at Saint Petersburg, albeit illegally, on a fishing ship.

I had asked a worker at the dock if he knew anyone near that was headed to Oregon. He had stopped another dock loader and repeated my question. That man nodded and yelled something back and pointed off to the crowd. 

“He said to go ask McKenzie. He just came into port about 10 minutes ago. The kid mentioned something about Oregon a month ago. Something about his sister’s or girlfriend’s graduation or something like that.” The man started to walk off.

“Where can I find him?” I asked, walking with him.

He looked at me with impatience.

“Look, kid. I’m not a fucking travel guide. Go find him yourself, I have work to do.”

With that he left. I frowned and then headed in the general direction the other man had pointed. I asked a few more people along the way where I could find this McKenzie person. Eventually I found him sitting in a Starbucks near the docks at a street corner.

“You McKenzie?” I asked a man sitting at a table sipping with a cup of steaming coffee. He looked at me with a frown.

“What’d he do this time? Steal your wallet?

“Huh? Uh, no, I’m just—“

“Your car, then? Or did he ditch your sister for some corner girl?”

“No, I’m trying—“

“You working for the mob then?”

“No! I’m trying to—“

The man looked behind me and yelled over my shoulder,

“Hey, McKenzie! This kid’s looking for you!”

I turned to see a younger man with red hair in his early 30’s glare at me over his coffee. 

“I head you, Geary! Thanks, you can shut up now.”

I walked over to him as he sunk back down on the table he was seated at. He propped his elbow on the table and cupped his head. He groaned, but didn’t look up as I slid into a chair across from him.

“I don’t care, and don’t want, it what ever it is, so you can go away and bother somebody else.”

“Listen, I—“

“I’m not in a listening mood, kid. I have a hell of a hangover.”

I glared, my patience snapped.

“Look, asshole, I don’t give fuck how hung over you now, but I’ve been looking for you all goddamn morning, and I’ve run out of patience for how unfucking polite you people. I just need to know if you can help me find way to Oregon or not, so I can go find someone else who can, got it?”

The second I started talking that time around, McKenzie had lowered his hand and leaned back in his chair. His expression was haggard, but intrigued. He didn’t say anything for a while.

“D’you know what time it is?”

“Six o’clock in morning,” I said without needing to look at the clock over the cashier’s counter.

He was quiet again and took a sip of his coffee. He tipped his head to the side slightly, fixing me with his hazel eyes.

“How old are you?”

“19.”

He snorted.

“Fuck, kid. Shouldn’t you be catching a bus to school or still be in bed at this hour?”

I didn’t answer. He sighed.

“Fine. How much cash do you have on you?”

“Cash?”

“Yeah. You know currency? Money? The American dollar? The green pieces of paper that you can buy shit with?”

I glared at him.

“I know what money is.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Really? ‘Cuz you didn’t look like it.”

I didn’t say anything.

“So. Answer the question. How much cash do you have?”

I hedged.

“If you asking how much I can pay you for travel—“

“Just give me a number, kid.”

I paused.

“How much do you need?”

He rolled his eyes and then rubbed his hand over his face and leaned forward on the table.

“Give me a number,” he said, clearly enunciating each word.

I didn’t speak immediately.

“Neit,” I muttered quietly.

“What?”

I bit my lip, and then sighed.

“Not here,” I stated louder, not looking at him.

“Fuck, kid. Go home,” he got up to leave.

I jumped up and whirled around in front of him, forcing him to stop.

“I can’t.”

He glared at me.

“Not my problem,” He said and walked around me.

He tossed his empty coffee cup in a wastebasket and I followed him out the door.

“I need to get to Oregon.”

“So you said,” McKenzie grumbled at me.

“Look, I can pay you—“

“Don’t care, the boat’s leaving.”

“McKenzie!”

He ignored me and took out his keys as we stopped next to an old Chevrolet pickup truck. 

“I don’t take in strays.”

He looked up at me over the truck bed.

“Why the fuck are you following me? Go home.”

I felt my cheeks flush.

“I can’t.”

He dropped his keys.

“What?”

“I can’t go home! There is nothing left there!”

He stopped trying to get the key in the lock and looked at me.

“What the hell does that supposed to mean?”

My chest tightened.

“They all dead. That’s what it means…”

He didn’t say anything for a while.

“Your family? So is that your life you have squeezed into one bag?”

He gestured at the black duffle bag I had slung over my shoulder.

“Something like that.”

He stared at me silently for a moment, seemingly thinking something over. He shook his head after a while.

