One Day Before Calamity Jane's Expected Arrival

Simone wanders out of the farmhouse before the sun has even risen. Basket in hand, Simone heads for her new garden. In this eerie place, the heat of midday is easily in the one-hundred plus digits. The cool of dawn is better for working.

Simone is unable to contain her excitement as she arrives at the side of the farmhouse. Dropping her basket into the dirt, she wipes her hands on her jeans. She uses one hand to reach into the basket and retrieve the knee mat and a pair of blue floral gardening gloves. The other hand, she uses to support herself; as she sets both knees on the mat.

Not even two minutes after she has begun digging in the dirt, the black and white goat saunters around the corner. The goat stares at her for a brief moment and then walks away. Simone watches it go with a casual smile. Silly animal.

Turning back to her task, Simone is startled when she is nudged from behind. Nearly faceplanting in the dirt, Simone's arms pinwheel as she tries to regain her balance. Once she is stable again, Simone turns to confront the ornery beast.

"Silly animal!" Simone cries. "You almost hurt me! What the heck are you doing now?"

The goat's only answer is to steal one of Simone's gardening gloves. Simone quickly yanks the glove from the goat's mouth and chastises the stubborn beast.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to take things that don't belong to you?!" Simone says playfully.

She shoves the glove back in her basket and moves the entire basket away from the goat's reach. Although, she is certain that if the goat really wants her gloves; it'll find a way to get it. Even if it has to go through her.

Nuzzling the goat, and rubbing its neck, Simone's hand touches something metallic. She examines the metal name plate on the goat's collar with acute interest.

"J.M.," Simone whispers into the morning air. "That's a funny name for a goat. J.M.? Weird. Wonder what it's short for--?"

Simone's eyes widen and she lowers her head level with that of the goat's. She stares intensely into the animal's eyes. Eyes not quite those of a goat's. No rectangular pupils. No milky color around the interior. Eyes very similar to her own.

Simone glances toward the warehouse in the distance before returning her attention to the bewildering beast gazing up at her. She places her hands on either side of the goat's face. This is no ordinary animal.

"Ohhh...," she nearly sighs. "I know who you are. Haha. Don't worry. It'll be our little secret."

With that, Simone kisses the goat squarely on its nose. The goat shakes its black and white head and releases something between a snort and an animal's sigh. The animal trots off, but not without giving Simone one more odd look over its spotted shoulder.

Simone goes back to her task of gardening. There is a large smile on her face. When the sun comes up, she has already planted eight tiny rows of seeds. Carrots, beans, squash, and turnips; whatever she could find in the basket. She can only hope that conditions are favorable enough that anything will grow.

-

-

Crank exits the farmhouse at a steady march. After many horrible nightmares, in which Simone is harmed or even killed; he is taking no chances. Wherever she is, he will find her. If only to ensure she is safe. This place of strange energy makes his skin crawl.

Crank finds Simone on the side of the house. She is kneeling on the ground, digging in the dirt with a small tool. With one hand she dumps tiny seeds into the hole she has dug. With the other, she dips into the enormous clay jug beside her. Using the second hand as a cup, she allows water to drip onto the buried seeds.

Crank watches her work for several moments, observing the phantom of a smile plastered to her lips. Despite their crazy circumstances. Despite the fact that there are now bloodthirsty rogue hunters on their trail. Despite everything, Simone is content.

The brilliance of the desert sun brings perspiration to the surface of Simone's skin. Her flesh takes on a bright sheen. When viewed from certain angles, she shines like a rare gem. Crank's heart nearly beats out of his chest with the love he feels for her.

Leaving Simone to her task, Crank calmly walks away. It is his turn to find something to do.

-

-

Crank steps through the door of the abandoned grocery store. From his studies, and what Simone has told him; 'groceries' means food. Crank carefully makes his way around the store. A rusty shopping cart, similar to the one pushed by the frail ooman female in the sewers, rests against the far wall.

Crank recollects that the ooman had used the cart to gather things. He will use this cart in much the same manner. Gently pushing the cart, with one hand, Crank gets it rolling. One wheel turns with difficulty, causing the entire cart to shimmy. Crank kneels and removes a tiny bottle from a pouch on his implement belt. He sprays a thin mist onto the troublesome wheel. Two jiggles and the wheel turns without issue.

Crank climbs heavily to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a lever on the wall. The red knob on the lever has a bright sheen, as if it has been polished recently. The lever strikes him as completely out of place. He strolls up to lever and studies it. Wrapping one clawed hand around the lever, Crank yanks it downward.

