Chương 9: Chapter 8 - Fort Rive

I rarely slept well, but even if every star in the sky had happened to align, creating a blazing belt of light so straight that you could lay a ruler along it, there was still no hope that I would get a good night's sleep that night. I was in a new place, the swamp was noisy, and the smell of the room, combined with the grease of the pizza, made me feel ill.

But each time I opened my eyes, there was Kappa, curled up in his nest and raincoat, lying next to my pillow, hugging the rock Conrad had given him for Christmas. It never failed to make me smile. Then I would close my eyes, sigh, and try to keep still so my tossing and turning wouldn't wake him up. When I got up early the next morning, I wasn't well rested, but I was relaxed. I decided to take Ms. Durand up on her offer to borrow the four-wheeler.

After signing the liability papers, I listened to her instructions on how to find Fort Rive and started off. It didn't take long for me to get used to driving the four-wheeler. About sixteen minutes later, I arrived at the edge of town, parked on the side of Center Street, and dismounted, feeling cheerful and cocky. Look at me! Up early, learning new things, and going places. All I needed was a leather jacket and some sunglasses to complete my image.

I stopped the first person I saw, an older woman who was walking her dog, and asked her where the grocery store was. Talking to random people was a special hobby of mine, so I didn't think anything of it until the combined weight of her stare and the long silence robbed me of my hot-stuff confidence. A few seconds after that, it started to make me uncomfortable.

"Um…ma'am?" I said. No response. Even the dog was staring at me. Did the woman not understand my accent or something? At last she said in a cold, slow drawl, "You new around here?"

"Just visiting," I assured her. She stared at me some more. Her eyes narrowed. Yeesh. Mayor Gladwyn needs to talk to his tourism committee about the welcoming atmosphere.

"The grocery store?" I prompted her. She nodded over her shoulder.

"Two blocks down on this street. You'll know it when you see it. It's the only place that's open this early, aside from the café." I thanked her and started off. Behind me I heard, "Careful, dear." That word she used—dear — I heard it twice, only, it wasn't the word "dear." It'd been a long time since the gift of understanding had been activated by anything other than the anime I watched, and I'd never had it happen when I was talking to an English speaker.

I turned around, trying to figure out if I was hearing things or, you know, hearing things. If that makes any sense. I'd half assumed that she was talking to her dog, but she was looking right at me. Our eyes met.

"You stand out," she said softly. As she turned away, she added, "Not everyone around here is as friendly as I am." I watched her and her dog trundle down the sidewalk until a cool breeze pushed through my hoodie, chilling my skin and dragging my attention away from "the friendly one." Maybe the strange encounter had influenced my mood, but as I walked toward the grocery store, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something odd about the town.

The sensation seemed to seep up from the pavement, through the soles of my sneakers. Most of the buildings along the main street were old with worn paint and cheap flat fronts. Several of them had FOR RENT signs in their dark windows. Every once in a while, I'd see a shop with new paint or a new facade—but they never looked right. They looked like gaudy strangers among their neighbors. Normally, I liked a dash of pomp and color, but here it seemed unwelcome. Dangerous.

I puzzled over that haunted feeling, trying to understand where it came from. All the other buildings looked like they belonged—but belonged to what? The town? Each other? As I stepped off the sidewalk to pass a bush overflowing with pink blossoms, I realized, No. It's the landscape. Everywhere I'd been—cities, suburbs, or small towns—it felt like the plants had been put there, on purpose, when the town had been founded.

The buildings and the plants grew old together, and you could learn the age of both by counting the tree rings. The balance between them was the humility of partners. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Here, the plants all seemed too big. The trees towered over the buildings they crowded. Unchecked weeds grew out of the cracks in the sidewalks created by woody roots lifting and splitting the pavement.

Bunches of ropey moss grew along the trees surrounding the street, creating a ragged green curtain to close us in. The buildings, tucked away between it all, felt like they'd been added as an afterthought. If there was any balance to the town, it was the balance you got when everyone knew who was the master and who was the servant. I stopped at the end of a narrow dirt path leading to an old park made of aluminum and weathered wood. A huge oak leaned over the swing set.

Maybe they're wild trees sneaking in from the swamp to investigate the town. I smiled and muttered, in my best impression of David Attenborough, "Here lives the lesser-known species of southern Ent." Another breeze made the oak's branches sway as if it was waving to me, and I was hit by a zap of mild shock. I knew why the refurbished buildings looked wrong. They'd abandoned their camouflage. All the other buildings blended into the overgrown background. It felt like attracting attention here would get you eaten.

