World War Four

Chapter Seven: Dark Endeavors

When I reached the shore, I was covered from head to toe in salt water after having the boat topple over on me few times, once even having it hit me good on an arm that surely would lead to a bruise. My short boy cut hair stuck to the nape of my neck, making me even colder. With my hands gripping the bow securely, I pulled the boat out of the water. I had to leave less weight to my left arm because of the fact that it was still sore. I paused a few times to let the ocean wind blow off the collecting sweat on my forehead.

"Stupid," I grunted from behind my gritted teeth, "boat." After half of the boat was safely resting on the sand, I let go of it. When I straightened up, sharp pains traveled down my back muscles like slow moving knives. My feet left sunken trails in the sand as I shuffled from the coast to the faded grey road. There was no line to divide the left and right side of the streets, and it reminded me a lot of the suburban roads in Mesa, tucked away from the bustling main streets.

The wind here was more of a melancholy tune than the happy whistles of Arizona, the twirling leaves below me frantically swaying from one side of the streets to the other. Some of the long deaden fingers of the pale oak trees mingled with evergreens, and other of the boney branches reached up high into the dark December night. A few occasional cars would roar passed, leaving behind an onslaught of bittersweet gas, rustling leaves, and wind that froze the blood traveling through my veins.

I ripped my shaking hand and stretched it up in front of my head, holding my thumb up high. You'd think that it being the thirtieth century and all, we would have some automatic taxi or something. My body shook violently, branching off my arm that wavered in the sky. I rested my arm to pull my wool sweatshirt down, and a car zoomed passed.

"Damn it!" I stomped my foot once, the sole of my sneaker slapping the cold asphalt. The stiff jeans seemed to suck in all the cold, making me want to waddle like a penguin to avoid rubbing up against the rough fabric instead of walking like a normal person.

I spent another eternity with my thumb in the air, another millennia before a car finally stopped. It was a small sedan, a little ant compared to Xavier's white SUV. The black paint was faded from the acidic rain, the edges of the body rusted. The back door of the side that faced me was a lighter shade of grey than the rest of the car.

When I finally reached the car after inching my way slowly, the driver rolled down the passenger window. "Where you going, pretty baby?" I could see the even shading of his ebony skin, the light brown hair that clashed unexpectedly perfect with his dark eyes. He was like. I wasn't going to risk it anyways. Just because one pretty boy helped you out doesn't mean another one will. I frowned upon having my thoughts travel back to Xavier. Besides, he'll just end up giving up on you like paper would give way under the weight of rocks. I took another look at the man. He didn't look much older than I was, probably nineteen... I shook my head and focused on the guy.

I deepened my voice like I was trained to do. "Train station."

"Ain't no trains running at this hour, mama." He lifted his light brown eyebrow. "You are a mama, right?"

My eyes widened at his accurate guess. "Wha- no! I-"

"Aye, chill." He cocked his head to the other side, showing me his right ear. I could just faintly see the lacing ink of the Rogue's symbol. "I got your back." He turned back around and winked at me.

"There are a lot of you out here," I stated it unbelieving as I sat into the car.

"Drop the voice, it isn't even realistic." The guy shifted into first gear and began to let the car roll down the street. "And besides, this is where the most of us hide out." He chuckled. "Well, the ones that almost get caught. This place is what we like to call 'The Rogue Treehouse.'"