The next morning I wake up with the sun. At the same time my stomach complains that I haven't eaten for over 12 hours. I must have fallen asleep almost as soon as I got here, as I don't remember taking my backpack off.
Rubbing my eyes, I crawl over to the stream and dunk my face in it to wake up. Now awake I drink my fill, before getting up and doing my business behind a tree several dozen yards from my camp. Not for privacy, but so that I don't have to smell it. Now feeling more comfortable, I move the two boxes under a tree and grab my backpack before frowning as the state of my fire circle filters through my head.
There's already grass growing in the fire blackened earth, and the wood I left in the fire has moss growing on it. What the hell! I'm glad I didn't leave any books here.
I look from the fire circle to the cardboard boxes and back again. Then I start to unpack the boxes and think as my stomach growls at me. Right, I'm going to need some way to protect the china. I blame my hunger for how long it takes me to remember my cutting power. When I do, I slap my forehead as it could have really helped me against Lung.
Cutting powers and telekinesis are cheating, as it only takes me a few minutes to cut down several stout branches around as thick as my wrist, and turn them into a makeshift box by driving short sections into the ground and then laying the other branches between the stakes. Ok, so I had to redo it three times because I forgot to add the stakes for the walls the first time, and then I forgot to interleave the walls the second time. But I did it, I made a storage box by a tree, so that Gram's china can't be broken. I even had a branch left over that I could pretend to be Robin Hood with. Hmm, maybe I'll keep this branch, as the camping guide said that staves are useful for walking and other stuff, and a big stick is always useful as a weapon.
With Gram's china and cookware in a safe place I grab my backpack and stick and start climbing the canyon with my stomach complaining the entire way. All I can think of is how good it will be to get home and grab something to eat. Or even to find a 7/11 and raid the sweets isle, but I'd rather not spend the money. Hmm, this stick is a bit big, how big were Robin Hood's sticks?
Wonder of wonders, when I get to Brockton Bay it takes me a couple of roads to realize that I'm north of home, and on the right side of the commuter line to get home in 15 minutes, a journey that I do in 10 I'm walking so fast. Then I stop outside the house as I notice the light filtering through the curtains. Swallowing hard I take out my key and unlock the front door, there's no point in trying to be quiet if dad's waiting for me, so I just allow the door to close with a loud creak and click.
"Taylor, sit down."
I wince as dad's voice comes from the kitchen, and I drop my backpack by the door. As it lands it lets out a yowl of protest and I jump slightly before my power unbuckles the top and lifts a familiar brown and grey cat out.
"Spike?"
"Taylor!" I hurry through the lounge to the kitchen with Spike crying pitifully as he's carried along behind me. I stop when I realize that dad's wearing his glasses at the kitchen table, with my photocopied laws in front of him. On the stove is a pan with something meat based slowly cooking inside it.
At the same time dad is looking past me at Spike. "Taylor, did you pick up a stray?"
I bring Spike forward so that dad can see him, "Um, I think it's more likely that Spike picked me. I fed him a few times at my camp, and he slept in the rucksack."
"Spike…" dad trails off when Spike whips his tail towards me and launches a brace of spikes from his tail.
"OW!" I yelp as the spikes dig 1/2 an inch into my arm, "Fuck that hurt." At the same time, I drop Spike and he disappears somewhere.
I give dad a dirty look as he chuckles, "Spike. Taylor, we should take him to the PRT as it might be a Tinker creation."
I shake my head as I gingerly start to pull the spikes out of my arm, "He's not a tinker creation, I saw a couple of other cats like him by my camp. All the animals a weird there. Not as weird as the monkeys with beaks instead of mouths though. No birds though."
"You'll have to show me your camp someday."
I put another spike on the table, "You want to see it?"
