Left, right, left, right, left, right. I moved my feet, one after another. It was late by now, and I was numb. My clothes had dried at this point, but weren't thick enough to keep out even the light breeze now stirring them. Between the black skinny jeans, yellow tank-top, and dark-gray crop jacket, I was freezing.
I felt as though I was barely human with how dirty I was. My short, dark hair was repulsive-leaves, clods of dirt, sticks, and whatever else was caught up in it, and it seemed that my short locks only encouraged the disarray by twisting around it as far as it could. My pale skin looked three shades darker and greyer in most areas. Dark brown eyes were droopy, irritated and red by what filth had worked its way into them. Blinking didn't help; I felt tiny debris, sharp as needles, piercing my corneas under my eyelids.
I could barely register my own fingers fiddling with one of my rings. My left ear throbbed dully. The thought that my stretched lobe piercings could very well be infected came to me, but I brushed it off. If I don't find shelter and a bath soon, it won't matter if it's infected or not. I'll die of thirst or starvation or cold before that.
Light peaked behind houses-no, not all of them were houses: buildings, then?-and stone blockades, less than a mile away. I thanked the spirits that I'd grown accustomed to hiking, else I'd have fallen to my knees many more times than I had. Three days on a road, three days without food, two without water. I'd left behind any water long ago. I wasn't entirely upset about that.
My feet struck the beaten dirt path, and I willed myself not to surrender to exhaustion quite yet. Someone would help me. Someone would have to. Someone would do something good-people don't do things like that for strangers-and I would be safe. I'd be warm-I'm freezing-, and fed-I can't feel the growling anymore-, and clean-grime isn't so bad, I guess-, and I'd get medical attention-doctors are expensive. They won't help me.
I heard a rough, heavily accented voice. I couldn't place my finger on what it was. It was growly, low, but it didn't seem mean. Colors swam before my eyes, I couldn't focus. Tan, tan, brown, green, blue, tan, green, grey, grey, black, red- red? Red. I pushed at the voice, and vaguely registered falling, then not.
I felt pain.
So much pain. Not from wounds, but from hunger, clawing at my insides like a beast, hell-bent on escaping its prison so it could feed. My mouth was dry-we don't need water, bad, bad, bad-, and I was warm. So warm. I turned over, moved my lips to tell the creature in my stomach to rest, to quiet down. A quiet, broken noise came out instead.
I felt, rather than heard, the creaking of something massive. I tried to lift my head, couldn't. Tried again, just as much luck. I heard someone say something, and I felt the cold touch of human skin. Someone I hadn't seen turned me on my back again, and I looked into the blurred face of an elderly man. He offered me a smile, and spoke, but I couldn't register it very well. I stared at him blankly.
He sighed and picked something up. I felt something against my lips, and let it pour down my throat. Water. I wanted to gag for the briefest of seconds, remembering how it constricted my lungs and filled them up at the same time. But I didn't. When I felt it move away, I managed a strangled whine. Elder smiled once more, and said something again. I stared at him again.
We continued like this for a while. Slowly, he began giving me something else, too. Something quite bland, but with more taste than water. I wanted to vomit once or twice. But I didn't do that, either. I heard another creak, and Elder looked across me. I wanted to look, too, but he gently moved my face so that I was swallowing whatever it was that was in the bowl. At any other time, I'd feel pathetic, but after my ordeal, I was grateful to have anything at all. My ego took a back seat-for now.
I listened, though. It was hard to make out words, but the speaker had the same rough, low, accented voice. It sounded like a mix between Irish and American.
Accent left after a few minutes. Did he bring me here? I wanted to ask Elder, but I chided myself-I'm practically half dead, it can wait until I can see straight.
Elder took away the bowl. I sighed-a weak sound, still, but improvement nonetheless. He smiled at me, said something about rest, and left. With nothing to appease me, and unconsciousness seeming more pleasant than pain, I drifted off once more.
When I woke up, I was alone. My vision was better, and I could hear water. I could hear it everywhere. I shivered. The four walls, floor, and ceiling were wooden and undecorated. A lamp hung from the ceiling. The luxurious bed I lied upon was hardly a cot, but damn if it didn't feel like something worthy of royalty to me.
I reluctantly left the bed; my body was draped in a shirt that looked grossly oversized on me. But it covered all the important bits, and that was more important. I felt dizzy and weak, but at least I wasn't naked. Optimism. I decided to stick to that.
I stood as still as I could for a moment-whatever I was on was moving, slowly rocking back and forth. How nauseating. I knew there was an explanation, though I didn't want to accept it. I'd wait until all other possibilities were exhausted.
I wasn't sure what I'd expected to find in the small room, though I was disappointed nonetheless when I found nothing more. I laid back down on the cot, and wrapped myself in the sheets. Just as I was slipping back into sleep, the door opened. I looked up.
I was greeted with the sight of wrinkles and a smile. "Well, it's about time you woke up, girl! Can you understand me, yet? Oh, you're probably still tired, I know, but I brought you breakfast. Can't miss a meal when you're recovering from dehydration, you know!" Elder. He was more excitable than I'd thought. Then again, it's difficult to make a proper judgement of someone when you're delirious.
I sat up and nodded my head. His smile widened-I would have said it was impossible five seconds ago. "Great! Really, it's absolutely delightful to see you awake. Oh! Dear me, I'm completely forgetting how confused you must be- waking up in a strange place with some old coot rambling about food." I nodded again and licked my lips before speaking in a crackling voice.
"Who brought me here?"
The rough words had just left my mouth when he answered. "The captain! Good man, that one. Only just in his forties, and looking nearly as good as he did in his twenties!" He winked. I offered a polite smile as he continued. "A bit more… stern now, since his old first mate left, but no matter. He saw you stumbling around all dirty outside Boston, asked if you were okay. Just barely managed to catch you before you hit the ground! Never seen a man move that fast at that age."
"Who is the captain?" I asked as he took a breath. Kind as he was, Elder was a bit too talkative for me. I wished he'd get to the point.
He laughed, a loud sound that filled the room. "Oh, you'll meet him soon enough. He came in asking about you a few times, seemed awful interested in that burn on your hand." I stopped listening. Burn? What burn? I looked at my hands. Sure enough, the left had red lines seared into it. It didn't hurt, and that befuddled me.
Did it happen when I picked up… that thing? That golden thing had done something, but I couldn't tell what. All I knew was that I wasn't where I should be, and I suddenly missed home again.
"-but enough about that. You need to eat! It's nothing fancy, but you seemed to like it enough before, right-ah, oh, silly me! What's your name, girl?" I took the bowl and spoon.
"Courtney." I said. There's no need to say anything more. Not yet, anyway.
He pulled a face. "Courtney? Who'd name their daughter 'Courtney'? Your parents must've wanted a boy, you poor thing! Even cut your hair so short… Well, we'll grow it out, now, won't we?" I considered saying that I'd cut my hair like this. I nodded disinterestedly instead.
I learned Elder's name was Bruce Damcott. A second generation Dutch immigrant who made his living as a doctor on ships. He told me stories about his medical misadventures throughout the years, and if they were to be believed, he was good at his job and enjoyed it, too.
He'd never gotten married, and his parents had died along with his siblings when he was young. Adopted by another Dutchman, he learned medicine. He liked travel, and decided this was the best life for himself-lucky me, else I might be dead.
Of course, the confirmation that I was indeed on a ship made me nauseous, but I handled it. Ships were made to stay out of water. As long as the hunk of wood did its job, I'd be fine. I asked if I could go walk around before he left again, and he gently told me to stay in bed.
I sighed and resigned myself to a few hours of nothing.
Two chapters today!
