The three of us gave each other “holy shit” looks. The zombies sat, unperturbed, in their section of the train. I was about to tell whoever was hyperventilating to quit it, until I realized it was me. Finding out we were prophets had not magically made the three of us fearless superheroes. Well, Chuck and Rufus were prophets. I was Lifthsrasir, whatever that was. Rufus still wouldn’t tell me, and, if I hadn’t been so terrified, I probably would have been genuinely pissed at him by that point.
I stood up, running my fingers through the ends of my hair. Sitting felt too helpless. I realized I was going to look insane, pacing up and down the car, tugging at my hair, and mumbling to myself, but I had finished caring about appearances. My companions looked on, an adorably confused expression on each of their faces. I almost wanted to reach out and pat them each on the cheek, but there were things to be done. Plans to be made. Underworlds to avoid arriving at.
I reached my hand down my shirt for my phone, trying to avoid rolling my eyes as the boys’ eyes grew to roughly the size of dinner plates. They shifted in their seats, suddenly uncomfortable in the cramped car. My cell phone was followed quickly by my keys. “Turn out your pockets,” I demanded, hoping I sounded even slightly authoritative. Someone had to take charge here.
My cell phone was joined by two other generic, free-with-contract phones. Both also had wallets with them. Chucks was made of duct tape but was still, somehow, falling apart, while Rufus’ was a more reserved dark leather. Chuck also contributed a pair of dice, a movie ticket stub, and a token from some sort of arcade. I set those aside and picked up the wallets.
Chuck’s wallet seemed sort of scattered. Bills were stuck in at odd angles, crumpled without any semblance of order. Aside from a driver’s license, he carried a Metro Card, a student ID, and a bank card. Receipts with notes and phone numbers scribbled on them were jumbled up with his money.
Rufus’ wallet, on the other hand, was nearly meticulous. Bills were smoothed flat and organized by denomination. He carried the same cards as Chuck, as well as a few credit cards. A picture was tucked into a pocket of an extremely attractive woman. I assumed this was the recently deceased Nellie, and bit down on the jealous comments threatening to escape. I had already developed a bizarrely protective feeling toward my fellow lost travelers. Even if I had been, originally, about to kill them, no one else was going to. I didn’t trust them, but I wasn’t going to let anything happen to the two of them until we got some answers.
As revealing as my quick search was, it did not yield any obviously helpful items. We weren’t going to be able to MacGyver our way out of this sticky situation with a few cell phones, some cash, and dice. I returned everything to its rightful place, Chuck and Rufus studiously averting their eyes as I replaced my phone and keys. Boys.
It was then that I turned to Mr. Smith (who, in my head, would remain Mr. Smith, no matter who he was revealed to be). “Didn’t you say your job was to keep me alive?”
He snorted. “I’ve never been particularly good at following directions.”
No comments:
Post a Comment