Rootless by Chris Howard Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Howard
window, but I swear it smelled twice as bad. The wind had started up and the sand blew hot and stinky. Still, I was grateful for the camouflage.
“So what the hell’s a Tripnotyst?” I said, my mouth all full of grit.
“Supposed to help you remember things.” Zee’s voice was muffled by the rags, and almost drowned completely by the wind.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged her skinny shoulders. “I remember everything. Most stuff I’d rather forget.”
“Then what’s your momma forgotten?”
“If we knew that, she wouldn’t be going to the Tripnotyst. But Frost reckons her tattoo’s from the same place as that photograph.”
It was the tent I’d seen Crow emerge from just a couple days before, back when I was killing time and waiting for my water tank to fill.
We loitered out of sight, hidden behind a stall selling salvaged plastic toys shaped like animals. Folk trading for memories of a time before the Darkness and the locusts and the barren new world.
“You think he’s in there?” I asked Zee. But before she could reply, we watched the tent flap roll up, and Crow came strolling out with his shades pulled on and his headphones plugged in.
We ducked behind the stall and peered around the side of it, studying Crow as he rolled on by. I tried to guess where he was going, what thoughts were buzzing inside those big old dreadlocks.
“Now’s your chance,” Zee whispered, shoving me forward. “Get my mom out of there. Tell her you’re with me.”
“What about the Tripnotyst?”
“Tell him whatever you have to.”
“And what are you gonna do?”
“I’ll keep watch, idiot. Make sure Crow doesn’t come back.”
I waited till the watcher was out of sight and then I sprinted to the tent door. I glanced back and saw Zee huddled between the water tanks at the drinking station. And then, before I could think anymore about what I was doing, I yanked off my goggles, eased up the tent flap, and plunged into the dark.
Inside that tent was as black as any place I’d ever been. The plastic flap fell behind me and suddenly the street seemed a mile away. I blinked, searching for light. Then I just stumbled forward with my hands stretched out ahead of me.
There was a gurgle of static, a buzz of electricity. And was that music? I strained to listen. No. Just the drone of machines.
I felt wires underfoot and dropped down and groped at them, crawling along with the cables until I hit something solid. Walls and edges. Some kind of container, about twice my size. I stood up and felt around at it. I stuck my ear to the wall of the metal box, and through the hum I heard voices.
Then something else.
I spun around. Faced back the way I’d crawled in. I heard the sound again. A tiny scrape. And suddenly, just a few feet from me, a lighter caught and flamed, puncturing a hole in the darkness.
The flame spat and flickered, coloring the tent with an orange glow, and I watched the flame kiss the end of a pipe, smoke and cinders hissing as the pipe was puffed and chewed. Before the lighter cut off, I had enough time to try and read the eyes staring at me.
But those eyes were impossible to read.
“Welcome back, Mister Banyan,” said Frost, chomping at the pipe like it was breakfast. Then he snuffed out the lighter and all I could see was the crystal making patterns in the darkness as Frost made his way toward me.
Frost was a whole lot faster than I’d expected. He was juiced on his pipe and moved like a blur. His fingers clawed the dark as I bounced and ducked. Spun. Rolled away. He was too fast and too damn big and he sealed all my exits as he tumbled down upon me.
I was trapped. Pinned to the ground with my face in the dirt, my back feeling like it might snap in two. Frost just sort of waddled atop me and sat there. He shoved the crystal pipe at me, the flame crazy in my eyes.
“Did you need more supplies, Mister B?” Frost said. “Or did you get your grubby little hands on
“So what the hell’s a Tripnotyst?” I said, my mouth all full of grit.
“Supposed to help you remember things.” Zee’s voice was muffled by the rags, and almost drowned completely by the wind.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged her skinny shoulders. “I remember everything. Most stuff I’d rather forget.”
“Then what’s your momma forgotten?”
“If we knew that, she wouldn’t be going to the Tripnotyst. But Frost reckons her tattoo’s from the same place as that photograph.”
It was the tent I’d seen Crow emerge from just a couple days before, back when I was killing time and waiting for my water tank to fill.
We loitered out of sight, hidden behind a stall selling salvaged plastic toys shaped like animals. Folk trading for memories of a time before the Darkness and the locusts and the barren new world.
“You think he’s in there?” I asked Zee. But before she could reply, we watched the tent flap roll up, and Crow came strolling out with his shades pulled on and his headphones plugged in.
We ducked behind the stall and peered around the side of it, studying Crow as he rolled on by. I tried to guess where he was going, what thoughts were buzzing inside those big old dreadlocks.
“Now’s your chance,” Zee whispered, shoving me forward. “Get my mom out of there. Tell her you’re with me.”
“What about the Tripnotyst?”
“Tell him whatever you have to.”
“And what are you gonna do?”
“I’ll keep watch, idiot. Make sure Crow doesn’t come back.”
I waited till the watcher was out of sight and then I sprinted to the tent door. I glanced back and saw Zee huddled between the water tanks at the drinking station. And then, before I could think anymore about what I was doing, I yanked off my goggles, eased up the tent flap, and plunged into the dark.
Inside that tent was as black as any place I’d ever been. The plastic flap fell behind me and suddenly the street seemed a mile away. I blinked, searching for light. Then I just stumbled forward with my hands stretched out ahead of me.
There was a gurgle of static, a buzz of electricity. And was that music? I strained to listen. No. Just the drone of machines.
I felt wires underfoot and dropped down and groped at them, crawling along with the cables until I hit something solid. Walls and edges. Some kind of container, about twice my size. I stood up and felt around at it. I stuck my ear to the wall of the metal box, and through the hum I heard voices.
Then something else.
I spun around. Faced back the way I’d crawled in. I heard the sound again. A tiny scrape. And suddenly, just a few feet from me, a lighter caught and flamed, puncturing a hole in the darkness.
The flame spat and flickered, coloring the tent with an orange glow, and I watched the flame kiss the end of a pipe, smoke and cinders hissing as the pipe was puffed and chewed. Before the lighter cut off, I had enough time to try and read the eyes staring at me.
But those eyes were impossible to read.
“Welcome back, Mister Banyan,” said Frost, chomping at the pipe like it was breakfast. Then he snuffed out the lighter and all I could see was the crystal making patterns in the darkness as Frost made his way toward me.
Frost was a whole lot faster than I’d expected. He was juiced on his pipe and moved like a blur. His fingers clawed the dark as I bounced and ducked. Spun. Rolled away. He was too fast and too damn big and he sealed all my exits as he tumbled down upon me.
I was trapped. Pinned to the ground with my face in the dirt, my back feeling like it might snap in two. Frost just sort of waddled atop me and sat there. He shoved the crystal pipe at me, the flame crazy in my eyes.
“Did you need more supplies, Mister B?” Frost said. “Or did you get your grubby little hands on