"Harley, keep your head down," Noah whispered. His taut voice was one of a boy who knew that death was possible right then and there.
"I am," I trembled, trying to keep my feet from freezing in place as I walked. I watched the slush spread across the wooden train platform as I went.
"Is your hood up?"
"It always is."
"Good."
There were other people there, but their words were reduced to silence. Only one person among the terrified townspeople dared draw attention to themselves. Their footsteps were loud as they marched across the platform. Loud and carrying a heavy sense of doom, as if the steps belonged to the grim reaper.
For all we knew, it could have been.
Just one look and I'm dead.
Blindly, Noah and I found a bench where we could wait. We kept our heads down, merely hoping that the other was doing the same. We had to hope that every other person at the train platform was doing the same as well. I didn't want to witness a death that day, regardless if I saw it or not.
"Head down, hood up," I heard Noah whispering to himself, over and over. His words were quivering, almost silent.
"Noah, don't you even think about it," I warned. My heart was almost beating out of my chest.
"I would never," He assured me. "The Scarlet should be gone soon anyway."
"Do you think they plan on going on the train?"
"If they do, we'll just keep our heads down all the way home."
I sighed. Several moments passed until the Scarlet was gone. I couldn't tell for sure, but I could no longer feel their thunderous steps along the platform. The people shifted uneasily, and I could guess what they were thinking. They wanted to know if it was safe to go. They wanted to check if the Scarlet was there, but were too afraid to see for themselves.
After a few more moments, Noah stood. I followed him. The others seemed to gather their wits and go onto the train. When we found our seats, I fingered the brim of my hood urgently.
"Am I safe to take it off now?"
"How should I know?"
As if answering my question for me, the speakers of the train turned on, and the conductor spoke through. "Attention, Monos," The speakers blared, "There are no Scarlets on board. However, please keep your hoods on regardless. This is for your safety."
I groaned inwardly, "Why would they ask for us to do that? If it's all clear, I want to look up."
"It's an extra precaution," Noah told me, "If a Scarlet even glimpses your eyes— if they see you unbowing— they'll kill you. Don't you know that?"
"I remember," I sighed. "I'd just rather forget."
. . . . .
Every day when I leave home, I never know if it will be my last time. So whenever Noah and I get back safely, it's a relief.
Our mother ran up to us and took off our hoods. I looked up for the first time that day, stretching my neck with a painful pop.
"Oh, good, you're both alright," She greeted us like she does every day. She flung the hoods on the floor as though they were nasty and in need of a wash. She hugged us both. I took note of the way she held me tighter than usual.
"Is something the matter?" Noah asked, catching onto it as well.
As her feet brought her back to the kitchen, she sighed, wiping her hands on a towel with distress, "Oh no, oh nothing. It's just the news."
