Alex Reynard
The Library
Alex Reynard's Online Books
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Less than two hours later, Toby was sitting on the cushy vinyl seats of a sleigh no one would have ever imagined Santa Claus driving. Junella and Zinc turned out to have amazing skill in engineering, and George was happy as a chickadee on a spring afternoon as he trotted about carrying the heaviest loads and parts with ease.
He also revealed a hidden talent for flame-breathing. This was a natural ability of his 'species' of construct, but it still impressed the socks off Zinc and Junella when the stallion reared his head back and blew a fountain of flame towards the sky. He was a little rusty, but after a bit of practice on a derelict train car, he got back the knack of exhaling a thin, hot blade of fire that was useful for bending and shaping metal.
The base of their conveyance was the welded-together blades of two impossibly-enormous ice skates. The tops of the boots would have been nearly level with the Jennie-Mae's main deck. The blades alone were the height of monster truck tires. Toby tried to picture Junella and Zinc somehow taking down a frost giant big enough to wear them. Zinc was able to push them along with only moderate effort as the magic blades glided frictionlessly over the sand. They didn't tip over either. When Junella and Zinc were at work violently removing the leather and insulation from the boot-parts, it was clear the skates were also enchanted to stay upright no matter what. Definitely a better choice than wheels.
For the carriage, Junella decided to make a steel sandwich out of the interior of a station wagon and the exterior of some old foreign military transport that looked like an abstract trash can. It was a strong combination. They asked George to head-butt it and the metal hardly warped. George walked diagonally for a few moments afterwards.
Since they already had all the horsepower they needed, Zinc deep-sixed the station wagon's engine (but kept the battery for such things as headlights and windshield wipers). The now-hollow area under the hood made a fine storage space once Zinc tacked some old carpet down.
After they'd got the armored hide hoisted up and welded on, it was time to add some offense to their defense. By the time they'd finished, their ride sported some wicked spikes, a harpoon turret on the roof, floodlights, and a deployable weapon in the back like an ankylosaurus tail. Altogether, it looked like a snarling silver hellspawn.
Tail wagging frenetically, Zinc bounced over to the bleachers to ask Toby's opinion of the finished project. The mouse was almost too impressed to speak, though finally he was able to find some suitable adjectives. Zinc was pleased as punch.
"Since you're the client, how 'bout you get first crack at naming our chariot?" he offered.
Toby was about to refuse, but then a somewhat decent idea came to mind. "...The Fearsleigher?"
The canine's smile lit up. "Yeah, man! That's so past crazy, it's radioactive!" And he jumped up to grab his airbrush.
A moment later, Toby was wondering whether he dared say anything about Zinc's spelling. Their new chariot now had 'FEERSLEYR' written above the back fender. With a few extra 'ZINC's thrown in nearby. The canine beamed with pride.
Soon enough, their newly-christened machine had all of its finishing touches finished. Toby was finally able to feel useful by helping Zinc and Junella pack. Then it was time to get George all strapped in. They'd had to make their own harness, though that turned out to be for the best. Since George had no skin, they could anchor the straps directly to his spine and ribcage. And no need for a bridle; Junella could simply shout. Or, if they encountered weather loud enough to drown out her voice, she had two buzzers rigged up on the left and right sides of the hood to indicate direction. Honking the horn would mean full stop.
Due to the massive skating blades, the chassis of their beast was so high up off the ground they'd had to install a small ladder on each side to reach the doors. They let Toby get in first and he wriggled himself into the back seat. Right away, he thought that this would not be a bad place to spend the next four days. His hosts had chosen some very comfy, roomy seats. They'd even rubbered over some of the exposed welds and rivets so he wouldn't bonk his kneecaps on bumpy roads.
Toby had been wondering how in blazes they were going to get the Fearsleigher out of the junkyard and through the Jennie-Mae. He kept his mouth shut about it though, figuring that Junella and Zinc couldn't possibly have overlooked that. And they hadn't. Once everyone and everything was on board, Zinc unlocked a section of the fence which swung out onto the street. He climbed up into the passenger seat and hollered for George to goose it. The spectral stallion was in the mood to show off and broke into a gallop like he was pulling nothing more than a few helium balloons. Thanks to a timed clockwork mechanism, the gate shut itself after they exited. And Junella's buzzers worked just fine to direct George around in a circle to the opposite end of the junkyard. There, Toby saw another doorway, like the one with the rug, but this one was so wide they could have flown a small plane through. Toby also saw about seven of the soulsucking serpent-ghosts Zinc had mentioned, all hissing and steaming and squirming, and he screamed appropriately. George just guffawed and stampeded through them with a sound like stepping on toothpaste.