“Sorry kid. I don’t take on that kind of baggage.”

He went back to getting his door open. Stepping around the back of the truck, I swung the duffle off my shoulder and unzipped a pocket. I threw the contents at the back of his head. He swore, hand going to where I had hit him and he whirled around to snarl something nasty at me, but I cut him off, drawing his attention to the wad at his feet.

“I would not get that wet if I were you, da?”

He looked at the ground and directed his curse at the cash at his feet in surprise rather than malice. He looked like he didn’t want to touch it at first and gave a nervous look around the parking lot, but I had made sure that my back would block the view of what we were discussing. He picked it up, staring at it.

He looked at me.

“Is this real?”

I nodded.

“And clean.”

“You mean it’s been laundered?”

“Yes,” I said.

“How much is..?”

“10,000.”

“Holly fuck…” McKenzie stared at me.

I knew it was a gamble showing him that amount of money, but I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.

“I can pay you 50 dollars a mile with 500,000 up front as insurance, if that sounds good to you.”

He just stared at me, the math beyond him. 

“That’s—“

I clarified.

“2.5 million dollars total.”

He stared at me.

“Can you give me ride or not?” I asked.

He continued to stare.

“What are you doing with that kind of money?” He asked, his voice quiet.

“That’s none of your concern.”

He swallowed.

“Ok.”

Silence.

“You’re not a part of the mob are you?”

I smiled a bit.

“Your friend already asked me that, and no. I’m not.”

He still looked in shock.

“Ok.”

“When can we leave?” I asked.

“Uh. Now.”

“Great.”

I moved to the other side of the truck. He unlocked it and we got in.

 It wasn’t until we were leaving New York City that he spoke again.

“So you have a name?”

“…Vladimir Khodkevich.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

 “Thanks.”

“…My first name is Colby. You don’t have to call me McKenzie. The guys at the dock do it to annoy me for the most part. It’s what they used to call my dad. It makes me feel old.”

I paused, then stared out the window.

“Can I call you Vlad?”

“Yes.”

“Well then. Nice to meet you Vlad.”

I slanted a look at McKenzie.

“Nice to meet you too.”

He caught my eye and we both smiled at how awkward that greeting was. Colby turned on the radio and I leaned back into the upholstery.

I stared at Colby, feeling the beginnings of a feeling that I didn’t even want to think about, stir deep in my chest. He looked younger when he was asleep.

Colby shifted and snuggled closer, the weight on my chest moving to my stomach. My breath caught. I’m not wearing clothing. This discovery came with the stilling of Colby’s hand on my hip. I debated whether I cared if his hand kept going. His nose and mouth rested against the dip of where my shoulder met my neck. His beard tickled. I smiled reflexively. A laugh stuck in my throat. He was dreaming.

He made a noise that I couldn’t decipher. He twitched and murmured something. Changing position again, Colby moved away, his head moving back and his hand that was on my hip came up to rest on my chest. His other hand flattened against my side. He made a sharp noise like a gasp and his face pinched into a pained expression.

I looked at him, worried.

Opening my mouth to call his name and wake him up, I stopped. I caught a word he mumbled.

“Dad…”

I felt my brows crinkle in sympathy.

“Colby.” I called his name softly, not loud enough to wake him. His face twitched, pain rippled through his features.

I turned partly on my side, wincing as I felt the pain of the glass in my arm and legs, just rotating my torso. I moved my arm up to touch his bare chest with my fingertips.

“It’s ok, Colby. He can’t hurt you here.”

Our noses were almost touching. His face relaxed and his breathing evened out into deep breaths. The anxiety left my body as I felt him return to a peaceful sleep.

I remembered once when we had taken a brake from driving at a pit stop and I had asked Colby about his father. I had wondered why it bothered him to be called McKenzie. He had said it really wasn’t a big deal, just that it reminded him of his dad. I had shrugged and chalked that subject up as something that wasn’t good for conversation, when he had turned to me and said that what he had told me was not entirely true.

His father had been abusive and a drunk. He did not like to be reminded that he was his son. Colby later said that he had never told anyone before or talked about it outside of his family. He didn’t know why he told me the truth. I didn’t know why either, but I told him that I could relate. He gave me a look, but I never elaborated.

Looking at him now, I saw a wealth of kindness and knowledge.

I turned away from him before I could do something stupid. My heart thudded away in my chest. I stared into the embers of the fire and tried to find sleep. Silent tears spilled down my face. I had no idea why the stupid things were doing that.

*****

“Yebatch! Damn it, that hurts!”

