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Chapter 15
Nothing Lives Here
On the North side of the island, where there was once a shoreline, now a cliffside, like a beast had taken a bite out of it, laid the heart of Old Lilipass.
Little remained, most resting deep in the dark waters below, yet what remained gave a glimpse into the past—a glimpse of what happened that day, the day the dust came.
The sight of hastily abandoned lives, precious things left behind in the wake of disaster that haunted the streets or could be seen behind broken window glass. If one's senses betrayed oneself, the phantoms of those lost loomed at the corner of the eye.
Children enjoying a summer’s day, a potluck with guests spanning several generations, town folk gathering to fundraise for a local program. For those familiar, and with a nostalgic eye, these shades of memories can be seen clearly, as if they were yesterday. Even if all that was left was splintered plastic chairs and flat bike wheels.
Some who were here are still alive today, New Lilipass shows that. However, there is something else to think on.
How many lived on with their hearts unbroken?
Lav didn’t seem to care for an answer, “This one’s probably it, if they’re really here.”
Foxx and Frost stopped where she did, in front of a dry yet soggy looking house right at the edge of the cliff, sunken two floors down into the ground—only its shuttered attic window visible, peaking right above the surface.
To its side was a boat on the back of a trailer, half cleaved, aligned to the cliff's edge. Both must have been brutally picked apart, missing cushions and outer frames.
“The back’s breached open, flowers must’ve fallen out into the ocean from there,” Lav continued.
The only way in was through the window, unless they wished to enter through the breached back, taking the risk of falling into the raging ocean.
After some effort, Foxx lifted the window shutter with his tail, high enough for him and Lav to crawl under.
“Humph. We should find another way in, separating is dangerous,” Frost said.
Foxx nodded, about to close the shutter—then Lav wedged it with the piece of a rain gutter, keeping it open.
“You're worried about just Foxx, yeah? Not me.” Lav didn’t wait at all for Frost to respond, “Then I’ll go alone—don’t need help to pick flowers.” She stretched out her hand, beckoning for the baskets.
Frost stared at her for a moment, then looked away, thinking, before saying, “It is safer if you two go in together, I will keep watch.”
“Don’t matter to me, but at least I won’t be doing all the work—come on,” Lav ducked under the shutter and Foxx followed her inside.
Nothing was in the attic besides a single light bulb hanging off a thin swinging cord—still lit a warm orange. Foxx wanted to take a moment to look around, but Lav had already moved on, popping open the scuttle hatch and kicking down the ladder.
“Pick up the pace, the sooner this is over the better,” Lav said as she climbed down.
“Ok,” Foxx hovered down the hatch.
The hatch led to a walk-in closet, all that was inside were a few hangers and cloth scraps. Just like before, Foxx and Lav quickly moved on, Lav opening the closet’s sliding door into a bedroom with only a bed frame and nightstand.
Next, they explored the family room, where they could see the breached back that Lav mentioned, giving a clear view of the ocean—which only Foxx paid attention to as he kept close to the door frame, Lav barely paying it any mind. She walked to the edge to check for the flowers, her head hung low and boots creaking against the cracked and stripped wood floor.
It took a while for Lav to notice Foxx not moving, all he was doing was just wiggling his ears around and looking vaguely in Lav’s direction, making a whispery noise—his tail wrapped around himself.
“What? You got something up with you?” Lav hissed.
“What happened here?” Foxx asked.
“Dust Devil came, everyone died—The End. Surprised you didn’t pick that up even before you got here.”
Foxx looked at Lav directly, just for a fraction of a second, seeing the pirate patch on her jacket.
“Got something else?”
Foxx crept away from the door, looking around the room, “...Do you like pirates?”
She gave Foxx a baffled and slightly offended look, “Well, yeah, pirates are awesome.”
“Can you tell me about them?”
“Heh, sure, makes this chore less boring,” she smirked. “I’m guessing you know the basics, so I’ll skip to the cool stuff.”
