Chapter 16
A full day passes without any sign that the sandstorm will subside. If anything, it only grows in its fury.
I remain focused on survival despite my wandering thoughts, the images of last night pulling my attention in every direction. Lowell seems unfazed, however, his ill-mannered attitude just as useless as his injured body.
His wound shows signs of healing, but I don’t get my hopes up. Although his temperature rises periodically and sweat pools into the grooves of his scales, he refuses to show that he’s affected by it.
While Lowell rests, I pass the hours sectioning off a small part of the tent with tarps to house and shield the sandcycle for repairs.
Thankfully, the cycle was only a stone’s throw away from where we ended up.
My dehydrated muscles provide just enough strength to drag it back to the tent with minimal straining.
Unfortunately, my skin isn’t spared a lashing from the whipping winds.
Then again, a meager civilian-issued military jacket wasn’t ever made to be used in these harsh conditions.
Parts of my neck and face are therefore brutalized with abrasions, the sandcycle goggles an unlikely blessing throughout an otherwise-painful excursion.
I try not to itch at the healing scrapes, especially now that my fingers are covered in motor oil.
“It’s next to the Apex Core Rod,” Lowell instructs, propping himself on his elbows.
I stare blankly, the wrench limp in my hand.
He groans. “That blue circular thing to the left of the giant metal cylinder.”
“Ah!” I exclaim, grabbing the correct piece.
“Now remove it. We have to patch it,” he says, sucking his teeth with a wince when he shifts too quickly.
“This is actually kind of fun,” I say lightly. “I’ve never repaired a vehicle or anything with a motor before. It’s like a little puzzle.” Pulling on the wrench, the blue circular thing loosens from where it’s attached.
Lowell laughs, nonplussed. “Yeah, you would be the type to like puzzles.”
I frown. “Is that supposed to be an insult? Puzzles are stimulating and help keep my brain sharp and able to focus on difficult tasks. The brain is a muscle that needs to be worked out as well. Not just the vanity muscles.”
“So, what you’re saying is that I’m right.” He grins wide, looking me up and down. “You are a loser.”
I purse my lips together, glaring. Mental stimulation is foreign to him, no doubt.
“Your glares mean nothing to me, but I appreciate that they provide a convenient means to gawk at your beautifully grumpy face,” he teases, mirroring my expression back to me.
Lowell’s eyelashes catch in the low light, illuminating his playful scowl. My heart flips in my chest. Although I know he’s joking, I can’t help the warmth that spreads over my cheeks.
“Your compliments are odd. I prefer it when you’re outright insulting me,” I grumble, dropping the metal piece to the ground.
“That I can do, sweetheart.” Lowell breathes heavily, wiping the back of his hand over his dampening forehead. He points a claw at the metal piece, finishing his instruction. “Now that it’s off, you can patch that piece of metal like I told you.”
I nod, keeping my gaze off his struggling. As much as I would normally enjoy watching, his pathetic groaning makes me feel a sliver of pity.
He got those injuries from me, after all.
I need to keep him distracted from the pain, I think, coating the metal with a substance Lowell called “liquid bond.” It smells awful — like sewage.
“So, uh, you never told me about your family,” I say clearing my throat awkwardly.
Lowell’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, because I didn’t want to.”
“Well, why not?” I press. My eyes remain focused on the task, but I stay wary of him in my peripheral. I don’t need to see his face to know that his face is drawn with a glower.
“You’re awfully chatty. Shouldn’t you be focused on working?” he snaps.
I shrug. He became irritable the last time I asked too. “I want to know why you won’t tell me.”
He throws his hands up in the air, slapping them to the ground dramatically. “You’ve been complaining about ‘going home’ to your worthless-ass job for days, but now you wanna get to know each other like we’re buddies or some shit?”
Looking over my shoulder, I catch a sullen expression for only a moment. Wrinkling my forehead, I speak softly, “Then don’t tell me. If it’s that personal, I’ll stop asking. Your usual pissy attitude is enough for me, thanks.”
Lowell’s sigh is long and garbled, his eyes gazing at the tent roof. “You won’t like the story.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “I ‘won’t like it’? I don’t see how my opinion of your life story matters. I told you mine, after all. I didn’t come from desirable circumstances, either.”
