Page 3 of You Weren't Meant to Be Human
Crane shrugs, because that statement presumes he isn’t used to cleaning up bodily fluids, and reaches behind the register to bring out the basket. His manager, Tammy, put it together a decade ago, and some of the stuff is still that old: wet wipes, bandages, Neosporin and tweezers, fresh socks and snacks and dry shampoo and mouthwash.
Jess watches it warily before he nudges it toward her, offers some semblance of permission. She immediately snatches up every calorie she can find.
“Thank you,” she says, hands full of cheap granola bars. “Uh. Can you talk?”
Crane nods.
“Oh.”
It’s been a while since the hive brought in somebody new. Used to be two other guys who worked here, Mike and Harry, but Mike died of mouth cancer and Harry started screaming about botfly larvae and tapeworms in his belly, so Levi had to put him down. Cleaning blood and bone pieces off the floor was bad enough, but the impact on Crane’s work schedule for the past few months rubbed salt in the wound. He cannot wait to show this girl how to work the register.
While she finishes her water and demolishes the granola bars, Crane texts Tammy. Texting doesn’t count as writing things down, aslong as it’s a situation in which any normal person would text. Otherwise it’s a no go. It drives Levi up the wall.
Crane: Got a new one. Let me know when ur up.
That’s followed by,Did u know?
Tammy will get the girl a phone and some clothes, set her up in the guest room in the back of Tammy’s too-old house, the sparse and drafty room that used to be Crane’s. Some woman from a Georgia hive will build a fake ID and ship it up in a few weeks. Whoever Jess was before will shrivel away, and a new person will molt—so to speak—into its place. There’s a lot of work to do.
But before any of that, fake IDs or instructions on how to clean the coffee machines, she needs to get those feet to stop bleeding.
Crane gives her the milk crate he sits on for slow shifts, and she slumps onto it, hoisting up a foot to assess the damage. Not as bad as it could be; more mud than blood, what with the summer rains coming through the mountains. Crane cracks open another water bottle to soak a paper towel and presses it into her hands. Clean up.
Her face nags at him, to the point he starts chewing on his lip ring. She’s familiar in a way he can’t put his finger on.
“Um.” Scrubbing her feet, Jess takes stock of her surroundings: the cramped sales floor, dirty coffee machines, cigarettes behind the counter. She’s adaptable, then. Even struggling through tears, she’s trying to keep a cool head. Good. “What’s your name? Can you write it down?”
“His name’s Crane.”
Jess whips around with a yelp. It’s just Levi, though, leaning against the door to the employee area, nonchalantly pulling a cigarette from the pack and popping it into his mouth. Jess studies him. The muscles in her neck are taut.
“Like the bird?” she says.
“He’s a mute. He ain’t silent or nothing, makes all kinds of noise when you get him going—” He grins, using the beat of silence to produce a cheap lighter and get the flame going. Crane’s face burns. “But besides that, good luck getting a word out of him. I’m Levi. You smoke?”
“No.”
Crane doesn’t make a habit of smoking, either, but he still makes a low noise in the back of his throat and holds out a hand. Even an inconsiderate roommate-slash-fuckbuddy-slash-boyfriend-is-too-strong-a-word-but-the-closest-they-have like Levi catches the drift. He comes over to place a fresh cigarette in Crane’s mouth and lights it with the gruff homoerotic flair possessed only by ex-soldiers, cocking an eyebrow at the door.
We’re gonna finish what we started, right?
Crane breathes in so the flame catches. Of course they are.
Levi, content with that answer, snaps his lighter shut and slings an arm over Crane’s shoulder. “So. You look like shit, missy. Where you walk from?”
“My boyfriend’s place,” Jess says cautiously. “On the other side of the lumberyard.”
Five miles as the crow flies; longer if she stuck to roads. Hell of a trek to make with no shoes. Still doesn’t explain why Crane’s never seen her, though.
“This about him?” Levi says.
Jess hesitates, but nods.
“We can work with that. You need anything?”
Jess inspects her fucked-up hands. The worms or flies don’t give a shit about morals, but it doesn’t seem like this boyfriend of hers will be missed any.
She says, “Can—can I see them? I want to say thank you.”