Colby pulled another sliver of glass from my knee. It was the last body part that needed to be patched up. My arm and left knee had been thoroughly divested of glass and had been wrapped in gauze.

“Deal with it. It’s a miracle that there isn’t more damage,” Colby said as he pulled another shard of glass from my leg and dropped it in a pot.

I groaned and flopped back on my bed of blankets.

“For someone who has just barely survived Hypothermia and now has a high threat of contracting Pneumonia, you sure do bitch a lot.”

I huffed, brushing my hair out of my face. I arched my back in an irritated stretch.

“Hazard of being lousy patient,” I grumbled, and then hissed as pain tore up my leg.

“Colby!”

“Sorry.”

I glared at him down my nose.

“You done yet?”

*****

“Just about,” I said.

Dear god, please stop doing that, I pleaded in my head. I hadn’t allowed Vlad to move much or put on the clothes I had dug out for him until I had him completely patched up. I am now regretting my decision for not letting him put on a shirt. That last stretch was so distracting, my tweezers slipped. The only thing covered was his groin by an artful draping of a bed sheet that was distressingly thin, even folded in on it self as it was.

I swallowed. This kid was the epitome of athletic youth. He was built like a swimmer or martial arts student, but his body looked like it had gone through hell. I hadn’t noticed the scars last night because it was so dark, but now with the fire still going and a few old-fashioned oil lamps lighting the room they were painfully obvious.

Deep gouges and ragged scar tissue covered his torso. Marks from fourth degree burns where his skin had melted coated one entire side of his body: from his shoulder, down his side, over his hip and down the outside of his thigh to his ankle.

I could not even imagine the pain any of them had caused. Nor could I fully comprehend the nerve and muscle damage inflicted by those injuries without examining them carefully.

It also made me doubt that the pain from the glass was even remotely significant.

I put my tweezers down and gently wrapped up his knee.

“All done, your highness. You can put your clothes on now.”

“Finally!”

Vlad sat up and whipped off the sheet. I didn’t look away fast enough. I felt my cheeks warm up and was thankful that I had a beard. The image was now branded into the backs of my eyes. I picked up the garbage that comes with repairing bodies and stuffed the waste in the steel pot with the glass. I put it on the counter in the kitchen.

“How long do you think this blizzard will keep up?”

Vlad walked barefoot into the kitchen, holding his new shirt in his hands and, thank you God, wearing pajama bottoms.

“Is there no such thing as modesty in Russia?” I blurted.

Vlad raised an eyebrow.

“Not like America, I guess. Though I’m from the countryside so there is no such thing as modesty. Does it bother you?” he asked as he pulled on the 3 times too large, dark blue sweater.

“Not really,” I said, kicking myself in my head. “I’m just not used to having a guy I barely know walk around naked.”

He smirked.

“I’m not naked.”

Something in his eyes made me nervous in a way that I wasn’t sure was bad.

I rolled my eyes.

“Whatever…The weather might last a while, there’s no way to really tell since we don’t have a radio, but for some reason I don’t think we’d get a signal anyway.”

Vlad sighed. He walked to my side and stood very close, looking at the refrigerator.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked as he opened the fridge door.

“Moose.”

“What? Really?” he asked, shutting the door.

I held up a can of refried beans and smirked.

“Not unless you want to go brave the wilds again Indiana.”

“Indiana?”

I turned on the stove.

“Jesus Christ, you don’t know anything. Indiana Jones from the adventure movie series.”

He gave me a blank look.

“Raiders of the Lost Arch?” I suggested.

Vlad shook his head in the negative.

“What do people watch in Russia?” I stirred the beans and lowered the heat to sim. Vlad dipped his finger in the pot and disappeared behind the island counter before I could hit him with a spoon.

“I’m from the country, remember? That means no television.”

“How did you live?”

“Quietly.”

I shook my head and monitored my beans. I heard Vlad riffling through the cabinets. He chirped a noise of joy from behind me. I turned in surprise.

“What?”

He held up a bottle with a green label on it. A grin spread across his face.

“I can’t read it.” I said. He blinked.

“It’s in English,” he said.

“I mean that I can’t see it from over there.”

He brought it over and held it out to me.

“Margarita mix?” I asked.

He took back the bottle.

“Why not? It’ll go with the beans.”

“Does it have any alcohol in it?”

He looked at the label again, turning it.

“Da, 9%.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Jesus.”

I looked at my watch.

“Vlad, it’s 9:00 in the morning.”

He shrugged.

