The Survivors: Point of Origin (book 2)

Fortuitous Error, pt. 2

I followed Hannah out of the shop. We retraced the same path we'd taken into town. Hannah's heart was racing and her nerves were on edge. She held her jaw taut and looked at the ground as she walked. Whatever she had to tell me, she wasn't supposed to. Breaking the rules outside the city walls was adding to her tension. Her stress stirred deep me in me. I wished I could relieve it.

When we reached the end of the street, she paused, as if deciding if we were better off heading back to the City or staying in Bigfork. "Is there somewhere we could talk among the humans and not look out of place?"

Her question reminded me of her innocence. Little Hannah, 331 years old if I had counted correctly, not only looked but also acted like a twelve-year-old. "Of course," I said. I looked around quickly to see what was open. This time of year, half the stores were closed. I saw lights on in a café across the street. "This way."

I led her across the street to a shop called Bearfood, set back in a courtyard. I'd never been in. It had brown concrete floors and three little black wrought-iron tables like you usually saw on patios. Inside was an eclectic amalgamation of things and food. There was the obligatory mixture of local fare — a wall of Flathead Cherry jams and candies, huckleberry taffy and syrup, alongside a few odds-and-ends racks of organic clothing and touristy t-shirts, boxer shorts, and infant onesies adorned with moose, black bears, or fish, and an array of local coffees and sodas, including Mark's favorite, Flathead Monster. All of this just like every other store on Electric Avenue and unlike any other store anywhere else on the planet.

Hannah carefully and cautiously appraised her surroundings, wondering in her mind if this was what all shops looked like on the inside.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?" I asked Hannah. She thought about it for a minute, asking herself when she would have a chance to eat food on the outside ever again. It baffled me that she thought this way. She could leave whenever she wanted to. She read the menu on the wall carefully: espresso, smoothies, ice cream, cokes, quiche, pies, and cupcakes. She had no idea what the words meant. "What do you feel like?" I asked, trying to help her.

"Something sweet, if they have it," she said, smiling sheepishly. "And cold. It is hot in here!" she exclaimed, fanning herself. Of course, I thought. She'd never felt central heating.

Obliging, I ordered ice cream for her, ignoring the odd looks from the woman behind the counter for ordering ice cream in Montana when there were three feet of snow on the ground. I got her two scoops, not knowing what she'd like: one Mint Chocolate Chip and one called Moose Tracks. That was Corrina's standard order so I figured it was worth a shot. The woman handed me the cone, and Hannah stared at it, unsure of how to eat it. I quickly grabbed a cup and a spoon, flipped the cone upside down and handed it to her that way. She smiled as we made our way to a small table against the window.

The Winters were still in the front room of Beverly's shop watching me.

Hannah picked up her spoon and took a giant bite of the green minty ice cream. "What did you need to talk to me about?" I asked Hannah. She'd gotten giddy upon her first taste of the dessert.