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Chapter 10: Turned
The electric bell rang, announcing another visitor to the convenience store. I started guiltily and ducked my head behind the shelf of goods we were examining.
Stop acting like a criminal, Melanie advised.
I'm not acting, I replied tersely.
The palms of my hands felt cold under a thin sheen of sweat, though the small room was quite hot. The wide windows let in too much sun for the loud and laboring air-conditioning unit to keep up.
Which one? I demanded.
The bigger one, she told me.
I grabbed the larger pack of the two available, a canvas sling that looked well able to hold more than I could carry. Then I walked around the corner to where the bottled water was shelved.
We can carry three gallons, she decided. That gives us three days to find them.
I took a deep breath, trying to tell myself that I wasn't going along with this. I was simply trying to get more coordinates from her, that was all. When I had the whole story, I would find someone-a different Seeker, maybe, one less repulsive than the one assigned to me-and pass the information along. I was just being thorough, I promised myself.
My awkward attempt to lie to myself was so pathetic that Melanie didn't pay any attention to it, felt no worry at all. It must be too late for me, as the Seeker had warned. Maybe I should have taken the shuttle.
Too late? I wish! Melanie grumbled. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. I can't even raise my hand! Her thought was a moan of frustration.
I looked down at my hand, resting against my thigh rather than reaching for the water as she wanted to do so badly. I could feel her impatience, her almost desperate desire to be on the move. On the run again, just as if my existence were no more than a short interruption, a wasted season now behind her.
She gave the mental equivalent of a snort at that, and then she was back to business. C'mon, she urged me. Let's get going! It will be dark soon.
With a sigh, I pulled the largest shrink-wrapped flat of water bottles from the shelf. It nearly hit the floor before I caught it against a lower shelf edge. My arms felt as though they'd popped halfway out of their sockets.
"You're kidding me!" I exclaimed aloud.
Shut up!
"Excuse me?" a short, stooped man, the other customer, asked from the end of the aisle.
"Uh-nothing," I mumbled, not meeting his gaze. "This is heavier than I expected. "
"Would you like some help?" he offered.
"No, no," I answered hastily. "I'll just take a smaller one. "
He turned back to the selection of potato chips.
No, you will not, Melanie assured me. I've carried heavier loads than this. You've let us get all soft, Wanderer, she added in irritation.
Sorry, I responded absently, bemused by the fact that she had used my name for the first time.
Lift with your legs.
I struggled with the flat of water, wondering how far I could possibly be expected to carry it. I managed to get it to the front register, at least. With great relief, I edged its weight onto the counter. I put the bag on top of the water, and then added a box of granola bars, a roll of doughnuts, and a bag of chips from the closest display.
Water is way more important than food in the desert, and we can only carry so much -
I'm hungry, I interrupted. And these are light.
It's your back, I guess, she said grudgingly, and then she ordered, Get a map.
I placed the one she wanted, a topographical map of the county, on the counter with the rest. It was no more than a prop in her charade.
The cashier, a white-haired man with a ready smile, scanned the bar codes.
"Doing some hiking?" he asked pleasantly.
"The mountain is very beautiful. "
"The trailhead is just up that -" he said, starting to gesture.
"I'll find it," I promised quickly, pulling the heavy, badly balanced load back off the counter.
"Head down before it gets dark, sweetie. You don't want to get lost. "
"I will. "
Melanie was thinking sulfurous thoughts about the kind old man.
He was being nice. He's sincerely concerned about my welfare, I reminded her.
You're all very creepy, she told me acidly. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?
I felt a deep tug of guilt as I answered. There are no strangers among my kind.
I can't get used to not paying for things, she said, changing the subject. What's the point of scanning them?
Inventory, of course. Is he supposed to remember everything we took when he needs to order more? Besides, what's the point of money when everyone is perfectly honest? I paused, feeling the guilt again so strongly that it was an actual pain. Everyone but me, of course.
Melanie shied away from my feelings, worried by the depth of them, worried that I might change my mind. Instead she focused on her raging desire to be away from here, to be moving toward her objective. Her anxiety leaked through to me, and I walked faster.
I carried the stack to the car and set it on the ground beside the passenger door.
"Let me help you with that. "
I jerked up to see the other man from the store, a plastic bag in his hand, standing beside me.
"Ah. . . thank you," I finally managed, my pulse thudding behind my ears.
We waited, Melanie tensed as if to run, while he lifted our acquisitions into the car.
There's nothing to fear. He's being kind, too.
She continued to watch him distrustfully.