“So?”

“So, alcohol is usually reserved for the afternoon or evening.”

He looked at me with a doubtful expression as he sprinkled salt onto the counter.

“Says who?”

I forgot to answer and watched him as he dipped the rims of the wet glasses in the salt and filled them with snow that he ran off and collected in a pot from outside. He poured the alcohol mix into each glass.

“Are the beans ready?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, they are.”

I divvied up the beans into separate bowls on the island. Vlad handed me a glass. He raised his in salute.

“Ura.”

I smiled.

“Cheers.”

We clinked glasses. I laughed and shook my head.

“We are stuck in a blizzard and we are having margaritas. The irony does not escape me.”

He smiled back.

“Nor I.”

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.

The Sound of a Frozen Scream: Draft

Cobalt blue eyes stared up at the dull grey sky. The blank stare of the depthless orbs was fixed on the undisturbed vastness with no particular direction or reason.

They just stared.

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.

Why You Don’t Mess With Wizards

DAIMON “RY” RYDER: I told you once, I ain’t telling you twice! Get the fuck out of my house!

LARKIN MCCAIN: You call this a house? Really? Huh, more like a shoebox—

D: Would you shut the fuck up already?!

L: Sure.

D: God damn it!

L: What are you still yelling for?

D: You piss me off! That’s why!

L: Jesus, you’re a head-case, you know that?

D: Get the hell-!

L: I came here to help you! You have powers you can’t hope to control without learning a few things! And you damn sure can’t learn them by yourself, so, goddamn it, Daimon, let me help you!

D: [long sigh] Get off my damn couch. You want a beer?

L: Uh, not really.

D: Fine. [goes away, comes back and sits down]

L: That looks like vodka to me…

D: Out of beer…

L: Ah…ok…

Together: Look—Lark—

L: …Well…this is awkward…

D: …Yeah… [sigh], look. I have to study. There’s a chem test coming up that’s half my grade so…

L: …So…you’re drinking vodka…

D: So I need you to leave… that’s what I’m saying.

L: Well that’s too damn bad.

D: Lark—

L: Shut up Ry.

D: B—

L: I am in charge of you. I didn’t tell you before because I knew you’d have thrown me out on my ear before I could make sure.

D: Make sure. Make sure of what? What the hell are you talking about? What the hell do you mean ‘in charge of me’?

L: Just—Ry sit down. I don’t know, it just happened.

D: Just happened?

L: Gram will have my head. I don’t like it any more than you do.

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.

Skye: draft

“Skye. Why do they call you that?”

The young boy with emerald eyes stared down at the little girl chained to one of the metal rings welded to the floor of the metal wagon. Her brown hair was lank with the weight from the downpour from above. Warm grey eyes searched her fellow prisoner’s face. Their crystal color stood out from the filth and bruises that covered her face and body and shown hard and cold as steel, even in the dim light of the early morning.

Ratty, worn out clothing that was equally heavy with the rain, had been recently torn. The bruises on her young, bear thighs stood out against the paleness of her northern skin. She couldn’t have been more than ten. She, and the other twenty children in the caged wagon, were most likely refugees. Having lost their families and homes in the battle near Braydyn and Cardellaen the slavers and traffickers have been taking these children to sell, either to soldiers or to others with darker interests. It didn’t matter to them which side they were sold to. It was dark times these young lives lived in. Most of them were already too far broken, their eyes, dull and vacant.

The girl sniffed and wiped her nose on her shoulder.

“I heard the guards talking last night when you were brought in,” she said, talking to the floor, but staring at the boy from the corner of her eye.

The boy didn’t reply at first. He was different from the others, but not just physically. He sat straighter, back against the metal weave of the cage, rather than hunched over, his strange eyes alert and focused. He had an air of confidence and exuded strength even from his slight build.

In this black and grey gloomy world painted with the colors of slate by the mist and rain, this boy stood out starkly. Snow-white hair that was cut close to his scalp branded him as a foreigner. Deep-set eyes the color of the ancient forests of legend glowed with an inner light. It was so faint, the girl thought it was a trick of the light. He had a sharp face like a wolf or fox but with a stubborn jaw and slightly pointed ears to complete the picture. Black tattoos encircled his wrists, forearms and ankles. A brand, the skin still red and puffy around the deep burn, had been pressed into his shoulder through his thin black tunic.

He gave the girl a sharp look.

“What did they say?” his voice was calm, but hard.

