The letter car was really starting to feel stuffy by the time you all finally read or sent your letters. Maybe that was why you at least stopped for a good deep breath as the wasteland again rushed by outside. Wasn’t there some alternative to shuttling onto car after car, whatever they may hold? For a calm place without any Neko-Neko attacks, the last car still had plenty of unwelcome feelings to go around. Would the next place be better or worse? And how long could you all stand to keep going like this before the other option started to look appealing?
Perhaps even more tempting with the most suspicious among you walking along the railing again. If all it took was one little nudge…
But you couldn’t follow that thought much farther before someone finally broke up the awkward silence of the crossing.
“Is everyone doing all right?”
“I have a little fruit and bread if anyone’s feeling faint. There isn’t much, but I think there’s enough for all of you to have a little bit if it would help.”
“I wish I could offer more than a few bites, but it’s better than nothing.”
But the man on the railing scoffed.
“You’re complaining about food when I didn’t see ya grab any pizza? I can understand not stowin’ some away since that’s not gonna keep, but at least take advantage when you do run into something.”
“Miracle you people didn’t starve to death ages ago.”
“What the hell is dat supposed ta mean?!”
Unfortunately for Jack and possibly everyone else, Fenna happened to be in earshot, and she had had enough. She stepped out from the crowd and stormed over to him, heels clattering against the train’s metal flooring. Jack raised an eyebrow but turned to face her.
“I’m naht done! Something screwy’s goin’ on here. Yous said somethin’ like dat in the car wi’ dat train station, like it was old news… I thought ya woke up on the ice like me, but ya just keep fuckin’ wid us! Don’t think I didn’t see yous goin’ through those letters! And yer number…”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the hole in his glove over the back of his hand. Weren’t the numbers supposed to be on your palms?
“How long have yous been here?”
A healthy mix of amused and confused, Jack forewent any interruptions—he wasn’t sure how to respond to most of that, anyway. But the question was clear enough.
“Ah, man…” He scratched his head.
“Gotta be goin’ on seven, eight years now?”
“H-huh?”
“And what about my number?”
Hopping down to the actual walkway for once, he got his satchel out of his way, and then…
“Think I got yours beat.”
…Well. Someone wasn’t hitting zero anytime soon.
