Feral

Chapter Five

Atticus heard Adam and the walking beanpole return, giving no hint he noticed when they tried to show him the lunchbox's equivalent of gasoline carried in a rusted paint can. Truthfully, he'd sent them off purely in the pursuit of some peace and quiet. He didn't count on there being much from the empty roads. The fact that they came back with anything at all was more than he'd expected. That was the benefit of the optimistic pessimist; he was only ever right or pleasantly surprised.

Beanpole (he knew the boys name and already allocated a string of overly qualified nicknames more appropriate than the laziest attempt of most cat owners) handed the gasoline off to Adam for him to bring to Atticus, joining Boomer at the car hood and as far from the gas tank as he could get. Atticus wanted to laugh at the lengths the scraggly boy was going to keep away from him, moving around the car so that Boomer was between them like a blond brick wall. He was making more effort than the Princess. She wasn't even trying to hide her dislike of him as she sulked in the cars shadow, refusing to talk and barely looking at him. The sneers she shot when she thought he wasn't looking weren't as subtle as she thought either.

A wide grin spread across Beanpole's face, whiskers twitching as he looked over Boomer's handiwork. "And here I thought you metal hungry wrench jocks always forget the importance of plastic."

"Can't. Not when yur always in my ear 'bout it," Boomer said without looking up from the battery casing. He had most of the cracks filled in, lumpy nodules of discoloured, melted mortar that stunk like sun baked tar.

Beanpole leaned back on his heels to give Boomer space. "Repetition is the best way to teach."

"I would have guessed bright colours," Atticus grumbled. When Boomer didn't react he wasn't sure if it was on purpose, or if the oversized corncob could only focus on one thing at a time.

Princess awarded him another glare for his efforts.

Corncob (now that he'd thought it he found he preferred it to Boomer) leaned up, cracked his back, rolled his neck. "Since yur so smart, take a look'in the battery for me, Mr. Chemist."

Beaker Boy did just that, leaning over the open battery sitting on the lip of the car, looking into each open well. He made a face when he saw the label on the butchered water bottle. "Not distilled water?"

"Not unless you got some on ya'." Finishing up with the casing, Corncob held the hollow box out like he was inspecting a fine piece of artwork, flicking at bits near the filled cracks to test its durability. Satisfied, he set to fixing the battery back into the casing, securing it tightly, then fitting it back into the car. Hands covered in grease and oil, Corncob smiled dopily with a touch of a job well done. He wiped his hands on his dark brown pant legs then reached up and closed the hood of the car. "That'll have to do."

"Shotgun!" Beanpole thrust one hand up in the air, reaching for his giant back pack with the other.

"Hold up," Atticus' order froze the lanky boy in his place. Behind him, mouth a thin grim line, Adam nodded his understanding. "You and Corncob help me push. Adam, Princess, get in."
The dopy look remained on Corncob's face as he looked around, then fell as he realised that, in fact, Corncob meant him.

"Why both of us?" Princess argued, because of course she would, while Adam went to the driver side door and got in.

"Because, I said so." Atticus smirked down at her, leaning down like they were sharing a secret. "Or do you like getting those little hands dirty?"

She jerked back sharply. Laughter threatened to bubble from his chest at the way her face puffed up then went rose red from anger. She rewarded his restraint with a huff, opening the rusted door to the back seat and climbing inside. Because he was a gentleman he slammed it shut behind her.