The store was small and brimming with a variety of clothes.
Leyla paused in front of a rack of shirts and pulled at one of the sleeves feeling the material between her fingers.
Eight.
That was the number of pieces he expected her to get.
She lifted a plain grey shirt with faded symbols on the front and turned towards Ezekiel who had been eyeing a pair of gloves from a box. "This one?"
Ezekiel turned the gloves over in his hands, without looking at her he spoke; "If you want it."
Leyla nodded unsure, lowering the clothing and drifting towards another rack.
The simple task had proven itself difficult. Choosing her own clothes. Never in her life had she been allowed to do so. Bacardi had seamstresses that measured her progressive changes over the years while he chose what was fitting and what wasn't.
Now, standing in this crowded room that had a musky smell she was undecided.
With the shirt draped over her forearm she moved onto another display with worn jeans and the waistline wrinkled from years of use. Touching the material softened from multiple washes, she realized that none of these clothes were new.
She chanced a perfunctory look in the hunter's direction. He had swapped the gloves for socks now, far too small for his own feet.
The back of his jacket was frayed, the leather dulled from weathered exposure.
The cuffs of his jeans worn and dusted.
His boots had loose threads.
"Are you poor?"
Ezekiel stilled.
Leyla stared in genuine expectation, her hand still on the pair of jeans. There was a prolonged silence that made her wonder if he heard, yet he had not moved from the basin of socks still gripping the pale yellow pair in his hand.
"Why do you ask?"
Something in his voice, in his indirect gaze, made her shift the shirt.
"I don't–" a pause, she fiddled with the jeans as he wheeled to look at her. She gestured vaguely at the shop and. as an afterthought, him.
"I noticed that your clothes are old… and so is this shop…" under her breath, "so is your car."
Ezekiel was staring at her now with an intensity that made her take a conscious step back.
"Poverty is not a bad thing, I think. I wouldn't know actually," she admitted with wide-eyed morose, "I was just curious as to your financial state because of, well, the lifestyle you live. That's all."
The jeans crinkled in her tightening grip. He still hadn't said anything.
I'm sorry, she wanted to say, but what was she apologetic for exactly?
It was an empathetic question, a burning curiosity that could only be extinguished by his answer.
Either he was poor or he was a miser.
His brown eyes were hooded. Ezekiel turned towards the pile of socks, dropped the pale yellow one back and sorted through a small display before picking a pair of grey with something that resembled a 'correct' mark along the ankle.
He held it out to her. "You'll need socks."
"Oh." She edged in his direction and took them from his hand.
"There's a dressing room out back," he jerked a thumb over the numerous racks at a stall with a stained curtain barricading it, "try the clothes on and decide which you'd like to keep."
"Okay."
Stepping into the room, she placed the shirts in one corner and the pants in another. The air was cold against her skin as she divested the clothes and reached for the first shirt, pulling it on with the jeans.
They were a tad too long pooling at her heels and she hiked them up, folding the waist line thrice.
There was no mirror in the small room.
Leyla opened the door and poked her head out in search of any mirror.
Ezekiel was standing by another rack facing her, his eyes lowered carefully, at a pointed spot.
She found the mirror in a corner and walked barefoot towards it. There, she paused at her full reflection focusing on anything but the clothes. Her hair, she realized, had fly aways from the weak braid she had attempted and her skin was much paler than she thought.
"It's hanging off you." Ezekiel's voice disrupted her thoughts. She watched him from the mirror. His elbow rested atop a rack, eyes lingering on the cuffs of her jeans.
She tried on the next pair of jeans and long sleeve with a hole at the wrist.
Leyla stepped out of the changing room while adjusting the waist, "They don't have my size–" when she nearly walked into Ezekiel.
In his hand was a belt. Long, dark.
"Put this on."
She took it from him and began to slide it through the hoops of her jeans, it wound about her with ease and she realized the last hole was still far too large. Wordlessly he crouched before her, lowering himself until he was about her waist height.
"What are you–"
In his hand was a small blade she had not seen. Ezekiel took hold of the belt still looped about her and pressed it against her hips, measuring the width of her waist. He flipped the hole side and carefully pierced through the material making a hole, and then another— should she ever lose weight or maintain or gain.
Leyla watched as he finished making five extra holes on the belt then looped it for her and fixed it in place, securing the jeans in place. She thought he was done until his hands fell to her ankles and straightened the lengthy cuffs, he made a mark with the blade.
Its edge was so sharp it pierced through the denim like butter, carving around her ankle.
"Turn slowly." He commanded.
She did so. Stopping every inch as the knife followed a path, carving out the excess material until it fell short over her ankle.
He rose after snapping the knife shut and sliding it into his back pocket.
"Get a bra."
Leyla blinked, dumbfounded.
