I
Alice screamed as she fell from her hammock onto the hard, dusty ground, her rifle still clutched in her arms. She was greeted by the beauty of a full moon over the California countryside.
"Ngh… ow."
Blinking, she watched as the tree she had been using as a bedframe swayed, but not because of the wind. All around her, the world was violently shaking. Her nearby campfire setup clattered to the ground, producing a cacophony of sounds as metal utensils crashed together.
'Earthquake… awesome.'
Closing her red eyes, Alice hugged her rifle closer to her chest, intent on going back to sleep. She was fairly certain that this earthquake wouldn't be enough to uproot the tree, so she would be fine.
The branches above, however…
Groaning, Alice looked around and grabbed her dirty pillow—which was always dirty because of course it was—and half walked, half stumbled her way into a clearing, out from under the branches.
Just as she laid back down to sleep again, the rumbling stopped.
BECAUSE OF COURSE IT WOULD STOP AFTER SHE MOVED!
She took a breath, snuggled into her pillow, and quickly drifted off back to sleep. She'd clean up later.
II
The next morning, Alice found her once adequate campsite only slightly less adequate after the earthquake—which felt like a damning indictment on her standards if she reflected on that fact.
Instead, Alice went about checking on her meager belongings. Her aluminum mess kit was only slightly dented, and she chose to believe that had occurred in the earthquake, even though some of those dents were awfully familiar.
'Fork-knife, check. Matches, check. Folding chair,' Alice spun around and slumped into her canvas folding chair. "Check!" she chirped to herself, smiling that nothing had been too damaged.
Leaning back in her chair, making sure to leave room for her rifle to rest against her shoulder, Alice looked at the reason she had chosen this spot in particular to camp.
A lone, bare strawberry bush.
With a snap of her fingers, a shockwave of starlight shot out from around her. The white specks of light traveled outward before passing through the plants in her immediate area.
She watched impatiently as the strawberry bush shone with an ethereal white glow. The once bare stems quickly formed green buds, which within moments had grown multiple times their original size. The color rapidly changed from bright green to multiple shades of red as the bush bore fruit.
"Oh? For me?" Alice said to herself, holding a hand to her chest. "Why thank you, me. I am most appreciative for the gracious gesture, but… I cannot eat strawberries. For you see, my father, God rest his soul, perished upon consuming such fruit."
Alice gasped. "Oh! I am so terribly sorry to hear that! I did not know your constitution could not suffer in partaking in a strawberry!"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Y-Your father perished upon consuming a strawberry?"
"Ah, yes… He was so focused on this luscious fruit that he missed a step on the stairs. Snapped his neck."
"…Du hinterhältige Schlampe."
Alice plopped the strawberry into her mouth, chewing slowly on the delectable, if familiar, fruit.
She needed to stop talking to herself.
Sufficiently put off from her normal breakfast source, Alice stood up and slung her rifle around to her back, held on by a very worn leather strap that she had been meaning to replace.
If there was one thing Alice didn't lack, it was .44 W.C.F, and some protein would make her feel better.
Maybe.
At the very least, shooting defenseless quail in itself would make her feel better.
It wasn't as if Paradise, California had anything else but quail really.
Grabbing a canvas bag, Alice adjusted her too-large duster and set off, quietly giggling to herself. 'Of course humans would name a barren expanse of hills and rocks "Paradise"… How "Greenland" of them!' She barked with laughter at the thought!
III
Despite the many virtues of Alice's campsite, there was a single vice—the proximity to the Watkins family's utterly depressing goat ranch. Every time she had to wander by this blot against happiness, Alice found herself overcome with a deep-seated need to think happy thoughts, lest she be overcome with melancholy.
First of all, the family lived in an arroyo which, in Alice's personal opinion, was a terrible idea. It was a path carved through stone by running water, akin to a dried-up riverbed, that would take only a single heavy rainfall upstream to turn the entire area into a death trap. What's worse was that it didn't even need to rain nearby for a flash flood to happen. Just a few moments' notice and—wham! No more house!
She seriously doubted anyone in that family could even swim.
Alice had been told that it was safe because, well, it "hadn't rained heavily ever." Because, you know, past performance always indicates future results!
Anyway, second of all, they used to have two sons, and it was just her luck that the one she didn't mind, Paul, had up and vanished one day.
She liked to believe that they ate him.
The other son Eli was… an acquired taste.
Entertaining to rile up, though.
