The Last Hunter - Descent - Jeremy Robinson [20]
We arrive at the tavern five minutes later. The white building sports angled walls and looks like it could fall over with the slightest shift of the ice. Two metal supports on the side validate this concern. But my parents and the Clarks all enter without pause, so I follow.
The inside is like something out of a movie— Bob's Country Bunker from The Blues Brothers. A real cowboy establishment. Even has horns mounted on the wall. Fluorescent beer signs adorn the walls and a thick cloud of cigarette smoke hangs in the air. I try not to cough, but can’t stop it. Mira is coughing now too. She gives me a look of disgust, apparently as unimpressed as I am.
As our parents lead us to the back of the establishment, I scan the room. Most of the patrons are men—large hairy men wearing thick, brightly colored, full-body snow suits. The few women in the room are surrounded by men, many of whom are staring at my mother.
I suddenly feel hot. I had yet to feel any kind of temperature change since our arrival, but now my cheeks are burning up. It’s not the air, though, it’s my emotions. An uncommon rage has struck me. I glare at one of the men eyeing my mom and catch his attention. I’m not sure what my face looks like, but the man actually turns away.
That’s when I notice more than a few people are looking at me. You’d think Mira, with her dark skin and light hair would attract more attention. Even the bartender is glaring now. He’s just standing there, rubbing a glass clean like it’s covered in sap, staring at me. One man, sporting a long white beard, sits in what appears to be a barber shop chair. When he sees me, he starts spinning the chair. With every rotation he meets my eyes again.
My anger fades rapidly, replaced by fear. These people strike me as wild. Some seem positively unhinged. Then I remember that there are no real laws on Antarctica. This isn’t the United States. There is no sovereignty here. Well, some would say I have sovereignty here, but I don’t think that would go over well with this lot.
We sit in a booth at the back of the room where a vent in the ceiling holds the smoke cloud at bay. It’s a tight fit, but the six of us manage, with the Clarks on one side, my family on the other.
“Kinda creepy in here,” Mira says to me.
I look out at the room and several people look away. “Very,” I say.
“What’ll it be,” Dr. Clark says, “Penguin Club or Salisbury Seal?”
I glance down at the menu. Sure enough, normal meats have been replaced with the Antarctican equivalent. Penguin is no doubt chicken. Seal is beef. The fish, well, that’s probably fish. “Penguin,” I say without missing a beat.
“Attaboy,” Dr. Clark says with something sounding so close to pride that I second guess my assessment of the menu.
The waiter, who also happens to be the bartender, appears at my side. He looks down at me while he speaks to the group. “What can I git for ya?” His voice is deep and rough. His accent southern, maybe Louisianan.
Dr. Clark and my father place the orders. The man seems to be keeping one eye on the pad of paper he’s writing on and the other on me. He stabs his pen onto the pad as he finishes, takes one step away and then stops. He turns back to the table.
“You look familiar,” he says.
“We were here thirteen years ago,” my father says. “Several years in a row. Ate here more than a few times.”
“Wasn’t talkin’ a you,” the man says, then looks at Merrill, who is about to speak. “Or you.”
He’s talking about me. As I grow nervous my mind plays through several rapid-fire scenarios, most of them ending with this man and several customers beating me to a pulp. My body tenses. Beneath the table, I feel my fingers tightening like they did that day in the living room. Like I have claws.
What’s wrong with me?
“You been here before?” the man asks.
“No,” I answer quickly, wishing the man would leave so we can eat and leave the smoke filled tavern.
He grunts, still looking at me.
My father, who seems nonplussed by the situation, nudges me. He hasn’t said a word, but I quickly understand what he’s telling me. I have been here