Chapter Five: Attracting the Worst Attention is a Hobby
Munro
9 days. We have 9 days (more like 8.5 days since it is 3 o’clock, but we still have a good portion of the day left to go) until an actual event goes down, which will predict whether or not this version of reality will be worth trying to save. But if it isn't, then Luther and I can start over and try again, like always! 9 days - and we're still crossing Poland to get to The Czech Republic.
I look over to the Asian and examine him. He doesn’t look ill, nor does he look tired, so what’s the need to save energy? If he poofs us there now, I can cook up a verbal recipe to restore him to a healthy state. I consider voicing my thoughts, but I’m startled because his lips begin moving.
"Munro, I don't think I like this version..." He whispers in English rather than Lithuanian, so my body tenses up.
Surprisingly, even though we’ve lived through this day countless of times, Luther has never suggested not teleporting there (AKA go the old-fashion way and take other means of transportation). He’s never been a patient person in the first place, so I know he isn’t content with choice of route. I suppress the smile threatening to show; he should’ve teleported us there like I suggested, the way we always go.
I frown; what bothers me is the fact that he’s doubting this version so early in the journey. I observe the Polish subway train car - no suspicious writing or symbols anywhere. A casual atmosphere, I note by regarding the people. Raising my eyebrow, I question Luther, who is still as rigid as ever.
Luther shifts uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. With his hands buried deep inside his trenchcoat, he leans against the pole separating us. He doesn't speak immediately, and I notice a few people look at us from the sudden movement. Okay, that is a bit suspicious, so I let him wait until the train car ceases the silence to explain his reasoning.
"There's a warrant for our arrest." He whispers.
"Tell me you jest." I insist, staring him down, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
"Listen for yourself."
In retrospect, it might've been a smart decision to listen in on other people's conversations if I was thinking (smart, if I was thinking smart. I always think, but most of the time, it's about something irrelevant, like a sequel to a book). Sadly, my thoughts were focused on my dream from last night. When I shared it with Luther, he just brushed it off, telling me that I analyze things too deeply, and changed the topic.
Gah - my thoughts are wandering again. Okay, listen, listen, listen.
**
Being verbally gifted:
- Perk: I understand every language ever documented, and I'm fluent in them all.
- Downside: it takes me a while to pinpoint the specific language, so translating takes a while.
**
I still my breathing and concentrate on the words floating around the area. My ears pick up Polish (of course, we're in Poznan, Poland), so I sort the words out to make coherent sentences in English.
My skin freezes over from shock; the blood in my cranium has gone from 98° Fahrenheit to -20° in a matter of seconds. Yes, Luther wasn't lying; the citizens around us are chatting about it. The woman on the neighboring pole shifts her gaze at us every now and then as she converses with someone on the phone.
Splendid. We'll be caught before we reach The Czech Republic.
"We will be stopping in Wroclaw in a few minutes." The intercom says.
"What should we do when we arrive at our stop, set it off like napalm to get people out of our hair?" I hiss, frustrated.
The woman on the phone gasps but quickly turns her back to us and slides her way in between a few passengers as she continues to chat on the phone. I glare at her, and as I do so, I find several eyes locked on us like grappling hooks.
In need of answers, I turn my attention to Luther, "Co?" {What?}
Wait. Is my tongue stuck on Polish? Did I just say that what-meant-to-be sarcastic suggestion, which came off more literal, in Polish instead of English. I must've - it would explain all the concerned stares I'm getting right now.
**
Another downside to being verbally gifted: if I listen to others speaking a different language, there's a very high chance that I will speak in the same language without being conscious of the action.
**
"Is it too early to call it quits and try for another blast to the past?" I plea (in English), attempting to cram the cuteness of my youth and innocence into my appearance that I can muster (yes, I'm doing the puppy-dog eyes).
Luther clenches his jaw and frowns. "No, you've grown immensely dependent on time-travelling."
Not true!
The woman on the intercom begins speaking, "We are now arriving to Wroclaw." I translate, and once the sentence ends, the subway comes to a stop. Luther and I shoulder ourselves to the doors.
Everything happens in a flash: the doors opening, people shoving one another to get out of the subway behind us, and various screams.
"Halt!" A man dressed in black shouts; his command is amplified by a microphone connected to his white helmet.
Walking amongst the crowd, trying to remain concealed with the human camouflage, Luther and I exchange a glance and shake our heads. We break out in a run, rushing past the herd of policemen.
"Call for backup!" One shouts and unleashes a gun from his holster, taking aim at me and shoots.
The bullet grazes my shoulder. Breathing in adrenaline, I leap over a turnstile, tumbling on impact, but I quickly bounce back and sprint away from the chasing footfalls and hysteria of the crowd.
After making enough distance, I make a tight turn in the direction of an exit, but I skid and land on my side, groaning at the massive wave of pain erupting in my right hip. I bite my fist to keep from crying out; using my free hand, I fish out a pencil from my pocket and lift my shirt to write on my exposed (and bruising) skin.
Heal.
Immediately, a warm sensation blooms throughout my body; I sigh, feeling relief. My breathing is back to normal; I stand up and look around the corner, nobody in sight, but I hear them. I lost Luther, but I'm not worried because if he really needs to, he'll regenerate next to me.
As if he was waiting for me to think of him, Luther, a few feet in the air, appears in front of me. He drops to the floor with poise, but his hands are chained together, his hair is disheveled, and the color of his face is an array of colors (he doesn’t go down without a fight).
"Let's," heavy breathing, "go. Now." He starts for the door at the end of the empty hall, and I'm on his heels.
"Wait!" When he turns, my pencil is on his cuffs in a flash, and just as quick, they unlock and drop to the tile floor. "Okay," I circle around him and throw the door open.
Only thing, we walked (ran) into the hands of the beast. In a matter of 15 minutes, both Luther and I are face down on asphalt with our hands behind our backs and a policeman's boot on our wrists. My eyes burn from mace and are puffing up from the heavy blows I got to the face.
"We should’ve set it off like napalm when we had the chance." I mutter betwixt two fat and bleeding lips.
My last sight is of Luther nodding his head, but with the swelling and burning combination, my eyes shut.
YOU ARE READING
Danger Days
Teen Fiction"Draw a monster. Why is it a monster?" - [Daughter by Janice Lee] Fourteen-and-a-half year old Chesire Summit has always been put down and looked at as a troubled child, and she's sick and tired of it, so to prove her tormentors wrong, she conjures...