I shiver when the energy between us shifts, Lowell’s body language becoming stiff and guarded with reluctance. It’s now that I remember he and I are truly strangers.
Lowell answers with slow, careful words, “I had a mom and dad, one younger sister, and an older brother.”
There is a beat of silence, and my heart drops at the past-tense use of “have.”
Exhaling through his nose, Lowell’s stare burns a hole into the side of my head.
“Mom and Dad ran a tailoring shop — a family business that was kept up for generations. Mom designed and Dad sewed. For years, they were successful and gained a reputation with travelers looking for clothing repairs or new fashion to bring into the cities. My older brother was passionate about the business, spending the better half of his life learning the ropes to take over after our parents retired. Conversely, my sister was more of a free spirit, dabbling in marksmanship, smithing, welding, pottery — you name it, she did it. She made the leather jacket I’m wearing now, although I added the patch.
” He taps the Gaia 4 embroidered patch on his breast pocket.
A small smile pulls at the corners of my lips. “Your family sounds creative. To grow up in a household like that must have been fun.”
I turn to face Lowell, who I see is not sharing my smile. Rather, he wears a look of longing and grief. It’s the first time I’ve seen him emote anything other than anger or arrogance, the deep frown lines carved into his cheeks.
“It was. We rarely fought. But when we did…” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “It was always about me,” he finishes, somber.
I doubt he sees it, but my brows raise in curiosity. “About you, or with you?” I pry.
Lowell shoots me a threatening gaze through his eyelashes, his head drooped.
I wave my hands, defensively. “Sorry.”
He snorts but answers my question anyway.
“Both. I wanted to pursue biology — to care for the local wildlife and travel the world in search of new species. I was always adventurous as a child and had a strong desire to learn, even if not academically. And while it’s ‘creative’ in its own right, my parents didn’t see it that way.
They were disappointed I didn’t take up any type of craftsmanship, ignoring that I was really bad at all of it,” Lowell sighs, squeezing his eyes shut when he relaxes his leg far past what is comfortable for the wound.
A pit in my stomach twists and turns as I wait for him to finish the story. He doesn’t, instead opting to lie on the bedroll with his lids closed.
I want to know more, but at the same time, a niggling at the back of my mind has me feeling unsure that I do.
Shaking it off, I wait for the bonding material to set. I busy my hands with the wrench, tightening and loosening a nut that has long been stripped.
“So what happened? Did you leave home to follow your passions? Go to university?” I break the silence, intrigue winning out.
Lowell laughs so loudly I think for a moment I accidentally told a joke.
“Not at all. Mom and Dad kicked me out for not ‘contributing to the family business,’” He says, using his fingers for air quotes.
“However, I did end up living my dreams of conserving wildlife, albeit as an eco-terrorist outlaw rather than through the proper channels.” He lets out a huff, but this one bears no humor.
“It’s the circumstances around my family’s death that you won’t like. ”
I recoil, frowning. “Of course I wouldn’t. Why would I like their death?” I ask, tilting my head. “We may be enemies after all is said and done, but I’m not so evil as to be gleeful about the loss of your loved ones. You almost make it sound like—”
A look of knowing crosses Lowell’s grim gaze, the words written within his dark pupils.
The wrench clatters to the ground, the tiny tent shrinking around me until I’m suffocated in disbelief.
“No. You’re not—” I sputter, shaking my head. “You’re not suggesting that I…” I blink rapidly as if to wake from a bad dream. “You can not possibly be alluding to that, all those years ago, I—”
“Signed off on the project that killed everyone I loved?” Lowell finishes my sentence for me.
I don’t move, frozen in fear.
My mind twists in circles trying to understand just what conclusion Lowell is trying to lead me to.
I was just a land surveyor and scientist, after all.
How could I murder anyone? Let alone an entire family?
I’m not in the military, I analyze slides, make graphs and tables, sit in meetings, sign paperwork—
“What the hell are you getting at?” I demand. “What happened to your family?”
Lowell hums, a bleak expression on his stone face. “They passed away ten years ago, when I was fourteen. We lived in Misya Swamp.”