The Guadeloupe Squadeloupe

Chapter XXX: Janis

Alice and Perry are sitting on the highest crate, swaying back and forth as they talk about something or the other. Each of them has a hand I'm not able to see, so I'm afraid they must be holding each others'. But then again, so are Bob and me.

Guad is closing the large, rusty door to our cargo car, his shaggy dark hair blowing behind him as he looks out at the emerald jungle we're flying past for the last time on the ride. He hastily makes his return to his crate, as to avoid eye contact with the other member of our car. Diana sits a few feet behind him by herself. I wonder if she's trying to get his attention, because if so, she needs to try a bit harder.

The air smells of wood and dirt, in fact, I can literally feel the dirt against my nose. I press my finger on my nose and it acquires a layer of dust.

A second later, I jolt when Bob presses his finger on my nose too.

"What are you doing?" I ask, wrinkling it to get rid of the feeling of someone else's fingerprint.

"I just thought you were setting an example. So I followed you," he says matter-of-factly.

I laugh softly. "I hope you don't do that often to people; touch their noses."

"No," says Bob, his finger rubbing my palm. "Only to people I like." I never have thought holding hands was a big deal, or even that emotionally arousing. But with each second that passes while my hand is in Bob's I can't help but think, How come I haven't been holding his hand the entire time? I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. For some reason it feels like we're having a conversation.

"Jan Jan," he says.

"Bob."

"What?"

"Don't call me that."

He looks down at me with confusion. "Don't you like your nickname?"

I bite my lip. Should I answer with politeness or honesty? "I like it when you say it." It's two seconds later when I realize I make no sense.

"Then why don't you want me to call you that?"

It's moments after that when I realize what I said did make sense in a way. I feel like if I have someone calling me a cute nickname that I actually like, there's a small, terrifying chance, that I'll end up becoming attached to them, which is something that has rarely happened in the past, and I would like to keep it that way for the future.

I loved my dad, and he died. I loved Alice, and I was separated from her. Even if it was only three years, there had been the chance we might not have gotten reunited at all.

So I feel like if I put any kind of faith in Bob, if I reserve a part of me for him, something bad will happen to him. I don't want him to die. I really don't want us to get separated. My heart pangs with fear at the thought of sitting around not knowing where he is or if he is alive or not.

Although I don't know him very well, the thought of not seeing his face around 24/7 isn't a good one. But then again, the thought of seeing him and not being able to call him my own is just as bad.

"I change my mind," I say. "You can call me Jan Jan all you want." Despite all the terrible and emotionally scarring things that might happen if I let myself fall in love with Bob (although that thought even by itself is just as scary), I will not just sit and wonder "what if."

Although I can't see him, I know he is smiling. "Okay, Jan Jan. As you wish."

Someone must have lit me on fire, or shocked me, because I don't know how this strange feeling has suddenly flooded into me. I squeeze Bob's hand another time and close my eyes.

To my surprise, they don't open up.

. . .

"Guys," Ashton is saying. It's been two days since we got on the train. The people around us haven't changed much, just one or two leaving and joining every stop.

All of the squad is seated on top of the highest crates to avoid the eyes of another group of hobos that jumped onto our car last night. Besides grunting and being overall gross, they haven't done much. Even so, we all decided it would be best if they couldn't tell what we were talking about.

"What is it?" Asks Alice from her spot next to me. Fortunately, Perry is at a safe distance, a good two or three crates away.

"When I escaped HEXA's compound, I managed to snatch one of these," Ashton tells us in his proper sounding English accent. He pulls something that looks like a graphing calculator out of his pocket. "It's a scanner. Anything with the insignia on it can be found with this. In fact, Delgato's department, the one's in charge of you guys, probably used one like this to track you down with your tattoos."

When I look down at my finger, I find that it's nearly gone, only a faded grey circle now.

"So why are you showing this to us now?" I ask. "How is this relevant?"

"That's what I need to talk to you about," says Ashton. He places the scanner on his lap and his elbows on his knees. "This train isn't safe. Just 15 miles ahead of us on these tracks are three of cars owned by HEXA, obviously put there by Delgato. We're hurling straight towards them. And if we crash into them, we're going to explode."