Trudging along the valley of the dried-up riverbed, Alice stroked the scrollwork engraving on her rifle with her right thumb, Vernier sight already up as she listened for quail.
'Why are they so quiet today?' Alice thought, the oppressive Californian sun hanging almost directly overhead, bearing down on her exposed blond head, giving the dried brush a washed-out look.
Anybody else would find the heat oppressive.
Alice thought it was just fine.
A bit cold, act—
BANG
Jumping to the left, Alice ducked behind a large rock, snapping her rifle off to the right. The sound of a gunshot carried off down the valley, reverberating off the rocky walls.
'No sonic boom. shotgun? Sounded close…'
Alice fixed her sights in the direction of the shot, rifle absolutely still as she took small, controlled breaths. 'Probably not for me.'
Slowly standing, Alice kept her rifle raised before setting off to investigate. As she traveled in the direction of the shots, she noted that she hadn't seen any of the Watkins family hunting before, and she seriously doubted that they had managed to afford any kind of firearm, considering their situation, which made her even more curious.
"And curiosity killed the Alice…" she quietly muttered to herself.
Alice sighed. She really, really needed to stop talking to herself.
As Alice heard voices, her entire body and all her gear shimmered before becoming transparent. Hidden from the world, she crept through the dried-out underbrush to find a man and a boy wearing khaki hunting outfits sporting—
She slung her rifle over her shoulder before pulling up a French telescope to get a better look at their weapons.
'Winchester Model 1897, 16-gauge, fancy walnut forearm, checkered forend and grip, hm… pricey.'
Refocusing her lens onto the actual people, Alice was a little less interested.
Brown hair, tan skin, worn face, maybe late forties or early fifties, tall. He looked like a man who was used to hard work outdoors, which was interesting considering the gun…
The boy—she would bet hard money that he was the man's son—was so adorable that Alice couldn't stop herself from smiling. He had the same features as his father but with a vibrant, youthful energy that was contagious. His bright brown eyes were wide with excitement as he bounced on his feet, rapidly talking to his father while gesturing at the black crack in the ground. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but she was happy for them regardless.
After a few minutes, Alice watched as the man and his son walked away, the boy still enthusiastically talking until they dropped from her view. Sighing, she released her invisibility, a thin layer of sweat having formed on her brow, not from the heat.
"That was cute," Alice said to herself, stowing her telescope back into a case on her hip as she strolled over to the crack in the ground.
The crack was about six or eight inches wide at its thickest, filled with a viscous black liquid that glinted in the sunlight, gently rippling as occasional bubbles gurgled up to the surface with a 'glug'. Kneeling, Alice dipped a finger into the sludge and smeared it between two fingers. Taking a sniff, it smelled like gasoline.
"Hm…"
Brushing her hand on her duster—because it wasn't as if she could ever make it even dirtier—Alice grabbed a nearby stick and dipped it into the sludge before walking a few steps away. Using one of her emergency matches, she held the open flame over the black stick and watched passively as it immediately burst into flames. Alice dropped the stick and kicked a fair amount of dirt over it to smother the flame before walking back over to the crack.
She had known it was oil from her initial smell, but she wanted to be thorough. It wasn't because she had just wanted to burn something.
Honest.
"Neat," was all Alice could think of saying about the discovery—a solitary, simple "Neat," because she personally had no interest in oil, really.
As the girl turned to walk away from what anyone else would have considered a life-changing discovery, a sharp SNAP cut through the sounds of insects buzzing and distant, taunting quail chirping, making her blood run cold.
Turning as fast as she could, Alice watched, horrified, as her precious rifle, a Model 1873 Winchester, drifted through the air as if in slow motion. The pristine, perfect rifle—objectively the nicest thing Alice owned—with its nickel-plated receiver and fine walnut furniture, was drifting downwards. Desperately, Alice reached out, trying to deny fate, even though the mechanics of physics had already predetermined the path of her rifle billions of years ago, long before she had ever gotten here.
She watched, helpless, as her rifle splattered into the oil seep.
'Glug… glug.'
Alice shrieked.
IV
As they walked on Bunny wasn't sure how he should be feeling at that moment. One part of him was of the mind that Dad was right; what would the Watkinses even do with oil money anyway? Paul had told him that Mr. Watkins would always offer any money he received to missionaries for his church. Any wealth he would've gained from this discovery of oil would doubtlessly be just as quickly lost. Dad said that when he bought the land—for a fair price—he would ensure their family wouldn't be able to squander the money, so they'd be better off than when he found them.