The shelf, to the right of the lever, moves out of position. It drops back and then spins one-hundred and eighty degrees. Crank chitters in agitation and backs away. When the shelf finally comes to rest, there isn't a speck of dust on it. The side which was facing inside the wall is as clean and pristine as if it were simply waiting for someone to call upon it.

Crank steps forward. He examines the objects on the shelf. Cans of beans, jars of fruit, pickled eggs and tiny onions, minced meats, and other ooman foods. Crank shakes his head in bewilderment. What is this place?

Simply grateful that he will no longer need to beg the strange Englishman for food, Crank gathers all that he can fit in the shopping cart. When he is finished, his cart is just as heaping as the frail ooman's had been. And there is still food left on the shelf.

Thinking to push the lever to its former position, Crank watches as the shelf once again spins one-hundred and eighty degrees. A smile builds on Crank's false ooman face. He knows he will make Simone quite happy. The last couple of days have been rough for her. Between the heat, the dust storms, and the lack of food. She will eat well tonight.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Crank exits the grocery store, and he can't help but laugh. It is strange being an ooman.

-

-

Simone is in the kitchen when Crank returns. She stands at the sink, using water from the clay jug to cleanse her hands and forearms. Crank sneaks up behind her, a smile frozen to his face. Simone is oblivious to his presence. For the moment, she is in her own little world.

Simone jumps nearly a foot in the air, when Crank enfolds her middle with one arm; while using his other hand to shield her eyes. Crank lowers his head to her shoulder. A tiny laugh escapes his throat. He is able to feel every elevated beat of Simone's heart.

"Oh...Crank," Simone sighs. "I wish you wouldn't do that. I wasn't expecting you."

Crank lowers his hand from Simone's face and gently turns her to face him. He presses his forehead against hers, mischief and pleasure dancing in his eyes.

"I have a surprise for you," Crank says.

"You do?!?" Simone says with a smile. She wraps both arms around Crank's neck and peers up into his joyful face.

"What kind of a surprise?!? Will I like it?" She says in a silky voice.

Crank kisses her gently and then whispers in her ear.

"I think so," he says. "You said, you were hungry. You will not need to be hungry anymore."

Simone pulls away with a gasp. Her expression is now pained and full of concern.

"Oh, no...Crank," she exclaims. "Not Sherlock's tea and biscuits again. I told you..You didn't have to ask him anymore. I don't want you to feel put upon. I can manage until Calamity Jane gets here. Assuming Sherlock is right about her schedule. You don't have to beg. Not for me."

Crank gently pulls Simone back toward him. He kisses her again, with more passion this time. Stroking Simone's hair, he calmly reassures her.

"We will not need to beg the Englishman," Crank says with a smile. "I can take care of you now."

He hovers over Simone, tilting her head with one hand. Simone's eyes become moist as she processes what Crank is saying.

"Come. I will show you," Crank says.

He kisses Simone a third time. Releasing her, he holds out his hand. Simone takes his hand with a wary expression. Crank's smile does not diminish as he guides her from the kitchen.

When Simone beholds the heaping cart of groceries, her mouth twists into a puzzled smirk. She regards Crank with suspicion.

"Where did all of this come from?" Simone exclaims in disbelief.

She reaches into the cart and withdraws a jar of fruit. The spiced pears inside the glass jar are perfectly preserved. No splotches, no brackish liquid, no bulging top, and no rust around the lid. Perfect.

"Crank...This doesn't make any sense," Simone hears herself saying for the hundredth time in nearly four days.

"No," Crank replies. "Nothing here makes sense. But, for now...We cannot worry about that. You must eat."

Simone lowers the jar back into the cart. She wraps her arms around Crank's neck.

"Thank you," she says. "I don't know what I've done to deserve you."

Crank's eyes narrow. He wishes to utterly demolish the vile creature who so completely destroyed Simone's sense of worth. On his native habitat, females and childlings are protected from harm. Females who partake of the hunt, are regarded with respect and dignity. Their sacrifice brings honor to the clan. It is not expected of them. This ooman named Terrence is a creature worthy of death. How it would give Crank pleasure to wear Terrence's miserable skull upon his back.

"You are Simone," Crank says with a sad smile. "That is enough."

Simone bursts into tears and pulls Crank into a tight hug. Her body trembles from the depth of emotion trapped inside her racing heart. Crank returns her embrace, resting his chin upon the crown of her head.

-

-

Past Midnight

Crank gently removes his arm from beneath Simone's head. Simone barely acknowledges his movement. She turns partially in her sleep and replaces Crank's arm with her own.

