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Kristina
An hour has passed since we left the diner and I’m practically fighting tooth and nail to keep from falling asleep behind the wheel. Exhaustion has hit full force by now. Grandma’s warning rings in my head, but finding a place remotely safe, in my eyes, is proving to be a bit of a challenge. How do you avoid detection while trying not to attract unwanted attention?
If this Gerard guy catches us, we’re dead. Well, I’m dead. I doubt he’ll kill an asset as valuable as Tiger seems to be. This scientist-turned-entrepreneur has what appears to be hundreds of people on his payroll. It’s obvious he has a lot to hide and has taken extraordinary measures to keep his experiments under wraps.
There’s no way I can compete with that. Gerard will gut me and feed me to the fishes before I have time to figure out how to expose whatever the hell it is he’s doing.
What has he been working on? Tiger isn’t human, but what is he? He achieved something when creating Tiger, but what?
Nothing could have prepared me for such a formidable display of physical transformation—protuberant muscles, skin tone going from one color to the next like a chameleon’s, the whites of the eyes missing completely. It was awful. And mind-blowing.
“You should stop and get some rest,” Tiger says from my right.
My hands are freezing cold. About five minutes ago, I discovered the heat in Grandma’s truck doesn’t work. As a result, my fingers are stiff and in much need of warmth.
“You’re tired,” he tries again.
“We have another four hours to go.”
“You’re not going to make it another hour without rest.”
What is he? A doctor? Truth is, I am worn out. Maybe a couple of hours of sleep will do me some good, but I don’t want him continually pointing it out. Quite frankly, I don’t want him to talk at all.
“If I stop to rest, will you quit harassing me?”
“Yes,” he responds with a small measure of assertiveness.
“Good. Let’s find somewhere to stop for the night.”
About a mile later we pull into a pit stop, and park behind a large van. I turn the ignition off and inspect my surroundings, scanning the area to generate a mental blueprint of the lot’s layout. A few semis, one RV, two small cars, and the van we parked behind are the only other vehicles present. There are plenty of people dispersed throughout the place, sitting around a picnic table eating, or gathered near or inside the cars, talking.
This provides me with what may be a false sense of security. The number of potential witnesses might deter any attempt at murdering us in our sleep, but with Gerard’s reputation I won’t count on it.
Stuffing the key inside of my jeans pocket, I turn to crawl over the console to the rear seat, where I begin a thorough inspection of the inside of the truck, finding another bag stuffed in the trunk.
“Is this yours?” I ask as I lift up the bag.
“No.”
It’s a medium sized, black duffel bag I’m not familiar with. Curious as to what it’s doing here, I unzip it and rummage through it. There are a couple of fleece blankets, flashlights, batteries, handheld radio, maps, a wad of cash—approximately two grand—canned goods, more toiletries, matches, and a first-aid kit.
The cans consist of beans, soup, chili, and tuna. Not my personal favorite, but it will do. By clicking on the flashlights, I confirm they work, so I set them aside to review the second set of maps. Closer examination reveals Grandma marked down routes she might have thought were the safest to take in case of an emergency. It’s unclear to me why she did this, since she specifically asked me to go to the addresses jotted down on the piece of paper, and to avoid all major highways, which I’ve done up until about an hour ago.
I scratch my head and sigh. Is this the route she was planning on taking, or the one she wants me to take?
Grandma must have anticipated an event like this one and prepared, discerning we’d have to take off on short notice. But did she have a Plan B? I’d like to think so.
Leaving out the blankets and maps, I zip the bag up again and toss it over the seat to the trunk, where it lands with a dull thud. Facing the front of the truck, I offer the second fleece blanket to Tiger.
“This might help keep you warm.” I toss the blanket at him when he fails to react fast enough.
He catches it with a blank expression.
I’m still having trouble trying to comprehend how someone who looks so utterly normal is anything but. He’s polite, quiet, and very curious, but how much of what I see is human?
