Wasteland 2087 - Chapter 3

Myra meets up with her friend Quentin who witnessed the whole ordeal at the crossroads

Chapter 3.

I hurry to the pharmacy, trying to outpace any onlookers from my recent altercation. Jumping the curb nearby, I come to a sudden stop. Quentin-- 'Que,' as Veii and I call him--stands there with his mouth agape, staring at me. From his expression, it's clear he has witnessed at least part of the spectacle. I pause, thoughts swirling in my head. How much had he seen? Did he witness my confrontation with the courier? Did he see me with Warden Gage? I can't dwell on that now. My shoulders drop as I sidestep him to continue into the pharmacy. I can tell he is right on my heels.

"What?" I snap, hoping he'll catch the hint of 'don't push me right now' I infuse into that single word.

"Don't 'what' me, Mye," he retorts, apparently missing my tone, "You just eye-fucked the shit out of Captain Order-Pants!"

"What!?" I spin quickly and unintentionally slam into Que, who had been following far closer than I expected. Ever the smaller one, I collide with his chest--almost head-butting his chin. Que is five-ten; not quite as tall as Veii, but he still towers over me. Que steadies me with a hand and meets my gaze, an ever-present twinkle in his eye. He has a certain roguish charm that never fails to draw attention. His tousled blonde locks, seemingly untouched by the constraints of a comb, frame a face adorned with a mischievous smirk. His eyes, a vibrant mosaic of blueish hues. He is usually quick-witted but easy-going, never intending to hurt anyone with his sometimes-clever repartee. Veii and I met him in Second form, and we've been an inseparable trio ever since.

I push him back as we stand in the middle of the pharmacy aisles, health products lining either side. "I was not..." I realize my tone is too loud, and lower my voice to a fierce whisper through clenched teeth, "Eye-fucking a Warden, thank you!"

"Mmhm. Okay, sure--I guess I imagined you staring into his baby blues, huh?"

"That... He-- He has brown eyes!" I fumble in reply, but immediately regret it.

"Aha!" Que yaps, pointing an accusatory finger. "See, you were eye-fucking him! That was a test, Mye! You failed, Mye! You're a no-good Warden wench, Mye!" Que teases, and although I know he is just trying to get a rise out of me, my blood boils all the same. I hate the Order; they've taken everything from me... Or maybe it was just that there was a sliver of truth to his jibe. There was something about Warden Gage that felt oddly confident and commanding, and it didn't hurt that he looked quite lean under that Order uniform. Realizing Que was right, I do the most rational thing I can think of--I slap him on the chest, forehand then backhand, punctuating my words.

"Call. Me. A. Warden. Wench. One. More. Time!"

"Ow-- Ow-- Ouch! Okay, okay," he holds up an arm in defence while chuckling at my limp attempts at a thrashing, "It's a joke, it's a joke! Relax."

"Ugh," I let out an exasperated grunt and turn to walk towards the prescription desk. There is, of course, a line; there's always a line!

"I'm just saying; it kinda looked like he was into you!"

My eyes widen, and I double back to face Que. "Really... You think?" I try to look nonchalant, but he just laughs and points his finger at me again.

"Warden Wench," he whispers this time, revelling in the satisfaction of the joke but minimising my embarrassment all the same. Despite his antics, I can appreciate that he's always very timely with his humour, and he never pushes people too far. I guess it's a side effect of being friends with Veii; Que and I both picked up Veii's intolerance for bullies, which seemed to temper our whole grade. I mean, I was hardly an authoritarian, but Que and Veii? No one really wanted to take them on. I relax into a mock grin and spin, theatrically dropping into his arms. Que instinctively catches me.

"Oh, Warden, you caught me! How could I ever repay such kindness?" I wail, putting on my best southern drawl.

"Don't you worry none, little lady, The Order'll always take care of fainting damsels, as long as they faint inside the shelter," he replies in a drawl of his own. We share a laugh as the man behind us in line lets out a pointed cough. Que lifts me back onto my feet, and we quieten down and move forward.

