Diamond City Trilogy

Chapter 10: The Backpack

The contents of the backpack were a blessing. Fresco hunkered down beside a tree and tore violently at the wrapper of a granola bar. The first bite tasted like heaven. He had no idea when he ate last, but the sight of food made him ravenous. As he chewed, he rifled through the rest of the stuff. Coach tossed in an old sweater, a couple of clean T-shirts, an unopened package of underwear, socks, and a worn pair of jeans. There was also a small towel and a bar of fresh soap Fresco took a moment to smell, inhaling deeply. He was disgusted by himself and decided his next act was to get clean and change clothes.

In the side pocket of the bag he found a toothbrush, a half-empty tube of toothpaste, two bottles of water, one he half downed to chase the sweetness of the granola and, in the other, the greatest gift of all. Five twenty-dollar bills unfolded in his hand. Fresco thanked Coach as he clutched the money to his chest before carefully folding it up and putting it back where he found it.

Fresco just finished eating when the hunger took him again. To his disappointment and regret, halfway through the seizure he threw up everything he ate. Frustrated by the waste of the precious food, Fresco beat his fists against the hard ground and ground his teeth in anger.

He was so close to giving in. His whole being craved something he couldn't identify, and he was terribly alone. The thought of going on was heavy and dark. He had no prospects, nowhere to turn and from what he could tell, no one would trust him until he shook free of whatever it was he was hooked on. He was tired, so tired, not sure he was strong enough to do it on his own.

For a brief, shining instant, Fresco caught a glimmer of the Diamond City in his mind and thought about ending it so he could go home.

A flash of memory chased away the image of the City. Fresco saw Daniel, happy, smiling Daniel, waving at him from across the street. The vision was so clear, the memory so bright and vivid, Fresco smiled back, tears standing in his eyes.

With the image of his brother firmly in his mind, Fresco found his courage again. Even the imagined love of Daniel was enough to give him the will to find out what was happening to him and why. If not just for himself, for Daniel as well. Fresco made the connection between the mysterious circumstances behind his brother's disappearance and death and his present circumstances in a flash of insight. His brother's loss two years ago had to be tied to what was happening to him now. Everything made a sick kind of sense and he hated himself for giving up on Daniel so easily.

He couldn't bring himself to even think about his parents.

Fresco found a cold stream far from the road and proceeded to get himself clean. He stripped the torn and filthy clothes from himself, noting with some revulsion there were scabbed sores on his feet and legs he couldn't identify. He eased himself into the cold water, shuddering at the temperature, but determined to get rid of the grime ground into his skin. He lathered up several times, using one of his old socks as a scrubber after cleaning it aggressively with a handful of gravel and some soap. His hair took forever to rinse clean. His arms grew weary from scrubbing, but he made himself continue, growing increasingly desperate to get rid of the stain of what he endured.

He had a terrifying moment when the desire seized him again. Fresco fell into the stream, face going under, feet finding no purchase against the slippery stones. He panicked as water filled his mouth, thrashing in the attack, struggling with the need to breathe. Bright lights flashed in his eyes as the blackness closed in around him. His lungs shrieked, spasming to inhale. Fresco felt a jab of utter clarity. If he didn't do something right now, he would die. Finding control he didn't know he possessed, he reached past the hunger. He forced it to release his clenched muscles. Fingers uncoiling, his grasping hands found and grabbed at a tree root and pulled. His face cleared the surface as he inhaled a great gasping breath, collapsing on the rocky shore as the residue of the attack passed. He lay panting, shivering from the cold, half-in, half-out of the uncaring stream. But he was alive and grateful and more determined than ever.

From then on, he hurried.

By the time he was clean, he was so revolted by the clothing he had been wearing he couldn't bear to touch them again. He planned to wash them, but piled them up instead with the toe of his sneaker before kicking leaves over them. He carefully dried off with the small towel and pulled on his new, clean and dry clothes, feeling better for the bath. His sneakers were filthy, but he wasn't in a position to do anything about them so he put them back on.

Fresco risked a few bites of a new bar and was pleased when the food stayed down. Feeling more like a human and less like a hunted animal, he faced a decision. He weighed his options and came up with two. Hide there in the woods until his small cache of food ran out, or go into town while he was feeling better and try to find out what really happened. Someone had the answers to his questions and was unwilling to hide from the rest of the world. He shouldered his backpack and headed for the city.

The bit of sleep he snatched combined with some food in his system gave him enough energy to make it downtown before he needed to rest. The exercise also seemed to hold off the want for the duration of his walk. Grass turned to concrete and his solitude was replaced by people. He flinched from them at first, the half-burned memory of seeing masks of truth clubbing him between the eyes. When nothing happened, he did his best to control the involuntary twitches brought on when he was bumped by passing pedestrians. He reached downtown in short order, with only his fear for company.

At the first jab of an attack, he collapsed on a graffiti-etched bench next to an overflowing waste bin, the smell of the rotting garbage making his stomach churn. It all washed away when the need rose up. He was in the open, but was unable to do anything about it. He sensed people rushing by, knew they were staring, but didn't care. All that mattered was the craving and the pain.

The attack eased at last, leaving Fresco sweating and gasping, trying to gather himself. He bowed his head, heart pounding, the despair returning. Daniel's face was dim and Fresco's hope waned.

He almost jerked away when he felt someone touch his shoulder. He looked up and into beautiful amber eyes, framed by thick black lashes and flawless mocha skin. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen sat down next to him on the bench and smiled at him.

"Are you okay now?" He found himself watching her full, shining lips form the words. Her voice was deep for a girl, sort of husky, but gentle.

"What?" He asked, pulling his focus back. Jeez, Fres, thinking about a girl at a time like this. Moron.

Her smile widened a little. "It can be rough at first," she said. "But you'll be okay if you'll let me help you."

When he registered what she said, a light switched on and he gasped.

"You too?" His words whispered to her.

She nodded, once. Fresco was no longer alone.

"We need to get moving," she said. "A lot of people saw your attack. I'm sure someone has called the police."

Fresco wanted more than anything to trust someone else. He was worn out facing it alone. Maybe, finally, he would get some answers.

She stood up and offered him her slender hand. He noticed her fingernails were painted a glistening pink. As his fingers neared her skin, he saw her begin to change before his very eyes, as though she were being encased in a sparkling diamond. She stood there, shining in the sun and his heart went to the City as the song swelled within him. He reached for her, not just with his hand, but with his very soul. The hunger grabbed him by the insides and tried to pull him apart.

He hadn't felt an attack so bad before. He was vaguely aware of the girl trying to get him moving, but he was so lost in agony it was impossible to do anything but twist with the pain. Her voice whispered to him through his torture.

"I'll find you again. You have friends, Fresco. Don't give up."

He felt her leave, even as his own mind went somewhere safer until the pain passed. Still tormented, he distantly heard male voices talking to him. He felt hands grip him and pull him upright. He dry heaved several times, the burning and clawing trying to cut him in half. He felt himself tossed onto something soft, heard peripheral to the pain the slamming of a car door.

Her face floated into his mind as his body swayed with the moving vehicle. He felt her and saw her as she was in the City and the pain rushed over him again.

Fresco gratefully blacked out.

***