Leyla was vaguely aware of the truck leaving the drive through but she did not see it. Nor could she feel the bumps as it hit potholes along the weathered road.

She sat where he had left her and eventually slowly turned away to face the window while gripping the edges of her jacket sleeves to stop her fingers from reaching to touch the burning spot behind her ear.

The trees were in motion beyond the window.

Leyla had sunk in her seat watching them blur past her but dimly conscious of the animal beside.

Ezekiel had lowered his window a fraction to clear the fog that clouded the windshield.

Her eyes curiously slid towards the radio. “Does it work?” She questioned lightly, pulling his attention from the road and towards the machine.

“Could be.”

“I’ve seen them a few times,” she said, reaching out and brushing her fingertips over the rough knobs. “In his car, though he preferred the silence.”

As her fingers traced the machine she could suddenly see the interior leather of a sleek car with a slide between the driver’s and back seat. The fresh smell of leather and rough carpet beneath her knees from where she knelt on the floor with her head resting on his lap.

Leyla pinched the volume button and glanced briefly in Ezekiel’s direction.

He was focused on the road.

She fiddled with it, turning it this way and that. Pressed a few buttons until the small screen blinked random numbers of varying frequencies.

“Huh.”

Just then, in the upper left quadrant of her vision, movement happened.

The passing of something pointed and dark.

Leyla sat up sharply and looked out at the row of houses with lawns and a few scattered vehicles parked outside. She leaned in close enough for her breath to fog over the windows as they slowed at a stop sign.

“Dogs and kennels.” She repeated while reading a store sign.

Her eyes flicked about from sign to sign, over the numerous dull colored shops with their darkened boarded up windows and fogged vehicles. The town was quiet yet neatly kept. They drove past someone sitting by a bench staring at nothing with their hands resting on their laps.

She watched the figure, an animal, pass by following until her neck craned all the way back and she nearly climbed over the back seat to continuously watch him.

“This town,” she began, turning back on her seat, “how large is it?”

“A few thousand.”

Leyla nodded as they slowed into a large parking area stationed before a low building. Rectangular sized with large windows covered in posters of all colors and sizes. It was lit from within and the words OPEN blinked in bright neon colors.

She was already reaching for the door handle when Ezekiel spoke.

“Wait.”

With her hand gripping the door, Leyla looked at him from over her shoulder.

Ezekiel held up three fingers. “You will not stray far from me, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You will remain by my side or within my visual scope.”

“Okay.”

“You will not speak to anyone or answer anyone unless I permit you.”

Leyla paused. She nodded slowly, hesitantly. The tone he used was not far from something she had grown accustomed to, and her shoulders tentatively drooped. Eyes lowering in deference. “Yes of course.”

Ezekiel was studying her now.

His gaze fell away towards the window focusing on no particular point while speaking low. “This isn’t like where you grew up, kid. Every person you encounter is a predator. They’ll smell the difference in you, spot the difference with ease. The rules are to protect you, that’s all.”

When she didn’t answer he sighed. “We’re getting food, clothes and some other stuff I need.”

“... and the car place.” She said, hopeful.

Ezekiel nodded, still not looking at her. “And the car place.”

This time she waited for him to exit the car first then followed suit with her crutch. The air was a sharp cold but that did little to cool the flush of excitement humming in her chest like bees.

Ezekiel’s strides were wide and he slowed them a fraction, easing into her side.

“Is this the only store in the town?” She asked head swivelling around like an owl as she drank it all in.

From the dull parking lot to the minimal cars spaced out in different areas. There was not one animal in sight.

“There’s plenty but this one has what we need.”

The glass doors slid open as a gust of heat and something putrid assailed her nostrils.

Leyla wrinkled her nose and made a noise of disgust. Ezekiel was already drawing out a shopping cart and producing a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He smoothed it out, redirecting the cart down an isle full of dry foods.

“What’s that smell?” She uttered, limping behind him. Her gaze immediately sought any person, and briefly found the movement of a body behind the front counter.

Leyla stalled slightly as Ezekiel bent to pick a sack of basmati rice from the bottom shelf. Her eyes flicked to him once, confirming his attention was not on her, and leaned edged backwards — pretending she was interested in the items displayed, but really it was the old man behind the counter.

He was bent over something, a dark curl of smoke rising from his mouth in a cloud.

Upon closer inspection Leyla realized he was not bent but rather that was his posture. His spine was bent like some mental God Almighty had hated to pliable temperature and laid hands and bent to his liking.

Suddenly something touched her.

A finger – Ezekiel’s– hooked through the space between her throat and jacket and gave a short, sharp tug forward.

Leyla startled, ready to apologize, but the man was already moving onto the next item on the list. He spared her a quick look from his periphery as she sheepishly ambled towards him.

They moved from isle to isle and the image of the cashier quietly tucked itself into the back of her mind as her attention snagged on the items he was picking.

“Pasta sauce.” She muttered, squinting at the jarred label in her hand then him. “Will you cook this?”

“It’s in the cart.”

She peered from around his arm as he looked at labels for oatmeal.

When he reached for one Leyla made a noise.

Ezekiel dropped it into the cart without hesitance.

