Endworlds - Nicholas Read [25]
Wet and shivering, the boy stammered a reply. “Y-y-yes, I’m human. N-n-no, I don’t know my n-n-name or what just happened. Yes, I’m cold, thanks for asking. Good luck with whatever this is all about, but I’m not staying.”
With that the strange youth turned and, hands thrust into soggy pockets, started walking briskly away. His fingers curled tightly around the now cold metal he found in one crease, the only familiar thing in his brief store of moments.
The others exchanged glances. One paused to spray-paint a circle and stylized ‘LC’ on the pavement, an indicator to others of their kind that the site was a weak seam to be cautious of, then broke into a jog to keep pace with those following the boy, their feet now on the ground instead of floating above it, rings retracted behind their heels. They surrounded the boy but didn’t get in the way of his stride.
Much smaller than Lion and with hands in constant motion, the other dark-skinned boy spoke up. His blue collar identified him as a Sniffer, like Jax.
“Here, moosh. Wot you know about divergent harmonics, mate? Because that’s wot you just made.”
“Nothing.” The stranger in their midst spoke honestly and helplessly. “Everything.” Stopping, he put his hands over his eyes and pressed hard. “I don’t know.”
“Leave him be, Vector.” Another girl, this one a short-haired blonde with war paint sprayed across both eyes, who wore a red strip that designated her a Bouncer. Like Hummer, she was team muscle. Reaching out, she put a hand on Lion’s arm. “Whoever he is, he’s suffering, Lion.”
The team leader sniffed, wiped rain from his nose. “We’ve all suffered, Tucker.” He turned briefly to stare at the flowing Thames and lowered his head. “First order of business: a time-out for poor Rosen.”
All heads dropped in honor of their fallen comrade. They knocked knuckles together to break the moment, not given to extended remorse.
“Well”, declared the dark-haired Jax, returning to the matter at hand, “he says he can’t remember his name or his home. Crazy Ivan here wants to keep him as a pet. So . . .” She eyed her companions. “What’ll we call him?”
“How about ‘Shrek’?” cooed Castle, who among the group came the nearest to qualifying as scrawny. He jutted a finger at the green slime that still coated the boy’s face despite the cleansing efforts of the steady rain.
Tucker shook her head. “No, ‘Tramp’ fits him better. Look at those clothes.”
Lion gazed down at the baggy stranger. “Is that a tuxedo you’re wearing? Who’d you mug? With that fit it’s clearly not your clobber.”
“I’m telling you, he came through the same seam as the Kraken—the selagote,” Jax insisted, trying on the new word for the creature. Stepping forward, she commenced a professional pat down of the nameless visitor. Flinching, he eyed her uncertainly.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking to see if you’ve got a Holepunch on you or if you’re just an aimless wanderer. We get those sometimes.” Encountering a piece of metal in one pocket, she started to remove it. He immediately clapped his right hand over the pocket and drew back. Jax raised her hands and straightened.
“Whoa, easy there, no-name! Just checking for vile.” She looked over at the group’s leader. “Whatever I felt, it’s not badness. He’s clean.”
Lion nodded sagely. “Still remains the matter of whether he’s from our side or an Inter-D. Given he speaks English, I’m thinking he’s probably one of ours.” He then looked thoughtful. For the first time that night a smile creased his face. “Given the seam has closed and we can’t leave him here, he’d better come with us. And he needs a name that’s better than ‘Shrek’ or ‘Hey You’, right? We’ll call him ‘Eastwood’. The Boy with No Name. That all right with you, kid?”
Eastwood.
Searching his mind, the freshly christened subject wondered why the coat-clad fighters were smirking. No matter. He would be Eastwood.
Vector nodded sympathetically