Dad shakes his head, "Taylor, I know you're scared. I can't say I understand, but I know that's how you're feeling. But you're my daughter, of course I want to see it. But I don't want you to feel like you need to run away. This is your home. That being said, if Lung really is after you then you need to be able to leave in a hurry. That's why I took the rucksack to Old Mike's, you remember him? Runs the army surplus now." I slump in my chair as my heart feels like lead, "Anyway he said that it was unsalvageable, so I bought you a canvas rucksack and a survival tin."
I gape at dad as he drops that bombshell and lifts up a plain white book with the words, 'US army survival manual' emblazoned on the front. "Mike also said that this would be better than the camping book you were using. Taylor, I went by Elmwood on the way home. What happened?"
"Dad!" I hiss, "How could you, what if Lung was there?"
Dad nods as though I confirmed something, "Taylor, it's my job to go to those sites." He raises his hand as I open my mouth to object, "Taylor, I'm the spokesman for the Dockworkers Union. It's my responsibility to find work for the rest of the union, and I can't do that from the office."
As he explains that, I feel like I'm 8 years old again and he's patiently explaining something that should have been obvious, but I never even considered. Haltingly I say, "I was coming home from my camp, and I ended up in an alleyway instead of the trainyard, the smell of it made me retch…"
Apart from getting up to turn the stove down, dad listens to me choke and sob my way through the story, even though I miss out the parts where I killed people.
When I'm finished, dad sits there with a grim expression on his face, "Taylor, I may never say this again, but I'm glad you have powers. If you didn't, you'd be a Lobster Doe, or have just vanished."
I know about the vanishing, as there's rumors that the ABB deal in human trafficking, but, "What's a Lobster Doe?"
Dad takes a large stack of printing off the chair and puts it on the table, "A Lobster Doe is the morgue identification of an unknown individual that is pulled up with a lobster pot by the fishermen. It happens two or three times a year, and every time it does, we get asked if we've seen anything. Their face is always smashed in, and the teeth removed, and the finger pads cut off too. Not that the lobsters usually leave those untouched. Cause of death is almost always unidentifiable. This is the paperwork for the Wards. I don't mean the forms, I mean the stated mission goals, contracts, and resources. I want you to read them before you are put into a position where you have to rely on them."
I shake my head, "I don't want to put anyone in danger. That's why I can't go into the Wards."
Dad looks down, "I know honey, I know. And I can't force you into the Wards, you've already proven that you'll just run if I try."
I reel back as if slapped, have I really done that?
He continues on relentlessly, "So I'm going to treat you like an adult on this. And part of that is knowing what your options are before you need them. I'm going to trust that you are the same little girl that your mother and I raised to have a good head on your shoulders. God knows I haven't been a good father since then."
I shake my head, "You've been great dad."
Dad shakes his own head, "Did you know that Alan bought me that self-help book, and I never even opened it until today?"
I stay silent as he stands up and walks over to the kitchen door. When he comes back, it's with a green canvas rucksack. "I've put $50 into the survival tin. It's there just in case you every have to run and I'm not around. It should be enough to get you to New York."
"Dad…"
Dad turns away to serve up food, "Taylor, I've lived through the worst this city has ever had. We never had to run, but I knew people who did and it's never pretty. I'd rather you joined the Wards, I think any parent would. But even then it's not risk free. I hope plain beef and biscuits is ok, only someone took all of the noodles and cans."
As he turns around with two plates I nod and swallow hard, "Why?"
Dad doesn't answer me as he digs into his food, and my rumbling stomach reminds me that I haven't eaten for too long either.
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Sunday morning, I'm rudely woken up by Spike dropping a dead rat on my chest. A dead rat that is full of spikes.
"Spike! Eww! How did you get in here!"
As I'm looking around my room for an open door or window, Dad barrels through the door holding a baseball bat, only to start laughing when he spots the rat.
"Dad! It's not funny."
Dad leans against the doorframe, "Oh but it is Taylor. Only you could attract an alien cat that behaves just like any other cat."
I humph, "Teleporting cat, please."
Dad smiles at me again, "At least we won't need a cat flap. I'm heading to Lord's market to restock on basics today. Would you like to come?"
