***
Red streaks crawl across the horizon, moving into the black. The fissure of red, then orange, opens up in the pit of ash that is the sky. I stare at it, but not all of it. In front of me, the Sentry blocks out half of the heavens, eclipsing the rising sun. Its metal body is composed of thick black lines and hard shapes silhouetted against the onslaught of dawn.
My legs and feet are numb, like I haven't moved them in a long time. I'm rooted, though I don't want to be. I can't run, though it is all I want to do. I stare up, my body quivering. Its metal face gazes down at me, its void mask looking for anything that could give it a reason to snatch my life. Daybreak progresses slowly toward morning, and we face off— the mechanized demon and I.
The morning is still a cold grey mist when people begin moving around me. I don't pay them any attention, and they don't seem to notice me either. At least, not for a while.
My name. I hear my name. It must be droning on a hundred times, like a looped recording, soft, and insistent. There's a tugging on my hand that goes with it. I blink, and look down. My neck hurts. I stare at him for a bit. Then I mumble, "Oscar...?"
A firmer hand takes hold of my arm and tugs me away. "Come on." I follow them— Matt and Oscar— away from the Sentry. Matt sits me down on the curb and takes a seat next to me. I feel like I'm waking up. He rubs one hand up and down my arm. I know he's looking at my face, even though I'm not looking at him.
"...Is she OK?" Oscar asks. He sounds worried.
This pulls me the rest of the way out. I blink, and rub my hands over my face. "I'm fine," I mutter, still rubbing. "I was just..." I trail off, because I have no idea what the rest of the sentence was.
Matt turns to Oscar. "Run home and get some food. Some of that chicken. Hurry."
Oscar doesn't even hesitate. He takes off running.
I groan. "I'm fine," I say again, not wanting to accept anything from Matt. Drinks at the Rustler, when everyone is there and is expected to partake, is one thing. Food, just for me, is completely different. Especially when it's worth its weight in gold. Especially when I may be allying myself with his enemy.
"Nonsense," Matt says. His words are clipped, firm.
I shake my head at him, but his stern look cuts me off.
"Oscar is bringing food," he says. "And you are going to eat. So help me, if you refuse, I will stuff it down your throat the hard way."
I feel my eyes go wide, despite myself. He looks like he really would. I fumble for something to say. Finally, I manage weakly, "The thing..." I glance toward the Sentry, still standing in the road. "...It's not... I mean... I just... I've been dreaming. And not sleeping." I'm making no sense. I press on, anyway. "Walking. Sleepwalking." I look pointedly at the Sentry.
He follows my gaze. "About those? What, like nightmares?"
I shake my head. "Idunno."
He gives me a look— a look that says I am delirious. I'm not. I'm pretty sure. But the look is convincing.
I lean over and cup my hands around my face. I'm so tired. I could go to sleep right here. Only it's cold out. So, so cold.
Matt sits with me and doesn't say anything until Oscar returns. I hear him run toward us, but I don't look up. I lean into the darkness of my hands, wishing I could stay there. Even the ache in my ribs feels so far away.
"Here," Matt says, helping me sit up. He unwraps a foil package and places it in my lap. It's filled with chunks of white meat, roasted potatoes, and a slice of bread with butter. Oscar has clearly raided the kitchen, demanding a bit of everything. I stare at it. This is more than my whole family has eaten in a week— a feast better than we've ever partaken of— and here it is, dropped into my lap. Bread from heaven.
I look at Matt, and he looks back at me with measured patience. Eat, or I'll make you, says his face. I look at the food again. Deep inside, I want to cry, but wherever that emotion is, it's buried deep enough that it can't come out. My hunger must live in that place with it, because I have no urge to feed. All I see before me is some sort of vicious paradox. A meal fit for a king in a land of beggars. Life in the midst of so much death.
"Just try a little," Oscar pleads, crouching down in front of me. "It's good," he says, putting on a hopeful smile. "You'll like it."
I reach for the food because of him. Not because I'm hungry. Not because Matt has threatened to stuff it down my throat. But because Oscar wants me to. My hand gravitates to the bread— finer than I'm accustomed to, but still the most familiar thing in the packet. Matt's hand stops me.
"Eat the meat first," he says, letting go as quickly as he touched me. "Better for you."
I sigh and pick up a piece of chicken. I know from the looks of it that it must be tender, flavorful, but it feels like dust in my mouth. I chew and chew. It's a lot of work for a bite. Finally I swallow it, finishing the piece with a sigh. I look at the rest of the package with slumped shoulders.
Matt and Oscar spend the next hour patiently coaxing each bite into me. I get through maybe a third of the chicken, and I simply can't manage any more. My stomach threatens to forcefully eject everything I just ate. I close the foil around the package and push it toward Matt, turning my head away.
"Keep it for later," he says quietly, scanning my face.
When I look at him, his expression is wary, but I shake my head. "Someone would kill me for this before I could get halfway home."
He opens his mouth, likely to insist on it, and to offer some sort of guard along the way, but I cut him off with another head shake.
"It's too much," I say. "I just want to rest." Even now, I'm rethinking the decision, feeling guilty over not keeping it to share out amongst my friends. But I hate owing Matt anything. And I may be starving, but I'm proud. And guilty about this. About taking from someone who I am in some way betraying.
Maybe he recognizes the stubbornness in my expression, or maybe he's thinking that food is eventually going to be scarce for him, too. Whatever it is, he withdraws the package, and stands.
"Thanks," I say, nodding.
He just looks at me, like someone might look at a lost puppy they feel sorry for, but aren't really convinced they like. He looks, and then he walks away without a word.
Now Oscar and I look at each other. His brow is furrowed with concern. It's like he's waiting for me to fall over, or do something crazy. It takes a lot of effort, but I manage a smile. I am feeling a little clearer now, whether it's from the food, or from being fully awake. I start to get up. He grabs my hand to help me, leaning backward as he digs his heels in. We wander down the street together, and, tired or not, I feel something vaguely akin to happiness.