Ten
They spend the night in the station—Miss Riza had recovered from the shock quick and returned to the crowd, rallying enough anger to get attention. The soldiers cleared out, and the commander had even made a reappearance, announcing that shelter would be afforded to those passengers who lacked other arrangements. Blankets and bedding from the sleeper cars were brought out, and they had found a stretch of benches for themselves, lying head-to-foot in a long row.
"I wasn't raised by a western radical for nothing," Miss Riza says with a quiet smile, tucking the edges of the blanket tight around their shoulders. They'd been fed by station staff—chicken and potatoes and bread—after a bit more agitation. "Sleep now. Don't worry."
By morning, the camaraderie of being stranded together has faded—the lost passengers are shuffled out of the station and back onto the streets. In the cold light of morning, Miss Riza's protests are ignored.
"What are we gonna do?" Al asks quietly. They all look at Miss Riza, and all she does is look back, eyes wide. Ed adjusts the heavy bag on his shoulder.
"Just give her a chance to think," he says. "We'll be alright. Won't we, Miss Riza?"
She flashes a smile.
"Of course," she agrees. "How about a walk to warm up?"
They wander down to the eastern side of the station and enter a small bricked yard. There's a bench against the wall where Miss Riza sits with a heavy sigh. They pile the packages close around, but Al and Winry are restless.
"Keep where I can see you, please," Miss Riza says, waving them away. Ed stays at her side, trying not to watch her face as she closes her eyes. Her lips are moving, but she says nothing.
Winry finds a little ball in the debris near a closed door, and she and Al take turns bouncing it off the station wall. They're safe enough from the wind here, sandwiched between the station and a brick-cobbled building. Ed can just see the edge of sign pointing down to the door—Post Exchange.
They sit long enough that Ed's toes get cold, so he jumps up, pacing to keep warm. A group of soldiers exit the door and stand in the yard's narrow entrance, smoking. They're too far away to bother greeting, but a couple turn to watch Al and Winry playing. They gesture and talk, and one nods towards Miss Riza. Ed's about to call Al and Winry closer when one of the soldiers stamps out his cigarette and goes back inside.
Ed looks back at Miss Riza—eyes still closed, and her hands are clasped loosely in her lap.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
He twists around quick, ready to defend. It's a soldier—the one that went inside. Back out again, with a cup of something steamy in his hands.
"I'm sorry, are we not supposed to be here?" Miss Riza asks. The bench creaks as she shifts forward. "We just wanted to get out of the wind."
"No, ma'am, it's alright you're here," the soldier says. "It's just—well, me and the other guys thought maybe you'd like something to warm you up."
"Can't have coffee," Miss Riza says, touching her belly lightly.
"No, it's—"
He half-smiles and ducks his head, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. There's a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
"It's just cocoa. There's some inside, for the kids too—not a lot of room in the PX, but we could fit you."
"I don't think we have—"
"Please, ma'am," the soldier says. "Gotta protect the citizens of Amestris—can't hardly do that if we're all busy worrying about you freezing to death on our front porch."
"I suppose I can't turn that invitation down," Miss Riza says. "Al, Winry—come on. We're going in."
The PX is more cramped than the apothecary was—more populated, too. There's an older man leaning behind a narrow counter, surrounded by the group of soldiers from outside. A radio occupies one end of the counter and a steel-grey carafe the other.
"See?" one of the soldiers sighs. "Havoc turns on the charm, and they're right through the door. Send me out there—she'd've shot me in the foot."
"Kneecap, more likely," Miss Riza says, and after a second's shocked pause, the men break into laughter. "Thank you for the kindness. For the children."
"Think nothing of it, ma'am. Everything in here's free, more or less."
Cups are passed around—Ed and Al and Winry accept theirs quietly and stay huddled close to the basket and bag and crate. Miss Riza takes a cup as well, and they all drink deep. The cocoa is rich and warm, spiraling heat from Ed's belly to his chest to every finger and toe. The men introduce themselves to Miss Riza while the kids mumble their thanks.
"Sergeant Mein. I'm Corporal Langer—got Privates Hofer and Weiss over there—and this smooth operator here is Cadet Havoc."
Mein behind the counter—Langer the one who made the joke. Hofer and Weiss had been outside, and Havoc was the one who asked them inside. Ed stares hard at each face.
"Riza Hawkeye," Miss Riza says, setting down her cup to extend her hand. The other rests on Ed's shoulder. "These the Elric brothers, Edward and Alphonse, and Winry Rockbell."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Langer says to Winry, tipping his hat. She blushes and makes half a curtsy. Ed scoffs.
"I'm guessing you had a train, ma'am?" Mein says.
"Not anymore."
