Chap. 420 The Tool Shed

How did I end up this way? he thought, the rain slashing his face. I’m soaked to the bone, my feet are wet, this slicker isn’t helping. I didn’t realize how dark it gets here. I’ve got to get to shelter.

His mind was swirling, one moment lucid, the next insane. He kept reaching out to touch Sorath only to hear nothing.

I feel so strange, did I really attack someone with a dagger? No, not me! But that feeling, my mind, it feels as if there’s a big hollow in it. Sorath is dead. He’s DEAD! I felt him die, and then I just went blank. But he shouldn’t be dead because I’m not.

It’s so dark! I hate this, I can’t see for the rain and the dark.

The paved walk suddenly ended and he felt his boots sink into mud. Where am I?  

The wind pushed into his face. No. This isn’t right, I want to get to the caverns. I’ve gotten turned around. He heard the wind thrashing the trees. Trees? The tallest trees border the dragon meadow. I’m going the wrong way!

 He took several steps forward and slipped, falling onto his butt.

Sorath. I should go to see Sorath, he can’t be dead. I can tuck in between his forelegs, he’ll cover me with his wings, like we’ve done before and I’ll be out of the rain and warm. He said he was just tired. He can’t be dead, he’s just not answering because he’s angry with me. Sorath? Sorath? Please, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you. Please just stop being dead.

There was no answer.

He crawled on hands and knees up the slope until his bare hands felt pavement. There he got to his feet, the wind helping him. I need to get out of here, if I call for help from the dragonriders, I’ll be arrested.

He walked to the end of the building and turned the corner, only to blunder into the basalt bolster that marked the street corner. He shouted in pain and frustration. I can’t see a bloody thing in this rain! I need a light.

 He moved until he was out of the wind, and managed to lift the slicker up to reach his datalink holster.

It was empty.

“Arrrrgh” he shrieked in frustration. I forgot. I left it at the water treatment plant! I hope it blew someone’s hand off.

What do I do now, he thought. He began to shiver. I should have eaten something. I’ve gone insane, I think. I’m so wet, it’s not cold out here but damn it I am. I hate this rain! I’ve got to get somewhere warm and dry, where I can get out of my wet clothes.

Where can I go? It’s late, everyone is in their quarters, the only thing that might be open is the healer’s clinic, and that, where is it? I don’t know. It has to be near Landing Main. If I go there, I’ll definitely be arrested. But I’ll also get something to eat, maybe, and dry clothing and maybe something to make this empty part of my mind stop hurting. I am so cold. I can’t stop shivering. Damn this rain!

He came to an intersection of walkways and paused. The wind urged him to go keep going. Where to go, what is this?

He called up Landing’s map in his mind. If I have the dragon meadow at my back then Landing Main should be straight ahead several blocks and then on the right.

The rain intensified, easily making its way beneath the slicker. Above the wind, though, he heard a wooden ‘bang’ coming from a behind a building. He ducked behind the building to see a storage shed. The door had been left or blown open. The interior was lighted.

Relieved, he pushed his way into the tiny shed, past rakes and shovels and a wheelbarrow. The rain pounded on the roof, as if angry he’d escaped it.

He pulled the door shut, just barely fitting in the shed. It smelled musty but it was shelter and lighted.

He was shivering so hard he could barely control his movements. The water came off his slicker onto his already sodden boots.

Backpack. Socks in my backpack. If nothing else, I need my feet dry, I’m so cold. No, wait, just one sock. The other one is in the bunker and those bastards! They put a new lock on it! But I wouldn’t stay in it anyway, the door was so heavy and had to be left opened. I didn’t dare shut it while I was inside.

He pulled the pack off with difficulty. I don’t remember the straps being this tight, he thought. My notebooks are probably wet, but I still have the amber and the butterfly and the metal case-what use are they now?? I’m marooned! I’m stuck in this backwards culture. I’m being hunted!  I am so cold, my teeth are chattering, I can barely move my fingers for the shaking.  Maybe I should just go turn myself in to Security.

