Chapter 7: Between Strangers


    It’d been near a week since Levi last opened his eyes, but on this Friday morning, something finally shifted. Heavy and foggy at first, his mind crawled toward wakefulness, like dragging a body uphill.


    His eyes fluttered open, and a dry groan slipped out.


    "Uuuhhhh…"


    It was all he could manage.


    ''Water!''


    The thought slammed into him, shoving aside the urge to sink back under. Blinking slow, he reached up with his good arm, the second he moved, a fresh wave pounded his skull.


    "Yshshhhhh!"


    He sucked in air through gritted teeth, his body screaming in protest. His augmented arm shifted slightly, tight and awkward, the surgical scars still raw.


    Then, like a jolt, a realization hit.


    ''No restraints?''


    The thought stirred a flicker of confusion, but the gnawing thirst in his throat drowned it out quick. He turned his head, catching sight of a pitcher sitting close to the bed. Scooting toward it slow, his senses sharpened just enough for the sour tang of morphine to smack him square in the gut.


    ''Goddammit.''


    His stomach churned like a hog rolling in shit, and before he could stop it, he rolled over and dry-heaved, his body spasming hard.


    "He’s awake! Hey everybody! He’s pukin’, but he’s awake!"


    The voice of a child pierced through his heaving, followed by the sound of feet scamperin’ off. Levi’s heart kicked into high gear, pounding like a drum.


    ''What is this place?''


    Once the heaves finally stopped, he rolled back slow, grabbing the pitcher with shaky hands. He tilted it just enough to peek inside.


    ''Thank god.''


    He didn’t think twice, drinking like a man dying of thirst. The relief was immediate, the cool liquid easing the raw burn in his throat like a godsend.


    For all of two seconds.


    His stomach twisted, rejecting the gift just as quick as it’d been received. He barely had time to roll back before the water came right back up.


    "Son of a—!"


    He cursed between coughs, his body shuddering from the effort.


    "You should slow down, son."


    A calm, steady voice drawled from somewhere close.


    "Drinking hard on an empty stomach isn''t smart."


    Levi’s grip tightened as his breath quickened, then—CRACK!—the porcelain pitcher shattered in his hands. Rolling back he held the broken handle out like a blade, his eyes wild.


    "Who are you, and where the hell am I?!"


    His voice was shaky, fighting against the dizziness threatenin’ to pull him under.


    "Rufus isn''t gonna like that you busted his pitcher. Maybe you should think a second before you do something else dumb."


    ''He’s the man who fought that Waster.''


    Levi winced, his free hand pressing hard against his pounding head. He forced his gaze around the room, taking stock. Open windows, a rickety door that looked like it couldn’t hold up to a stiff breeze, and the distant sound of children playing outside.


    Still holding the broken handle firm.


    "Just answer my question. Where am I? And who the hell are you?"


    "That’s two questions."


    Shaking his head as he pulled up a chair and sat, the man’s movements were deliberate, easy.


    "Name’s Edmond. Edmond Thatcher. You’ve been here for over a week now."


    "A week?"


    Levi’s jaw tightened, panic flickerin’ across his face.


    ''Too long!''


    His grip on the broken porcelain loosened as he slowly lowered his hand. Feeling no bloodlust from the man, he decided he wasn’t in immediate danger, so swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he braced himself to stand.


    "Where’re my things? I need to get movin’. Appreciate the kindness, but I can''t—"


    Before he could finish, his knees buckled, and Edmond shot forward, steadying him with a firm grip.


    "You’re in no shape to move. And you aren''t going anywhere till I hear your story, kid. Didn’t save your ass for nothing."


    Levi cursed his wounds as he clenched his jaw, slapping Edmond’s hand away and falling back to the bed. His face reddened, and his fists tightened as he fought through it.


    "That a threat?"


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    Edmond opened his mouth to reply, but another voice beat him to it.


    "Bet your Waster ass it is."


    Leaning against the doorway, Rufus stood there, arms crossed, a shit-eatin’ grin plastered on his face.


    "How’s the little patient doin’? Didn’t think about leavin’ before showin’ a little gratitude, did ya?"


