A Taste of Home

Caelan adjusted his position, and the marksman rifle was ready. One final look through the scope, before he pressed the trigger. The bullet struck, missing the bullseye by less than an inch. He pressed his forehead against the floor while Matt celebrated beside him.

"And it's sixteen for me, fourteen for you!" Matt got up from the ground, hands raised above his head. "You are buying lunch this time, bud."

Caelan stared at the final hole he made. To most creatures, that would be enough to finish them off.

But not him.

He gripped the rifle, resisting the urge to hurl it away. He had to be better. Couldn't repeat the same mistake from the last shot. Caelan's pulse hammered as Matt clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I know what you thinking. And you should stop that shit already."

"Wind, distance, angle—everything lined up. And yet, he walked away." He covered his eyes with his forearm, keeping it hidden from Matt. "And because of my failure, four new attacks, with seventy-eight deaths. Not including the ones at the hospital."

"Which they would have done regardless of the Shepard's survival." Matt scratched the back of his neck. "Man, we're trying to put down something straight out of a horror flick. He took a bullet to the head and just walked it off! How the hell do we even fight that?"

Caelan remained silent for a moment. A myriad of possible new strategies flushed through his mind. Pros and cons are weighted against one another. "You should have taken the shot, not me."

"Brother, ninety-five percent of the work was the computer there." A hand was offered to the soldier on the ground. "Don't think me pulling the trigger would change much."

Caelan looked at the calloused fingers a second before taking them. "Next time, it's your shot."

With a massive grunt, Matt managed to pull his massive weight up. Caelan's knees cracked as he stood, muscles tight from holding position too long. "Here's an idea: We both shoot. You from an obvious place, me while hiding. We even sync it so the sound is mixed together."

Caelan chuckled at the idea. "That could work, I guess. Might need to try it next time."

-----

"So…" Caelan looked over the massive piles of junk all around him. "You work here?"

"More or less, aye." Nashoba opened his arms, the widest grin on his face. "This is a treasure trove of stuff you can rebuild and sell. If you know where to look."

Rosa clapped her tiny hands, eyes shining. Like an orchestra conductor, Nashoba bowed down to her. Meanwhile, Caelan evaluated the site. No civilians at night. Scrap piles tall enough to block sightlines. Plenty of blind corners to work with. Could be useful. 

"Your treasures sure smell a lot less like gold than I hoped." The displaced picked up a piece of rusted rebar from the closest pile. "At least in decent conditions."

"Oh, ye of little faith!" Nashoba crossed his arms, chest stuffed as he stared up. Rosa mimicked the same movement. "I shall demonstrate to you the full wonders of my promised land!"

They walked around the place, Nashoba greeting every collector by name. Exchanged a few words with each one, asked about their families, and things like that. He also introduced Caelan and Rosa, who grinned with enthusiasm at each one.

The air was thick with rust and oil, the scent of forgotten machinery and old sweat. Every step crunched against scraps of metal, some shifting with an unsettling creak underfoot.

She ran ahead at some point, which let Caelan whisper to his companion. "No luck in finding her parents?"

"Nah." She waved back at the girl waiting for them at a fork in the road. "No sign of anyone looking for a mute girl with hete… hete… hetewhatever. Not a single person."

"Heterochromia, you mean." Caelan picked up a mostly intact piece of metal and bent it. Too soft. He needed something sturdier. "Agreed, it's weird that no one's looking for her."

They watched the girl play with an elderly couple not too far ahead. Among the most experienced collectors there, according to Nashoba. Whose smile dropped as soon as Rosa took her eyes from him. "I suspect she had no one before the… thingy."

"Then she's got someone now." He clapped Nashoba's shoulder, offering a small smile before striding ahead. "Now move it, or the kid's gonna leave us in the dust."

-----

"Did I mention that I told ya?" Nashoba had Rosa in his arms while walking, both the same smirk directed at Caelan.

Caelan's gaze flickered up. He exhaled through his nose. Count to ten. Don't snap. Even if he deserved it. "Seven times. But who's counting?"

After hours of searching, they managed to find enough raw materials. Caelan wanted to take a bath and start working right away, but clinic duty awaited. Nashoba claimed he had nothing to do, so he decided to go visit Doc.

"Damn, today's a nice little cold, huh?" Nashoba closed his eyes, enjoying the "fresh" weather.

Body soaked in sweat, Caelan gave him a dumbfounded look. "This is cold to you?"

"Wait till ya see a good ol' scorcher. Then you tell me." He chuckled at Caelan's sigh. "You topsiders really don't know what's good!"

"Hey!" Caelan's head snapped around. "Speak louder, why don't you? I'm sure half the outpost missed that."

He got a scoff in return, before Nashoba leaned closer, voice in a whisper. "Relax, you look like a zoakri now. People are just gonna think you live there."

"I don't…" A mouth-watering smell reached the displaced's nose. The scent hit him like a memory he didn't have—savory, rich, and layered with something sweet. It curled into his lungs, stirring hunger he hadn't realized was there. He noticed it seemed to come from Doc's home, but when he turned to mention it, Nashoba drooled. "Hey, you…"

"No way!" Nashoba's ears perked up. He bolted forward without a second thought, nearly knocking over a stack of crates before throwing the door open. "Aunt Ye!"

The rich aroma of the kitchen wrapped around Caelan the moment he stepped inside. It reminded him of his visit to the ocean, at the rebuilt city of Sydney. He remembered the feeling of his bare feet on the water, the sounds of waves crashing in.