The two sifted through each room while Lav went on about the exploits of the Six-Pointed Compass, a planet-wide alliance of the six most powerful pirates to ever haunt the seas. She began with Jolly One-eyed Spruce of the Deep Tundra, a man whose greatest treasures was supposedly hidden in a monster-guarded vault deep beneath the north pole. It is said that even the secret to the three calamities that befell Terarin was hidden there, hoisted up on a pedestal of black ice and chained sea-beasts.
Foxx was curious what these calamities were, but Lav ignored his questions and quickly moved on to the fifth—and favorite—member, Hi-bis of the Gilded Ring. He had some trouble following what she said about Hi-bis exactly, she bounced from tale to tale, exploit to exploit—each less believable than the last.
In one tale she told, he arm-wrestled a kraken in the depths of a volcano and won by using only one finger.
Foxx found that a bit farfetched—even with all he had seen the last few days, but he was undeniably invested, swept up by Lav’s passionate and confident retellings.
By the time they were almost done with the first floor, Lav forgot to explain the other members of the Six-Pointed Compass—continuing her telling of Hi-bis’ long list of adventures in the chilly north and the intricacies of naval strategies, ship construction, and ocean navigation.
She tried to use analogies to space travel, based on what she’d scarcely heard about it, thinking it would help Foxx understand better. However, it didn’t really help, nor did he need it to keep up with most of it.
“Would you want to be one?” Foxx asked.
“A pirate? Who wouldn’t,” Lav said. “I mean—I don’t know, not like it matters. The golden age of piracy is long gone, only honorless sea-thieves are around now.”
“But what if it did matter?”
“Then… yeah, being one would be cool,” she looked at the patch on her jacket, “I could go anywhere I want.”
“Like where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
The two continued to look around for flowers in silence for a while, until Lav spoke again, “What about you?”
Foxx had trouble finding the right words, but settled for, “I think so, I like adventurers and heroes.”
“Oh, you like adventure stories?” Lav hit herself on the forehead, “Sorry, stupid question, of course you do—you like pirates.”
With everywhere else checked, there was one last place to look, the garage.
“After this, do you want to listen to audio dramas at my house? Got a fresh set from my mom and pop, an exclusive series all the way from up north. It's about Spruce and Hi-bis teaming up to find the treasure of the eyeless isle—I don’t think Sal would mind having you over.”
“Ok.”
They opened the door to the garage, and on the other side was… a bountiful grove of Dyehearts, growing from beneath the junk-covered cracks in the concrete floor to the wooden ceiling above. They glowed with radiant reds, purples, pinks, and blues—their petals as soft as feathers, and what looked like morning dew resting upon them.
“They're actually here?” Lav ran in to get a closer look, “You see them too, right?”
Foxx nodded, then moved closer as well, dew from a flower on the ceiling falling onto his snout.
Lav started picking flowers by the stem, placing them in the baskets until she found something nested in the thin layer of wreckage below the flowers. She looked at it briefly, then tossed it away, Foxx catching it before it could land.
It was a framed photo of three figures in front of a fish statue, two of which he recognized as a younger Albo and Melli , who’s leaf-coat back then was green instead of black—but the third, who was giving Albo and Melli a big bear hug, he didn’t know. What he did know was that they looked happy, the third figure having the widest smile, although with a few teeth missing.
He decided to keep it, to ask about it later, then he joined in picking flowers, choosing to take some off the wall—Although, he quickly noticed something strange.
More junk was on the wall, cushions, clothes, and other soft objects glued onto it with a clear resin-like substance. Furthermore, there were deep jagged channels—claw marks, three times the size of his paw.
“Lav,” Foxx pointed her attention to the wall.
Lav looked at it for a moment, not noticing the resin, then shrugged, “Those must be old, probably from whatever was left after the Dust Devil passed—couldn’t have live long after.” She sighed, “Nothing lives here.”
“Except flowers?”
“Except flowers, I guess,” she shrugged.
Bloop
.
Foxx heard something behind them, the faint sound of a water droplet hitting concrete—Lav didn’t notice it.
Looking to the source of the noise, he saw nothing—until the glint of furred yet blubberous skin and barbed fangs peered from behind the door.
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