C. Schmidt - Hock City

Jesse ran back into the room at this moment, excited to see what had transpired while he was gone.

“Here you go Madam! What… what’s going on?” he asked, puzzled by the demeanor of Pearl’s security, and Langston’s body language. He put two bottles of clean water and two towels on the coffee table.

“Go get me some fruit, sugar.”

“Aw man, I just came from that way.”

“ Jesse .”

“Yes, Madam.”

Langston looked on while breathing heavier than he had been just seconds ago. He eyed the water. He needed it, but it came with a price. He then contemplated making a run for it, between the guards and down the hallway from where he came. He wouldn’t make it without a tussle.

Jesse returned again with a large bowl filled with various fruits. Pearl grabbed a handful of grapes and ate several at once. She spoke to Langston again with the juice from the fruit dripping from her mouth onto her robe.

“You see sir, to get some you must give some. You understand? What did you think – that you would come here, and then I would just give you what you wanted? That I would just help you for nothing, human?”

“Human?!” Jesse exclaimed.

“Yeah, your new friend here – is a human.”

“I didn’t ask Jesse to bring me here. I didn’t ask Jesse for anything. He thought that you could help me. He said you were an important person here, like – like you’re connected. He said you might have some answers.”

Pearl let out an unruly laugh. She almost choked on the fruit she had been enjoying. “Important person, huh? Jesse, you told your friend – I was important?” She laughed again, “Well, important people don’t become important by giving away stuff for free. Do for me, human, and I do for you. What can you do for me?”

Madam Pearl spread her legs and touched herself between her thighs. Langston frowned at her gesture. He took a step back, bumping into a guard. Madam Pearl became overwhelmed with laughter again.

“Calm down, sugar – I don’t want your goods. It’s fun messing with you, though. You not my type anyway. I like large men. Strong men who don’t come to me for handouts. Men that bring me things. But maybe you can help me in other ways.”

“Do for you? Help you? Look at me,” Langston said as he did a one-eighty turn. “I have nothing to offer.” Madam Pearl’s security readied their weapons at Langston’s sudden movements. “Jesse found me unconscious in the desert. I don’t have any money, no lines as you call it – no nothing. Jesse, this is bullshit! I should have went back to that station and figured this out on my own. That man with the scar has been more help than this!”

Langston pointed his finger at Jesse and spoke with scorn in his voice. He spoke like a frustrated older brother to his younger sibling. Jesse bowed his head shamefully as he looked toward Pearl.

“Wait a minute, did you say… a man, with a scar?” she asked.

Langston realized that the next set of questions were vital, as well as his answers to them. His responses could either help or hurt him; the same for others. He calmed his anger and went into a strategic stance.

“Yes.”

“Oh my. Jesse, you didn’t tell me about this man with the scar – in the Pines.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Jesse fired back.

Madam Pearl raised an eyebrow, tilting her head in response to Jesse’s tone.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think he was important. You talking ‘bout that man in the station, Mr. Langston?”

“Yeah.”

“I only heard his voice Madam Pearl. One time. I swear. I only heard his voice. The one time I went into that station, someone grabbed me from behind and told me to never come in there again. They picked me up and everything and threw me out the front door. I walk right pass there now. I don’t even look in that direction.”

Madam Pearl walked over to a long window as Jesse spilled his guts. She looked out through the mirrored glass at Hock City and the Pines.

“So tell me, Langston – what did this man look like?” Pearl asked.

The man with the scar exhaled heavy enough to make the hairs on his beard move. He looked around at piles of fallen Desert Dwellers, which were now lumps of sand. They faded as the wind blew. Arms, legs and heads dissolved into small grains. Grains that rejoined the earth. One Dweller would regenerate, as another one would fall. They just kept coming.

More sand soldiers were headed toward him. His instincts: fight till the death, but then he changed his mind. He no longer saw Langston. Langston was the main point of him being there, fighting endlessly. The best decision now: retreat back to the station and regroup.

He made his way back to the station as he defended himself from the remaining group of soldiers. He found solace in the rear once there, beyond the room in which he slept in. An office with a door that read ‘manager’ on the front. Inside there was an aged desk, filing cabinet, scattered papers and clothing. Common tools to repair cars.

He sat down at the desk chair and reclined. He drank a portion of ale from a jug, took a bite of a cabbage, and then opened one of the drawers to the desk. Pulling a picture from inside of the drawer, he dusted it off and then looked at it fondly. The straightness of his face, that seemed to be a permanent fixture, disappeared for a moment. He smiled from his core but did not let the smile rest completely.

The light from the room glared from the photo and shined into his eyes. The photo was of a man and three children, standing together in a grassy area. There were hills and mountains in the background. Smiles appeared on each face, with the exception of one person.

He cleared his throat and then put the photo away.

The man with the scar began to wake from his slumber. He had fallen asleep in the chair behind the desk; his legs extended across a crate. The jug of ale hung from his index finger. His breath was labored at times.

The sound of a wind chime woke him. A notification of daybreak. He rubbed his face, stretched and then rinsed his mouth with dingy water. He sighed as he looked at his coat, torn in some areas from his clash with the sand soldiers.

He gathered a few items and left the station again. This time he headed to a different part of the desert which were north of Hock City and the Pines. This journey would be longer than before. He had to make his way to a residential stretch of scattered homes.

It was evident, that some people desired privacy before the event, privacy of which they couldn’t acquire living close to the racket of the city. This was a place where, at one time, only well-off people could afford to live. Large dwellings, now in shambles, were the exception of a few homes that had been maintained.

He entered the neighborhood and made his way beyond the row houses near the entrance. Behind acres of land were unique homes with abstract designs, all with long winding driveways. Most of the homes were in one piece, except for some that had debris in the yards, broken windows and missing roof shingles.

He arrived at his destination, a home with a sloped roof that had tinted windows and brown shutters. He pounded on the door with his hand, hard enough where the flower-designed Trillium knocker bounced on its own. Moments later, a man yelled from behind the large mahogany entrance.

“Dammit Kinth. If you break another one of my doors, I will kill you myself! You won’t have to worry about that riffraff in the desert!”

“How do you do that? How you know it’s me, every time? that’s amazing.” Kinth responded before the door could open completely. “It has happened again.”