They emerged pretty much out of thin air back in Phlogiston. There was no accompanying doorway here, and Toby saw Scrofula blink out of sight the instant they'd fully passed through. He also spotted a very-not-round-anymore Tinder Fingers, who took one look at George and scrambled away faster than Toby had ever seen anyone move with a limp.
Soon Phlogiston was behind them, the receding houses looking like lined-up pints of milk. George was whinnying joyfully. He shouted behind him that the sleigh's blades were so frictionless that even with the weight of all the armor and armaments, they were no more trouble to haul than carrying a single passenger. Junella was overflowing with smug pride at her design choice. She gave Zinc a satisfying backscratch for being good construction equipment. His wagging tail thumped on the dashboard.
As they rode, Zinc was happy to act as Toby's tour guide. He rolled down the windows and pointed at the animate clothing items scurrying around the desert. "Never put one of those on!" he warned. He then described, in stomach-churning detail, how they had little hooklike teeth on the inside that would devour alive anyone who wore them. Toby tried to hold down the remains of his orange.
Junella turned the radio to some light jazz. Toby was surprised there were actually broadcasting stations in Phobiopolis. Though it was also possible the radio worked simply by magic. Regardless, the music was quite effectively calming. He could focus on that instead of Zinc rambling on about all the various beasties that lived in the surrounding countryside, and all their preferred ways of gobbling up the hapless.
Despite having been looking out the window the whole time, Toby couldn't have pinpointed the spot where the ashy desert turned into a festering green swamp. It had just... happened somewhere along the way. He got the feeling this was going to be a recurring theme. He watched the ground bubble and steam. Huge green blisters inflated and popped, like the whole area was a simmering sauce on a hot stove. He watched the leaning trees slowly trudging to and fro on their roots, looking like tired men returning home from hard labor. He watched a swirling black cloud in the distance reveal itself as a swarm of thousands of swooping creatures, seemingly made of nothing more than batwings and teeth. He watched one dart into the toxic water below and come up with someone's decomposing, bony arm. The mouse quickly turned away to stare at the back of the front passenger seat. He was very glad to be inside their little traveling fortress rather than outside.
They passed other vehicles occasionally. Usually they were going so fast, Toby only caught glances of grilles and trunks, but all these other "cars" looked just as customized for defense as theirs. He saw one with a cow-catcher, another that was so covered in shards of picket fence it looked like a hedgehog. He saw a two-door subcompact with tank treads twice as big as the chassis.
The Fearsligher's speed decreased somewhat as the road got muddier and muckier. The swamp itself changed into a sprawling, distorted sewage treatment plant. Organic gave way to a melted sort of industrial. Rocks were now crude little scribbled buildings. Trees were pipes and pumps. The batwinged things now looked like ragged scraps of trash bags, still snatching stomach-churning prey out of the muck below. And the ground still bubbled, sending sprays of foul, fetid liquid fountaining up into the sky with every explosion. Everyone rolled up the windows to keep out the stench of rotting plants and dung. Toby grew increasingly worried that the road would keep on dwindling until it vanished entirely under the glop.
'What would it be like to drown in this lake of filth?' his brain asked him, and he fought back quease.
Then, right in the middle of nowhere, they came upon a little store.
Just when the road itself had narrowed to a single lane and George was up to his ankles in gunk, there by the side of the road was a flat, smooth concrete parking lot full of vehicles, next to a wood-paneled general store. The sign above was carved from the side of a felled tree: TRACHEA'S TRADING POST. The place looked modern-ish. Toby spotted vending machines, ice coolers and an air conditioner around the perimeter; the doors even opened automatically when customers walked in and out. But the general feel of things was slightly before his time. It reminded him of photos his mother had shown him of her childhood.
Toby thought at first that someone would have to be insane to build anything out here. But then he reconsidered. Wouldn't anyone traveling down this disgusting road be looking for an oasis? The parking lot was nearly full. And from the looks of the cheerfully-chewing citizens at the picnic tables near the edge of the lot, either there had to be some magic spell around the place keeping the smell out, or these people had no noses.