    "Leave him be. And no. It isn''t a threat. But you do owe me. Hell, you owe us both. By all rights, there’s a bounty on your head, kid. We’ve chosen not to turn you in… yet."


    His voice dipped on the last word, making sure it landed heavy.


    "And ‘yet’ is the part you’d best hang on to."


    Levi’s shoulders sagged as he weighed his options, his mood sour but too weak to muster much fight.


    "What happened to the kid? He make it?"


    Edmond’s stern expression softened just a bit.


    "He did. Got a few bruises, but you did right by him."


    Rufus rolled his eye and lit a smoke, exhaling slow through his nose.


    "Before we start plannin’ a damn parade, we got some questions. First off—why in the hell was Mad Gear there?"


    "That Waster? No idea. Woke up to the crazy bastard."


    Levi’s gaze flicked to the broken pitcher on the floor.


    "Sorry ''bout that. Wouldn’t be too much to ask for some more water, would it? Feels like the devil pissed down my throat."


    "My pitcher?! You ungrateful—borrowed that from Miss May! Now I gotta—"


    He bent to gather the pieces, his muttering growing louder as he shot a glare at Levi.


    "What the hell, Edmond?! He ain’t got no money, I checked, and we ain’t exactly rollin’ in it ourselves!"


    Edmond raised a hand, cutting Rufus off mid-rant.


    "I’ll see Miss May gets a new one. Now go cool down and grab us some drinks, tell Kati-bird to get some rooster broth going."


    Rufus opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, muttering curses under his breath as he straightened up. He shot one last glare Levi’s way before storming out, his boots hitting the floor heavy enough to rattle the windows.


    "Sorry about him. He’s an angry bastard, but he’s a good friend. You, on the other—you a friend? Or something else?"


    Levi brow tightened as he caught the meaning to Edmond’s words. There was no mistaking the kind of man sitting across from him—a man who’d seen more than his share of hell and lived to tell it. Levi had met his kind before. Men who could chew through steel and spit nails.


    "Can’t say I’m anyone’s friend. But if you’re askin’ whether I’m a danger... as long as it don’t come lookin’, I''ve never been trouble for anyone who didn’t go askin’ for it."


    Edmond studied Levi’s response, his eyes steady as it moved from the kid’s, to the scars carved across his face and body.


    “Something tells me trouble finds you often.”


    Levi’s hand clenched tight around the sheet, his amber eyes locked on Edmond’s, refusing to flinch.


    ‘Kid’s like a wounded street dog. Pitiful, but damn dangerous.’


    Edmond leaned back, lacing his metallic fingers together, his face unreadable.


    “We’ll wait on that drink before getting to your story.”


    Levi’s eyes flicked briefly over Edmond’s body, taking in the glint of metal.


    ''Both arms. Both legs.''


    The posture told him the spine might be touched too, maybe the neck. These weren’t cheap upgrades—military-grade enhancements, high-end stuff, even if they weren’t the newest models.


    “How long?”


    Edmond didn’t answer, his expression darkening for just a flicker before it settled again, calm and unmoving.


    “I’m askin’ how long ya served."


    “We’ll ask the questions.”


    The door creaked open as Rufus sauntered in, a leather water bladder in one hand and a bottle in the other. He tossed the bladder onto Levi’s cot without ceremony, then dropped into a chair next to Edmond, handing him the bottle.


    “What’s he said so far?”


    “Says he isn''t a danger, to us."


    "We''ll see about that.”


    Rufus took a swig from his flask before leaning in, his one good eye boring into Levi.


    “Word is you killed folks. Not just any folks—ones who were tryin’ to help. So, tell me... what makes this any diff—”


    Rufus’s words cut off mid-sentence as he caught it—the shift in kid’s eyes. There it was, plain as day: fury, hot and barely contained.


    “Got a problem with somethin’, kid? Don’t like hearin’ ’bout your own crimes?”


    “Ease off, Rufus. Give him a chance to talk.”


    Edmond motioned for Levi to take a drink. He waited, his gaze firm but not pressing.


    ‘Bald, one-eyed teapot.''


    Levi did his best to wrestle his temper down. He took a cautious sip from the water bladder, mindful not to overdo it. His throat burned less, but the taste of bile still lingered.


