Cause and Effect

Chapter 10

zemblanity []

(n). the inevitable discovery of that which we would rather not know; the antithesis of serendipity, 

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John felt like one of those weird little displays he saw once in school. Like one of those little glass displays where the weird twisted things are put under and all the kids crowd around, faces pressed up against, breaths fogging the glass, whispers, and fingers pointing. 

He felt on display every time he walked through the camp. So he kept on the outside of it, made a little stash of stolen food from Pearson's trailer, and called it good enough. He didn't talk to anyone, and god forbid anyone tried to talk to him, because he shut that down quick with just a long, dead glare. 

He slept out there too, refusing to go back to the trailer he had first been in for the first few days, and instead stealing some unfortunate person's bedroll and making his own little side camp on their own border. 

He was sitting out on his stolen bedroll, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and trying to open a can of peaches with a knife when Kieran Duffey stumbled across him. 

He glared up at him, looking very much like he would like to stab the man for daring to disturb him. Kieran glanced around, before blinking a few times. 

"Oh," he pointed down at the can that John had successfully mutilated. "You want some help?"

John stared down at the can, the dented and punctured lid staring back up at him. He sighed heavily, and threw the can into the desert, the sun glinting off the aluminum can. Kieran watched the can arc and fall, before turning back towards John.

"I'm Kieran," he offered. John glanced back up at him, finally removing the cig from his mouth, and carefully placing the knife down. 

Kieran trusted too deeply, and too fast. Far too willing to follow even the most twisted of men for security and safety and had been caught up in some pretty shitty situations when he started running with Dutch. Even now he was willing to offer up his name to John, someone he didn't know, a man who looked like he would willingly eviscerate him. It was Kieran's fatal flaw, his easy trust. 

John stared at his hand, before shaking it carefully. "John." He answered, his voice quiet and raspy. He hadn't spoken much in the past few days, tried not to. 

Kieren nodded, pulling back. "Are you the one that Dutch took on then?"

John scowled. "Don't know if that would be what I'd call it."

Kieren sat down, legs crossed. "What you mean?" 

"Means I got dragged into all this shit, without askin', I wanna leave bad." John rubbed his thumb across the blade of his knife. "I don't even have my goddamn car no more. That car was my life."

"Oh." Kieran nodded slowly, taking in John's words. "Yeah, I get it." At John's sarcastic look, he held his hands out. "No really, I do. I started running with Dutch under less than preferable situations." 

"Fuck is that supposed to mean?" John stabbed the knife into the dirt, satisfied when the blade sank into the hilt. 

"Oh," Kieran looked uncomfortable, and John glanced over him, suddenly intrigued. "I was runnin' with the O'Driscolls, I guess."

"Huh," John stared at him. "You're an O'Dricsoll?"

"No," Kieran said exasperated. "I ain't, I've been running with Dutch now longer than I ever ran with Colm, and 'sides its better than it was with the O'Driscolls."

"'kay," John pulled the blade out, pushing it into the ground again. "But you made the decision."

"No, I didn't." Kieran sighed heavily. "I'm stuck here same as you, if I go out on my own, I'm good as dead. O'Driscoll don't take kindly to traitors, and at least here I get some protection. But I didn't come here on my own, god, no."