Page 19 of Night in a Waste Land

~*~

Despite the cold, and the constant, gentle sifting of snow, the city did have a bustling nightlife. The larger buildings that had once held offices were now the headquarters of the hydroponic gardens; some floors had been converted for the holding, raising, and slaughtering of livestock. A once-charming shopping district of glass-fronted, first-floor shops had expanded out into alleys and smaller side-streets, set up with semi-permanent stalls, tents, and lean-tos, where you could buy everything from clothing, to cheap jewelry, to produce, to a hot, portable meal. There was still a supermarket, she saw, its façade sad and soot-streaked, but if you didn’t mind walking in the snow, there was much and more to be found in the stalls.

Rose pulled the collar of her parka up tighter around her throat and followed along behind the rest of her team.

They were off duty, technically, and while they still wore their boots, they’d pulled plain black parkas on over black tac pants, and, without any patches or insignias, no one could say, definitively, that they were military. They had to look it, though, the way they all walked with that particular, ground-eating, prowling stride. The way they turned their heads back and forth, a constant watchfulness.

For her own part, she wasn’t going to try to blend in. Better to be observant and alive than inconspicuous and dead.

Ahead of her, Gavin still had an arm around Gallo’s shoulders, other hand stuck out and gesturing, like a ringmaster presenting a spectacle to his young sightseer. Their breath misted in the chill air, and Gavin pointed to the subtle, purple sign above a closed-off purple cloth tent, the lettering just visible in the glow of the string lights that criss-crossed like netting overhead. Gallo ducked down into his jacket a little, and Gavin’s laughter floated back to her, delighted, but not outright cruel.

Tris said something to Lance, received a nod, and then strode off on his own, hands tucked in his parka pockets. He ducked his head a little, like he was trying to keep from drawing attention to himself.

Rose watched him go, curious about his destination; surprised by her own curiosity. She didn’t normally care about that sort of thing, but she tracked him all the way across the street, until he ducked behind a vegetable stand and slipped out of sight.

“Anything catch your eye?” Lance asked, suddenly right beside her.

She was too well-practiced to jump, but felt a stir of alarm in her belly. She’d been distracted – and after she’d just been thinking that she couldn’t allow that – and she hadn’t heard him drop back and fall into step beside her. Getting sloppy. She blamed it on fatigue.

“No,” she said, giving another tug on her jacket collar. “Not really.”

“Hungry?” he asked, undeterred.

Her stomach growled, and she hoped he hadn’t heard it. “I could eat.”

“Come on. There’s a place just up here that does kebabs.”

Hunger, like fatigue, had become one of those sensations that necessitated action, but which didn’t concern her imagination. When she got hungry, it was a bother; she ate some bland mess hall food to refuel, and kept going.

But when Lance led her to a stall with its steel panels propped open to let out lantern light, and deliciously fragrant steam, her stomach rumbled not just with hunger, but with want. It smelled heavenly, and she realized her mouth was watering already; that she was sniffing the air appreciatively and anticipating the spice and warmth and grease of the meal to come, just as she had in Beck’s kitchen.

They settled into the back of the line to wait behind other eager, jacketed patrons, and she realized they’d lost Gavin and Gallo somewhere along the way.

She craned her neck to look over the bobbing, hatted heads of the other shoppers. “He’s not going to get Frankie into some kind of trouble, is he?”

“Only the good kind,” Lance assured.

She sent him a look.

He smirked. “The fun kind.”

“Hookers,” she said, flatly. “’Cause that’s a good idea.”

He rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on. Guys –people– need to let off some steam. Especially with what we do for a living. It’s harmless.”

“Is that where you’re headed after this? Tolet off steam?”

His brows lifted, head tilting. Thoughtful. “And if I was?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Would that bother you?”

“No.” But she could hear the way her tone was too sharp; knew she didn’t have her expression under control. Took a breath, tried to school her features, and said, “That’s none of my business.”

“It’s not,” he said, not unkindly. “But you seem to care.”

She opened her mouth to respond – then saw the hint of a smile in his eyes, and pressed her own lips tightly together. Felt an embarrassed flush come up in her cheeks. He’d gotten her; she could grant him that. Not that she’d say it.

“Ha,” he said, letting the smile break through. “So you’re not made of stone.”

The line shuffled forward, and she stuck her hands in her pockets and faced ahead, face overly warm.

---