"So, I just saw Veii walking home... in Gerrard's shirt!"

"Ah, yeah," Que knew that Veii had stayed at my place; his parents were already pretty strict, so going home drunk would have done him no favours. "I kind of, ah... spilt something on his shirt," I lie. My sickness is enough of a burden without sapping the joy and energy that is Que; he would just hound me with concern, and I don't need a pity party right now.

"You're a menace, 'Cadillac'," he teases with a large smile. Both Que and Veii know my middle name--and my disdain for it.

"Uh-huh. Go Walk yourself, Cue-Cue." Quentin's middle name is Quaresma, and he instantly hated it when we started calling him QQ one summer. But these were our insults, just for our group; we could throw them at each other, but no one else could use them. Otherwise, they would end up with all three of us starting on them. Veii didn't really have a hated nickname because it was incredibly hard to get under his skin. It's frustratingly adorable.

"Ah-hem," the man behind us coughs again, sounding more pronounced and forced. I give him a fake smile and move up with the line again.

"Seriously though--that was quite a spill. Those courier bikes are out of control. Are you okay?" Que asks with a comforting rub on my shoulder.

"Yeah," I pull up my slacks, revealing the shape of a bruise already forming on my calf. "I think my holopad came out worse." I try to turn it on... to no response. "Crumpets!"

"Dude! You're in Tenth form! You can't coast through this year without a holo!"

"Oh! Hang on, Que, let me just dip into my immeasurable wealth of credits," I roll my eyes sarcastically.

"What are you going to do?"

"I dunno. Maybe Veii can fix it?"

"Ah-hem!" The man coughs again to instruct us to move. Que turns to him--even at five-ten, he towers over the old gentleman.

"Look, guy, we get how queues work, but this shit ain't helping. You're not getting there any quicker by being obnoxious about it," Que snaps at him.

"Quentin!" I say, slapping his arm. I step to the side so I can see the old man. "I'm sorry, sir. We'll keep moving," I say genuinely, and shoot a heated glance at Que.

The old man looks appalled at Que's outburst, but it vanishes when he sees me. There is a glint of recognition in his eye, but I am not sure I have ever met him before.

"Myra Longwood!" he says, which takes me off guard; how did he know my name? "I knew your..." he trails off. I could already guess the end of his sentence and why he didn't want to say it; he knew Gerrard--my father. Most people that come to this pharmacy do; my dad was a respected doctor, and he spent a lot of time here helping the sick and injured, pro bono.

"Please, forgive my impatience," he says in his frail voice, touching my forearm with sincerity.

"Ah crap, old-timer. Way to make me feel like a real jerk over here," Que says, throwing his arms out to the side.

"Perhaps you acting like a jerk has more to do with it, Que," I turn to the old man. "I'm sorry; I don't know who you are. I'm guessing you knew Gerrard?" his eyebrows shoot up at the sound of my father's name, and he glances around as he leans in close.

"You should be careful mentioning certain names out loud; the Order has ears everywhere," he warns, looking around cautiously.

"And beautiful brown eyes, too," Que quips. I backhand his chest matter-of-factly, leaning closer to the old man.

"Thank you," I say, lightly grabbing his arm, "for carrying his memory as more than just a traitor." He smiles; a heartfelt smile that could have said a thousand words. There is gloss to his eyes like he is holding back a tear. He nods, rubbing his hand over mine, and lets me go.

"You have his kind smile, you know? But in everything else you're a spitting image of your mother" he says. I frown slightly, but I'm more intrigued than anything.

"You knew my mother?" I haven't met many people who did. For the most part, it's as if she never existed. He nods, and intrigue gets the better of me, "What was she like?"

He smiles again, half-crooked, and says, "She was a beautiful soul, kind-hearted but also stubborn and proud. Although her skin was much fairer than yours."

"Yeah, so was my dad's. I have no idea where I get my complexion from," I shrug.