Are these mannerisms of his picked up, or were taught? Some of the things he says sound old-fashioned, some don’t. Sometimes he behaves as if he’s afraid, yet others, as if nothing in this world can possibly hurt him.
Tiger confuses me like no other person ever has.
With a shake of the head, I drop the maps to the floor, settle against the seat, and pull the covers up to my chin, mentally chastising myself for not thinking to bring a coat, hat, or even gloves. Winter is right around the corner and if we have to spend many nights in the truck like this, I’m going to freeze to death, for sure.
I’m eternally grateful Grandma Rose thought to leave these in her truck, whether for us or herself, I can’t be sure, but they are a godsend, helping to ward off some of the chill, if nothing else.
We sit in total silence for what seems like an eternity. I close my eyes in an attempt to drift off to sleep, but I’m too cold. It must be forty degrees out and growing colder by the hour.
“Too...cold,” I whisper.
“Kristina?” I hear Tiger shift on the seat.
“Yes?”
“Make room for me.”
My eyes pop open as the sound of him slipping out of the SUV. A moment later, he climbs in beside me. Alarmed, I retreat until my head slams against the window.
“Damn it,” I hiss, reaching around to touch the back of my head. “What are you doing?”
“You’re cold,” he points out.
“Yeah? So?”
“You need your rest in order to continue driving. You’re not going to sleep well if you’re cold.” He grabs the blanket he’d left on the front seat and wraps it around his shoulders. “Body heat is the best way to keep warm.”
Is he seriously suggesting I sleep cuddled up to him? Is he out of his mind?
“That’s okay. I’ll live.”
The exaggerated sigh that escapes his lips reveals his level of frustration. “You can be as proud as you want once you’ve gotten enough rest,” he retorts.
“Proud? Me? You don’t know enough of me to make that call.” Who am I kidding? Sometimes I’m much too proud to ask for help, or accept defeat. Although tired and sleepy, I can’t bring myself to shack up with a total stranger. It’s weird.
“We may have to spend more nights like this so it is in our best interest to come to some form of understanding.”
He’s right, but damn if I’ll admit it out loud.
I chew on my lower lip. A couple of hours of sleep to recharge is all I need. Later, when I wake up, I can argue some more and maybe even figure out how I’m going to get out of this mess.
“Fine, but you better keep your hands on the safe zones.” I scoot closer to him.
“Safe zones?” He sounds confused.
“Yes, safe zones. As in places where you can touch without being entirely inappropriate.”
He fails to provide a response right away. Does he understand what I’m trying to communicate to him?
“Teach me,” he demands softly.
For someone so well-spoken, he sure knows little about etiquette. “Tiger? How long have you lived at the Institute?”
“All my life,” he replies without hesitation.
“Did you have constant interaction with people there? Women, perhaps?”
“No. I was only taken out of my room when Gerard needed me for something or when it was time to feed.”
I wince at the word “feed”. Though my mind starts to wander over what the word means to him, I refrain from asking.
“So, uh, what is your perception of humans in general?”
“Not pleasant.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of...what I’ve experienced.”
“Which is?”
“Pain. Death. Hunger. Violence.”
At the hands of someone like Gerard, how could he have been shown anything but suffering?
“What do you see us as?” I venture.
“My impression of humans is not good. My worth was measured through the service I was created for. Disobedience was not tolerated at any point. If I fought back, I was punished, severely.”
Shame grips me in its vise. Picturing him going through a series of events, which resulted with the injuries I found him with, serves as a wakeup call. In my ever-scheming head, I can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen to me if they catch me. But how will they punish Tiger this time?
“You showed me a different side. So did Rose,” he offers.
Dangerous or not, it’s not evident right now. Because he hasn’t hurt me so far, I want to believe he won’t. I just hope I don’t come to find out differently when it’s too late to do something about it.
“Okay, well, let this be your first lesson, then.” Since he has little to no experience interacting with humans, in order for him to not stand out so much in our world, he’s going to have to learn a few nonviolent things. “For the most part, we humans, don’t like to be touched unless it’s under special circumstances. There is such a thing as appropriate and inappropriate touching. I’ll give you some examples.”
