Broken Orbit | ONC

Peaceful Negotiation

    In the morning, I heated up some more beans and Chance and I ate our share. I spent the first hour of daylight searching the house. It was furnished and still had some food in the fridge. (The smell quickly had me regretting opening it.) In the master bedroom, I found a small jewelry box and a wedding ring. It looked like someone had been planning on proposing, considering the hand-written letter of a proposal speech that was tucked inside of it.

    A little sad, I took the ring. The next person that would come through, no doubt, would take the ring. I couldn't stand the thought. At least, now I knew it was in trustworthy hands. I put it in my bag and moved on. There wasn't much that I could take and carry. I moved all of my more valuable, smaller items into the satchel, including the bottles of water, canned beans, veggies, fruits, bowls, thermometer, flint, and some granola and jerky I'd found in the pantry. I filled the backpack with as much firewood as I could fit. The folded metal at the bottom only took a small amount of space. A black roll of shiny fabric was tied to the top of the backpack. After bundling back up, I picked Chance up and wrapped him in the blanket. Thinking we were playing, he chewed on my fingers as I zipped him into my jacket. Finally, I wrapped the scarf around the lower half of my face and pulled up the hood, fixing my gloves.

   My blue eyes were all that peeked through the layers of fabric. Even then, there was a thin slice of fabric over my eyes. Maybe a few wisps of my brown hair peeked through, but that was all. The hair had been blonde before the sun began to shrink. Without any sun to continue bleaching the color out, it had darkened while my skin paled. I pulled the chair away from the door and undid the lock. Wind blasted against the skin around my eyes once I opened it. They automatically watered. I closed my eyes before the water could freeze. That was a mistake I was not going to make again. Stepping outside, I closed the door and started to plow through the snow.

   At first, Chance kept his head out of the jacket to watch, but soon gave up on that attempt. His nose was simply too cold. I felt his whiskers against my collarbone as he burrowed into the layers of fabric to stay warm. It would be several months before his husky fur would finish growing. By then, he'd be able to tolerate the weather much more than I could.

   There was an old map in my pack, one that I had spent some time studying. The top half of a road sign stuck from the snow. I knew that I had to move quickly. There was a large stretch between this town and the next one. If I moved fast enough, I'd make it just as the sun set. I knew that any extended time outdoors during night was deadly. I kept my pace as fast as possible without wearing out too fast.

   It didn't take long for the wind to pull out the warmth trapped in my coat. The sun was a small circle in the sky, the light the same as if the Earth was covered in dense storm clouds. I trudged through the snow for some time. I'd just left the town once Chance wedged his nose out of the coat as the wind shifted. His snout twitched. I looked down at him. The wind had shifted from hitting me in the face to pushing me along. He was smelling something behind me.

   Dread curled in my bones as I reached for one of my pockets, wrapping my hand around the gun. I couldn't take it out, lest the cold freeze the mechanisms and make it useless. I turned around. There were two shapes trudging after me. My best guess were the cannibals from the night before. I'd only heard their voices, but one had definitely sounded Jamaican, and one of the men looked remarkably Jamaican.

   They saw me stop and one snorted. "You really think that stopping is a good idea, lad?" The wind carried his voice over to me.

   I watched wordlessly, debating my options. They continued to stamp closer. Once they were within an uncomfortable range, I exhaled and spoke, my voice raspy. "I don't want any trouble." It was the first time I'd spoken in weeks.

   "If you didn't want any trouble, then you shouldn't have lit a fire in a fireplace. That smoke was a beacon."

   I had known that when I lit the fire, but I'd chosen the warmth over safety. I wouldn't be doing that again without double-checking my surroundings. "If you take another step, I will have to shoot you." My voice was calm.

   The Jamaican grunted. "You don't have a gun. We're not stupid. You would have shot us at the house." He whacked a chunk of ice out of his way and stepped forward. I pulled the gun from the pocket and chambered it. Both men froze.

   "That sound means it's loaded," I told them. "You can turn away now and I won't do anything. I don't want to waste a bullet."

   Absolute lie. Just because I had chambered it didn't mean that it was loaded. Most people didn't know that, however. Though it was loaded. The second man, a thin youngster with straw hair peeking from his beanie, growled, "I won't care if you kill this idiot. It's more food for me." He started to try and jog forward. I backed up as the Jamaican snarled, "asshole!"

  The Jamaican lunged forward and caught the boy's foot. There was a brief scramble for control and I found a solution. "If I point you to some food, will you leave me alone?"

   They paused. The Jamaican had the boy in a headlock. I pointed behind them. "That house I was in? It has food, firewood, and decent beds. I left the door unlocked, but anyone could be there soon to take what could be yours." I put the gun back into my pocket before it froze. The temperature had to be closer to negative twenty degrees Celsius, now.

    "You're serious?"

   "Positive. I wasn't able to fit all of it in my bag. There's at least more than a half of it left at the house."

   "How do we know you're telling the truth?"

   I shrugged. "You don't." 

"Then I want insurance," snapped the boy. It wasn't very threatening, considering he was still in a headlock. "Give us the dog and we'll give it back if you're telling the truth."

   My hand instinctively covered Chance. I hadn't known they had seen him. I knew that they would sooner kill him and eat him than give him back. Besides, that required that I go with them. I shook my head. "Either I shoot both of you, or you go back to the house. Those are your options."

   "Bloody hell," grumbled the Jamaican. "Why did you gotta have a gun? Makes it hard to kill you."

   "Sorry for the inconvenience." I jerked my head to the side. "I've got to go. Enjoy the food." They stared at my back, but didn't chase after as I turned around and trudged away. I held my breath and carefully kept my gloved hand on my gun just in case. They didn't give pursuit. For once, my method of peaceful negotiation had worked. Though, this time, I had a deterrent for violence: a gun. The last time I had encountered someone determined to kill me, I hadn't pulled my gun. The scar of a knife across my collarbone had taught me about that particular mistake.

4,211 total words.