Regretful Love

Chapter Three

The day was long, burning hot, and hungry. They found no food, and Kellion was forced to bring out the beef jerky again so they'd have something to chew on as they walked. He had a little money. Not much but enough to get by on. But, with two mouths to feed now instead of one, he was worried that there was going to be more than one hungry day. As they walked, he kept an eye out for signs and for roadkill, something fresh. Nothing wrong with eating a raccoon, though the meat was tough.

Eventually, the winding country road curved onto a larger road. Not an interstate, more of a highway. And with more cars around, there was less chance to talk. The roaring of engines filled the air, deafening them as vehicles whooshed past, kicking up dust. But there was more chance of finding food. Amazing what people threw out of the windows of cars.

The girl spoke little. He'd asked again what her name was, but she'd said just to call her Girl, so he did, coming to see it as a name more than a description. She'd said nothing about her life, though, so he left her in peace, not wanting to pry.

They stopped once, in the shade of an overpass, drinking in the cool, resting their weary feet, and Kell thought about shooting up there. But he was wary of taking too much, needing his supply to last. And, if he was honest with himself, he didn't want the girl to see him doing it. Too many questions. He did find signs on the cement columns of the overpass, though, and knew that they were headed towards an encampment where they could sleep the night and maybe even scrounge up some food. Kell fingered the pack of cigarettes that was in his top pocket but restrained himself. There weren't many left now, and he didn't want to be without.

The sun was setting, the beautiful orange glow soothing him and the air smelling of burning before he saw another sign. He knew they were close.

"Camp coming up," he grunted. They hadn't spoken in over an hour.

He hadn't noticed when she'd slipped away. Cursed himself for not paying more attention. He should have known better than to lead her into a group of men. Not that all hobos were men, but most were, and, given her story—much of which he was assuming—she was unlikely to want to be around men. He had a feeling that she wasn't far off, though, so he didn't worry. There was only so much he could do, and if she chose to leave then he couldn't follow. Didn't have the time. He had his own places to be.

The encampment was in a rough area of waste ground just off the highway. Already, metal barrels were burning, and men were standing around. He nodded at a group, who broke their circle to allow him in, and spent some time comparing notes on the road ahead and behind.

"Going far?" asked one, his nose dappled with the red spots of an alcoholic.

"Downstate," said Kell.

The man nodded and moved on.

Kell did manage to trade a spare shirt for some hobo stew. As he scooped up the flavoursome food, he wondered if the girl was still hungry. Couldn't save it, though, so he figured he might as well eat it all. He was comfortable here, as he had spent time with men of the road before. Their smell didn't bother him. Hell, he probably smelled as bad himself. He listened to their talk, their stories, laughed at their jokes, but declined the offer of a bottle. That was one vice he'd never really taken to. Mind you, he had enough others to make up for it.

As the night closed in, it grew colder, and he shuffled up to one of the fires. It was late before men started to fall asleep, and he waited, knowing that whilst there was a code of sorts that would allow him to be safe and his belongings to be secure, it would be broken if anyone saw the metal box. The sounds of cars going past, the warmth of the fires, and the sedative effect of the malt liquor finally quieted the camp, and Kell took his chance. He picked up his pack, leaving his blanket to mark his spot, and walked a ways outside of the circle of light cast by the fires.