The Thing With Feathers

Hope strained her muscles and pushed the pedals of her bike the last 200 yards to the safety of the shade of the former four-stall car wash. The idea of wasting water for vanity's sake was a ludicrous notion to Hope. Still, her people had put the building to better use. A grow house. It warmed her heart, thinking of all the plants that large of a building could maintain. The solar panels appeared cared for, and the roof was of special greenhouse glass. The air purifier was attached to the side building. The old "Holiday" sign still stood, beckoning long-dead travelers to its doors. Not much for travelers these days. This location was a part of H.O.P.E. Heal Offer Protect and Educate. A last-ditch effort for the survival of life on earth. Their fight was an uphill battle. Some chose a nomad lifestyle, trying to survive however they could instead, often stopping through posts to trade goods, news, and even act as a postal service. Nomads were always a risk, and special precautions were taken with those that had not taken the oath. A nomad could become a scavenger if they grew desperate enough. While H.O.P.E. was against the destruction of any living thing, those that preyed on others were a cancer that could not be tolerated. Even names were safeguarded against strangers. Hope was the name of all that brought it to others.

Hope spent the last 24 hours watching the car wash. A heart emblem pierced with a three-feather fletched arrow pointing down, signifying this was an active trade location, was painted on the entrance side. Three nomads had entered late last night, but the markings had not been altered, nor had she observed signs of distress. She was exhausted from pulling the cart for days and felt the effects of dehydration starting to set in. It was time to act. She carefully sipped at the last of her drinking water, carried with her from home. There was a little more, but it was not for her. She looked back at the trailer and gave the right brake handle a slight squeeze, sending a mist of moisture into the bike trailer. The tiny solar-powered fan was humming, doing its job to keep up the ventilation, but still, she worried. Her cargo was unusually active, and that was dangerous. Time was up. She would only be allowed entrance in the lower heat times of day to protect the life within. She prayed she was not too late.

Hope surveyed her surroundings once more, swung around the corner quickly from the safety of the shade, and gave three quick knocks, waited, and gave three more. Ducking back to the shade, Hope listened intensely for a response. She held her hand tight over her chest, feeling her heart pound and the comfort of the heart-shaped locket under her sweat-soaked t-shirt.

The sun bore down its unforgiving rays. Relentless and without mercy, the sun had turned against life on earth, "Like an abusive alcoholic lover." her mother once commented. Hope had been scavenging for wild plants in the prairie grasses when her foot became stuck in a rock crevasse. Unable to do more than try and lay low in the grass until help came, her skin had become red and raw. Her body was so dehydrated that even tears could not fall from the pain.

"It comes in all sweet as can be, kissing your skin with its soft, warm adoration." Her mother went on as she prepared the aloe and urged Hope to drink slowly from a glass of water. "You and the sun in the early morning, be like best friends, as it warms you and taking away the chill of the night before. Allows you to forget all the ugly it brings to the world. Then, slowly, over the course of the day, it grows stronger, and you are so busy getting on with life, you do not see it drinking up everything in sight. One sip at a time, slowly, leaving you with nothing and wanting more. It takes your share and demands acknowledgment of its presence. It pushes its force upon you, and when you try to retreat, it is everywhere you go; it follows until you are beaten down, head-splitting in pain and hiding. Waiting for the peace and relief that comes when it finally slams the door and the world falls dark." Her mother shook her head, lost in her thoughts then. The saddest expression on her face, and Hope knew she had been thinking about her daddy. He had been a taker. A scavenger. A drunk. Just like the sun.

Three fast raps break Hope from the memory of her mother's words. Fighting the feelings of relief, she stayed in a ready stance as the side door opened. She had been anticipating this and carefully approached the door. A beautiful native woman with snow white and grey streaked hair pulled tight into a ponytail and dressed in old military fatigues looked her over, expectantly waiting.

Hope pulled the locket from under her shirt, displaying it quickly, and recited, "Hope is the thing with feathers."

The woman looked her over, held her hand over her heart, displaying a small heart-shaped locket on a silver chain, and responding back, "And sore must be the storm."

Hope's gaze focused behind the woman and saw the man. She could not see his weapon, but she knew it would be there. There was nothing to do now but proceed. Hope pointed at her bike and trailer. The woman nodded, gesturing for her to bring it around to the rear of the wash. As she approached, she heard a garage door opening and quickened her pace, but not before using the side of her fist to mark an X in the dust, across the heart on the building's side. It was not a long-term solution, but it would warn anyone in the nearby area, and her guests would not wait long with the door ajar in the rising heat.

