Turbinio

Trompeta Del Diablo

''Gyro... Did you notice that (Y/N) has been acting weird? I'm not talking about after the shooting. Sometimes she looks fine, in a good mood, and then suddenly it looks like she's almost dead."

Gyro looked at your sleeping figure, not as serious as his friend.

''Yes, she doesn't look the same anymore. She talks so much that her silence is awkward. ''

''Do you have any idea what it is?''

''I don't think her thigh still hurts.'' He joked. ''(Y/N) looks sick. She didn't let me see her wounds, but I can see from afar that she's burning with a fever. Damn... The injection is taking time to take effect. Maybe it's the weather here. She said she came from those tropical countries, didn't she? (Y/N) must not be used to this cold.''

''I asked if she was okay and she said yes.''

''I think we're going to need more than asking to get her to talk. Are you sure there's nothing useful in those diaries?''

''Nothing. What do you think of that story she told at Ringo's cabin?'' Johnny questioned, making sure you weren't listening to them. ''About her mother and that reverend?''

''I didn't want to believe a word of hers, but I don't think she lied at that time. She's not a bad person, but I still don't fully trust her.''

''You don't trust her? Why? She saved us several times and seemed very determined to protect Lucy.''

''Yeah, of course... but that must be a women's thing, you know? I feel like she's hiding a lot of things from us, Johnny.''

''What about her killing those two men in Milwaukee?''

''Scary, don't you think?''

Gyro walked over to his horse and offered some cold coffee. Then he noticed that a small mound of snow was covering the animal's haunches and he couldn't resist drawing in the icy white layer that covered the Valkyrie's fur. A happy face. He chuckled childishly upon seeing his artwork.

''In Milwaukee... When that man took the body parts... She seemed very determined to shoot. Sometimes I wonder what stopped her from shooting. It was as if she knew better than to. I've never seen her so stressed, but she didn't shoot. Don't you think that's weird, Gyro?''

''I don't know... But maybe she's not a delay, like I thought she was. We owe her a lot."

''Yes, you're right. But how could we repay that? She doesn't seem like a woman who needs saving or protection. Why is she doing all this when she isn't even interested in the corpse?''

''I don't know, Johnny, stop asking so many difficult questions, it just makes me more suspicious of her...'' Gyro continued. ''She just needs to rest, let's let her sleep. If (Y/N) continues at this rate, she's going to get crazier than she already is. Want to see the rest of her notes until you find something useful?''

''I know you will do this regardless of my answer.''

There was little to do and say there; Gyro and Johnny were more than able to read all of your journals in less than twenty minutes, long enough for you to wake up confused and lethargic to the smell of burning rabbit meat.

You didn't mind the strange, silent looks they gave you, and sat closer to the fire. The situation reminded you, in a way, of how it was at the beginning of the race. With your breaks during the day to fish or help injured runners – seeing anyone during the trip has become increasingly rare, which is why the company of Gyro and Johnny seemed so comforting, even if you always found them in pieces, struggling for their lives-. It reminded you of the heat of the bars and your visits to Western cities, those oases of life in the desert of solitude. Here, it was the opposite, stepping out of the cold, stifling filth of the snow into the gleaming accommodations of the most developed cities, unable to rest either mind or body for a few hours; unable to escape the cold, but you had at least a moment's peace in the abundance of conversation with your fellow runners.

Despite the inert weather, the strange sense of displacement was growing. That feeling of losing some valuable part of yourself that couldn't survive the eternal passage to the East. With each night, each checkpoint, each stage, and each death, the passage became more difficult.

You stood in front of the fire, waiting for Gyro or Johnny to say something. The sounds of greasy meat sizzling buzzed in your ears and the rancid smell invaded your nostrils.

There was a movement beside you as Johnny saw that the meat was done and took it off the ember. His shadow falls, black, on the logs of the fire.

''The meat is ready. How are you feeling, (Y/N)?'' Johnny asked without looking at you.

''No appetite.'' You said gruffly.

''It's not what your body thinks,'' Gyro interjected. ''You need to eat, come on.''

Johnny turned away as you sat closer to him to eat. He blinked sleepily, the pale lashes barely visible in the morning light. At lunch, Gyro was more insistent and managed to persuade you to try a few spoonfuls of the soup and noodles, as well as the meat. You managed to eat more than you thought, but struggled to keep the food in your stomach. The internal exertion left you pale and sweaty. Gyro offered you more broth, but you shook your head.

''I'm not hungry, Gyro. If I eat or drink anything else, I think I'll throw up.''

He didn't force you, but took the soup back in silence.

''Apparently, the febrifuge mixture is taking a while to take effect.'' He said quietly. ''But that doesn't mean it won't work.''

''You stabbed me for nothing, then?'' You sneered, though you were still a little annoyed by what happened that morning. You rested your head against a tree behind you, closing your eyes and leaning in slightly toward the two men. ''What did you guys do while I was sleeping?''

They were obviously fidgety and uncomfortable, but they calmed down a bit when they noticed that you were just looking for a way to distract yourself from the sickness by talking to them. Johnny said he just took care of the food, while Gyro brightened up by talking about an herb bush he had found while scouring the area.

You asked to see the herbs and he promptly did, handing you a linen bundle filled with spiky white flowers.

''Oh... I think I've seen this plant before.'' You said, holding out one of the thin, delicate petals for a closer look. ''Toloache... figueira do diabo or trompeta del diablo. It has many names.''

''Are you talking about the devil? Diavolo? No, no! In Italy, we call it datura! I used to pick a lot of these flowers and... Anyway, do you think this could be useful?''

''Useful? Well, sure... yeah, I might need it.''

''I mean useful for your fever, (Y/N). What were you thinking?''

''Oh, useful for me? No, no way! If I ate all these flowers, I would be dead in less than an hour!''

''Dead?!''

''Exactly. Why do you think it has 'Diablo' in the name? I can take down an entire army with a few drops of this plant's extract.''

''Damn... I shouldn't have given that to you.''

''Take down an army?'' Johnny, who had been silent, butted in, certainly intrigued. ''How would a flower do that?''

''Well... an army, I'm not sure, but many children this plant has killed. If I need to kill some man, this will come in handy.'' You squinted at Gyro. ''Some tall man with long blond hair...''

''Very funny, (Y/N), now give this back to me!''

You laughed, using all your strength to hide the pack of herbs in your pockets before Gyro stands up, ready for whatever the next confrontation between you and him would be that day.