53 Caring

Ika ambles away from the Merchant "quarters" with a deep frown on his face.

'Why does a complete stranger care?' He nods at a guard as he walks into the green zone. 'Did someone tell him about Kid? Who? Why the hell does he care?'

He mulls over those thoughts while strolling toward a section of the underground garage where his team usually settles down: the pink section. A pink cloth hangs over a piece of rope high above the entrance. Metal tables and wide tents decorate this area. Some of the tables have loaded weapons waiting for use or maintenance, while other tables are empty with folded chairs closed and stored on the table tops.

Ika pauses behind a tent. He takes a deep breath and smooths out the furrow on his brow before turning the corner and meeting what's left of his team. He turns into an overall empty area with three tables. Tents surround the recreational space. This is where his team spends their time before bed.

Only one of the tables is occupied. It has two other folding chairs pulled in underneath it. A deck of cards is open and a few are scattered on the table top. An ace, a card with the number 2 on it, and a joker card lie across the metal surface of the table. The only one occupying the space along with those cards is a despairing form hunched over in their chair. Nard's head hangs low, tucked into the shelter of his forearm fortress. His braids are spilled across the table. The table's metal frame trembles from the constant bounce of the injured man's leg.

Ika scuffs the bottom of his shoes against the concrete floor as he approaches his subordinate. Nard's knee falters in its bounce for a moment before continuing back to its manic quivering. Ika collapses into a folding chair at the other end of the table. He glares at the tabletop as he thinks of something to say.

The bandaged brown forearm in his peripheral reminds him of the loyalty and courage all of his companions have shown, yet few were rewarded. Were they destined to die, or is it the fault of his command?

His jaw clenches and each breath reminds him of the bruising on his stomach and back. Pains that remind him of life and its' daily struggles. Struggles Carla and Priya have left behind in their journeys to the afterlife.

'Life is loss,' Ika places a hand over his eyes and tilts his head back.

Cheap sayings fill his mind, but they don't quell the tremors he feels in his aching heart. Convincing himself that his grief is a waste of time fails. The expectations for their day were vastly different from this current outcome. Priya and Carla are gone and Turner is disabled.

He groans, 'Damn it.'

His nose burns as tears outpour from his eyes. He seals his mouth shut by biting his lower lip. His face is damp with anguish as the flow of tears spills down the sides of his tilted head into the folds of his ears and down his neck.

The chatter and traffic of people slink into the background as they disappear to their designated areas to catch some shut-eye. Neither man hears the call of sleep. They ruminate on what they did wrong, how they could have fixed the situation, and who they could have saved.

The night is long.

Marcus wakes up bright and early.

"Noooooo. What the heck is wrong with these people?" he groans into the cot's stiff mattress.

The clashing of metal cookware and loud chatter of people passing by forces Marcus to give up on sleeping and finally start the day.

He stretches his legs off the thin cot and groans at the chalky taste in his mouth and the slick feel of sweat. His shirts are damp beneath his uncomfortably warm jacket. He unzips his jacket and uses a thumb to pull at the collar of his two shirts to air out his chest. The minute change in temperature makes him feel less like a baked potato. He sniffs at one of his armpits and cringes.

'Ugh, I smell like someone collected the sweat of a football team and sprayed a feral dog with it.'

When he sits up the cloth wrapped around his eye and head slides down his nose, "Tsk!"

Sigh

When he unties the knot, his fingers graze the metal plating around the back of his head. He leans forward against his knees, cards his fingers through his hair to cover the thin metal plate, then tightens the knot over the back of his head.

He pats the knot to make sure it's secure then raises his head up to sit straight. His eye looks up from the floor and is greeted by the sight of a small child staring into his face. Their green sunken eyes seem to peer right into his soul.

'Did he see?!' His heart skips a beat.

"Uuh," the metal legs of the cot screech as Marcus abruptly stands up.

He zips his puffy brown jacket back up and glances around the merchant quarters. There are a few cots occupied by sleeping adults, but no one that appears to have had a child resting with them. Marcus doesn't remember seeing a child on one of the cots before he dozed off.

'Oh god...oh god...where did he come from? Why didn't I hear him? Why didn't--'

"You lose an eye?" the young boy is chewing on the collar of his shirt.

"What?" Marcus gapes at the child with wide eyes.

The boy pulls the shirt collar from his mouth to repeat his question, "You lose an eye or something?"

'This is too good to be true,' Marcus nervously smiles down at the kid.

"Uuh..sort of?" Marcus sits back down and observes the child.

The boy has a light complexion, but Marcus is sure that it's a sign of illness to be that particular shade of white. He looks about eight or nine years old. He's barefoot and wearing shorts with a faded collared shirt. The fabric at the edge of the shirt is torn and threadbare. The shorts appear to have been a pair of pants that were cut at the thighs.