Her mind was still reeling at the sudden fit of the jeans when the awkward statement landed. She was suddenly conscious of her chest and the plain cotton material pressing surreptitiously over her breasts. She was not endowed with large ones that stood out, if anything she rarely ever thought about her breasts until he made the comment about 'clothes' while in the truck.
"Where can I–"
"In the bin beside the socks." As though he had already gone in search of them.
Leyla found the bin where he had told her. She fished through the used ones, some with missing straps, others without cups or wires that ripped through the under material, glinting in rust.
She settled for a pale brown one with a small stitching beneath the armpit. The initials of a name now faded.
By the time she had finished selecting the 8 pieces, Ezekiel was waiting at the counter where a youth sat behind chewing gum. She set them on the table, expecting him to go through the items but he simply asked for the total.
Not before placing something on top of the items.
"Gloves?" She asked, already reaching for the balled pair. They had a tough exterior but the inside was lined with wool.
Ezekiel paid and carried the folded clothes in his arm as they walked out. "Try them on."
And she did. Pausing to lean on the crutch as she slid on right hand first then the other. Leyla flexed her hands inside the material noting how stiff it was, and slightly brand new. She turned her hands over slowly, relishing in the cocoon warmth within.
Ezekiel stood a few steps ahead by the pedestrian crossing.
The light was green.
He was watching her.
"It's good," she said, finally looking at him with the start of a small smile, "Thank you."
They crossed the empty road together towards the lot where the truck sat.
A few cars had been parked in the surrounding areas — evidence that people had begun their day– but Leyla could see no one around. Ezekiel rounded to her side of the truck and opened the door noting the overflow of grocery bags and now the clothes he had gotten her.
Leyla watched as he took out a few grocery bags and moved to the back of the truck where he set them down. With one hand braced on the rim he leaped up with ease and began to arrange the truck bed; pulling aside an old dusty canvas and spare tire to the corner.
Some tools grated on the floor bed.
But it was the sound of laughter that caught Leyla's attention.
Leyla glanced over her shoulder as three men walked along the pavement heading in the direction of the grocery store they had just exited an hour ago. She stared.
It was not the lack of clothing that drew her attention but the lines of scars deep etched along their backs and legs. Their bodies were wet and marred with leaves from the woods, mud. They walk leisurely.
One of them threw his head back in a gaping laughter, then turned in her direction as if sensing the stare.
"The bag."
Ezekiel's voice cut threw her haze.
She crouched hastily and grunted while lifting the bag. Leyla tried searching his face as he reached for the bag, easing them out of her hand.
His face was a picture of undisturbed peace.
If he isn't bothered. I shouldn't be either.
She lifted another bag with both hands, her elbow throbbing dully – a reminder of the past.
Behind them, glass shattered.
Leyla began to turn away—
"The bag."
His voice remained a tether yanking her back to him.
Ezekiel was crouched again, palm outstretched with his eyes fixed on her.
She handed him the next grocery bag and the next watching as he smoothly arranged them then drew the canvas over the items and leaped out.
Leyla opened the passenger door and slid her crutches in.
She watched him from the rearview mirror while settling in. His head was bowed low, curls casting shadows over his eyes as he fixed the tarp tying it down and, at the last minute, removed something from beneath and slung it over his shoulder.
A rifle.
He rounded to the driver's side with ease. Set the rifle beside her and slammed his door shut.
The sound of glass shattering had stopped.
Leyla's seatbelt clicked in place and she finally turned to watch the three figures walking out of the convenience store with a handful of groceries. The cashier was nowhere to be seen. Blood smattered across their pale thin chests.
Ezekiel slowly pulled out of the parking lot and turned the car towards the exit.
The same direction of the men.
"Roll up your window." He said, rapping his finger once on the steering wheel.
Leyla gripped the lever by the side of the door and began to turn it. The window creaked once, dragged as if through mud, then smoothly edged its way up. She didn't know why her heart was suddenly beating hard like a drum.
The men were watching the truck now, their mouths splitting wide in gaping smiles that revealed rows of teeth sharpened to a wicked end.
As they drew nearer, Leyla watched the shapes gain outline and solidity.
What she assumed was dirt on their bodies, now closer, resembled wounds that had turned brown. Flesh gaping like holes on a moon pockmarked their torsos. One of them was missing an eye, a perpetual hole of darkness where it should be.
It was the eyeless one that stood dead center in the middle of the road blocking the truck.
The truck slowed to a halt.
Leyla glanced at Ezekiel.
His window was down, one elbow resting on the ledge.
The men stood before the truck in silence. Their heads tilted like little birds, chests rising. A rope of drool glistened on their mouth corners and trailed to the points of their chins.
She studied them.
They looked human enough, like Ezekiel.
One stepped forward gently rounding in Ezekiel's direction, and with him drifted a fetid smell.