    “The only folks who’ve ever tried to help me were that boy I saved… and I guess now you two. So I dont know nothin'' bout killin'' nobody helpful.”


    “So it wasn’t a rehabilitation center?”


    Edmond asked, leaning forward just enough to catch Levi’s expression.


    “Never been to one, and like I told ya, I ain’t never hurt nobody who didn’t come for me first. I’m no criminal, and I sure as hell ain’t crazy.”


    Rufus snorted, his laugh sharp as a whip crack.


    “So who tuned you up, then? Sister Moira says your augments are fresh. You tellin’ us the place you ran from’s a tech farm? Bullshit.”


    His vaporguard arm gave a faint whir as he leaned back, grinnin’ wide.


    “Next thing, you’ll be sayin’ you shit gold and piss whiskey.”


    Levi’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice cold as steel.


    “I didn’t tell you shit about a farm. And all I am tellin’ is what I already said—I didn’t murder nobody.”


    The room hung quiet for a beat, the weight of Levi’s words settling heavy. Rufus, for once, didn’t spit back. Edmond gave a small nod, taking in what the boy had said.


    Edmond was the first to break the silence.


    “If you didn’t run from—”


    “Rooster broth, cock-a-doodle-doo!”


    The door swung open, and a bright voice filled the room. A girl of about ten walked in, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of broth. Her red braids bounced as she grinned wide.


    “I added a bit o’ lard to it. You’re way too skinny to get on the mend.”


    “Thank you, Kati-bird."


    Edmond said with a small smile, patting her on the head as she set the tray on Levi’s lap. His expression softened just a hair.


    “You start the rest?”


    “Sure did. But Nathan’s mad again ’bout the beans. Says Uncle Rufus won’t quit teasin’ him ’bout his farts.”


    “That boy ''bout cleared the house last time.”


    Rufus grumbled, gettin’ to his feet.


    “And it ain''t teasin''. I just keep him steady, is all. I’ll go talk to him. Kids these days are too soft.”


    He shot Levi a glance on his way out.


    “Eat every damn drop, boy. Been me watchin’ over ya this whole time. Don’t waste my efforts by skimpin’.”


    Levi watched Rufus leave, not sure what to make of the man’s gruff advice. Edmond raised an eyebrow, muttering under his breath.


    “Didn’t take long.”


    Turning back to Levi, Edmond slapped his knees as he stood.


    “We’ll finish this later. I’ll come check on ya in a bit.”


    Pausing at the door, he looked back, his voice firm but calm.


    “Don’t think about running. We’re the only ones who know you’re here. Be real stupid of ya to change that.”


    The door clicked shut behind him, but his words stuck in Levi’s head like burrs on a coat. Glancing down at the bowl, steam rose up in a way that made his stomach snarl like a caged beast.


    ----


    Before heading to the kitchen, the two men stepped into an empty room, shutting the door behind them. Silence stretched, neither in a hurry to break it.


    Finally, Rufus exhaled hard, rubbing the bridge of his nose.


    “He ain’t lyin’.”


    Edmond nodded slow, his thoughts the same.


    Rufus let out a low grunt, not quite satisfied.


    “He ain''t tellin’ us much though.”


    “Don’t expect him to. Don''t think he’s looking to burn us, either.”


    “So what’s the plan? We keep him? Toss him? ‘Cause if we’re keepin’ him, that means money, also means complication.”


    “Not looking to keep him. But we aren''t throwing him out, either. Boy’s barely hanging on, and if he doesn''t talk, Sister Moira’s the only one who might have some answers. We wait.”


    Rufus clicked his tongue, weighing it over.


    “Hmph. Ain’t thrilled about it, but fine. We give it time. Let him rest, see if he don’t start talkin’ more on his own. No point rushin’ a fella who’s just crawled outta the grave.”


    Edmond’s lips quirked just slightly.


    “Funny, didn’t take you for the caring type.”


    “Ain’t caring. It’s caution.”


    “Sure, that why you were fussing over him all week?”


    “Fussin’? The hell I was.”


    Edmond shrugged, easy as ever.


    Rufus grumbled something under his breath, but Edmond just smirked, pushing off the wall.


    “C’mon then, beans aren''t gonna complain about themselves.”