Page 15 of Gunslinger Girl
Santino checked his rifle. “Let’s be quick. Way things have gone today I don’t want to be idle any longer than we need to. Keep an eye on her, Max.”
“Both eyes,” said Olivia as they exited the front of the vehicle.
“Thank you,” Pity said when they were gone. “For not letting them leave me.”
“No problem.” The rings at the edge of his mouth twitched up. “I know something about needing to get somewhere other than where you’re supposed to be. How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts.” Everything hurt: her bones, her skin, her soul. Finn’s dead. The thought gored her over and over—Finn’s dead, Finn’s dead.
And it’s all my fault.
“Here, hold still.” Max pressed another med injector into Pity’s arm. The pain washed away like dust in a summer rain. “Better?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Without the pain to keep them at bay, Finn’s final moments flickered in memory. Why hadn’t she done something? Why had she just watched?
“It’s okay. You don’t need to hold it in.”
“I’m… not…” She curled forward, chest tightening. The room wavered through the gathering tears.
Finn.
“I can’t leave you alone, but I don’t really need both eyes on you, either.” Max put on a pair of headphones and then grabbed a sheaf of papers and some pencils. He sat down at the seating area, turning slightly away. “If you need anything, I’m right here.”
He began to scribble. True to his word, he didn’t so much as glance back, not for the several minutes Pity watched.
Finally, she rolled toward the wall and let the tears flow.
Pity slept. When she woke, Max made her tea. She cried and slept some more, grief and exhaustion coming in shifts. She remained bedridden until the following morning, when, with careful steps, she hobbled over to where Max was washing dishes. They were nearly the same height, and their eyes met when he looked up from the indentation that passed as a sink. For a moment, Pity faltered. His appearance was still an oddity to her, but Max had a disarming air to him, a trait that served to both calm and unnerve her in equal measure. Despite the kindness he’d shown, he was, Pity reminded herself, a stranger.
“Can I help?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t lie there any longer.”
“You can dry.” He handed her a towel. “Any better this morning?”
She grimaced. “My body feels like one big bruise.”
“What about the rest of you?”
The question hung in the air.
“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay. But can we talk about something else?”
“Like what?”
She wiped the water from a plate. “Like who y’all are. You’re not scroungers, and you don’t strike me as drifters.”
“No, we usually stay put in Cessation.”
“Were you born there?”
“No.” Max laughed and scratched the back of his head. His hair was so dark that Pity half expected his hand to come away stained inky black. “But who is? Cessation is someplace you end up, not where you start.”
A weak smile crept onto her lips. “And this vehicle—it’s a mobile command, isn’t it? From the war?”
“You’ve seen one before?”
“Not in person, but I’ve heard about them.” Metal fortresses on treads, mobile commands were predecessors to the near-impenetrable Trans-Rail train cars. It would take a missile strike to even scratch one. Pity thought of the Ranger and felt like a fool. How could she and Finn have thought they were safe? “Where did you get it?”