Crank watches her silently for several long moments before climbing to his feet. He only glances back once as he makes himself presentable and activates his cloak. He quickly exits the farmhouse before Simone can wake and find him gone.

-

-

Crank strolls though the forlorn ghost town, studying every physical structure for soundness and usability. The tall water tower is the most likely structure for the construction of his energy engine. However, with no trees to cut down for the scaffolding; some of the surrounding buildings will need to be sacrificed.

Crank hesitates at the entrance to the grocery store. The store's sturdy pillars will probably do. But what of the shelf--with its food that appears like magic? Will it be changed? Will it disappear if they alter the store in any way?

Crank decides he'd rather not take such a risk. No one will harvest wood from the store. Not if it means he will have to beg the Englishman for his horrid biscuits and bitter tea.

Crank backs away from the grocery store and continues his survey of the town. Several structures have wood that is substandard, or destroyed by age and possibly bugs. Only four buildings; an ooman courthouse, a feed store, an ooman place of worship, and a workman's shed have wood that would even be useful.

Crank shakes his head with disappointment. Once he has completed his survey, he heads out to his favorite spot on the far dunes. A sound which reminds him of Jane from the diner filters to his ears. Crank bristles and heads toward the irritating noise.

To his surprise, and disgust, the man named Sherlock is showering behind the warehouse. Completely out in the open. Crank shakes his head disgustedly and turns to leave.

"Hello, my good man!" Sherlock calls, scrubbing under his armpits, and glancing over one shoulder.

Crank frowns and whirls on the detective. Is it possible that the detective can see him through his cloaking? And if so, how? An angry chitter escapes Crank's disguised lips and he takes a step toward the odd detective.

"Oh...Don't worry. I can't see you," Sherlock says in a singsong voice. "Nevertheless, I am aware of you. The storm has been over for quite some time. Not to mention, there is no wind. Sand only shifts when a force acts upon it. That force so happens to be you, my good man!"

Crank drops his cloak and glowers at the very exposed detective. Sherlock simply goes back to scrubbing his armpits and chest. Reaching to grab a makeshift backscratcher, he cuts his eyes at Crank.

"May I ask what you are doing out at such an hour?" Sherlock inquires.

Sherlock's usual cryptic smile reappears and he peers at Crank with narrowed eyes. Crank takes a step closer and then reconsiders. Crank's mind begins to play tricks on him. It shows him images of the stupid ooman minus his skin--as well as his clothes. Crank cruelly returns Sherlock's smile.

"I am scouting," Crank says.

"Interesting," Sherlock says. "What for? You have food enough. And there is nowhere to go. What could you possibly be looking for?"

"I'm not sure," Crank lies. His smile grows even wider. "But I will know it when I find it."

"Ah...Well that's good!" Sherlock says, tossing his head arrogantly and gazing askance at Crank.

"You do know there is nothing to hunt? No birds, no squirrels, no buffalo," Sherlock drones on. "As I said before, the only living things besides you and your friends have been myself...That horrid goat...And Calamity Jane. Oh...And a few bugs. Although, I have no idea where they appear from. Saw a moth once. Ate a hole in my favorite sock."

Crank finds himself imitating one of Simone's favorite moves. He rolls his round eyes in irritation and turns to leave. As an afterthought, he whirls back in the direction of Sherlock Holmes.

"Do you not believe it is rather inappropriate to be bathing here...Out in the open?" Crank asks in a voice between a husky whisper and a growl.

"Why no! What are you suggesting?" Sherlock exclaims. "I was here before the young lady. I built this shower for my own enjoyment. And is not the young lady asleep?!"

"Yes. She is asleep," Crank admits.

"Then, I do not see the problem," Sherlock replies.

Sherlock bends to grab his towel and Crank rolls his eyes again. He tries to be reasonable with Sherlock.

"As long as you do not bath in the open when she is around...We will have no trouble," Crank warns.

Sherlock's face takes on a nearly villainous expression. He turns to face Crank completely. Crank is immediately consumed by secondhand embarrassment for the detective. He really should put his clothes on before challenging others.

"How do you plan to back up your threat?" Sherlock laughs. "I do not think your young lady friend will simply allow you to murder me. So...Do you have a Plan B? For when I do not comply?"

Crank considers Sherlock's question and then narrows his eyes. The lips of his human disguise curl unattractively. Sherlock's smile falls away and his lips draw together in a firm line.

Without another word, Crank spins on his heels.