Repatriation pt8
Roy pushed the welding mask off his face. Despite the winter chill, rivulets of sweat streamed down his bald head. Wiping a filthy, gloved hand across his face, he stepped away from the bunker door. He growled with dissatisfaction. A few clumps of unsightly flash marred the rows of tiny 'c's' in the weld.
"It'll have to do," he grunted.
He swung the door shut, checked the lock worked. Gathering his welder and tools, he returned to the bunker's depths.
"Nice work."
Her slightly accented voice made Roy start. Snatching at a hose that dangled from his fist, the engineer turned to face her. He felt his heart stop and the moisture evaporate from his mouth.
"You found the spare clothing then?"
Chanda dipped her head in a slight bow, thrust her arms out and turned on the spot. She wore a plaid shirt in red and black checks. An old leather belt cinched over-sized blue denims at her waist, though Roy shifted his stare from the fabric stretched tight over her behind.
"I didn't even know I had one of those tucked away."
He nodded to the blue, sleeveless body-warmer. She'd slung the zip low, revealing the lines of her throat. Roy watched a vein pulse gently in her neck. He ran a hand across his face, resumed eye-contact.
"I wouldn't be wearing feral cow hide if I did."
Chanda smiled, reached back to adjust the band holding her long, dark hair in a ponytail.
"You need a hand with that or...?"
"I'm good."
Ignoring the flutter of wings in his chest, he raised the welder with ease.
"There's a couple of fuel cans out front. The oil's done, but she may need a top-up."
"On my way."
She walked out into the early morning light. Scents of soap filled Roy's throat when she passed. He recognised it, had been making it in his workshop for twenty years. It smelled different, somehow lighter.
Shaking his head, he hefted the arc welder onto his shoulder and headed to the workshop. Despite the corpse having been dragged out into the snow, the air still hummed with the stink of liquefied mutant. Returning the welder to its allotted place, he scanned the racks of tools and paraphernalia, thinking of anything he may need for the trip.
"Roy?"
Fists clenched, he turned to Dave's voice. The man was a shadow in the room's corner, the lower half of his body hidden behind a lathe. His head jutted awkwardly to the left, displaced by the swaddled bundle clutched tight to his right shoulder.
"You shouldn't be in here," Roy growled, hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention.
Dave moved out from behind the tool station. One hand extended, palm out as if to calm the engineer, he stepped into the light. Pearls of sweat glistened on his brow. His waxy skin was white, almost bloodless.
"I know. Sorry, I just wanted a word in private."
Roy's knuckles cracked from the pressure in his fists. Jaw muscles spasmed as he ground his teeth.
"Right," he said, unwilling and unable to hide the disgust in his voice.
Dave stepped closer, hand still extended. He rocked the swaddled child as he moved. Grace remained still, silent.
"Chanda likes you," Dave smiled, fingers brushing Roy's rawhide lapel.
"It's my outgoing personality," Roy growled, shifted his body weight so Dave's fingers slipped from his shoulder.
"Sure," the younger man said, cradling the back of Grace's head.
"I know I blew my chances with her. Before all this," he gestured around the workshop, taking in more than the room itself.
"I was an idiot. A bastard. But I've grown, I'm a better person now."
Dave's lips pulled back in a grin. His cheeks stretched at the corners. He look unnatural, insane.
"I just wanted to say, look after her out there. I'd never have had Grace if it wasn't for her."
Resisting the urge to grab Dave's throat, Roy balled his hands into fists. Pushing past the sensation of wrongness emanating from the obviously unwell man, Roy stared square into his watery blue eyes.
"Chanda's more than capable of looking after herself, don't you think?"
Dave lowered his eyes. The freakish smile still splayed across his features, the younger man carried his child past Roy.
"You know what I mean," he said, patting the engineer's shoulder.
Scratching his beard, Roy watched him and the child leave the workshop. They disappeared around a corner, into the living quarters. A moment later, he caught the low drone Dave singing to his daughter.
"I certainly do not know what you mean," he whispered.
Shaking his head, Roy returned to cataloguing the supplies he'd need for their journey.
-TBC-