Still… there was something about the secrecy that didn't sit well with Bunny. The boy would, of course, still obey his father's orders, for what else could he really even do?
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Bunny's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a piercing feminine scream that echoed through the valley. He froze mid-step, his heart pounding in his chest. "Did you hear that, Dad?" he exclaimed, turning to look up at his father.
Dad had already turned around staring intently in the direction the shriek had come from, brows knitting together in concern. "I did. Stay close to me," was all he said before breaking out into a sprint, Bunny hot on his heels.
The two of them charged right up the hill they had just come from, directly through dry, twiggy bushes and up scattered rocks, the cracked dry earth crunching underneath their boots. As they crested a small rise, Bunny stopped, red in the face as he took in the scene before him.
There was a... girl? The scream had sounded like a girl's voice, but the figure before them seemed at odds with what Bunny expected. She looked to be about his age, maybe fourteen at most, with a face as pale and flawless as porcelain, untouched by the harsh California sun. Her hair cascaded down her back in long waves, a blond so vibrant it resembled freshly minted gold coins. But it was her outfit that truly bewildered Bunny. In lieu of any proper dress, she wore a tattered old duster, the brown leather bleached tan by exposure. He could have sworn she was even wearing pants!
Queer garments aside, the girl, who didn't look much older than Bunny himself, was currently clutching a slick black rifle to her chest, crying uncontrollably as the oil seeped into her shirt.
She looked quite distressed.
"Um… Dad?" Bunny whispered; his breath still haggard from their mad dash up the hill. "I-Is she okay?"
The elder Ross slowly put down his shot gun, Bunny following, before the two of them slowly approached the girl. She didn't seem to know they were there, focused entirely on the rifle. Getting closer, Bunny could hear that she was talking to herself, her words tinged with a barely perceptible German lilt. "Dummkopf! I knew that verdammt strap was no good! Ach Gott! It's going to ruin the wood! I need... um... Wasser! Water!" She abruptly unslung her canteen from around her shoulder and dumped what seemed to be a liberal amount of water on the rifle's stock, frantically brushing off the liquid coating on her duster, staining it black.
"Excuse me, miss," Dad started, but the girl was still completely oblivious to their presence. She looked back at her canteen, shook it once to hear an empty rattle, and collapsed, still holding onto her gun, sobbing even harder than before. "I'm out of water!"
Bunny unslung his own canteen from his shoulder strap and approached the stranger. "Uh, I have water if you need it?"
Bunny stopped in his tracks as she looked up at him. It was the first time she had looked up, and it was then that he noticed that this girl had absolutely stunning ruby-red irises in a shade that looked just like the namesake gemstone.
She blinked, red eyes darting between the canteen and Bunny before she wiped her face on her sleeve, a spot of oil smearing over her left cheek. "A-are you sure?" she asked, her voice wavering.
"Of course!" Bunny smiled, holding out his canteen. "I'm not even thirsty!" he added, ignoring his parched mouth.
The girl tentatively reached out to take the canteen. "…Thank you," she whispered. This time she was wiping off the oil onto her coat before carefully pouring a small amount of water onto the residue that remained. Her crying had softened into soft sniffling as she went about cleaning off the stock.
"I'm—" Bunny started before hesitating. His actual name was James Arnold Ross Jr., but nobody really called him that. Instead, "Bunny" was the every-day name his mother had given him when he was little. It was a name that now, as a thirteen-year-old boy, he resented, but… Maybe it would cheer her up?
"I'm Bunny," he finished, flushing when the blond girl looked back up at him with those ruby-red eyes.
A flicker of amusement passed over her face as she smiled. "I'm Alice."
"Excuse me, little miss," Dad said approaching, only to stop for a moment when he saw her eyes, "Are you alright? What happened?"
"I-I was walking away from the oil and my rifle strap snapped." Alice's smile vanished. "It fell right into the seep! And I… um." She paused for a moment, looking down in concentration. "Oil is just a hydrocarbon, so the hydrogen itself isn't really a problem for corrosion… carbon either really… It didn't smell like it had a high sulfur content…," she muttered quietly to herself.
She looked back up at the two increasingly puzzled males, tilting her head slightly. "Es tut mir leid— I mean… I may have overreacted."
Author's Note:
The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.