Junella called out for George to find a parking spot, and he was quite relieved to hear it. Not because he was getting tired, he told them, but because he could finally scrape the slime off his hooves.
Zinc curled himself around the seat. "How ya holdin' down that orange, chief?"
Toby smiled a little. "Just fine, actually."
"Good, good. You'll be livin' off snacks for the afternoon, and they'll probly hit your stomach harder. This place has a smorgasbord of road food. Everything neat 'n pre-packaged."
In his peripheral vision, Toby saw Junella open her door to get out. He immediately clamped a paw over his nose.
Zinc guffawed. He opened his door too and made a show of drawing in a deep breath.
Toby warily poked his head out too. The sky was still overcast, the ground was still a boiling green sludgepit, yet the air smelled... Well, not exactly okay. There was still a faint twinge of decay. Though it was massively less than the stench he'd breathed in before. With caution, he tiptoed down the ladder to the concrete. It felt oddly reassuring to have something solid under his feet.
The skunk and canine both grabbed sacks from under the hood-trunk and headed for the shop. Toby tagged behind, but made sure to give George a 'thank you' pat first.
The cars in the lot and the customers emerging from them were all as weird as Toby had come to expect by now, but the interior of Trachea's Trading Post was one of the most boringly normal places he'd seen so far. Boring, in this case, was incredibly welcome. Once he stepped through the doors that 'ding'ed and slid out of his way, Toby felt like maybe he could relax and not worry about being attacked by anything here.
Trachea's Trading Post was comfortably dim and smelled of wood. Framed photographs, strangely curled antlers, road signs and other memorabilia decorated the walls. The shelves came up to around shoulder height, making it look from the front of the store like the customers' heads were a horizontal Pacman game. The walls and shelves were stocked with gardening and hunting equipment, storage containers, auto parts, camping supplies. Lots of food. All canned and wrapped though; no fresh produce. Toby thought of the sludge outside and was not surprised. The only really creepy thing in here was the statue up at the front of the store. A brown bear in a trenchcoat and a broad black hat. It stood with tiny unblinking eyes, looking like someone had grabbed its muzzle and torn downwards. The fur and flesh were missing in a wide strip, showing dusty bone beneath.
Toby turned away and looked towards an endcap full of candy bars. He felt a naughty tingle at the base of his neck. He hadn't been allowed to eat candy for several years now. But at that moment he decided to be slightly bold. He let himself accept the fact that food did not work the same way here. He'd seen enough proof of it by now that it was silly to continue worrying. Having only eaten some berries and an orange since his arrival, he should have starved to death ten times over. Or at least looked like a malnourished raisin. Instead, he looked and felt considerably better than he had before he'd begun this long dream. Even without his pills! So, he felt relatively confident in concluding that a few sweets wouldn't kill him.
Though of course he was going to check the ingredients first. In a place like this, 'candy' might mean anything. Green beans and severed fingers dipped in caramel, perhaps?
When he got close enough to scan the names of the treats, he experienced a wholly unexpected kind of unease. The words. None of them made sense. It was like the vision-blurring side effect his pills had given him sometimes. The illustrations all showed normal things like chocolate, nuts, marshmallow, etcetera, but the harder he tried to read the brightly-colored words printed on the little plastic packages, the less sense they made.
Crunky Kids
Bloodbacon
And Now Tits!
Bathroom: The Candy
Help! Ovals!
Tiny Mole Skulls
Break My Foot
Cyclone-Flavored
Walnut Terror
Bumborated Mom Oils
And that was just the words he could make out! Others were strings of symbols, or letters cracked into pieces, or designs that actually swirled around and around the wrappers like snakes.
Everything was melting. The feeling was so overwhelmingly wrong, Toby jumped backwards and would have crashed into a display of postcards had Zinc not zipped in to catch him. The mouse winced as his elbows hit metal.
"Whoa, hoss!" Zinc hollered. He tried as gently as he could to steady his quaking client. "Fainting spell or what?"
The blurriness was starting to recede from the edges of his vision. Toby shook his head and gave Zinc a nod of thanks. This added some fresh befuddlement to the mouse's mind, as he noticed that the canine had a soda can tucked into the empty space between his ears. Toby tried to form a coherent sentence. "The candy... words... did... things," he pointed over his shoulders.
Zinc's homemade eyebrows popped up in a moment of realization. "Lemme guess: you haven't read too much since you got here?"
