The Haven Hotel

Nadia

I stumble around the house and make sure that no hunters are in the street before I run as fast as my shaky legs will carry me. Nadia hasn't woken up. The house is blazing behind me but the child is still soundly asleep.

The sound of things popping and cracking two houses ago is deafening yet somehow Nadia manages to stay asleep. For a second I suspect that Themba drugged her, but it makes sense that he would have drugged me too. Then again, he wasn't thinking straight when he died. When he died. I take a deep breath in to retain what's left of my strength but the thought makes me weak anyway. I lean against the wall to keep myself on my feet.

My eyes close on their own and my breath gets shallow and I start sliding down the wall. Themba's dead and one of the last things he said to me was that I'm not going to die today, but I don't see how it's possible for me to see the morning. It dawns on me that we need him; we need him to do the legwork that I, in my current state, am incapable of doing. I can't lift both bags with one arm, nor can I move very quickly without a full tank of blood.

It's not just that, however; Themba was the only thing moving us forward. He was, at least outwardly, an optimist, and his gentle urging was exactly what we needed; it's exactly what we need right now. I've never been good with children. There must have been thousands of tiny nuances to the way Themba treated her that I've never thought of until now. Do I just keep her drugged up? Do I prompt her to sing that same stupid song she's been singing for the past few days? 

My knee hits the ground. If the rest of me follows I might never get up. My shoulder is burning and there's ash rattling around in my throat and lungs. The burns on my good arm are starting to bubble; it feels like my skin is boiling. I run a hand through my hair and a clump of it stays in my palm. The headache is getting worse and my heart is beating faster and my stomach is still swirling around in its cavity. My hand hits the ground and the hair blows away on a draft surging through the house.

"Fuck it." My throat croaks of its own volition and I shove my hand off the ground, then use the wall to stand back up. The towel wrapped around my neck and shoulder has gone black and smells like roasted fur. I tighten the sling and lift both bags onto my bag, then wrap those around myself as well. The sacks of clothes feel like live oxen squirming on my shoulders. 

I consider putting them down and removing some of the baggage but immediately chastise myself for that thought. I won't compromise. I lift the rifle and put the pistol inside my coat, then nudge Nadia with my foot. She mumbles and I nudge her again. Some more civilized part of me knows that waking her up like this is wrong, that she deserves more from me, especially now that her only guardian is dead, but I can't risk bending down to wake her gently. 

"What?" The word squeaks out of her, barely audible; she's been running for long enough to know not to make a noise upon being woken up unexpectedly.

"Let's go." I squeak back. I try to clear my throat but something in there is irrecoverably damaged and nothing I say will come out as more than just a pathetic croak; each attempt I make at speaking jabs at the inside of my neck and leaves my head spinning.

She sits up and rubs her dreams out of her eyes, then she wraps several coats, Themba's coats, around herself to keep warm. How can she be cold when it seems as if the entire city is about to burn down? Of course, she doesn't know about the fire, nor does she know that her foster father's body is acting as firewood right now. 

"Where's my dad?" She asks after surveying the room and coming to the conclusion I hoped she would avoid. 

"He's not here." I state the obvious and help her to her feet, gripping her hand so hard I fear I might break something.