The Flame Keeper

Chapter 23

After a soakingly long trek constantly bombarded by merciless raindrops and a near-death experience with a reckless cab that had decided it was a good idea to have a stroll during a thunderstorm, we finally ducked under a wooden overhang drenched to the splinter.

Though the rain smeared most of it, I faintly made out the faded lettering: Downtown Depot. Two blinded windows cast orange flecks that danced along the water, and the curved wooden door let out a blast of warm air as Albert pushed it open.

A single light bulb dangled from one of the many wires strewn along the framework ceiling dimly illuminated the small store, its wooden walls lined with shelves full of cluttered junk: odd jars that swished with mysterious liquids, oversized containers that fought for an inch of space, and rusting cans that reeked of expired food. A thin layer of water vapor hung over us, fueled by glimpses of metal pipes that ran along the walls and over the shelves, casting an ethereal yellow glow as light streamed through it.

"Everything runs on hydro, huh?" I said.

"Mm," Albert mused. "It's all we got, and besides, thunderstorms like these are free fuel."

He gestured toward the few dull metal buckets that sat sulkingly outside the overhang, their figures drenched and staring up at the sky, wondering when the endless pelting would come to a stop.

"Albert!" A slim man with neatly cropped dark hair, adorned with a simple plaid shirt that complemented his blue trousers popped up from behind the counter. "See you've brought some friends."

"Yeah, we're stopping by here to wait out the rain," he said, gesturing toward a thunderous boom that sent shivers throughout my body. "A tough one, eh?"

Spotting the water that had begun seeping into the store, the man glared at us and shouted. "Don't just stand there by the doorway! All the warm hair is going out and water's about to flood my entire store."

"Ah, sorry about that," Albert said as he shuffled into the store, stomping his feet on a worn rug that had suffered for far too long, muddy splotches staining the fuzzy wool, and the ruffled strings along the sides were a tangled mess. We quickly followed him into the store, Ken shutting the door behind us just before a gust of wind brought an onslaught of rain.

A small round table was located to our left, its skeleton a fragile remnant of its former self, and we each took a seat on the four chairs surrounding it. It was almost like they were expecting us, but I was glad to lay back for a while.

Carefully pulling up his coat, Albert cradled Camila's lifeless form and placed it on the table, resting her on her side so that water began draining from the gears. He stood up and headed toward one of the shelves strewn with tools and mechanical parts over the sides.

"Ollie! Mind if I borrow a screwdriver and a few scraps?" He asked.

Ollie glanced at him absentmindedly, giving him a curt nod before returning to his work—counting coins, organizing papers, and he leaned back in a cushioned chair with a wrinkled newspaper, ink smearing some of the text.

I sunk into the chair, resting my hands on my pants before realizing that a red hue had seeped into the brown fabric, a stick, gooey feeling made my insides squirm. There would be some bandages somewhere around the shelves, right? My eyes drifted over to the array of shelves against the walls, eventually landing on the shelf behind the counter where a beige roll of bandages lodged in between two green-tinted bottles of medicine.

Making sure not to touch the table as I stood up, I limped over to the counter, careful not to drip any more blood on the floor. "Could I borrow a few bandages for my hands?"