They’ll banish me, I’m sure of it, but if I can find a way off an island, well, I can, because I have a lot of money in the pack’s hidden compartment. I need to think this through. Wait! I have artifacts! I don’t need to surrender. They haven’t found me yet. They couldn’t track a muddy dog across a clean floor.

 I can’t go back out in this rain. No. It’s close here but that’s okay. I need to rest, I need to get something to eat, and then tomorrow I’ll find a way to Southern Hold. Yes. Lord Toric was a frequent buyer. He’ll remember me. Yes. I am shivering so hard, but, well, I’ll stay in here until the rain lets up. This wheelbarrow, it’s small but I can sit in it, rest my head against that back wall, oh what was that! Eek! Oh, just a crawler.

The water dripped off his hair onto his face. I hate it here, he thought. Was all this traveling worth it?

I can’t stop shivering. I can’t stop my brain from calling Sorath. I just need to rest. I’ll find something to eat tomorrow, I think there’s a Wanderer’s camp about ten klicks west of Landing. If I can make it there, I’ll get dry clothes, some food and then I’ll buy transport to Southern Hold.

But not now. I can’t, it’s too dark, it’s too bad weather, I can’t go to their camp tonight. I’ll just stay here. It’s warm in here, sort of. I’ve stopped shivering, so it must be warmer than I thought.

Socks. No, sock. One sock is better than none.

He reached into the backpack and felt something plump and soft. Soft?

He pulled it out.

It was a child’s stuffed toy, a pink dragon.

He’d snatched the wrong backpack.

No one heard him screaming.

__________________________________________________________

The girl, shrieking, ran into the kitchen.

“STOP!” her mother shouted, covering her ears, “What are you screaming about, oh, stop!”

The girl was crying as well as shrieking. She ran to her mother to clutch her, tightly.

“WHAT is wrong with you?”

“It’s the madman, Mum, it’s the madman. He’s HERE.”

The woman ran to her front door and locked it. The girl wouldn’t let go. Her teenaged son came in from his room. “What? Where is he?” Fear grasped his heart, but he thought, I’m the man of the family while Dad’s at work, I’ll protect my family. He ran into the kitchen and looked frantically for a weapon. Ah. Mum’s best kitchen knife. He snatched it up, feeling emboldened.

The girl was sobbing.

“Where is he, where did you see him?” her mother said, trying to manage her fear.  

“He’s…he’s in the tool shed. He’s sitting in the tool shed.”

The teen straightened up. Okay. It’s me against him. Or should I run for help?

“Son, go for help. Hurry.”

“I’m going to fight him.”

“NO. Run. RUN! The neighbors have a datalink. Call Security and DON’T LET HIM CATCH YOU.”

Part of him thought, I want to fight him. He’s a bad man.

“I won’t, but I have to go out the door.”

The woman straightened up. She unwound the girl’s arms. “You. Go into your room and push the chair up against the door. Close the window shades.  Don’t let anyone but me or Dad or your brother in. Go.”

The girl ran.

“Okay.” She said, looking at her son. Later on, she remembered, how brave he looked, his fear evident and yet his expression fiercely determined. “I’m going to stand next to the door with my cast iron skillet. You open the door just a little to let him stick his head in and I’ll hit him as hard as I can. If he keeps coming…”

“You knock him down, Mum and I’ll stab him. I won’t let him hurt you, I just won’t.”

“Once you get out, RUN. RUN!! He’s old, he can’t run as fast as you. Go to Security. Take the knife.”

She positioned herself, and looking at him, said, “Open it.”

He looked at her. “I love you, Mum,” and pulled it open.

No one was there. He bolted through it and she slammed the door shut behind him, shaking like a leaf.

But her fear was unnecessary.

L’ichen was still in the wheelbarrow. He’d been there for two days. The pink dragon was in his very dead arms.