Pulling a cloth from his pocket, Casey wiped his forehead and neck free of sweat. The day’s heat, reflecting it at him from the pavement, wore him out and made him sleepy. Taking a long pull of tepid water from his canteen, he grimaced and swished the bottle to determine how much was left.
Not enough to pour on his head that much was clear.
He sighed and ran his hand over his hair. The strands were wet and hot to the touch, so were his ears. He groaned. They were sure to blister if he stayed out in the sun much longer, but he didn’t have a choice. This stretch of road into St. Louis was devoid of vegetation taller than his waist.
Quickening his pace, he broke into a slow jog. The sooner he crossed the next five miles, the better. Running with determination, Casey barely spared a glance at the familiar sights of dilapidated buildings and abandoned homes. If he hurried, not only would he get to base sooner, but he’d also have time to enjoy the festivities.
Four miles in, he no longer cared about festivities or seeing people he knew at Base, and instead, began setting mental goals designed to keep him going. Otherwise, he’d stop, and he didn’t want to spend another minute being scalded by the hot sun.
His wish was finally granted as he ran down the old highway onramp and stopped to enjoy the shade of the first tree he encountered. The shadow was small, barely six feet in length from the trunk, but it would do. Collapsing to the grass, Casey drank the last of his water, kicked his feet out in front of him and leaned back on his hands, watching the old traffic lights sway in the slight breeze.
Breeze?
Casey hadn’t noticed it before, but there was definitely a light wind picking up. He wondered if a storm was brewing. He sniffed the air. No ozone, yet. If there was a storm coming, he hoped it would hold off for a few more hours. Tilting his chin up, he let the light breeze caress his cheeks and cool his heated skin. The buzz of cicadas serenaded him, lulling him into a light doze and reminding him of the tree frogs’ songs he was missing back home.
After a while, he sat up straight and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and clasped his fingers together, relaxing. It didn’t take long, though, before his toes began to tap. He wanted to get moving, to go to the Fourth of July fair. Pushing to his feet, he started to walk the road to Base. Hopefully, someone would have the tools he needed to whittle Greysen some more winter solstice toys. And maybe, if he was lucky, he could find something for Lottie too. The thought cheered him, and he picked up his pace.
Forty-five minutes later he walked into the fairgrounds.
It was just as he remembered. Colorful. Bustling. One of the only days during the year that the army loosened its stranglehold on the soldiers and let them embrace their individuality. The men and women strutted about in non-regulation garments guaranteed to catch the eye of the opposite sex.
He walked down one of the aisles, looking at everything and nothing, noting the sounds of carefree laughter, the smells of food cooking, and a bright yellow sundress fluttering about the legs of a proprietress in one of the booths.
Casey stepped closer. Would Lottie like a dress? He could get her one. Surely, he had enough currency to buy one of the homespun dresses.
“Hello, soldier,” the proprietress greeted. “You here on leave?”
He shook his head as he touched the hem of a light blue dress hanging on a rack. It looked as if it were made from old sheets. Soft, well used but not threadbare, fabric slid through his fingers as he replied, “Deployed.”
She clucked. “Shame.”
He dropped the skirt and looked at her. “Why?”
The woman blushed lightly. “I work tonight. And you’re cuter than most.”
Casey took backward a step, surprised by her proposition. He clasped his hands behind his back, disguising his shaking hands in the familiarity of military posture. “I ah…”—have someone—“appreciate the thought, but can’t.”
She looked disappointed, but then shrugged. “If you find yourself on leave or change your mind, I’m stationed at the state-run on the corner of Big Bend and Delmar.”
“Thanks,” he said, and stepped out of her shop. Turning on his heel, he marched away, eager to put as much distance between himself and the retired asset. Asset? His ire rose, furious at himself. He’d callously dehumanized her. That asset was stuck in a shitty life, forced to adhere to shitty government policy and to service asshole soldiers whenever they wanted. It made him feel sick. It wasn’t her fault he felt uncomfortable with her offer. She seemed genuinely interested in him. He should have felt flattered. Instead, he’d run away. It was wrong what she was required to do, but Casey felt helpless. What could he do? He couldn’t save the world. He couldn’t change years of military doctrine. But Noah could… Or…
Casey stopped and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Glancing back the way he came, his heart filled with pity. He didn’t even know her name. Taking a deep breath, Casey decided to leave. His heart wasn’t in shopping anymore.
He was just about to exit the grounds when a bit of reflected sunlight caught his eye. Stopping, he moved closer to the bauble. A small woven metal band glinted in the light. Casey plucked it from it display. It was simple in design, but the three braided strands made him think of Lottie, Greysen and himself. He slipped it on his pinky. It looked goofy on him, but it would be perfect for Lottie. Without looking up, Casey asked, “How much?”
A shadow came between the glint of the ring and the sun. “What do you have?”
“Cash or seeds for several spices.”
“Seeds?” the man asked, his voice sounded excited.
“Yes,” Casey replied. He had yet to pull his gaze from the ring on his finger. “Dill, cilantro, basil, mint, and…” What was the other one? Oh, yeah. “Thyme.”
“How many?”
“Of each seed?”
“Yes,” the man replied.
“Enough for a few plants each.”
“I’ll trade that ring for some of the dill and cilantro.”
It was a steep price. Casey knew the value of what he had to offer, but he really wanted this ring for Lottie. “Done,” he said, retrieved the two applicable packets from his pocket and handed them over.
“Excellent,” the man said. “Do you want a velvet bag?”
Casey nodded and slid the ring from his finger. The man plucked it from his hand and dropped it into a small black bag. “Here you go,” he said as he handed it back.
“Thanks.”
“Good luck,” the man said.
Tucking the prize into his pocket next to the seeds, Casey nodded. He didn’t need the luck.
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