My breathing hitched, and I barely registered the fact that my chair was pulled back, ever so slightly. An incomprehensible sound squeaked out of my mouth and I stared wide-eyed into the dark depths of the barrel.
After the longest time the stranger recoiled, tucking the gun away. He pulled out a skin, uncorked it and handed it over to me. Not a single word was exchanged. As though he hadn't just attempted to kill me. I guzzled down the spiced water, shaking the skin violently in order to lick the last drop with relish. It still wasn't enough, but I was grateful.
"Thank you" I whispered in English. His black eyes stared at me for a moment and then he looked behind me. I had almost forgotten that there was another person besides my attempted-murderer and myself.
"She's clear." He said unceremoniously to Tomas, before turning around and walking away.
"Bring her." He called out in English not looking back at Tomas or me.
I shriveled limply in the seat of my wheelchair, exhausted. Tomas pushed my chair easily through the terrain. It wasn't long before I heard gravel crunching under my wheels, and somehow, along the way, I gave into sleep.
I woke mid-snore to the smell of grease, salt and meat. My limbs tucked awkwardly against my body and my face squished against a hard surface. Embarrassingly, a sliver of saliva trickled down the side of my mouth. I wiped it away quickly with the back of my hand and my eyes snapping open.
The world came rushing in with an explosion of color. Through the window I could see that it was daytime, vehicles of all shape, make and color sparkled in the sunshine. And families weaved in and out of the sea of cars, eyeing each other mistrustfully and smiling politely as they brushed past one another. A long silver pole with an unreasonably large bright yellow 'M' at the top of it and the words "McDonalds" emblazoned in white against red, identified my whereabouts.
That's a fast-food chain, you ate here once my mind whispered.
I'm in a truck I realized.
"You're not from around here are you?" a masculine voice inquired in smooth English. I whipped my head around. Sitting on the other end of the back seat was a man, with imploring eyes as pale as the sky. They were green and sparkled against the backdrop of sooty black lashes and his tan complexion paid homage to his Hispanic heritage. I pressed my back into the window behind me, as the events of the night before flooded my memory.
"You tried to kill me!" I rasped, my hands grappling behind my back for the door handle.
"That was my Pops. It was protocol," he shrugged. My fingers brushed on the handle. I gripped it tightly.
"Had to make sure you weren't one of them" he dropped the volume of his voice looking around conspiratorially, his eyes alight with passion his lips peeled in an easy lop-sided grin.
I pulled at the handle, it jolted hitting a lock before snapping back painfully on my fingers.
His lips pulled down in a frown,
"I'm scaring you aren't I?" He pushed his fingers through his short hair, which was cropped, close to his head. I stared at him blankly, trying to inconspicuously apply extra force to the handle in order to break the lock.
"Lemme start over," he cleared his throat. Dimpling like a small boy as he turned his eyes towards me, he couldn't have been older than 21.
"My name's Tomas, I like the colour red, and I'm sorry that my Pops tried to kill you" he thrust out a hand. I couldn't help noticing the intricate tattoo designs that laced his arm.
The plastic handle broke in my fingers; right at that moment a barrel of a man rocked the truck as he entered the driver's seat. Giving me a split second distraction, to slip the grey plastic into the pocket of my hospital garb, which was now brown with dust and had flecks of dark red spots on it. I shivered.
The man, who I could only guess was Tomas's father turned in his seat and handed 2 large paper bags over to Tomas. The "M" logo emblazoned on the sacks.
Food my stomach gurgled. His eyes were as brown as the bags of food in the light of day and they were trained on me. Daytime had also made the eyes a little softer.
"I didn't know what you wanted so I got you a little of everything," he said gruffly before clearing his throat and turning towards the wheel, where the rustle of his own McDonalds bag could be heard as he feasted. I don't think he's a man of many words. Tomas peeked into the bags before passing me one of them and ripping his own wide open.
I was scrounging for stray French fries when a hearty slurp from the person beside me caught my attention. The entire mealtime Tomas had been trying to strike a conversation with me, to no avail.
"Can you at least tell me your name? Or should I call you Cinderella?" Tomas quipped. His dad had started driving, thick brushes sailed past as the vehicle weaved languidly down the road. I stared out the window silently.
"Maybe we should call you santa María, you know cause you were dressed in white and all... Then again you could be loca, who else but a crazy person or an arrogant werewolf would be in the desert alone at night?" he laughed
"You were there." I say, watching his reflection smile at the back of my head in the glass.
"But I was with my Papi, Lolo." He retorts pointedly.
I turn to him,
"Lolo?"
"You didn't want to tell me your name. Plus it fits. Sounds like "Loca"" he teased.
"I'm not crazy." I snapped, looking at him squarely in the eyes before looking out the window again. After a pregnant pause I say,
"My name is Katie... Call me Katie."
YOU ARE READING
New Divide
Werewolf"Under the Delta Humafication act 901.7. I was designed to mimic and enhance the genetic formula of every lycanthrope males's mate which in turn makes him believe I am his mate." When the Werewolves unveiled their existence in 2014 the whole world a...