Entering the building, she was overtaken by the amount of green. It was remarkable. Row upon row of plant life filled the space. She had heard of hydro farming but had never seen it at this scale before. Hope itched to walk through the shelves of plant life and admire the fruits of her people's life work, vital to the survival of the species left on this planet. But that could wait.

The man approached her. He appeared to take water conservation to a whole new level, caked in dirt, sweat, and from the look of his dingy nails, who knew what else. He ogled her from head to toe with bloodshot eyes, took off his hat to itch at his pealing scalp, and revealed straggly mouse-brown hair. He omitted a repugnant mixture of bathroom smells and decay. She knew better than to show her revulsion and anger him, though. While he was less than an ideal specimen of a man, he could still hurt her. It was better to play nice and learn more about the situation. If all started to go south, she would need a plan.

"You are new." Said the woman. "Welcome to our garden sanctuary. I see you have brought the package we have been in desperate need of. I cannot tell you how anxious I have been for your arrival."

The man started towards Hope's bike trailer, poking at the canvas and cocking his head at the sounds coming from within. He made a move to open the zipper when Hope yelled, "No!" in panicked reflex. The man turned to her with a narrowed expression, hand tensed and ready to strike at her when the woman spoke up.

"The package is very fragile," she explained. "And … valuable."

The man turned to look at the cart once more, and the woman's eyes caught Hope's and darted to a door with a sign in block letters just above, and a standard 12-hour clock mounted to the left, reading 11:55. The second hand ticked by loud and slow in Hope's ears as she felt the tight tension in the room building. The door would lead to the attached abandoned convenience store. The woman's gaze was steady on the man by the time he turned back around, surveying them both.

The woman gave him an assuring smile and continued in a pleasant tone, "It is rare we get such a visit and with such a valuable gift! Perhaps you would like to get the rest of your people so you can all take part in the excitement?" Keeping the sincerity in her tone, she went on, "What kind of hosts would I be if you were to miss out?"

Hope was stunned by this turn of events. It was incredibly dangerous to open the cart anytime in the next 48 hours. Still, when the man spoke again, she understood the woman's desperate plan.

"Is this true? Is it worth that much?" he demanded. Hope allowed her face to blush and appear timid, answering, "Yes, Sir. It is quite special. Nothing more valuable in the world, I suspect." This was not a lie, she truly believed it, and she allowed the honesty to show through in her words, as well as a bit of country bumpkin.

The woman saw his interest and pounced. "You would not want to keep anything from your others, would you? I am sure they would be upset if they thought you were trying to hide something of such value for yourself, and I know you are just doing the best by your people."

The man's expression showed he was weary of being tricked somehow. "What is that noise in there?" he asked. "Is it some kind of weapon or bomb?"

Hope worked to keep her expression and voice under control. "Oh no!" she laughed as if this was the silliest joke she had heard for some time. "Where would I get something like that? I am a gardener. I brought a treat to trade, but it needs to stay cool so it does not ruin. What you are hearing is the fan. Keeps the mites away and the tempter down."

He looked back over at the cart and then at Hope. "A treat, huh?"

Wanting to distract the man from the sound, Hope pulled out a small jar she kept on her in case of scrapes for its medical properties as a salve and offered it to him. The second hand echoed in her ears.

The man took the small jar, opened the lid, sniffed, and stuck a dirty finger inside to taste. His eyes lit up in delighted surprise. "Honey! ...it... it is honey!" he said. His mouth forming a broken jack o lantern smile, not bothering to hide the greed from his eyes. Walking quickly to the door, he opened it and called inside. A heavily armed man and woman were handed the jar for them to sample from. They moved like a pack towards the cart, distracted by wanting as the silver-haired woman gestured discreetly to Hope to get to the door. Hope and the woman side-stepped, careful not to draw attention to themselves, while the group argued over how much each was taking. The sound of a ripped zipper and a scream met Hope's ears as she slammed the door shut on them, and the thump of the lock engaged. Hope sat back against the door with the woman, thinking about the block letter sign. "Warning. All doors automatically lock due to extreme heat from 12 PM to 8 PM daily. No exceptions."

The woman held Hope's hand in hers, and Hope squeezed back in reassurance when finally, the screams abated, and the sounds of life came to her from beyond the door. She signed in relief. Hundreds of little wings buzzed, tiny feathers pollinating, claiming this new home as their own. Hope endured.