She followed closely at his elbow. “Oatmeal.”

A single word heavy with lacklustre enthusiasm. He had a knack for serving oatmeal for breakfast; tasteless and thick in her mouth sweetened only a little with sugar.

Leyla tried to gain his attention but he was already on to the next item. “Do you prefer oatmeal for breakfast?”

His eyes cut in her direction flatly. “I prefer human flesh for breakfast,” the bag of bananas fell into the cart.

She flushed and looked away as he continued past the bakery aisle.

Leyla stared longingly at the spaced wooden shelves with a variety of breads, all sealed in transparent bags. Some cakes that had seen better days hardened and sticky with syrup marring their packets.

And then she spoke; “... I like bread.”

The sentence was so simple and honest, it made him pause.

Ezekiel turned to look not at the bread but her. Leyla cleared her throat and almost attempted at playing the comment off yet found herself unable to, and settled for a slow inclination towards the shelf with brioche bread.

In truth she had only ever had brioche bread a few times in her life.

When bacardi’s dinners had ended and the guests left scattered remains on their plates. She vaguely remembered the pillowy sweet taste on her mouth as it disintegrated between her teeth.

She fiddled with her crutch, took a few hesitant limps in his direction. At the last minute she spared him a look from under her lashes.

Ezekiel stared.

“One.”

She blinked, “What?”

He was already pivoting with the cart. “Pick one.”

Despite having her eyes set on a particular brand, Ezekiel’s willingness had Leyla fumbling as she picked and hesitated then dropped the loaf and reached for another. There was a confusing variety, and it took her a long time until she finally settled on a sweet yellow loaf.

By then he had reached the till and was unloading the cart.

She lined up behind him and reverently placed the loaf into the cart right next to his wrist as he was reaching for the gallon of milk.

He took the bread without preamble and placed it on the belt as the last item.

Leyla’s attention drifted towards the shelves full of snacks, humming an off-tune under her breath. She spotted a chocolate, thought about swapping the bread, and turned to Ezekiel with the question ready on her tongue—

When she realized that he was not looking at the items, but the cashier.

And the cashier was set on her. Deeply set eyes the color of burnished bronze held in a face so wrinkled and creased it seemed to have weathered the most brutal elements.

A ring of yellow surrounded those eyes, and glinted like a blade turned in light when her eyes met his.

The old man had not reached for either items.

His mouth moved once, shifting the cigarette from his mouth corner to the next. The trail of cigarette smoke briefly clouding his eyes.

When he spoke she saw the edge of his canines.

“Aint seen you around here before.” The voice was a deep drawl and not unkind.

Leyla shifted on her crutch and glanced uneasily at Ezekiel. He was reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

The old man’s head tilted back, “What’s your name missy.”

Her mouth opened then shut it.

Ezekiel sighed and placed the bills on the belt, “She doesn’t have one.”

“No?” A liver spotted hand reached up and scratched at the skin on his jaw. “What kind of woman don’t have no name?”

Ezekiel tapped the items impatiently, “the one whose parents didn’t give her one.”

This seemed well enough of an explanation. He began to scan the items and place them on the other side.

Ezekiel motioned for her to move behind him, and she did, conscious of the cashier’s eyes never once leaving her.

“You from around here? I don’t reckon you are, else I’d have seen you.”

Ezekiel handed her a bag and she began to place the items inside.

“You must be one of them runaways huh.”

Leyla stiffened.

“She is.”

She stared incredulously in Ezekiel’s direction. What are you doing?

The old man was nodding to himself now as he began to piece together the puzzles of a jigsaw she had nothing to do with. “Them rogues from other territories, carrying nothing but sickness with them.”

Ezekiel collected his change. “Mmh.”

The cigarette had burned down to a thumb size now.

He put it out on the belt, glancing simultaneously at her crutch, a look of disgust nearly disfiguring his face. “Bodies can’t even heal themselves.” tsk tsk

Leyla didn’t have time to answer.

Ezekiel’s hand was reaching for the bags, placing his body between the old man’s view and her. He made a small gesture with his head.

Move.

She turned and hobbled out of the store with him in tow.

“A rogue?” She asked once they were back in the truck unzipping her jacket due to the heat within.

“Homeless animals.” He explained hauling the bags in between her feet as she settled in. Her eyes immediately sought the loaf of bread, reaching past his hand to shift them on top of the rice sac so they didn’t squish.

“He said they don’t heal as quickly.”

“That’s because they have no settlement. They live off the land and feed like scavengers.” The truck started, “they’re bound to pick some virus.”

She looked down at herself suddenly, inspected her arms and legs.

“Do I look like an animal?”

He was already back out of the parking lot with one hand slung behind her seat when her question slid his eyes, briefly, in her direction.

The look was sly, lingering on her countenance then slowly, almost lazily, trailing down her neck and pausing at her chest where the jacket zipper had been lowered due to the truck’s heat.

Ezekiel stared at a particular point, then away, shifting the gear to drive.

“You need clothes.” He said quietly, introspectively.

And she wondered why he was concluding that until her eyes lowered to the spot where he had been gazing.

Her nipples pebbling through the thin worn shirt.

_______

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