Chapter Three

"Okay, there's got to be some things in here that will work." Bryn tells me shoving open a heavy wooden door that rolls away from a larger square doorway revealing a vast dark interior he flicks a switch to light. The structure is large on the outside with a domed sloping roof it's walls were once red but the paint is faded and cracked; worn clear down to the boards in many places. Inside is another truck; larger than the one that rattles with a long flat back made of thick planks of wood. But that is by far the least interesting thing to see. There is more furniture here than in the house, none of it matches there are light fixtures attached to nothing, and boxes and stacks of little things I have never seen gathered all in one place before. I stop beside one of the boxes reaching my hand inside to touch a few of the things. I'm holding a glass bird painted a cracked deep green blue, when I look up to see Bryn standing beside me.

"That matches your eyes." He says, then he frowns. The corners of his lips twisting down forming a tight line. He takes the bird from my hand and sets it back inside the box. It clinks against some other object and I worry for a moment it may have broken.

"Come on, shoes are this way." I follow him down a row of dressers to a length of tables piled with stacks of clothing and rows of shoes. "What size are you?" He asks me walking between the tables.

"I do—"

"Not know, yeah. I should have guessed that. Come here." Bryn says. I stand on one leg slipping my other foot out of the oversized black rubber boots he put on my feet at the back door to the house. They are so large they nearly slip off my legs each time I take a step forcing me to shuffle awkwardly. He brings over several different shoes and boots holding each one against the bottom of my foot setting some down on the table beside my hip and taking others away again.

"Why do you need so many shoes?" I ask him.

"I'm a picker." He tells me. "My dad taught me."

"A picker?" it's obvious from his tone he thinks I should know this name.

Bryn stares at me grabbing another shoe. "Yeah, you know people that risk life and limb leaving the Valley to search for things people need? We supply items that people can't afford to buy from the government market, or items that are illegal or difficult to get."

"You leave the Valley?" I ask, I wonder if that means he can tell me how big it is.

"Yeah," Bryn tells me face grim. "It's why most pickers don't live too long."

"So it's dangerous to leave the Valley. Why?"

Bryn is done picking through the shoes he's sifting through piles of clothes now. "Geeks, Freaks, Biters whatever you call them most pickers get bitten or eaten, hazard of the job…and then there's the occasional gang of thugs to avoid."

Something clicks. "Others." I say.

Bryn looks up from a stack of shirts. "What?"

"The Geeks… you mean the Others…the dead." I tell him certain they are the same.

"Others. Sure doesn't exactly fit the horror of being eaten alive but yeah." Bryn says handing me a pile of clothing. "Here, these should fit better then what you have on." I take the clothing from his hands staring up at him. No one has ever given me a choice of what to wear. None of the folded items in my arms are like the pale blue shirt and pants I have worn my entire life. I set the pile down on the table, careful not to knock over any of the shoes Bryn has lined up on the edge of the table or the little pile he has discarded during his search.

"Oh Cripes," Bryn mutters turning his back on me when I reach for the hem of the dark grey shirt I'm wearing lifting it over my head. "You know, you could have waited 'til we got in the house." He tells the ceiling his voice oddly tight. He shoves his hands into his pockets rocking on the balls of his feet sporadically. For some reason he curses when the other heavy rubber boot he lent me hits the packed earth floor with an audible thump so I can pull the pants he gave me early off my legs unhindered.

I pull on the first pair of pants in the pile. They are blue like my old pants; but a different shade. There are also pockets like Bryn's on the sides and backs. They are tighter too, fitting snuggly against my thighs and hips when I figure out how to close the tiny metal teeth and clasp in the front. I run my fingers over the shirts; one of them is very different from the others. It's a pale cream in color, and the back is made of lace like the curtains upstairs over the windows. Instead of sleeves it has three satiny soft ribbons that when I pull it over my head lie in straight lines over my clavicles. The last one is too loose, slips down over my shoulders to rest against my upper arms. But the rest of it is more fitted then my old blue shirt which hung off my shoulders past my butt giving me no shape at all, this material tucks in at my waist, hugs my breasts and is just long enough to reach my hips.

Bryn's back is still turned to me, like before. "I am dressed." I tell him. He turns back around slowly his eyes taking in the fit of the items I have chosen.

He curses making me wonder what I have done wrong I pull the third strap up over my shoulder again not certain if that is the problem. "That's uh…" Bryn swallows, clears his throat looking away. "Yeah, uh that fits." Then he clears his throat again.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," His voice warbles in a funny way, he clears his throat again cheeks flushing his eyes darting away from my face. "Shoes." He says. And begins handing me different shoes to try on keeping his eyes firmly fixed to my feet. We find two pairs of shoes that fit well. I have never even owned one pair, let alone two.

A few minutes later I stand in front of Bryn in my new clothes and shoes certain I look nothing like my previous self. "I will blend in now yes?" I need to blend in so they will not find me. I cannot go back.

Bryn frowns. "Hang on." He walks away from me moving to a dresser at the end of the tables opening several drawers. He pulls something out of the second from the top and shuts the drawer again before walking toward me once more. He's holding something in his hand, something small and silver that spins so fast on the end of a thin silver line I cannot tell what it is. I twist my head to watch him as he moves behind me, slips something around my neck telling me, "Most girls wear something like this, either a ring or bracelet or earrings…this one isn't expensive so it won't draw too much attention. And it's short so it shouldn't get caught on anything." He steps back around me while I raise my fingers to feel the tiny cold metal charm now hanging around my neck it has an unusual shape I don't recognize. I drop my hand back to my side.

"Now I will blend in?" I ask.

Bryn stares at me his honey amber eyes very bright again in the defuse light at the back of the barn. "Sure." His voice is soft suddenly, and not at all convincing. But it makes my stomach go suddenly weightless and offer up a nervous little flip so I'm not sure I mind that much.