20

The Human Machine

Bog’s mother hobbled over roots and stones, leaning on her walking stick. She led them through the forest to a rutted dirt road. When Bog saw the car, as blue as the daytime sky, his heels dug into the earth.

“I’ll never get in a human machine.” The oil-and-metal scent burned the inside of his nose. He backed against a tree trunk.

Hannie gripped his hand and tried to tug him forward. “Please, Bog? Just once? We could get to my aunt faster.” Her grey eyes were huge. “I’m tired of walking.”

“I don’t care how long it takes—” Bog stopped, thinking of Jeddal’s statue, exposed and vulnerable. Could he reach Jeddal faster with this car?

“I’m not walking to Strongarm on a sprained ankle.” His mother opened a door to the car and a light popped on inside. “We can be there by midday.” She gestured for him to climb in.

Bog squinted and looked away. The eastern sky was still dark, although the sun would soon rise. Could a car travel all the way to Strongarm—a distance that took days to walk—by midday?

Bog’s mother edged closer to the open door. She re-adjusted her weight to her good leg and used her walking stick to reach into the car and press a button. The light turned off.

“How did you—” he began.

“Get in.” She tapped her walking stick against his legs.

Bog glared at her and then climbed into the front of the car. His knees pressed against the ledge before him, which was dotted with mysterious buttons and dials. His mother’s sharp scent combined with a strange plastic smell to create a sickening blend. She shut the door, trapping him.

Hannie scrambled into the back seat of the car, dropped her pink rucksack, and hung over the back of his seat.

“Thank you so much, Bog.” Her voice was loud beside his ear. “I know you’re going to love my aunt.”

Bog’s mother slid into the seat beside him and tucked her walking stick on the floor next to her door.

“I thought my aunt forgot about me, but now she’s come back.” Hannie was in such a rush to talk that she stumbled over her words.

Bog hugged his rucksack until he could feel the bulk of the Nose Stone through the leather. One ride in a car would be worth it to save Jeddal.

“She used to sing to me. I liked the song about the baby sleeping in the forest.” Hannie’s voice pitched higher. “I hope she remembers it.”

The car roared to life and then jerked forward. Bog braced himself as his stomach lurched.

His mother pressed a few buttons. His window magically slid down a crack. It startled him, but he was grateful for the fresh air.

Trees began to slide by, rushing faster as the car gained speed.

“Oooh.” He held his stomach. Closing his eyes only made it worse.

“Bog?” Hannie said. “What’s wrong?”

He pointed to the rapidly moving earth, sky, and forest.

“But it’s like flying.” Hannie spread her arms wide.

Their pace increased alarmingly when they turned onto a road paved smooth with tar and stone. Bog pressed against the window and stared at the blur of trees, rocks, and sky until his eyes watered. The whole car shook. He wondered what kind of magic could make a machine go so fast.

Eventually, Hannie fell asleep in the back seat, her belly rumbling. The car swayed over the bumps in the road, carrying them closer to Strongarm. When the sun rose, Bog squinted, twisting in his seat to face away from the light—toward his mother.

Bog’s mother reached into a compartment between them.

“Put these on.” She held out a plastic object.

“I don’t want it.” Bog pushed it away.

“Don’t be a fool.” She held them over his eyes.

The blinding sunlight dimmed.

“You made the dark come!” He felt the thing on his face.

“They’re sunglasses. They filter the sun’s rays. You used to adore them when you were little.” She showed him how to hook the sunglasses over his ears.

Bog didn’t want to wear anything human, but these sunglasses were wonderful.

He stared past his mother out the window, watching the land and sky fly by faster than he thought possible. They passed under shady cliffs of ancient rock and then burst back into the light that blinded him in spite of the sunglasses. Bog was exhausted by the constant motion, the hum of the car, and the assault of sunlight, but he couldn’t sleep with his mother around.

He watched her push pedals on the floor with her good foot. She seemed to be guiding the car around corners with the wheel in front of her. Although he was curious about how the car worked, he had more important questions for her.

“Tell me about the police,” he said.

His mother smiled. “What do you want to know?”

“Do they shut down all the logging camps?”

“No. Only the illegal ones.”

The car went over a bump. “Illegal.” Bog held his stomach. “What does that mean?”

“It means against the law.”

Bog wrinkled his nose, confused.

“We have rules—called laws—that everyone must follow. Humans are allowed to log, but the laws state how much anyone can cut at once in any one area. The logging camp you found was operating against the law. If anyone breaks a law, they can be arrested by the police.”

“Arrested means captured?”

“Sort of. People who break the law may have to pay a fine or go to jail.”

“Like Hannie’s father? You said he’ll be locked up.”

“Yes. Why do you care about all this?”

He ignored her question. “Do the police have laws about killing humans?”

“Of course.” She snorted.

“Do they have laws about killing trolls?”

Her face reddened. “No.”

“Maybe they should.”

His mother was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Bog, I care about you. I want you to—”

“If you care about me, you’ll never hunt another troll again, especially Jeddal, and you’ll stop teaching other hunters how to destroy us.” Bog’s nostrils flared.

His mother’s knuckles went white on the wheel. “Forget about trolls. I’m your family now. You should stay with me.”

“Never.”

“But, Bog, you can walk in the sun! You don’t belong in the shadows. Hannie belongs with humans, and so do you.”

Bog shook his head and stared stonily out the front window.

The car slowed. The squeal of grinding metal cut through his head.

He covered his ears, but Hannie didn’t even wake up. “Why are we slowing down?”

“There’s a restaurant up ahead. Even if you don’t want to come in, you’d better put on some clothes.”