The old man's smile slowly fades. A few seconds pass in silence before he turns with a start, "I'm sorry, I have to leave."

"Bu-- Wait, but you haven't..." I call after him but he hurries away. I turn towards Que, and shake my head in disbelief.

"That was weird, right?" he adds, looking a little stumped himself.

"Yeah, I dunno. He was kinda familiar though."

"Eh... Kinda creepy, though. Oh Myra Longwood, you have a beautiful smile and look like you mother, except her skin was fair--yours is so lovely, smooth, and tanned... I would love to wear your face as a mask," Que quips, oozing sarcasm. "That's the kind of vibe he was giving off."

"Que, he could have been friends with my parents."

"Yeah, he could have also been an undercover cannibal waster. He didn't even tell us his name." Que and I look down the pharmacy aisles, out the front window where the old man disappeared.

"Next," the chemist calls. I turn around and approach the desk, trying to push the old man from my mind. A smile beams across my face as I am met with a familiar face; the man who worked with my dad for all those years--Tren. He is a middle-aged man with dark, slicked-back hair that is always kept neat and trimmed, with a clean fade around the sides. He has intense but kind brown eyes, and always seems to sport a slight scruff of a beard. He has Southeast Asian heritage and exudes an air of wisdom and approachability.

"Myra!" he beams at me. "Is it that time already?"

"My life in a pillbox!" I give him a tired smile, handing him the container.

"Quentin. Staying out of trouble?" Tren asks.

"As best I can, Mr. Mayo!" Tren's last name is Mayonelli, but we all like to call him Mr. Mayo. He never seems to mind.

"Myra, how have you been going with the dosage? Any headaches or nausea?" Tren looks back to me, and I immediately think of this morning.

"No more than usual," I smile, throwing him a thumbs-up. His brow knots; we had talked about this before. Dad--when he was alive--used to adjust the formula, but Tren wasn't exactly sure how to fine-tune the medicine that kept me from becoming a wheezing, dribbling pile of bones. We attempted an alteration once, and I couldn't hear, smell, or see anything for 24 hours. We decided to leave it as it was for the moment. The periodic headaches and nausea are manageable. Well, unless we throw a bottle of Mr. Taggert's Hooch into the mix; then we have upchuck city all over my best friend.

"Give me two minutes, Myra; I'll get this filled for you," he steps away and makes a note to another chemist to watch the counter as he goes to the back. We step aside to let the next customer be seen to.

"You know you don't have to be here with me?" I say to Que. "We're just going to both be late now!"

"Oh, we could use the excuse that Warden Gage was trying to hit on you! And I chased him off!"

"Hmm... No one would believe you chased off Captain Order-Pants."

"True, true. Oh, hey; first day for your RESy class. You excited?"

"I don't know. I mean, there are pros and cons, right? Pro: I get to escape this rat race. Con: I'll be leaving my home. Con: I'll be leaving Veii. Pro: I'll be leaving you!" I finish with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, I am wounded. Who shall I ever get to replace that annoying itch; that thorn in my side? Oh wait, literally anyone. I'll be good!" We share a laugh, and then I take a second and actually think about it. This would most likely be the last year I got to spend with Que and Veii. Most ASMC soldiers don't ever venture down into the Shelter; they have their own lodging in the hangars near the surface.

"I am going to miss you, though," I say, sadness creeping in to my tone. He lets out a sympathetic sigh.

"That's like a year away, Longwood; you ain't rid of me yet," he replies.

"I know, I just..." I pause, hold back the slightest tear, and throw my arms open. "Come here, you big dingus," I pull him into a hug and rest my head on his chest. Que is a softer cuddle than Veii's sharp, hardened physique, but even though our families are close, I don't feel like home, nestled in his arms--not like with Veii.

Tren returns after five minutes with a new container full of my medicine. I thank him, and continue on to school with Que. We are going to be slightly late for our first day of Tenth form, but this is going to be a good year. It has to be; it's the year I am escaping the shelter.