Eclipse

Chapter Eight: Rowan

          "I THOUGHT HE WAS NICE," Rowan offered.

          Roxy scoffed in response. They were walking back to their tent. The boy had dropped in to chat with them briefly about the camp and fill them in on what was going on. There wasn't a real schedule in place for the makeshift refugee camp: chaos still reigned over most of the world, and it was too much of a hassle. It was just meant to serve as shelter.

           "He was okay," Roxy compromised, sounding exasperated. "I only wanted to punch him four times during the conversation."

          Rowan gave in with a sigh. "Fine, he was loud and talked too much. Happy?"

          She concentrated on the path and didn't answer.

           "At least we got food," Rowan tried.

          Roxy's smile dropped from her face. Rowan watched as she knit her eyebrows and stared at the path, avoiding puddles with a religious zest. He gave up. It wasn't until they had almost made it back to the tent when he spoke again, his voice feather soft with concern: "You okay?" Seeing her quick glance at him, he rushed on. "You barely ate. Sorry. I was just worried."

          "You don't need to worry about me, Rowan." She cleared her throat. "After all, I'm smarter, more experienced, and faster," she tacked on quickly.

          "Hey! You are not!" Rowan frowned.

          Roxy grinned. "Bet. Race you to the tent!"

          They took off down the path, slipping a bit on the damp walkway, and stumbled into the tent.

          Rowan whooped. "Beat you!"

          "Did not," she huffed. "I obviously did—my foot was here before yours was." She moved to point at the entrance of the tent with her foot.

          It was Rowan's turn to roll his eyes. "You're just a sore loser."

          "Am not."

          "Whatever."

          Someone cleared their throat. Rowan whipped his head around, looking, and his eyes fell on him. There was a third person in the tent, a teenage boy.

          Rowan spoke. "Hey there."

          "Hi," the boy said cautiously. "You guys new here?"

          There was a hint of an accent in his voice. Noticing, Rowan appraised him. The boy sat cross-legged on a cot with a relaxed demeanor. His face was pale, with a splash of freckles sprawling across his nose. A few inky, matted curls dropped into his face; Rowan caught a whiff of vanilla from him.

          "Yeah," Roxy replied, plopping down on a vacant cot. "We are."

          She seemed to have deemed the boy harmless, and Rowan could see why. There was something neutral, calming, about the boy, and he liked it. Besides—anyone Roxy trusted, he trusted.

          The boy studied them through watchful eyes, cocking his head to the side slightly. "Cool. Welcome." He paused, unsure of what to say. "My name's Griffin. Griffin Greenwood."

          Yep. Griffin definitely had an accent. British, maybe.

           Rowan smiled at him. "Nice to meet you, Griffin. I'm Rowan Brenning, and this emotionless robot likes to go by Roxy Loch."

          Roxy hit him, and, ignoring Rowan's "Ow!", said: "Don't mind him. Just 'Roxy' is good."

          A small smile crept across his lips. "Alright. Roxy and Rowan. Has a nice touch."

          Maybe Australian.

          The three of them talked for a while more. Rowan learned that Griffin was from New Zealand—Melbourne. He and his dad had been touring Pittsburgh when the ECLIPSE's malfunction overturned their plans, to say the least.

           "Owch, Kiwi," Roxy said—Griffin scowled at the nickname. "Where's your dad?"

          Griffin shrugged. "He's been doing all that he can to help out around here, just runnin' round the place."

          "That's nice of him," Rowan piped up.

          "Chur," Griffin replied.

          Roxy and Rowan exchanged a glance. Griffin blushed and rushed to explain. "Chur, like thanks."

          "Oh, you Kiwis and your Kiwi slang," Roxy teased, laying down sideways on the cot so that she could still see both of the boys. "Silly." She bit into a plum and made a face.

          Rowan watched. "How'd the plum offend you? Not sweet enough?"

          She shrugged in response. "Eh, it's fine."

           There was a lull in the conversation. Roxy closed her eyes and settled into the cot; Rowan realized, with a pang of guilt, how tired she must have been. She'd driven them here, all the way from New York, without complaint. He felt a flare of admiration for the girl: she was a tough one.

          "Night, Roxy," he said softly. He nodded in an almost grim manner to Griffin and closed his eyes, too, falling into a undisturbed sleep.

          He woke a few hours later to the sound of crickets chirping and the rustle of tents in the wind. It was a cool Pittsburgh night: the air felt crisp and cold on his face. As he sat there, slightly befuddled, the events of the past days started catching up to him. Right, he was in Pittsburgh, with—the strangeness hit him again—a stranger he only knew for a few days but trusted like he'd known his whole life. Something was wrong with the ECLIPSE, a machine deployed in outer space. He thought about his mother and cringed. He had neglected to think of her, almost consciously, as if thinking of her would put her in danger. Now the fear washed over him in suffocating waves. Something ached deep inside his chest.

          Rowan sat up straight. Roxy was still sound asleep; she looked so relaxed during sleep. For once, her eyes were closed, not glaring, and the frown lines around her mouth were softened. Griffin was nowhere to be found. Rowan dug his phone out of his bag and fished out his phone, swiping to the Messages app. He quickly scanned over his last desperate text to his mother, typed before he had left the apartment: "Where are you?"

           It hadn't sent.

          An urge to throw the phone almost overtook him, but Rowan knew he had to think rationally. Maybe the weather had broken the cell towers, leading to no service. He wondered if there was service in Pittsburgh.

          "Hey, Mom. I'm in Pittsburgh. It's a long story, but I'm safe. Are you okay? Where are you? Love you."

          Rowan's throat tightened as he hit send. He kept his eyes on the the screen, watching it send. Then he sat there, the light from his phone eerily illuminating his face from below. He stared at it, saying nothing, as if he could make his mother respond through sheer will.