As the boy chews his collar, the bottom of the garment rides up to reveal his gaunt stomach.

"Sort of? You either lost ya eye or not," the child cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow.

"Well...uuh...the eyeball is there, but it...well...it's a useless eye..it's not working," Marcus peers over his shoulder for a moment.

'Why didn't you tell me the kid was there?'

THE YOUNG HUMAN IS NOT A THREAT

THE YOUNG HUMAN APPEARS TO LACK

SUFFICIENT NUTRIENTS AND AWARENESS OF ITS ENVIRONMENT

ELIMINATING THE JUVENILE WOULD NOT BE DIFFICULT

'I guess you're right...but I'm not "Eliminating" a child. That's never an option, okay?'

...

'OKAY?'

AFFIRMATIVE

The stream of people nearby is constant. The sandstorm has altered everyone's plans for outdoor work but hasn't affected their overall plans for the day. Survival depends on unceasing work and preparations.

Marcus can't pick out any guards from the crowd. No one looks like they are in a panic looking for their child either.

'What do they expect me to do with myself until the storm ends?'

When he looks back over to the child the boy is settling down on the cot across from Marcus.

"Should you even be over here? Where are your parents?"

The child shrugs and lies down on his side. The skinny body is dwarfed by the thin cot.

"Are you alright?"

There is a light sheen of sweat on the child's forehead. The young boy huffs before laying on his back and turning his head to gaze at Marcus.

"Did it poke out with a gun?"

Marcus blinks, "What?"

'Really? Back to the eye? Kid, you look like crap.'

"They said if you mess with the guns they poke out ya eyes."

"No. Nooo. It'd be much worse if a gun did this," Marcus rests a hand on the cloth covering his left eye. "I wouldn't be talking to you right now. That's for sure."

The boy nods his head a few times before grimacing and closing his eyes. He doesn't ask anymore questions. Which is unusual...the children Marcus is used to always need to be bribed to quiet down. This child barely started a conversation before shutting up.

Marcus rises from his bed and walks over to the other cot. He kneels down beside the bed and touches the child's head. It's hot.

"Hey, kid. Seriously, should you be over here? Did you walk off from the medical area thing? Who watches you?"

The boy doesn't answer.

"Hey," Marcus jostles the boy's shoulder a little.

The boy whines and rolls off his back to curl up on his side.

"Tsk," Marcus stands up and shuffles in place.

He looks around the area again, "I'll get you some help."

He stands outside the merchant quarters next to a concrete column.

"Excuse me...," he hesitantly lifts a hand to catch someone's attention.

'Okay...okay...make eye contact with someone and they'll feel too embarrassed to ignore me.'

Marcus takes a step away from the column and lifts a hand to wave someone down.

'Mean...mean....busy looking....mean.....there!'

"Excuse me...Sorry, Ma'am!" Marcus makes eye contact with a dark woman advancing towards him.

The woman's pale blue eyes avert from the people in front of her to Marcus's dark brown orbs. Her gaze brings a chill up his spine. The contrast between her sky blue eyes and dark brown skin shocks Marcus speechless for a moment.

Her hair is cut low as if growing out from a close shave, and she is wearing a thin bulletproof vest over her pale orange dress. Her tattered sandals scuff across the ground as she leisurely walks among the crowd. Her fingers loosely grip the handle of the large empty pot balanced on her hip.

She frowns and breaks off from the crowd to stand beside Marcus, "Yea?"

"Um..uuh...There's...There's a sick kid over here," Marcus gestures with both his hands back at the cots in the merchant quarters.

The woman eyes Marcus from head to toe, and hums for a moment, "Show me."

Marcus nods dumbly, "Over here...I think he's got a fever."

When they get to Marcus's cot, the woman sets down her pot on the mattress and turns to the curled up child. She presses her palm to the child's forehead.

"How long has he been like this?" She gives Marcus an accusatory look before kneeling beside the child.

"He just laid down there...I don't...I asked where he came from! I don't know," Marcus sputters and stands over the woman and child. "Is he dying?"

The woman huffs and snaps her fingers a few times next to the child's ear. The boy is unresponsive. The woman slips an arm beneath the child's head and under his legs.

"Is it bad?" Marcus lifts his hands to touch the child, hesitates, and lowers his hands to his side.

"It's bad. He's burning up. Why did you let him sleep?!" The woman exits the merchant quarters and starts walking among the crowd.

Marcus stops at the column marking the edge of the merchant quarters and watches the woman march away with the child. He bites his lip.

FOLLOW HER

"Gaaaah...no," He turns in a circle and faces the cots.

'Don't we need to search for a way out of here to find Priya?'

FOLLOW HER

"Okay...okay!" Marcus turns back around to chase after the woman.