OTHERBORN: THE DIG [WP PROLOGUE EDITION]

TWO

PRESENT DAY

I'm not a child, but not considered a man so I'm, naturally, pushing my luck—not only in things that might happen out here, but for some kind of "find" to bless me in answers. I'm not safe to be out here alone.

But, I have my very own "moon-luck" and I'm hiding the fact that I'm scouting at all.

"Not good", Mateo would tell me. I guess, I know this, as well.

Nobody sees where I am. I plan to make everyone proud though. I love the desert. Secretly, I'll hunt for more food first, and share with the 'box kids' and then I'll get on with my hunt.

Ticka... Ticka... Ticka......

There!

It's near me again... That sound.

I hear it sometimes when I'm here in the open. Unearthly... It's music almost, as it goes loud, and then soft, but this time it's loud—and loud enough to sound as eerie as wind when it whistles in one lonely tree.

The sound gets slowly closer. Ticka... Tick... Then it stops.

I hold my breath. Is it waiting?

I watch from each ridge, creeping closer to where it was last. Does it want me to move? I hear nothing further.

In my scouting, I hope I will sight the elusive Blue Specter, but could this be it? What if it's real? I blend with the stillness, before entering "Bad Lands".

Mateo would laugh. He never hears anything like the sounds that I hear. But he doesn't insist this is any kind of a desert mirage, either.

And now no more "ticka, tick". The landscape remains still.

The ghostly apparition has left me alert instead to odd dots of men in the distance, their presence increasing out here in parched spaces; all moving westward. And to where? We are in the 'no—lands' to them. They're inside the "Bad". Why would they do this?

A short...ticka sound...

I freeze.

The noise this time hasn't come from the direction of any men though. It is close—too close —and there's nothing around me that explains such a sound.

I shiver. It gives me it's warning.

I'll keep my distance from outsider men. The elders say, "Always run, quick, disappear." They say I'm too small to get away safely if the men should hunt bigger prey than the rabbits I want.

Could the men be shipping drugs over the border? That's the other direction. They're hiding a bounty of some other kind? Goods? A price on their heads?

The days keep going by. It's not the first time I've come out here or seen them—and the men don't move closer, so I prowl more relaxed.

I keep my watch. These men could mean danger. I'll let Grandfather know, if it seems to be trouble.

The sun's partway up. The noises have halted. And I take today's gift of my results, dried and scavenged, to "the stump" miles away, covered in shading brush for my—neighbours—in their boxes.

I don't dare get close again to "the boy". Yet at a distance, I think we might be some sort of friends, in spite of his size.

Accidentally, long ago, we had met at a time when he was lost. We tracked his route back together to find his few cousins.

"Squid" is the youngest 'box kid' out here. I've heard them call him by other names too. He goes to the school in the Nuevo Oviedo.

His 'cousins', "Marlon" and "Jayce"—titles I do not know yet—had been lying with sickness; and Squid walked to the school by himself. I'd been on a long run. He'd lost his way at sundown. I had to help.

I cannot be seen with villager children, but he was so small. I had to help him. Now I just fend 'a little' for all of them—just while they are here.

Today, I've brought apples, greens, wild onions, and a small turnip they could cleverly plant.

I'm not sure how they survive. I cannot show them how things should be eaten. They don't always like grasshoppers or grubs. I've even tried toasting these things for them, but they leave them out here.

While I'm waiting today, I copy the marks on their discarded cans in the sand... "C...a...t...s... L... O... V..."—so I can practice; and I dream about schools. They sometimes scoop brown paste that looks ugly out from the cans.

I wish, one day, I could go to the Nuevo Oviedo school, but after nine harvests, I don't read or write, so it's not much of a dream, but I kind of like dreaming it anyhow. It's something quite fun.

My language is not understood by the box kids, except for odd signals with hands. I only show Squid some signs on the rocks or paths, left by my people. Plus, I know, "STOP "and "YIELD" as they are on red and yellow outlines in Reggie's "Shop" hut.

Reggie's my guardian now for the tribe. I feel awkward around him, since I saw his meeting, but he doesn't know.

I sit long and still, until afternoon cold comes upon me, and...there, at last, is the boy.

He fetches away what I've left on the mound. He looks around, eyes wide like an owl, but he will not spot me.

Sometimes he leaves me books in return, which I honor, and I always replace as I don't know their words. It's my game that I teach him while he teaches me his. I grin.

I practice word shapes and I stare at the pictures. I leave the books here. The pictures are like some Reggie has on his "mo—bile". I scratch "mobile" now in the sand.

This Squid is too small for climbing and racing—as friends anyway—but I hope this food warms bellies for him and his family-tied kids, as their root-kin are gone.

We're different, so we never speak, although we'd rather be in the desert, clearly, than in any rough and dangerous town.

None of us came from this place at our birth. It bonds us, although, I came from the mountains, they from a "country".

I was able to fetch them a "tarp" from Reggie's old tool room—one that's unused. For this, they are grateful. They stand outside on occasion and wave.

When the rain comes it rushes; and a structure like theirs would be no kind of cover and it wouldn't last long. But inside these piles of huge rocks, high in the scrub-thickened mounds—and with this new brown tarp—they'll still have a shelter, but stay out of sight.

In our territory, this spot here is far from the "town", and nobody sees—a shared secret we keep. I care that "good" people may find them, though I've watched, and nobody seeks.

I see the boy run now—squat, little legs—they're churning, jubilant to bring his feast to his friends.

I am glad I can be of use as "Provider". All three will eat.

~~~/
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