He cleaned up his drool, closed the door, and went into the kitchen.

Nashoba and Rosa had toned arms around them, lifting them in the air. Her skin like deep clay, smooth yet carrying the marks of a life well-lived. Her laughter filled the space with the colors of summer and childhood memories. Even Doc looked younger and lighter on his feet watching her.

"Now, look at you." She dropped the two zoakri down, before rushing to Caelan. "That looks like someone who enjoys a good meal, don't you Sugar?"

Caelan barely had time to brace before he was airborne. The sheer strength behind the hug sent alarm bells through his muscles—was this an attack or just an overenthusiastic welcome? By the time he caught his breath, warm lips smacked both cheeks. He blinked. His brain struggled to process it all.

How long has it been since I got a hug? Perhaps a year. Sam's deteriorating condition prevented most forms of contact in the final months.

"I know what you thinking. 'Why is this crazy old barrel trying to suffocate me?' It's just how we greet others back home, think nothing of it."

Doc growled a bit while stirring the immense pot at the stove. "Let the boy breathe a little, would you?"

She rolled her eyes at it, tongue stuck out at him. "Bet no one mentioned me before! Name's Yemanja, but unless you're my half-senile mother, you best call me Aunt Ye." The way her entire body seemed to laugh with her felt contagious.

Caelan chuckled, some of the energy filling him. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Caelan, in case no one mentioned me either."

"Ma'am?" She held one hand over the chest. "Do I look that old?" While Caelan struggled for words, she gave a playful push. "I'm kidding, Sugar. I've been through the wringer and back. Ain't no hiding it."

That's…" Yep, no winning this one. Abort mission.

She turned back to the stove, fingers snapped. "Now you go and help Nas there in setting the table. Been a long while since I had fresh fish and not that dried-up mess from the market."

Nashoba balanced a stack of plates. "Thought you would only come back next month, Auntie."

"Yeah, my sister's sickness had a development." She spooned some sauce onto a plate for tasting. Lips smacked, and she pulled some more herbs from the counter. "Her joining the matron had me return sooner."

Nashoba's ears dropped down. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright. She was seventy-eight, Honey. Was bound to die any day now." She waved it off, like shooing away a fly. "Although momma is still kicking. Might outlive all of us at this rate."

"Sure could use a longer break." Doc reached for a flatbread.

Without looking, Aunt Ye smacked at it with her spoon. "And leave you two alone? Eating whatever junk they serve at the bazaar?" She glared at Doc as he grumbled away. "As if!"

Caelan held back his laughter as he came close to the grumpy man. "Two battle-hardened generals in one house. No wonder the kitchen feels like a warzone."

"One more word and I'll have you licking those bandages clean."

The young man decided not to try his luck. He knew that was a promise, not a threat.

When they all sat at the table, Aunt Ye conducted a prayer. She wished the Matron peace in her eternal rest. Thanked the Guardians for taking down the Betrayer. And the lesser spirits for keeping the Hollow at bay and giving them food and health.

Caelan stayed silent. He didn't know the words, and lying—especially about faith—never sat right with him.

One spoonful of fish stew, and he was in heaven. In the blink of an eye, he finished and got seconds without even asking. His cheeks went red at eating so fast until he saw Doc gorging on his third plate.

Back on Earth, he ate fish a few times. On very special occasions, they had a limited production, with the Rot in the oceans bringing the leviathans of legend to life. He didn't think it too special back then. Too pricy for how bland it tasted.

Caelan hadn't met a proper cook his entire life.

For dessert, coconut candy. A creamy sweet enveloped in caramel, pretty much. The young man felt like he would gain back all his weight that afternoon.

Afterward, all three men sat in the living room, stomachs bursting. Rosa laid down on Caelan's lap, deep into a peaceful sleep. Caelan asked if they ate like that every day, to which Nashoba said only when Auntie felt like it. But she always made enough for three servings each.

"Now, a little coffee to finish on a high note." Aunt Ye brought a tray with four cups. "There's sugar and milk too, for the sweet tooths among us."

Caelan eyed the coffee like it was a potential threat. Nashoba drowned his in milk. Doc turned his into syrup. "Is that supposed to be hot like jet fuel?"

Nashoba chuckled, taking a sip. "That's how it should be."

The displaced looked to the window, to the heat waves on the street. To the shirtless zoakri gulping down the coffee like iced tea. When in Rome…

He took his black—like in the army. If nothing else, it was better than the soy sludge back home.

Doc leaned against his throne, his snores shaking the room. Nashoba hummed, his fingers tapping in the rhythm of the melody. Didn't take long for Aunt Ye to come back, snap a picture of the scene, and begin to work on her tricot.

Caelan should've been thinking about Doc's alchemy lessons. Or the ones still hunting him. Instead, for the first time since arriving, he just… relaxed. Part of him felt wrong for it, but all the others shushed it. "I hope you enjoyed it too, Leopold, wherever you are."

When was the last time he had a meal like this? One where he just enjoyed himself, without letting worries sour the experience? He reflected on how odd it was he didn't even remember all that until now, on the verge of sleeping.

He thought back to that meal—the one where Gramps tore him from his mother. Lunch? Dinner? Didn't matter. Many meals with them came to the surface, all spoiled in some way. Compared to those, his new friends gave off so much warmth he felt like melting. "So this is what a real family meal feels like?"

Caelan never knew if Leopold answered him. The weight of sleep took over, taking him down for the count. Straight into dreamless unconsciousness.