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Some gawked at his attire as they pushed past, but most were too engaged in their handheld devices to notice his presence. His head ached from the bright lights and constant beeps and pings of electronics. Sunspecs were a great idea, because even when night came the English world was bright and alive.
Following the scent of water, he fled to the outskirts of the city where the sidewalks were less congested. Roads widened for speeding cars and large rig trucks, overlapping and branching in various directions, leaving little space for him to travel by foot.
He was drawn to the undeveloped land near the bridges and highways, valuing the silence of trees and water untouched by man. Wooded areas only seemed to stretch a few hundred feet before being interrupted by cement structures and roads.
He circled an area with no destination. This nomadic wandering proved a tiresome and fruitless way to find his mate. And he needed to eat.
Up ahead, a shopping district shined like a beacon. Red brake lights snaked in and out of the complex where cars jockeyed for parking spots. Inside the store was no less welcoming. Strangely dressed English folk pushed handcarts, gathering items and proving an incredible talent for ignoring those right in front of them.
Adam found a cooler and selected a bottle of water. He also found a display of eyewear and chose a pair of sunspecs.
Giggles caught his ear and he turned to find three young women staring at him. Though their hands cupped over their mouths, he had no issue hearing their mocking laughter. While their emotions were curious, there seemed an overall fear he hadn’t expected. Then it clicked.
They didn’t trust him because he appeared different. They mocked his clothing and only recognized their differences, hardly noticing their similarities.
These young women, possibly all under twenty years, filled him with a strange sense of disjointed doubt. What if his mate found his appearance too much of a distraction? He’d never desired to fit in among the English, until now. He collected a pair of dark denim pants that seemed his size and a cotton shirt from the rack.
The hum of electric buzzed around him, drilling into his head. The congested store bombarded him with other people’s emotions—none of which seemed overly pleasant. Overhead lights, unnaturally white, hummed and flickered, too rapid for the human eye to detect, but a distraction to him, nonetheless. He had to get out of there.
As the clerk tallied his items, he asked, “Do you know of a road called One?”
She studied him, chewing a wad of mint-scented taffy. “You mean Route One?”
Perhaps. “Yes.”
“That’s Old Lincoln Highway. Turn left when you leave here and you’re on it.”
His chest zipped with a spark of excitement. He was close. “Thank you.” Collecting his bagged items, he stopped off at a restroom and changed.
Automobiles filtered in and out of the congested lot when he left the store. He watched the headlights as they turned and trailed over the exit and his pulse raced when he spotted the sign he’d been seeking.
Route One. It was exactly as he remembered it from his dream.
He stuck to the dense trees alongside the highway. Rumbling trucks and vehicles rushed by. The volume of traffic, weaving and veering in and out of segmented roads left him woozy and on high alert. He barely survived a collision for how fast the cars were speeding. If he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up run over by an English vehicle, and he must avoid any chance of exposure. Staying alert was imperative.
Perhaps it was more than motion sickness overwhelming his senses. He drifted deeper into the woods, away from the noise and movement, to feed.
A wild doe awakened his hunger the moment its hoof crunched over the underbrush of the forest. He’d fed that morning, just before dawn, yet his gut cramped with the sudden need to feed.
Slinking into a grove of trees, he subdued his breathing and waited. The doe gradually trotted, nosing through the brushwood and pausing when it sensed a predator near.
The steady beat of the animal’s heart met his ears and Adam’s fangs elongated. Deer were no easy target. They could run long distances at a pace of thirty miles an hour, a speed Adam would not be able to sustain for long with his current level of hunger.
The farm had spoiled him, and he’d forgotten the challenges that came with hunting in the wild, as well as the thrill. His pulse quickened as his fingers splayed. It came down to speed and accuracy. His pupils dilated as his stare zeroed in on the animal’s carotid artery, just six inches below its flicking ear.
He pounced, sinking his teeth deep through the fur and sinew until warm blood coated his tongue. The doe’s pulse spiked then slowed as he dragged a calming hand down it’s back, filling the creature with a sense of safety as he slaked his ravenous thirst.
