When David was dropped off at the train station, he said nothing to the others passing by. He got up, got his luggage, and waited for the others to leave the carriage. He hoisted his luggage onto his shoulder and noticed a small bar across the way. The lights were clearly vying — screaming — for his attention. Maybe a drink would help clear his mind, he thought.
He took a short walk around the town, checking his bag once or twice, hesitating at stalls selling trinkets and snacks. He dropped by the bar and ordered. When he was done, he checked the train, hoping to find out that it was time to go. Seeing as it wasn't — much to his surprise — he sat down on a nearby chair and began to read the book he never bothered looking at.
For what seemed like hours (he kept looking for the conductor to announce it), it was finally time to go, and David hurried to the last carriage like he always did. He took a spot in the corner.
Other lower-class folk sat beside him; somewhat smelly but strong enough to carry all those bags strapped to their shoulder. Then, nothing. There was simply silence for a few hours. Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of worn fabric and humanity. A few passengers shifted in their seats, the creak of old wood accompanying their movements. A young mother cradled her sleeping child, the soft rise and fall of the infant's breath breaking the stillness.
David watched as a couple of lower-class folks exchanged glances. It was evident they were bored and tired. A faint murmur of conversation began, growing slowly but steadily.
"I heard the harvest was delicious this year," one man said. "It'd be nicer if I had a gun, though."
The man next to him shrugged. "It's impossible to cross the border without permission for work," he explained, "nor is it very legal to do so."
The first man leaned forward, "But what if we could?"
"How so?"
"I don't know, but just think — getting our hands on some things. They're out there, and they think they can eat us alive. Well!" His hands dropped to his side. "They make amazing food sources, don't they? It's only fair since they killed some of our kind."
"They're not just monsters, you know," another passenger chimed in, his voice softer. "Some say they're intelligent. Maybe there's a way to negotiate."
"Negotiate?" the first man scoffed. "With them? They see us as food! If they get a chance, they'll eat us alive. What, do you not read the newspapers?"
The other passengers glanced at each other and nodded as if agreeing with him. David uttered the courage to join in.
"We also see them as food, don't we?" asked David.
"I'm sorry?" said the man.
"We also killed many of them."
"I mean, they started it."
For some reason, the entire carriage began to laugh. A few coughs were made once it died down. "Guess we can kill them then," David chuckled.
The first man looked at him. "You seem to know a lot about them. You going across the border?" David stopped what he was doing, as if surprised. "Was it that obvious?" he asked. "No, it's just-" the man scoffed, trying to think of a way to explain, "-you know a lot about the Kuu, right? Then you also joined in when I mentioned that we saw them as food. Now, either you're a Kuu rights activist — which doesn't exist — you'd probably know of… Forget it. I just guessed. You a hunter?"
"Yessir."
A murmur of interest spread through the carriage. "Ooh," a few passengers chimed, leaning in closer. The atmosphere shifted, curiosity igniting like a spark in dry grass. "Really?" one woman said, her eyes brightening. "What's it like?"
"Do you have spare Kuu parts? Any stories?" another asked, eager for more. The man who first started the whole thing raised his hand and motioned for everyone to be quiet. When they all settled down, he asked, "What's your name?"
"David."
"David?"
"Yeah."
"Last time I checked, that name wasn't too popular around these parts. Only heard of some in Louisiana."
"Well, I don't plan to be staying here for long. I'm just getting across the border."
"This your first time?"
"It is."
"Nervous?"
"Definitely."
The carriage laughed again. "You sound experienced with them yourself," David remarked. "Yeah, well, I once helped dissect them," said the man. "Name's Louis."
"And where do you come from?" asked David. "A little farther than here," answered Louis. "I grew up near a river, I think. Lots of grass. All I can remember."
"Any cattle?" At this point, the carriage began minding its own business. "Yeah, a few cows. Only two horses. Never knew how to ride."
"Was it nice?"
"Made a few friends. Mostly said hello because I wanted to be kept alive though."
David chuckled at Louis's response. "Kids were rowdy."
"Yeah."
"Why're you travelling across the border?" asked David. Louis shrugged, his expression turning serious. "Hoping to find work. The farms are drying up, and the Kuu... Well, they've created their opportunities."
"Ain't your family back there?"
Louis shook his head and let the silence speak for him. David nodded solemnly, "Sounds risky, though, doesn't it?"
"Life's risky."
"You're still young."
"So are you, and you're taking a more dangerous job than I am."
"If I can't handle the heat, I'll find a way around it. I'll adapt."
"And if you don't?"
David shrugged. "I'll take it from there."
***
The train halted at the next stop. David waited for the others to get out as usual before he followed suit. When he looked up, his eyes burned. It wasn't surprising, sure, but it definitely wasn't pleasant. The air was thick with the scents of coal smoke, freshly baked bread, and dust.
David turned away, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder, making his way toward the small inn he had booked. The innkeeper, a pleasant old woman, smiled as he approached the front desk. "Eres el nuevo huesped?" she asked. David paused, trying to remember how to speak Spanish. "New guest?" she asked finally in English.
"Yes. Si, si," answered David quickly. "David." He tried to talk simplistically in case she couldn't understand. The innkeeper smiled again and slid a tarnished key across the counter. "Tu habitacion esta arriba," she said.
"I-I'm sorry?"
"Fin del pasillo."
"I'm sorry, I don't—"
"End of hall. Up." The innkeeper pointed to the stairs. David nodded in understanding and grabbed the key. He entered his room, put down his bag, and — as if by instinct — laid out his notebook on the table. A short map he was given hung loose from the pages like a bookmark.
He grabbed a pen and began jotting down his journey. Another day, and he'd be across the border. As long as he was there for work and didn't cause any harm, they'd let him in.
He sighed and hit the hay.
***
The next day, David managed to get something cheap to eat before going to the train station. It was just about to leave, hence why he had to hurry. He entered the last wagon and waited for the conductor to announce they were leaving. When he did, David breathed a sigh of relief, and they were off. Shortly thereafter, David opened his small notebook and began to write.