Darkness makes it impossible to read his face, but I perceive his attention on me so I proceed with reaching for his hand and simulating a greeting. “This is what we call a handshake.” I demonstrate by moving our joined hands up and down before releasing his. “It’s a gesture intended as a salute or out of politeness.” I extend my arm toward him again. “Hi, how are you? My name is Kristina.”
His fingers hesitantly reach for mine. “I know what your name is.”
In spite of the awkwardness between us I smile. “No. I’m giving you an example of what most people say during a first meeting. It varies from person to person, but this is just one example of many. The action usually accompanies the introductions. You would say something like—”
“My name is...Tiger?”
“Yes, and you can add something like... ‘It’s nice to meet you. How are you doing today?’”
He shakes my hand softly as I demonstrated for him earlier, and says, “Hello. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Tiger.”
I bite my lower lip to keep from breaking out in laughter, doubting he’d appreciate my amusement at his expense. I’ve never heard such a stiff greeting in my life and it’s about the most hilarious thing I’ve heard all day.
I cough into my palm to work the mirth out of my system. “That’s very good. You learn fast, but, uh, try not to be so rigid next time. Maybe be more natural. Let the words and the action flow naturally.”
He lets go of my hand. “I will need more practice.”
“Of course.” I push a lock of hair away from my face by pinning it behind my ear. “Moving on. Well, this greeting I told you about is one of the few times when touching is appropriate. It usually goes along with introductions. Face-to-face meetings with other people, and such. There are many ways of inappropriate touching, however, so you need to be really careful. Any little mistake can land you in jail.”
“Is this why you refer to them as safe zones?”
“Well, let’s be clear about that. When you requested me to, uh, share your body’s heat to keep me from shivering all night long, I brought the subject up because in order for us to do this we have to be really close to each other and I don’t want your hands slipping to places I wouldn’t be comfortable with you touching.”
I manage to slip under the blanket next to him without the edge of hysteria overwhelming me entirely, and lift his left arm to drape it over my shoulders as I lay my head flat on his chest, allowing the covers to fall over our bodies. He holds himself stiffly beside me. Judging by his reaction, I’m guessing the whole touching subject might be a tad delicate for him, too.
“You would need to keep your arms—hands—away from my front and most definitely away from my bottom. These areas are very sensitive for women and if you touch them without a woman’s consent, you might get yourself slapped or worse, charged with sexual harassment.”
He lets out a breath of air, but says nothing. It’s unclear how much of what I say he understands.
The atmosphere grows suddenly tense, but as much as I want to draw away, he’s warm and right now I’m taking full advantage of his heat.
“Would you mind if I slip my hands under your shirt?” Modesty be damned, I’m much too cold to care.
“No, I wouldn’t mind,” he replies, though I can hear the hesitation in his voice.
“It will only be for a minute.” The last thing I want is to break boundaries, but being stuck inside a truck with no working heat when it’s forty degrees out has a way of forcing things that normally wouldn’t happen.
I slip my hands under his shirt, successfully making contact with unusually warm skin. Gliding my left palm up his flat abdomen toward his chest, I do my best not to notice every perfectly sculpted muscle.
He jumps up a little and says, “You’re cold.”
“Sorry, I’ll take them out as soon as they’re warm.”
I accommodate my right hand near his spine, and snuggle up to him.
In response, Tiger pulls me in closer. “What are you comfortable with?”
I bury my nose in his chest, too embarrassed to look at him. Here I am, ranting about improper use of one’s limbs and I take liberties with him I shouldn’t be. I’m the worst teacher ever.
“This is okay,” I lie. I’m not all right, but technically, the only one doing the touching is me.
“Are you warm now?”
I nod yes to keep from talking.
“Sleep, now, Kristina. I’ll keep watch.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and empty my mind. When I wake up, I’ll have to contend with the world again. For now, the only thing I need is the solace of losing myself in the dark oblivion that’s sleep.