Toby tried to remember. "I've read street signs," he said. "None of them started blurring and moving like the candy just did."
The canine nodded and patted Toby's shoulders in an 'I know exactly what this is' kind of way. "It's been so long I almost forgot when it happened to me. This place is dreamstuff, right? And we can't read in dreams. It's, like, two different parts of the brain. I read that somewhere. So a few words at a time? Your brain can handle that. Too much writing at once? You freak out like you just did."
Toby felt a completely new type of terror plunge his heart into ice water. "I'M ILLITERATE NOW!?" he wailed, startling some other customers. His mind's eye saw his bookshelves at home, all his favorite stories, all useless now!
"No, no! Cool your damn jets!" Zinc said, wishing he could slap this panicking kid back to reality, but not able to for fear of decapitating him. "It's temporary! 'Cause remember, this isn't a dream but just works like one. You just have to get good at it again. It takes a while, yeah, and it's a pain in the ass, but you'll make it eventually."
Toby visibly slumped with relief. "Really?"
"Cross my heart. I'll grab a baby book for you to practice on in the car. Now, go over to that display again, pick up one bar of candy, and read the name."
The mouse nodded. He turned around and tried not to look directly at any of the packages. He reached for one, feeling like he was dipping into a bucket of worms. His fingers touched crinkly foil.
Coconutto, it said, and showed a cartoon squirrel drinking from a halved coconut with a paper umbrella in it. Toby blinked. When he looked again, the name did not change to anything awful like A Pile Of Toes. He put it back and selected another one. He'd remember it had been called Help! Ovals! before, and now it just said Steve's Delight, which was slightly unusual, but still firmly within the realms of candy-nomenclature plausibility.
Zinc chuckled to himself at the droop-mouthed look of wonder on his client's face. He started scooping handfuls of candy into his orange plastic basket.
"This one still says Bloodbacon," Toby said uneasily.
Zinc reached over and snatched it up with a 'yoink'. "Yep! Not sure what it's doin' in with the candy, but you shoulda guessed by now that not all the food's normal in the 'Opolis. We got our own style of cuisine, dig? Bloodbacon's one of my favorites. Ever had blood pudding? Nah, I'm guessin' not. But it's like that. With bacon! Meaty as all hell. A good snack for right after a fight."
That did not sound appealing, and Toby conveyed this with his expression.
"Suit yourself. Hey, I'm gonna go bother Trachea for a while." He thrust his basket into Toby's hands. "You practice not reading too much and see if you can find some kaka you can make yourself eat, okay? Good luck," he added as he headed abruptly down the aisle.
'Allright,' Toby thought.
He could do this. He wasn't a baby.
It was more difficult than he expected though. It was like his brain kept trying to push his eyes away from any words they encountered. The letters kept sliding around. He mostly went by the illustrations or photos on the packages. Checking the ingredients list on anything was futile. He might as well have been trying to read a pile of hair clippings. Toby had a sudden moment of extreme sympathy for dyslexics.
Eventually though, he picked out a few things that looked simple enough to not contain unpleasant surprises. He was even confident enough to move on to the salty snacks aisle and pick out a few things there too. Though he slipped a few times, read too much at once, and saw names like Banana Grammas, I Fear The Sun, and BLUK NEWNT.
Just as Toby was adding a muffin to the cart, he froze on the spot and had a disconcerting thought: The map. He'd been able to read Junella's map just an hour ago. Why? If what Zinc had said was true (and why would he lie?), then looking at the map should have triggered the dream-illiteracy long before looking at the candy. Was there a difference? All he could think of was that the map was large enough that he could focus on just one place name at a time. They weren't as clustered together as the candy bars. Still, it made him wonder if any of those strange territories' names hadn't actually been what he'd read them as. They were all so bizarre, he couldn't have known at the time. Though Junella and Zinc had named a few, and those names had matched the map.
Head swirling, Toby walked towards the front of the store, nearly tripping over a fat lady whose head was a snail shell. The mouse did not notice. Though he did get a jolt when he saw Zinc talking animatedly with that partly-skinned bear statue.
It wasn't a statue at all!
Its stare was so faraway and unblinking, the eyes might as well have been glass. If it moved, its motions were as slow as stone grinding on stone. Toby watched from a distance as Zinc pointed out all the weird stuff he'd poured out of his backpack onto the bear's countertop. It looked like a collection of trinkets, garbage, electronics, even some kind of mummified animal spine. There was no telling whether the bear was interested or not, or if he was even hearing Zinc at all.
