CHUPACABRA

Chapter Twenty-One: The Guardian

Forty and Thirty-Seven catch Naila's scent soon after they crest the hill, but she doesn't smell like an ordinary human. Like Missy, there's something earthy about her, telling that she hasn't spent much time around other humans. Her house seems to materialize out of the woods, more Spanish moss and climbing ivies than side paneling. Forty stares awkwardly at the screen door separating an old, scratched-up door from the outside.

"This is our... safe house?" Thirty-Seven says in disbelief, pointing at the crumbling shingles and cracked concrete walkway.

"It's definitely unobtrusive," Forty states. At least the house doesn't draw any attention. It looks similarly to Paul's, though much older, and blends in with its natural surroundings like a cabin should. Forty steps up to the main door, jabbing her thumb into the rusted doorbell.

The pair wait for only seconds before the door whips open, revealing a statuesque dark-skinned woman with the most vibrant hair Forty has ever seen. Sure, Jane liked to dye her hair at the compound, but only in pre-approved colors. This woman, who looks to be in her early fifties, sports an array of pinks in her sleek hair, each braid decorated with a variety of beads and hanging jewelry. The adornments clink like music notes when she gives Forty and Thirty-Seven a once-over, then her face splits into a knowing smile.

"You two must be my runaways," she says, her voice deep and warm. Forty nods dumbly, too busy taking in the sharp contrast between her plain house and her colorful style.

"You're Naila," Forty says back, just to make sure. The woman nods, stepping sideways from the door to let the two of them in.

Inside, the house looks completely different from the rustic exterior. It's impossibly cozy, no surface left without a doily, blanket, or decorative pillow. Forty thinks she could spend hours exploring the room and still not find everything. A large green couch borders what must be the living space. Forty knows humans tend to design their houses in similar ways, and Naila is no different in this aspect. Next to the living room, a small kitchen and single-seater table takes up the other half of the main space. A hallway off to the front of both disappears into darkness.

"You have a monitor?" Thirty-Seven asks warily, pointing at a large computer screen in the living room. Forty bristles immediately, wondering if after all this time Dr. Zapata has led them into a trap.

Naila lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh god, no! That's a TV." She reaches over to a table beside the couch and punches a few buttons on a remote. The screen lights up, showcasing some humans talking around a coffee table. "You don't know what a TV is, though, right?"

Thirty-Seven shakes his head dumbly, completely captivated by the screen. Forty is too occupied by all the questions running in her head to join him. "Is it safe to have that?" she asks. Surely any type of technology could give away their location.

"Well, it doesn't really matter if anyone can find this place, because you're not staying here," Naila chuckles, gesturing for Forty to follow her. She gently herds Thirty-Seven in the same direction as well, and Forty is surprised to see the man go with little argument.

The dark hallway ends in a bedroom. It is inarguably Naila's, as it looks like the living room turned up to eleven. Stacks of books and magazines crowd floor space, and tiny crafts and trinkets decorate every empty surface. It is undoubtably a home, not just a house. Naila sidles up to her bedside, clearing off a pile of coupon stacks to reveal a candle in a baby blue jar. With little hesitation, she grasps the wick firmly and pulls. Instead of a wood chip, she produces a key.

"I had to be a little theatrical with all of this," she says. "You never can be too careful with breaking the law." Despite her age, she walks like a much younger person, her musculature similar to that of someone a decade younger. She pulls a heavy trunk away from a corner of the room, revealing blank carpet underneath. "There's layers to this, like an onion," she chuckles, then proceeds to rip up a corner of the floor.