Chapter 14
Fessa
(I am tired)
It was a heavy rumbling sound that woke her. A sound that accompanied the mechanical vibrations that pushed their way up through the ground, along the bed frame and passing the sheets into her body. A train. She rolled herself over and stared at the dim light that was pushing its way out the holes and frailties in the curtains. Judging by the placement of the shadows and the intensity of the light it was probably somewhere in the vicinity of 0600. Slowly sitting she had the vague notion that she should have a more precise measurement, but how could she if she didn't have a clock or a wrist watch to refer? Another train rattled past, she wondered how long it'd take before the irritation passed and it became just a part of life here she stood up and walked to the door.
The rain still fell, probably had continued all night. A bit heavier this morning. The rain wasn't so irritating when she was out of it; in fact she found the rhythmic pattern of each drop of the tin roof pleasant, relaxing. Safe and sound in a structure that wasn't ransacked or deserted the noise made by these particular phenomena was soothing. The violent voices from the night before were silent now, something to be thankful for. Sitting back on the bed she went to eat another sandwich but stopped when she noted the small creature sitting on the bag.
She recognised it, but couldn't place a name to it. It was about the size of her thumb, a dark brown, perhaps black colour, six legs and long antae… it scuttled away rather swiftly when she moved her hand towards it.
There was a rustle from the bag, she had startled something. The bag fell from the bed side table and the much larger and somewhat more threatening creature bolted out. It was about the size of her hand, a long tail like cord, and black.
Such unhygienic interference ruled out breakfast she mused as she glanced at the remains of the sandwiches. Three more of those little things hurried out and ducked into gaps between the doors under the bench and the floor, another went under the bed, and another still went up the wall. A sickening shiver went over her body; she'd slept in this place.
Check out time was 10, but somehow, rain or not, she felt as if she should move on. At least try and find another hotel, one that she didn't have to share.
ooOOOooo
On the footpath outside the hotel she found a phone booth. A heavy book hung from a plastic cord. The book was soggy in parts and the pages dogged eared. She picked it up and glanced at it, flicking through the pages, Lists of names and numbers…
"Witwicky…"
She thumbed through until she reached the W's.
There were two Witwickies.
Andrea Jane and a S. Witwicky, first initial only.
S could be Spike. Was that one who was familiar? But it only stated the city, Central; it gave no number or address.
Andrea Jane lived at 4240a Windblown Drive.
Maybe Andrea was kin with Spike? Maybe she could help answer her questions… or maybe she'd just slam the door in her face, having no patience to deal with the requests of a crazy woman.
A lost, empty woman.
Perhaps she was crazy.
Arcee ripped the page out of the phonebook and walked out onto the road, she attempted to strain her eyes to the maximum, looking down trying to see if there were any bus stops, there was the one she'd arrived at the night before, but it didn't seem to service multiple busses. She needed a map, a bus exchange. Perhaps there was one in the hotel.
ooOOoo
Arcee had her next burst of luck when she found a map plastered on the wall behind a scuffed plastic shield; her second burst was when she saw that Windblown Drive wasn't far from here. Off the road out the front, but a good four kilometres away. She might be able to walk that distance… if it wasn't for the rain. Her clothing hadn't dried, there was still dampness to it, a musky odour, she couldn't get any worse.
The young woman found she was rather fit, that her stamina was enough that she didn't seem frustrated with the journey. The ground was flat, the footpath whilst damaged and poorly maintained in parts followed parallel to the major road way, which had started to increase its traffic volume around 7am. The tracks that had carried her makeshift alarms ran on the other side of the road. It was a heavy industrial area and she had a hard time imagining that it could branch out into residential zoning within a few K's. The exhausts from the vehicles were annoying, and the heavy stink of diesel started to sink their way into her brain leaving her with nothing else to show but a slowly increasing dull head ache. Her discomfort soon abated, somewhat, when she saw a road sign pointing with "Windblown Drive. For the first time, in a long time, she smiled and hurried just so she could see how Windblown drive fared.
A few small buildings sat on the corner of the main road, which she discovered was simply Industrial Road No. 3. With the exception of their numbers and a few "knick knacks" displayed in the windows they were identical. There was no way to ascertain their function or purpose, just a couple of bland looking kit set buildings. An empty but well fenced paddock neighboured the larger cluster of buildings on the edge of that field was a much larger structure, multiple storied but not all floors holding windows. A service road mirrored the fence's line from the road towards a loading bay beside the factory. Walking past the facility she noticed the animals on the back of one of the larger trucks pulling in and several freezer capable trucks pulling out an alternative road way.
A large older styled sign adorned the front section of the facility; the façade was probably the same age but had been saved for historical purposes and now adorned a very modern structure.
"Henry and Sons Butchery, 1904".
She read aloud as she passed by.
"A little bigger than a butchery now".
Arcee softly whispered.
Once passed the butchery, Windblown Drive stretched out into vast empty lots of both grass and concrete, occasionally dotted was a hut or small building. She passed a post sticking out at an angle, 4001. She couldn't be too far off 4240a. Eventually she reached a series of tin sheds, their numbers started at 4150. It took her another 20 minutes to reach 4240. There was no "a", just straight from 4240 to 4242. On the other side of the road were just empty fields of overgrown grasses with the occasional bout of weeds and vacant concrete slabs. Arcee recognised the feeling of slight frustration. She walked down the small pathway towards the door on the appropriately numbered shed. Knocking she waited, and didn't expect any answer. She got none. Doing a lap around the entire shed yielded no results. The neighbouring buildings seemed just as empty and just as lonely. There was no sign of life, anywhere, no vehicles, no voices, no machinery, not even a light left on accidently by an employee rushing out the door, and this was definitely no residential area.
She pulled out the scrunched up old newsprint paper that made up the phone book page and she glanced down.
Andrea Jane Witwicky, 4240a Winblow Drive, Willowbank.
Winblow?
Arcee slumped down on the steps as the realisation that she had misread the page slowly crept in… she must have seen the name of the street Windblown and confused that with the actual address Ms. Andrea Jane Witwicky lived at. All those damn W's.
She'd have to get Ratchet to run a full systems check on her language recognition software.
Wait… what?
Ratchet? Who was Ratchet? Wasn't a ratchet some kind of tool? Why would she know someone who's name was a tool? Perhaps it was a nick name… but why then would a mechanic need to assess her ability to discern language more closely? Things would pop up in her mind, clues, hints, names, inappropriate words being used in place of others… all these things, did they help her? Could they help her?
Pushing those issues out of her mind she realised she had other more pressing matters. Like the fact she was out in the middle of nowhere, with no map and no ability to really figure out where she was. Perhaps she could walk back to the butchery and talk to someone behind the counter, there had to be a customer service centre, or perhaps just one of those truck drivers.
At least it had stopped raining.