Chapter 2: The Morning After: Part Three
He wasn’t awakened by the sound of traffic, nor by the bustle of the morning crowds. Maybe he’d grown used to those over the last few days, enough that they no longer bothered him. Maybe he’d just been so exhausted of late that he just managed to sleep through them. It wasn’t like it mattered all that much.
What had woken him up had been the smell of sizzling beef and frying onions. The scents had drawn him from confused dreams of deep forests and icy rivers, back to a waking world where his stomach was loudly demanding he find the source of the delicious scent. Stiff limbs stretched as he came fully awake, shoving aside the dirty blanket he’d used to cover himself through the night.
The alleyway that he’d fallen asleep in was still the same, surprisingly clean aside from the pile of discarded cardboard at the end. He’d used those broken boxes as a makeshift bed, piling some of the bigger ones on top of himself so he’d be hidden from sight. He was thankful it was still summer since he could sleep without too much fear of rain or cold, but still, it was hard.
Pushing the last of the boxes off himself he climbed to his feet, his hands automatically gathering up the blanket, folding it and pushing it into the rucksack he held. As he did so he mentally took stock of his situation, tallying up his physical condition along with his dwindling resources.
His arm still hurt from the night before, though nowhere as badly as it had when he went to sleep. Rolling up his sleeve he saw that an angry line of scabs ran across his upper arm, but there was no more blood, and the wound seemed to be closing well. Aside from that, his body was stiff, but he felt more rested, the exhaustion of the night before dulled and driven back. His head felt clearer, no longer fogged and aching.
Of course, his situation wasn’t all positive. His body still reeked of unwashed sweat and grime. The taste of unwashed and dirty teeth clogged his mouth, and his feet still ached from all the running and walking he’d been forced to endure. His clothing was just as grimy as the rest of him, stained and worn by days of hard living without rest.
The only change of clothes he had was in the rucksack, and they were just as badly off. Aside from that he had a bottle half filled with tap water, and assorted odds and ends that he’d naively thought he’d need when he ran from home. Aside from that was the remains of his dwindling supply of money, money given to him when he had to run. He tried to add it up in his head, trying to remember what he’d spent it on, and how much he had left, as his eyes tracked down the source of the smell that had woken him up.
As it turned out, a food stall had set up right next to where the mouth of the alley opened up onto the main road. The owner had probably set it there hoping to catch the morning crowds as people rushed to work, giving them a chance to sell to those hurried latecomers who hadn’t had a chance for a proper breakfast. That didn’t matter to the boy though, all he cared about were the meat patties that were sizzling on the metal grill alongside onions, bacon, and potato wedges.
His stomach grumbled again, and his hand dug into his pocket, pulling out a few coins. He didn’t have too much to spare, but it was enough, or it should be. The rest he needed to keep for later.
Shouldering his bag, the boy slunk out of the alley, doing his best to avoid attracting any attention. He took a minute to look at the board showing the stall prices. He couldn’t read much French, but burger and chips was easy enough to understand, as were the numbers next to it. wordlessly he handed over his coins, pointing at what he wanted. The man behind the stall, a tall thin man with greying hair, offered up a sympathetic smile, even as he couldn’t keep his nose from scrunching up in disgust at the boy’s smell. The food was handed over in small tubs to make it easier to carry, along with a soda that he didn’t have to pay for. The boy offered up a grateful smile, then took off down the road as he waited for his purchases to cool down a bit.
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He didn’t stay on the main road long though. Instead, he took a side street, heading back to the docks. He didn’t go too far though. Crowds meant safety, but some dangers could hide in those crowds, he couldn’t afford to be too far from them, but he couldn’t stay in them too long. Resigned, he sat himself down in the shadow of an old warehouse, one all too similar to the ones where he’d been attacked last night. The sea was nearby though, and he could hear the lapping of the water against wood and concrete, a sound that soothed him as he bit into his food.
Once upon a time, he might have complained about the lack of mayonnaise in the burger or the lack of ketchup on the chips, but hunger was the best spice of all. Such things seemed trivial now, and the taste of meat and cheese was nothing short of divine to him. Before long the burger was gone, quickly followed by the salted potato wedges and the sweet and sugary soda, and he was feeling much better.
It was only then that he took time to stop and consider what he was going to do next. When he’d run from his home, he’d thought he was embarking on some sort of adventure. It had seemed so obvious to him at the time. He was the hero, and he would do great things. He knew he had power, and he knew he was special, so it all lined up in his head. Such thoughts hadn’t lasted long though, not when he was forced to sleep under hedges, shiver through summer showers in the night, or watch his money slowly fade away as he got further and further from home.
Then came the hunters, and adventure became the last thing on his mind. Now, he had to run, to hide, to just get away from the burning green eyes however he could. He didn’t know why they wanted him. He didn’t know where they would take him or what they would do to him. He only knew that it would be bad, knew it in his guts!
So, he ran, he hid, and, when he had no other choice, he fought. He knew he couldn’t keep it up forever, that sooner or later his luck would run out, but what other choice did he have? Ending up in France had been an accident, him stowing away on the wrong ship. It had bought him some time, but the hunters had found him again. They kept finding him . . .
“Salut gamin! Qu’est que tu fais-tu ici?”
The voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see a young man in dock worker clothes walking towards him. The boy didn’t understand the words, but the tone was easy enough to figure out. There was concern there, some annoyance, maybe some kindness. At another time he might have been happy to hear it, but right now . . .
He didn’t hesitate, he just took off as fast as he could. Behind him, there was a shout of surprise, but he didn’t pay it any attention. The boy ducked into one of the many back alleys of the docks, using his smaller size to his advantage as he squeezed between a discarded fridge unit and a brick wall. Behind him he heard curses in French, things he didn’t need to understand to know that they probably shouldn’t have been said where he could hear them. They quickly faded though, as he put more distance between them, moving deeper into the maze of warehouses and sheds that made up the older part of the waterfront.
As he ran, he grimaced. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for those who tried to help him, it was just that their help caused more trouble than good. He needed freedom to run away, and if the nice helpful people took him to the cops or social services all that would do was drag more people into his mess, and make it harder for him to get away.
Being on his own was better, at least while he could. What he’d do when his money ran out . . . he didn’t know.
Slowing down he looked about himself, taking stock of where he was. The warehouse he was next to looked like an old one, mould and rot clear on the wood, the glass fogged over by dirt and scratches, the metal showing signs of rust. The sounds of the sea were closer here, so he guessed he was in the abandoned part of the dock.
He could hide here for a little longer. Long enough for that man to give up. After that, he’d have to move on. These docks might be some distance from where he’d been attacked before, but they were still too close for his liking. He’d need to open more space, and find somewhere else to hide.
Then he could go back to trying to find some other demigods.
The boy made his way deeper into the maze of old and broken buildings, half-heartedly making plans even as his tiredness began to catch up to him again. Above him the sun continued to climb the sky, its heat hinting at the coming of another bright and warm day. A day that cared nothing for the events that happened beneath its light.