Which made the old woman's comment to me that much creepier. I shivered and turned back up the street, feeling relieved that I didn't have that leather jacket and those sunglasses after all. The grocery store was about the size of the one we had back in Quicholt—the town down the mountain from the Noctis mansion. Despite the early hour, there were already customers inside. One of them, a middle-aged woman, was leaving as I came in. When she saw me, she stopped and stared, just like the old woman had.

I did my best to ignore her as I grabbed a cart and started down the aisles in search of the groceries that would keep me and Conrad alive for a day or two. Everyone I passed stopped what they were doing to watch me, and none of them bothered to hide it. I expected to hear murmuring behind my back as soon as I was too far away to make out what they were saying. Instead, I was followed by a lingering silence. The further I got, the quieter the store became.

When I reached the refrigerated section, I took the chance to glance at my reflection in one of the glass doors. Sneakers. Jeans. Hoodie. Yes, I was bald, but there was no slavering demon sitting on my shoulder or hideous disfigurement that had popped up on my face like a giant eldritch zit. The only thing that was different about me was the nervous look I had on my face, but I could hardly blame me for that. I grabbed a gallon of milk and moved on.

I usually wander around when I shop, picking up a bunch of things I don't need and forgetting the one important thing that I came for—but not that day. I went from aisle to aisle, setting a pace that would, hopefully, not make me stand out (a hilarious goal, considering the circumstances) but still get me out of there as fast as possible. I kept my eyes on the shelves and the cart, and did my best to ignore the silent specters around me.

When I got up to the check-out counter, I unloaded everything, still minding my own business so hard that my eyes ached from staring at the black conveyor belt that pushed my groceries toward the checker. If there was a checker. I had to hope there was someone there; I hadn't been brave enough to look.

"Is there a reason y'all are standing around?" someone said. They'd raised their voice as if they were talking to a crowd. I looked up. Five other customers had gathered at the front of the store in the open area past the shelves. They were fanned out, some standing closer, some standing further away, but all of them were turned to me. Movement at the mouth of several aisles made me think there were other people staying out of sight, listening.

The voice added, "If you're done shopping, you can line up behind them." I turned to see who'd spoken. It was my checker. They looked roughly as old as I was. I couldn't tell if they were male or female, but they were two inches taller than me with a messy crop of blond hair that reached their shoulders. It was trying to split the difference between curls and waves which resulted in a lot of frizz. They had blue eyes, long pale eyebrows, and pale lips.

They were dressed in a navy-blue, long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans, and the store's bright-green apron. Their name tag said "Jay." They were staring down the silent crowd.

"Mr. Haden," they said, "is there something I can help you find?" The man standing closest to me, presumably Mr. Haden, was tall and burly. He looked even bigger because of his heavy work jacket. He motioned to me with a finger.

"Wouldn't mind finding out who that is and what they're doing here." My shoulders were so tight, I was surprised they weren't curled over my ears. The cashier glanced at me to see if I wanted to answer. When they saw my expression, they frowned, but it was full of sympathy. That gave me the courage to slap on my brightest fake smile and turn around.

"You mean me?" You mean me—I say, as if I haven't been crushed by your thousand-pound stares from the moment I set foot in the store. The person behind Haden, a rough-looking man in his early thirties, spoke. His voice had the same dull, hard sound that Haden's had.

"You a girl?"

"Yes. Thank you for asking." I'd never thanked someone before, and I would probably never do it again, but I would've said darn near anything if it would've made me look less hostile—or made them look less hostile. Either way.

"What are you doing here?" Haden asked.

"I'm visiting," I said. The woman on the edge of the group said, "Do you have kin around here?"

"No. I'm staying at the motel near the Sauvage Preserve." Everyone's eyes narrowed. Most people frowned. Haden scowled.

"Are you with that scientist?" Haden said. My brain churned, trying to pick up all the clues while making a few important decisions.

"Do you mean the scholar that's studying the preserve?" I asked. Haden only glared at me, but the other man that had spoken nodded.

"Kind of," I said.

"I'll be working with her at least part of the time." I must have said something right. The people lurking near the edges of the aisles turned away, as if they'd lost interest. A new person spoke. This one was an old man. He didn't look threatening so much as suspicious.

"You've got business in the swamp, young lady?" I opened my mouth to answer, but he went on before I could.

"That's not a place to play. It's dangerous out there."

"You heard the stories," the woman said.

"What stories?" I asked. A new voice came from behind me, near the store's entrance. It was feminine and full of blunt authority.

"Enough of that, Abby. There isn't anything more dangerous in our swamp than a few alligators, and everybody's got stories about them."