“I only heard some of it, they thought I was asleep.” She leaned back against the iron. “They cursed you. Said something about bad luck and they called you Skye.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of you?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “No. But they were. What did you do to make them so scared?”

The boy said nothing. The racket of the rock and bump of the wagon as it waded through the rain filled the silence between the youths.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked after a while.

The boy looked into her serious face and then down at his bear feet and the heavy chains that trapped him.

“Now?”

She nodded.

“You can do it, can’t you. Get out of here, I mean. That’s what the brand is for, and why these men are afraid of you. You have magic,” all of this she said as statements.

The boy looked up at her. He was far too serious for his age.

“It doesn’t frighten you knowing that?”

The girl smiled and shook her head, “No.”

The boy looked around at the other children.

“What about them?”

The girl shrugged.

“You could give them the choice, but I don’t think they’ll come.”

He didn’t say anything again for over an hour. The rain had stopped, but the clouds overhead still blocked out most of the rising sun. The road the wagon was taking was traveling along side the forest; its leafless trees stretched their twisting, grasping fingers toward the sky. The boy looked up from his hands.

“You ready?”

The girl stared at him for a moment, having given up on the boy after his long spell of silence. She nodded.

“Yes.”

A loud crack like lightning broke the stillness of the day. The ear-piercing screech of wood twisting and splitting filled the forest and valley. Shouting of the guards and the squealing of the horses shocked the children out of their stupor. A great tree crashed down on the front end of the wagon, crushing the men that rode in it. The horses had broken free, the harnesses had snapped. They bolted by the cage, running back down the road.

The girl with the grey eyes watched the chaos with wide eyes. When the chains fell from the limbs of the children, she was up and halfway out the blown open door when she turned to look back over her shoulder. The boy was standing and staring at the other children. All eyes were fixed on him.

“I can give you food and a safe place to sleep if you come with me,” his voice carried strongly over the sound of the yelling men on the other side of the fallen tree.

No one moved at first, they stared at one another nervously.

“We need to go,” the girl said urgently.

The young boy remained still, waiting. About to yell at him again, she stopped. An older boy stood up, black hair and brown eyes, a scar along his forehead, and nodded toward the young mage. Two more children stood, a boy and girl. The tall girl held the hand of the little boy, a strip of cloth wrapped around his eyes.

The small group left, running down the road.

“Into the woods,” the boy with white hair yelled at his troop.

Fast as they could, they ran up the short hill and into the woods. The sound of the men was growing closer. The brush was slowing their progress. Fighting to the front of the group, the white-haired boy led them, the girl behind him. Thrusting a hand in front of him, a shockwave hit the undergrowth and trees in front of them and then they parted, dipping and bending out of the children’s ways as they ran. The older boy stumbled over a rock as he stared in bewilderment as the foliage bent to the power of the spell.

Vaulting over a rotting log, the white-haired boy halted the company of children and they hid under it. The sound of the men had faded. After a time when they were sure they had lost them, they stared at one another, sizing each other up. The girl with the grey eyes suddenly offered her hand to the boy with the white hair.

“Jack,” she said simply.

The boy gripped her hand.

“Skye,” he said hesitantly. “Gawan Skye. Rather you called me Skye…” he trailed off, lamely.

She smiled and let go.

“Nice to meet you, Skye.”

The older boy offered his hand.

“Name’s Dalton Bayrns.”

Skye shook his hand.

“Thanks for saving us back there,” Dalton said.

The tall girl offered her hand. Skye took it in a strong grip that surprised him.

“I’m Dana and this is my younger brother, Ravyn.”

Skye nodded.

“Good to have you with us,” he said.

“So…now what?” Jack asked.

“I recall you saying something about food,” Dalton put in helpfully.

Skye looked around at the group of children all looking to him. He smiled for the first time.

“Yes, I believe I did.”

Chapter 1

Dim amber light spilled into the room as a candle was lit. A rustle of cloth and the scuff of boots being dragged across the wooden floorboards were the only noise in the small room. The candlelight caught the shine of a scar on the young man’s shoulder before it was covered with the black cloth of his tunic. He clothed his lean, muscled body, the body of a fighter, but still with the slenderness of a boy, and readied to face the dawning day. Lastly, he tied on his purse and dirk, the jingling of the buckle, a soft tinkle of sound before the rough tightening of the leather belt. Dragging his fingers through his white hair, the pearlescent strands shone in the soft glow of the candle, he tied it back, out of his way. Pulling up the dark green hood of his coat, he walked to the door of the room. The candle put itself out behind him.