He grimaced. “I’ll stay in the car.” He pulled on a hooded shirt. Once again, he needed to hide who he was.

When the car stopped, Bog nudged Hannie, relieved to have an excuse to wake her.

“Bog? Are we there yet?” She was groggy with half-open eyes.

“We’re getting some food,” he said. “What do you want?”

Hannie perked up, rattling off a list.

“I’ll see what I can do,” his mother said. Then she asked Bog, “And you?”

He hunched low in his seat, wary of the parked cars around them. “Not hamburgers.” His stomach was still queasy. He doubted he could eat anything.

“I think I know what to get you.” His mother turned off the car and headed into the restaurant.

A few minutes later, she was back with silver containers for each of them. Hannie squealed. The car filled with a mix of smells, but the salty scent coming from Bog’s food made his mouth water.

He inhaled, feeling the tug of distant memories. It was a scent he recognized. Somehow, he even knew the name.

Bacon.

His head began to spin, unraveling memories of his mother. A warm room filled with delicious smells. Bacon sizzling in a pan. The floral smell of his mother’s hair. How had she developed that sharp, biting odour?

Bog was woozy with scent-memory. Who was his mother, really?

He remembered looking over Jeddal’s shoulder, bouncing as his father walked. Leaving the cabin they’d shared with his mother. Crying out for her. Devastated at the loss of her.

“Why aren’t you eating your bacon?” she asked. She was driving with one hand, and eating some kind of bread with the other. “Don’t you like it?”

Bog’s stomach growled. The bacon smelled delicious.

He took a large crunchy bite.

The salt melted against his tongue.

His mother smiled.

After Bog ate, sleep took him. He tried to resist, but his eyes fluttered closed.

He woke to Hannie shaking his shoulder. “Bog, wake up, please,” she pleaded, her voice hushed.

He jumped, and his knees hit the front ledge of the car. “What’s wrong?” The smell of gas overpowered him. His mother’s seat was empty, the car’s hum had finally ceased, and they were parked outside a white building beside the forest-lined road. “What is this place?”

“A gas station,” Hannie whispered. “Listen. Martinique is outside, filling the car with gas.” She pointed to the rear of the car, where his mother was pushing buttons on a machine attached to a hose. “We don’t have much time.”

“What is it?” The worry in Hannie’s voice made him twist around to see her face.

“We both fell asleep for a while.” Her eyes darted to his mother and back. “When I woke up I saw your mother going through your rucksack.”

Bog’s throat constricted. “The Nose Stone?” He yanked his rucksack open and rummaged inside.

“She put it in the big side pocket of her coat.” Hannie frowned. “But I got it back without her noticing.” She pulled the Nose Stone out from behind her back.

Bog grabbed the Nose Stone before his mother could see. He ground his teeth. Jeddal’s life depended on this stone—his mother knew that. How could she bring Bog bacon one moment and betray him the next?

“You did well.” Bog shoved the Nose Stone into his rucksack. “Now we have to get out of here.”

“I can’t.” Hannie’s face tightened.

“What? Why not?”

“I need to see my aunt.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I remember how nice she was, and I just have to find out…” She trailed off.

“Find out what?”

“If she loves me.” Hannie’s face radiated hope.

Bog’s throat clogged so he couldn’t speak. His eyes misted.

“But what if my mother doesn’t take you to your aunt?” His voice cracked. “What if she—”

“I have to try. Please, Bog,” she pleaded.

They stared at each other until Bog nodded. Hannie threw her arms over the back of his chair and hugged him.

“You know that I have to go?” His voice was gentle. “Take the Nose Stone and rescue my father?”

“Yes.” She trembled. “Jeddal.”

Bog buried his nose in her hair, locking her scent into his memory.

When they pulled apart, he said, “My mother will try to follow me.”

Hannie blinked back tears. “I’ll make her take me to my aunt first so you can have a head start.”

“That would help.” He paused, then added, “Are you sure you want to stay?” He didn’t know what he was offering her. A life as a troll? Would his family accept her? Would Hannie even want that life?

“Yes.” Her eyes were steady. “I think...I may be a human after all.”

“Maybe.” Bog nodded. “But you’d still make a good troll.”

She smiled. “You should go before she pays. She can’t leave without paying. That’s stealing.”

“Thanks.” Bog yanked her tiny nose, wondering if he’d ever see her again, hoping she’d be safe, hoping her aunt would adore her as much as he did. Then he slipped out of the car, not caring if his mother noticed.

Outside, his mother had connected a hose from the machine into an opening on the car. Waves of gas fumes wrinkled the air. Bog’s nose twitched at the scent.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was gruff.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved fast and low, weaving between the parked cars and gas machines, avoiding the staring humans.

Hannie jumped out of the car and planted herself in front of his mother.

“When can I see my aunt? Can I use your cell phone to call her? How much farther to Strongarm?” Hannie assaulted her with a barrage of chatter.

“Bog!” his mother called. “Come back.” Her voice had a desperate pitch.

He raced across the highway without a backward glance.

“Bog, please!” his mother yelled. “I can’t lose you again.”

Bog kept running. His scent-memories of her might be sweet, but she’d never stop hating Jeddal.

He plunged into the cool green of the forest on the other side of the highway. When the undergrowth thickened, he ripped off the hooded shirt, leaving it under a pile of rotting leaves. He tucked the sunglasses into his rucksack.

After he covered his tracks by wading through a forest stream, he aimed for the clearing where Jeddal waited to be freed. It was maybe two days and nights of walking. With his mother on his tail, he’d have to do it in less.