"...at great personal risk to life and pelt," Zinc prattled on. "I estimate its value to be more than enough to pay off our bill today. You might even have to make change. But, just because I like you, I'm gonna sweeten the pot with this."
Toby couldn't fathom how Zinc was able to reach into the backpack and remove something so small so effortlessly. It was a chunk of night-blue stone on a delicate chain. He set it reverently on the counter.
Under the black brim of his tire-wide hat, the bear's eyes rolled slowly towards the item Zinc had presented.
"IT IS FAKE," he said.
Toby jerked back and accidentally toppled a few boxes of cereal. That voice was like a compressed thunderstorm! It was not particularly loud, but penetrating. It felt like a black hole that all other sounds vanished into.
Zinc's muzzle stretched out in a shit-eating grin. "Hey, pops! C'mon! I never said it was a REAL Zulamang Drop! If I had one of those, don't you think I'd be offering to buy the store off you? Naw, this, this is a very nice replica. It'd make a nice gift for a nice lady. Bit of costume jewelry, eh?"
"SELL IT SOMEWHERE ELSE," came the reply. "THE REST IS GOOD."
Zinc nodded as if he'd pretty much expected this result, but it had been worth a try anyway. As he slipped the necklace back into his bag, he noticed Toby and giggled at the fear in the mouse's coral eyes. "He's not gonna bite ya. This is Sander Trachea. Shopkeep. Fair guy. Doesn't like to waste his breath on small talk though."
Toby took a few tiny shuffling steps closer. "...hello?" he meekly squeaked.
The eyes in that immobile face swiveled towards him. Toby could not help but stare at the ragged edges of skin around where the man's nose and mouth had once been. Now there was nothing but sun-bleached bone and teeth. Toby could see Sander's neck, spine, and both the front and back of his ribcage. He looked as hollow inside as an old coat. He was standing just behind the counter, and Toby wondered how much of the man was left down there.
Sander spoke. "NEW?"
It took a moment for Toby's brain to force his eyes to stop staring. "I wasn't staring!! Sorry!! Yes! I just... I just wound up here a week or so ago."
Zinc stifled a laugh.
Trachea did not seem insulted. "IF YOU ARE NOT A THIEF, YOU HAVE NO REASON TO FEAR ME," he reassured.
"I'm not! I was gonna pay for these, honest!" the mouse said, putting the basket of snacks on the counter.
"Actually, I'm paying for them this time," Zinc let Toby know. "Lemme just grab Junebug and see if I've got enough to cover it all."
He zipped off then, leaving Toby alone in front of the hulking, scarecrow-like shop owner, whose eyes still bored into his.
Toby said nothing.
Trachea said nothing.
Toby said nothing.
Trachea said nothing.
"Does that hurt?" Toby finally asked, pointing with his finger along the edge of torn bear fur.
"NO. IT ITCHES SOMETIMES THOUGH, WHEN THE WEATHER IS HOT."
"Sorry to hear that."
Nothing in the bear's stony face moved per se, but for a moment he appeared amused that this tiny rodent felt both fear and concern in his presence.
Toby tapped his foot, waiting for Zinc to return. To squash the awkward silence, he asked, "Do you... have any tips for a recent arrival in Phobiopolis?"
Trachea thought for a moment before answering. "BE NEAR OTHERS YOU TRUST. THE WORST COMES WHEN YOU ARE ALONE."
Toby gulped at that. But it probably was sound advice. It had held true for his 'adventures' so far.
Junella appeared, pushing a shopping cart full of pointy items. Toby saw the tips of harpoons. A few bullets dropped out of the bottom of the cart and rolled down the aisle.
With just a glance, Trachea totaled up the value of all her items. He added it to the foodstuffs in the basket. "NOT ENOUGH."
"C'mon, man!" Zinc whined.
"I HAVE TO STAY IN BUSINESS AND I HAVE TO STAY ALIVE," he insisted.
Toby heard a faint metallic creak as Zinc rolled his eyes. He walked over to stand beside the counter. "Allright, but you know I don't like this."
"NO ONE DOES," Trachea acknowledged, as he silently rotated to face the canine.
Toby came up beside Junella. He meant to ask her what was about to happen, but she had the look of a shopper who'd not found half of the items on their list and just wanted to pay and get the hell out. Toby chose not to perturb her.