"Zee." The man rasped resting a hand on the hood of the truck and leaned in. "What brings you so early into town?"
Leyla couldn't see Ezekiel's facial expression as he looked at the man.
"Same thing that brought you."
"Shopping." The man grinned and lifted the unopened bag of chips to his face.
"Stealing."
The man turned his head to the side and spat, "ain't no difference. They're hardly feeding us now, what do they expect hm?"
He was smiling even as his eyes slid to Leyla. His smile widened. "Well I'll be, new blood in town and none of us know it."
"I did."
The man's gaze didn't lift from Leyla. "You ain't part of this town Zee." His nostrils flared wide, hungrily, taking in the scent concealed over her body. "Pretty little lady."
A thud on Leyla's window startled her.
One of the men had quietly moved to her side and was pressing his face against the window hard enough for each breath to fog over.
"Say, zee." The man folded his hands on Ezekiel's window and squinted curiously, "you happen to come across Elijah?"
Elijah?
The eyeless man was climbing over the truck's hood now.
"No."
"Sure man? Happen to be the young skinny boy, out in the woods 'bout two weeks ago."
Leyla stared in wonder as the man fumbled with the belt, its length long and loose with extra holes marking the progression of his malnourishment. The pants dropped to his ankles.
"... and we know you like being out in the woods hunting and all…"
The man turned around and Leyla got a full view of his buttocks. Pale and scarred and hairy. There was a line of brown stains trailing down his inner thighs. He reached back and grabbed both his cheeks, spreading them wide for her, muddy arsehole winking.
Leyla was unable to tear her gaze away.
Not when the man squatted low over the hood and began to push.
Neither when his arse swelled with something from within, like a wave cresting or a woman giving birth. And the head of a turd began to surface.
Only then did the realization of his act hit her.
She looked down at her hands.
"... my boy is being missed by us…" The other continued on as if the show before home was a regular thing. "If you happen to find him, let him know I be calling."
Ezekiel nodded, his gaze set on the overflow of defecation piling on his top.
"I will."
The drive home was quiet.
Leyla opened her mouth once then twice but nothing came out.
Eventually she settled for a simple question.
"Are they infected?"
She avoided looking at the mashed up display on the hood. The air conditioning was on, blowing heat and dust through the small compartment as both their windows were rolled shut to prevent the stench from permeating.
Ezekiel tapped his fingers on the steering rhythmically. The roof of the house appeared moments later. Leyla had never quite been relieved to see the house until now.
"They are."
The car slowed to a stop in its usual parking spot. She unbuckled her belt and opened the door stepping out.
Ezekiel unloaded the back of the truck first and then handed her the lightest bags. They walked back and forth bringing the groceries into the house and finally her clothes last which he set on the couch.
"Take a shower if you'd like." The rifle was slung over his shoulder and, unlike her bare feet, he still wore his boots. "There's breakfast–"
He stopped seeing her already lifting the slice of bread to her mouth. Leyla had only managed to divest her shoes before reaching for the loaf in the bag unceremoniously. Their eyes met as she took a bite.
He placed a plate on the counter.
She swallowed, "Where are you going?"
"Out. I'll be back before dusk."
Another nod, this time trailing behind him with the loaf cradled under her arm and the other stuffing the slice into her mouth. "... mkay."
"Lock the door behind me."
Another nod more chewing.
"I won't carry the keys with me so you'll have to open it."
More obligatory nodding.
Ezekiel turned then and she nearly bumped into him. Leyla slowed her chewing as he raised a knuckle to the door.
He knocked twice. Paused. Knocked thrice.
"That will be the signal when I return. If you hear it, open the door. Don't peer outside the window either."
Leyla fixed him with a sober look, the bread in hand forgotten. "I won't."
Ezekiel zipped up his jacket and grabbed his beanie. The tips of his ears had gone a ruddy red. She watched him reach the bottom of the patio steps before shutting the door and following through with the locks.
At the very last minute she drifted towards the couch and knelt on it, elbows resting on the back while watching him through the partly drawn curtains.
He made his way towards the shed and lingered inside for quite a bit.
She finished the slice of bread and was reaching for another when he reappeared with a set of traps looped over his shoulders. They resembled bear traps with their jaws spread wide and serrated.
In his hand was a brown sac stained at the bottom a dirt brown, once red.
She squinted after his disappearing figure, and didn't rise from the couch until the woods swallowed him whole leaving only boot prints behind.
Leyla listened to the clock ticking in the desolate house.
She turned on the couch and sunk down finishing the second slice.
Leyla brushed off the crumbs from her hands and rose heading for the kitchen where the groceries were still laid out on the counters. She opened the cabinets within reach and began to assort them one by one.
Unaware of the figure standing by the treeline, watching.
Well thank y'all kindly for the reads!
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