The Hidden City by Lady MSM

Close Enough

December, 1923

Somewhere in Indiana

They’d started out the journey with seven dollars, a package of crackers, and a flask of whiskey. A week in, they were down to three dollars, ten crackers, and enough whiskey to last them through three, maybe four cold nights. If they were lucky.

The only sensible thing to do, then, was to spend the night in some godforsaken hobo jungle in a forest in Indiana.

Voronwë surveyed the few shabby tents and sputtering fire with a frown. “Do you always travel this luxuriously?”

Tuor laughed. “Ah, come on, it’s not so bad. At least there’s a fire.” He sniffed the air. “And someone’s cooking rabbit! Come on, let’s go, I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving.”

“And yet somehow I’m still alive. Evening, fellas!”

The occupants of the camp, most of them grizzled old men with impressive beards, grunted in response. One moved aside to clear a spot for them on his log. None of them said a word.

They were halfway through their bowls when a man crashed through the bushes. He stopped short of the fire and stared at them. They stared back.

He was dark-haired,wild-eyed, and unshaven, wearing clothes that had probably been nice once before days of travel. He flopped down in front of the fire and buried his face in his hands.

“God forgive me, I’ve destroyed them all,” he whispered. “Half the family dead and it’s all my fault.”

Tuor leaned forward, concerned. “Hey. You okay, pal?”

The stranger looked up, eyes widening. He held Tuor’s gaze for a moment, with a faint flicker of recognition in his eyes.

But before Tuor could say anything else, the stranger had leapt to his feet and disappeared back into the woods.