"Where were you headed?"
"Resembool," Miss Riza sighs. "End of the line."
The soldiers all swivel about to stare at Havoc, who wipes at a ring of cocoa over his top lip.
"Resembool?" he repeats. "Funny that—I'm attached to a convoy heading in that direction."
"Convoy?"
"Not sure of cargo just yet—meet up with a supply train just south of the city, but I'm guess blankets and bandages. Meant for the front. Dire need of those right about now, I'd bet."
"I don't suppose," Miss Riza says carefully, "you could see yourself to giving us a lift?"
Havoc offers to carry their things, but he's got a duffel of his own, and Ed will trust no one else with the crate. Before they leave the PX, Mr. Mein and Mr. Langer stuff their bags with extra ration packs.
"Might smell like feet, but it'll fill your belly up," Langer says with a wink. He ruffles Ed's hair as they leave, and Ed aims a kick for his shins. Miss Riza sees him, though, and shakes her head.
They head out southeast of the station, huffing and puffing with the wind. Mr. Havoc stays just a bit ahead, slowing himself for Miss Riza's short stride.
"Roads aren't closed—bit busted up here and there, by reports, but we'll make it through. We'll join up with a convoy outside the city and head south. These supplies can't wait for the rail-lines. All the real soldiers are up at the front, but cadets can drive a truck just fine, right?"
He grins at Miss Riza.
"Were you training at the eastern camp?"
"Yes, ma'am. Second years—we've got our uses."
He checks his watch and picks up speed.
"This way—almost there. Though I should warn you about my partner. He can be… a little prickly."
They come up between stacks of warehouses which are separated by flat gravel stretches and the occasional confused-looking tree. There's a few soldiers about, ambling between the buildings or smoking at the corners. A truck is waiting at the end of the row, with a large man's backside visible beneath the open hood.
"Hey, Breda!" Mr. Havoc calls, indicating with a wave that they should wait a few steps back. He drops his bag against the cab door just as the other man slides down and slams the hood shut.
"Finally—I was about to goddamn—"
He turns and catches sight of them. Al gives a little wave.
"Havoc, you were gone for an hour," Mr. Breda says weakly.
"Yeah," Mr. Havoc chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Funny story—busted line stranded a bunch of civilians at the train station—"
"Oh, no," Mr. Breda interjects, hands up. "No."
But Mr. Havoc plows onward.
"—and wouldn't you know it, this lovely woman and her three charges just happened to be looking for passage south—"
"No! Absolutely not—Havoc, how many times—?"
"Ah, c'mon," Mr. Havoc says, grabbing Mr. Breda's shoulder. "Look at them. All lost and tired and aching for home."
He glances back to them and frowns.
"Hey," he hisses. "Help me out. Try to look sad and pathetic."
Ed glares—Winry and Al are already pouting with cold. Miss Riza steps forward, hand on her belly again.
"Please, we don't want to be an imposition," she says to Mr. Breda. "We're just trying to get back to Resembool."
Mr. Breda crosses his arms over his own widened waistline and glares at Mr. Havoc.
"Breda, c'mon," Mr. Havoc says, more sincere. "We can't just leave them here. It's right on our way."
Mr. Breda chews his lip and then blows out a breath, beaten.
"Fine," he sighs, pointing a finger in Mr. Havoc's face. "But they ride in back, and when we get inspected, you take the fall."
Mr. Havoc boosts them all into the bed of the truck one by one, but Miss Riza has some trouble until someone brings her a stool and Mr. Breda holds her arm to steady. There's no gate to close—just flaps to tie down. The truck bed is wide and empty, and Miss Riza has them all sit at the very back, against the cab. They use Mr. Havoc's bag and Mr. Breda's as cushions.
There's a slot to look through to the cab, and Mr. Havoc's smiling face appears in it.
"We've got a pick-up from a cargo train a few miles down the track," he shouts over the engine roar. "Butts up right to the road, so it shouldn't be too difficult. Then we'll be on our way south. We'll cross into a little farming village and meet up with the rest of the convoy there."
"What sort of cargo did you say?" Miss Riza asks, brow wrinkled in worry.
"Whatever the train was carrying—food, blankets, bandages. Could be some medical supplies or even papers and pens. Won't know until we get there."
His grin softens a bit.
"Then it's right on home for you. Don't worry—won't be long now."
"Thank you," Miss Riza says, eyes closed. "I think we'll try to get some rest."
As they lurch out onto the road, Ed is reminded of their trip in Mr. Mueller's truck—the quiet, the calm, the twinkling approach of the station lights. The differences in this trip are stark: cold and loud, and no one fights for the view of the retreating city at the crack in the canvas.