I frown for a moment as we never go to Lords Market for basics, then I put a smile on my face, "Sure, I'd like that."
Dad nods, "I'll be leaving at eight then, need to get there early for the best deals."
I glance at my clock, which still says 1:20, "Um, how long's that?"
Dad smiles indulgently as he deliberately looks at his watch, "In around an hour."
I nod, and then wave my hand at him, "Shoo, shoo, some of us need to get up. And take the rat with you."
Dad shakes his head as he comes in to grab the rat and scritch Spike on the head, "Good boy."
"Dad! Spike's a cat, not a dog."
Dad just smiles as he leaves the room. With dad out of the way I slip out of bed and grab my clothes before heading to the shower. Oh hot water, how I missed you. I admit, I spent a decadently long time in the shower, but in my defense, it has been a week since I could make enough hot water to do more than wash my face and hands.
With my towel around my chest, I actually look into the mirror for the first time in months. I mean, sure I glance into it when I brush my teeth, but I don't look at myself. I'm tall and gangly, and my mouth is so wide it makes me look like a frog. No, I have plenty of reasons to avoid mirrors. But today I wanted to see what the librarian was looking at when she decided to help me.
As I look at my hair in the mirror, I stifle a sob by biting down on my knuckle. My hair is ruined, it looks like someone's melted some nylon thread and stuck it all over my hair. No wonder she was helpful, I'd pity me too. If I have to cut it off, I'll never be able to grow it back into the same style mum had her hair.
Wait, maybe my repairing power will work on hair. I close my eyes and concentrate on fixing my hair. I can feel it working. After a few seconds the feeling stops, and I open my eyes and gasp. I think I might have over done it, as my hair is falling in luscious waves that turn into ringlets somewhere past my bum. On the plus side, there's no burnt patches. How on earth am I supposed to manage hair this long?
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Danny pulls into Elmswood Road and pulls over when he spots the cordon. Grabbing his clipboard and hi vis waistcoat, he gets out of the car, before walking over to one of the PRT guards that's sitting in the back of a van drinking coffee.
"Hey Steve, what's the damage?"
Steve looks up, "Oh hey Danny. The protectorate think this one's going to stick around for a few weeks. Some of their technicians were taking measurements with old fashioned thermometers and drills as it's doing something funky with electronics."
Danny nods, he knows that the technicians are PRT scientists that are on permanent duty to aid the Government Sponsored Heroes, aka the Protectorate. "So, what happened?"
Steve sighs, "Danny, you know the rules. Though you're in luck, and I can't give too many details, but the PRT is worried about this. According to witnesses, the ABB found a white runaway in an alleyway and Lung ordered her to be killed. She then managed to fend off a large chunk of the gang and hold off Lung with her ice powers long enough to escape. We don't think she's dangerous, but we do think she's in danger. Can you spread the word that we're looking for her. Hopefully we can find her before Lung does."
Danny shakes his head, "Shit, and you're sure she got away?"
Steve nods, "The ABB was still searching the streets when Armsmaster and Dauntless arrived. You're looking for a High School aged white girl with long hair and a fire damaged rucksack. I mean a proper rucksack, not a school backpack."
Danny makes a couple of notes on his clipboard before looking up, "Christ, that could describe Taylor. Don't you have anything better?"
Steve shakes his head, "I know, but we don't. We're not sure if it was a power interaction, or just part of her power, but all the nearby phones bricked themselves. Anyway, once the heroes arrived the fire brigade came and put out the road. That's why we've got the mini glacier here, and why we're stuck on guard duty for the next few weeks until it melts."
Danny looks around the corner of the van to see a pile of ice around 6 feet tall. Danny can't help wincing as he imagines Taylor being at the center of it. "Thanks for the info Steve, you've got my number, could you let me know if you pull out early. I think I'm going to go home and check in on Taylor."
Steve nods, "I get you. It's one thing when they're in costume, but this was just a girl trying to live her life."
Danny nods and waves as he walks away.