Beyond the Horizon

15. Leap Forward

A few days later, Nezumi trudged down the empty streets of the town, hands shoved in his pockets. The crisp morning air tugged at his skin, warning him that a storm was approaching. He huddled down into his jacket for warmth. Leather wasn't the wisest choice for cool weather, but Nezumi had owned it for so long it felt like an extension of himself.

          Nezumi had woken up in a bad mood. He'd tossed and turned for the four hours allotted to him, wedged in that strange place between deep sleep and awareness. He'd listened to Shion shifting in the corner of the room, pensive and unnaturally quiet. Since the vodka incident, Shion seemed to have retreated into some deeper part of himself.

          Nezumi didn't know how to approach the topic with him. Shion's drunken honesty a few nights back had jarred something loose inside him. There was a foul taste in his mouth that Nezumi blamed entirely on the vodka, which Nezumi had poured the remainder of out the window after Shion had finally trembled off to bed that horrible night. It seemed a waste, but the alcohol had proven to be a curse rather than a reprieve, and Nezumi was all too pleased to see it gone.

          He could still feel the warm buzz echoing through his veins, a persistent reminder of the self-loathing that had shot through him when Shion started crying.

          In his waking hours, Shion threw himself into practice. He didn't talk about that night. He didn't repeat the words that had tumbled over his lips once the vodka loosened them. Nezumi didn't know if Shion even remembered their conversation―and that selfish part deep inside him hoped the alcohol had robbed Shion of that interaction.

          The confined space coupled with Shion's abnormal silence made Nezumi desperate for any manner of release. And so, when Shion dug through his backpack at sunrise and announced, "We're down to our last bottle of water," Nezumi volunteered to take a trip down to the town.

          "Are you sure?" Shion asked, his eyes dark and vacant.

          "Someone's gotta do it, and I'm quicker than you." Nezumi shrugged. "Besides, we don't have any money, and I'm the only one who can get away with fake currency."

          "OK," Shion replied, turning back to take inventory. The buttery sunlight slipped through the wooden slats, casting a beautiful glow that lit the ends of Shion's hair as if the strands were on fire.

          "Unless," Nezumi said, quickly averting his gaze, "you'd like to give it a try. The attempt might be worth a good laugh."

          Nezumi had never treated survival as a joke. A failed attempt at pushing someone's perception of reality could mean the difference between freedom and capture. But Nezumi felt a weight in the pit of his stomach, coiled like a miserable serpent that grew heavier the longer Shion went without the brightness in his eyes.

          Shion's lips quirked up at the sides. It wasn't the reaction Nezumi had anticipated, but the painful tightness in his gut began to unclench.

          "The best I could do would be to knock over their display cases and hope that distracted them long enough to make a getaway." Shion shook his head. "And I'd probably trip on my way out."

          Shion told Nezumi that they had three granola bars, half the contents of the first aid kit, and a single bottle of water left. Water was more important than food in a pinch, but Nezumi hadn't seen any freshwater springs close by that he and Shion could use. He wasn't sure he could trust that the water close to an industrial park would be safe for human consumption, anyway.

          An early morning excursion meant it would be easier to avoid being spotted. The shops would be sleepy and the number of eyes watching out for him would be limited. He might have been able to blend into a crowd, but so could the Lab agents. It was better to be prepared.