Zinc bobbed back and forth on his feet, looking antsy. "Let's go already, pops. Get it over with."
Trachea replied with a nod. Then his skeletal jaw opened wide, and his eyes glowed white.
He inhaled.
Toby and Zinc both gasped at the same time. The mouse from horror, the canine because the breath was being literally snatched out of his lungs. Toby could see the space between them flutter as the bear drew in Zinc's inner wind. Trachea's mouth opened wider. The stolen air swirled inside him like a tornado. His mouth whined like a turbine engine.
Zinc's cheeks pulled in. His eyes rolled back. His shirt clung tight to his chest, and soon his ribs were visible through it. His flesh withered. He was being sucked dry like a cardboard juice box.
"STOP IT!!" Toby suddenly yelped. The mouse ran at Trachea and pounded him with his balled-up fists. He succeeded in creating a soft thumping sound, nothing more.
The bear stopped. He looked down towards the mouse.
Toby looked up and his eyes widened. He squeaked like a nonev and leapt back several feet, anticipating the swipe of a wide paw that'd swat away all his skin.
Zinc staggered a bit as he instinctively gulped down fistfuls of air. With each breath, he re-inflated slightly until he was back to looking like his usual self. He coughed a bit, then turned to Toby and snarled, "Not helpful!!"
Toby was stunned. He thought he'd just saved his friend's life...
Junella looked over at Toby with the cruelest little grin he'd ever seen. "You are so... damn... fragile."
Toby was feeling a rotten combination of humiliation and confusion. He stammered before he could force a defense out. "I th-th-thhh- I thought he was hurting Zinc! I already watched him get lit on fire earlier today! I just... panicked!"
Sighing, Zinc walked over (still a little wobbly) and patted Toby's shoulder. "Look, your compassion is touching my heart. Truly. But d'you really think I'd just stand there and let that happen if I didn't know what was coming? Do I look that stupid?"
That stung. Toby's cheeks burned. "I panicked," he said again.
Trachea decided to intercede. "I NEED BREATH TO SURVIVE. BUT I DESPISE STEALING. I OPENED MY STORE SO PEOPLE WOULD COME AND TRADE ME WHAT I NEED. IT DOES NO PERMANENT HARM."
Zinc nodded. "...What he said. It sucks-" he paused to appreciate the unintentional pun, "-but that's how it is. I come here every other weekend or so. Either me or Junella volunteers. We get groceries and he gets breath. We both get fed."
Toby looked down at the floor tiles. "I'm sorry. I've just never seen... that happen before."
"I guess I shoulda warned you," Zinc said with a growl of frustration.
In that growl, Toby heard plenty that was unspoken. Zinc had been trying to be a friend to this new client, and was now realizing he'd have to play babysitter instead. Toby was not without empathy. He could see Zinc and Junella's position. They were survivors. He was not. On their journey to Anasarca, there would be things they wouldn't bat an eyelash at that would send him into pants-wetting fits of screaming. Toby could understand how annoying that would soon become for both of them.
He glanced around and saw other customers looking at this little drama unfolding by the front counter. His cheeks burned hotter.
"I WILL CONSIDER YOUR BILL PAID," Trachea said, wanting to spare the frail mouse the sight of him feeding again. "GOOD JOURNEY TO YOU."
Junella didn't bother bagging anything. She just wheeled her cart past Toby and shot a look at Zinc that said, 'I knew he was gonna turn out to be like this.'
The canine nodded back to her, and Toby could see in his eyes that he was feeling foolish for trying to be chummy with their client. When Zinc spoke again, his tone was that of a professional guide, nothing more. "Bring the food. Keep it in the back seat with you. Take whatever you like."
As he watched the automatic doors slide open for Junella and Zinc to exit, Toby briefly wished he could just dream himself transformed into a wall decoration and stay here from now on. Motionless, wordless, and not an embarrassment to anyone.
George greeted them brightly when they exited the store, suggesting that maybe they could enjoy a nice outdoor lunch together at the picnic tables. Junella and Zinc didn't even acknowledge him as they walked past. Zinc pulled himself up into the car and slammed the door while Junella simply upended her cart into the hood. Then she slammed it shut too and snickered as the noise made Toby flinch. He did not look up at her. Toby also didn't make eye contact with George as he drifted past and poured himself up into the back seat. George was rather perplexed, wondering what in the world had just taken place inside.
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