“Look, I said he would be here to meet with you about our purchase for travel, and he will. He just has a hard time getting out of bed this early,” said a young woman in black to the scruffy sailor.

She was shorter than him by a head. Long brown hair was braided loosely back with short locks curling in ringlets about her ears.  Sky grey eyes searched the darkness restlessly. A tall man with black hair stood off behind her, leaning against the wooden siding of the fishing shack. Built like a warrior with thick-corded muscles, and a sword strapped to his side, he crossed his arms and sighed impatiently. A tall young woman stood next to him, dressed in dark blue, her cloak covering her array of knives. An older boy stood on the other side of the man; long black hair covered his eyes. A dirk sat comfortably on his hip.

“He had better come, the ship leaves in half an hour,” the gruff sailor said.

The grey-eyed woman snorted.

“He will.”

“And if he don’t?” he asked.

She gave him a hard look.

“I’ll kill the idiot myself.”

The man grunted. Silence ensued.

“Calling me an idiot again, Jack? I thought we agreed not to do that until I actually did something idiotic,” Skye’s voice drifted up through the dark, behind the gathering. His voice had held the lilt of laughter, but the face that emerged from the shadows held no such humor.

“About damn time,” Dalton grumbled, dropping his crossed arms to his sides.

“I have a hard time getting up in the morning, didn’t she tell you?” Skye said to the sailor, ignoring Dalton’s comment.

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.

Rainy Day

Rough Draft

My thoughts buzzed in my head like giant, fat flies ruminating about finding the best place land on a corpse. I was staring at the white ceiling and knew by the particular shade of nauseating white and headache inducing smell of hand sanitizer that I was lying in a hospital bed. I only remembered a few snapshots of yesterday, or maybe it was a week ago, I don’t know. Just that man’s face, the bastard who saved my life. If I wasn’t so damn drugged, I’d grind my teeth, but it seemed too much effort at the time. My whole body felt like a sack of badly bruised potatoes waterlogged from being stuck down a well.

Fuck this.

I tried to sit up, and got nowhere. The dull ach in my wrists and the heaviness of my body prevented me from doing much in the way of movement. Then I did grind my teeth. I squeezed my eyes shut painfully hard. I took a few deep heavy breaths and turned my head to the sound of rain outside the window. I stared at the sheets of water pouring down the side of the hospital building. I sneered and turned to stare back at the ceiling. I thought dark thoughts and glared.

If I ever catch the bastard, I’ll wring his fucking neck. God, I hate heroes. 

A nurse in scrubs walked in the door, a warm smile on her tired face. The makeup she wore couldn’t hide the black circles under her eyes and gave her pale face a blotchy, unhealthy look.

“Hello, Mr. Mace,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Why does every doctor ask you that? It should be a rhetorical question, but every time, the patient has to respond and go through the charade we all know so well. We don’t go to hospitals because we are feeling great. We go there, because somewhere along the line of life, we fucked up and need to be fixed.

With my body feeling like lead, I couldn’t give her the response I wanted to, so I settled with giving her my best fuck off glare.

She smiled harder. I mean that in the sense that she was fighting to keep her smile on her face. The muscles on the sides of her mouth and under her baggy eyes twitched. It made her look like a spasming bug being repeatedly stabbed with a toothpick.

“Are you in any pain, today?” she asked.

This time, through shear force of will, I gave her the finger.

She glared with half her face; the smile took on all the warmth and liveliness of a sticker. That’s not a very easy thing to do, kudos to her.

“Doctor Grey will be with you shortly.”

The nurse shut the door gently as she left. I snorted and closed my eyes and burrowed a bit into the pillow to get unsuccessfully comfortable. The sounds of life in all its busy forms traveled up and down the hallway outside my door. My mind blanked out and I just listened.

Hearing crying women, screaming children, carts or stretchers being moved back and forth, the smell of bleach on the pillow as I turned my hear to the side. All of them wanting answers and either getting none or getting what they don’t want to hear.

The gears in my head started to spin, finding questions and no answers. What weak creatures we are to be ruled by so much emotion. I didn’t see the point in it all. What is the point to living if it hurts that much, if living is just to live? There’s no glory, no beauty, no feeling, no reason in that. There is no purpose, there is no God, we are alone and we do some crazy shit to fill that hole in us that we are all born with.

What makes everyone keep going? What do they see that I don’t? How can they care so much? 

Then a scary question popped into my head. I opened my eyes.

Why don’t I care?

My eyes stung, and I stared at the ceiling.

© 2014 Morgan Krepky. All Rights Reserved.