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Chapter 13

Not Like the Brochures

A day had passed, and with about a quarter of the budget spent on ice bags and an overpriced sun hat, the trio were now driving down an oversea bridge to Lilipass.

While Foxx and Frost were in their usual spots, Foxx up in his burrow songcrafting and Frost at the helm driving, Free had been cooped up in the laundry room. Having taken all the ice bags, remaining scrap, and the sun hat with him. Neither had heard a single beep or bloop from him since then.

Frost wasn’t worried about Free or anything, he technically had everything he needed in there—a charging port, his notepad, and a toolbox. However, they were worried about what kind of… contraption he was making, especially since it was meant for them. They hoped at least it wasn’t too heavy to wear, or worse—absolutely ridiculous looking.

“Done and dusted!” Free burst out of the laundry room with a backpack stuffed to the brim with all sorts of mechanical and electrical components.

"With?” Frost asked, still focused on the road.

“Packing up what I needed to set up the signal pulse, and a few other gadgets,” Free said with an excited smiling eye. “Never had access to a whole building worth of power before, so there’s a bunch of things I want to try out—small things, of course, that won’t hinder things.”

“What was the ice and hat for?” Frost asked.

“Huh?” Free cocked his head, confused, then suddenly remembered, “Oh right, the ice-hat sunhat—give me a cold second.”

Frost rolled their eyes at the pun as Free put his backpack down and went into the laundry room, coming out with the sun hat, ice bags, and hand towels. He set those on the ground then grabbed scissors, duct tape, some fabric scraps, and a pin box from his backpack.

He cut a gap and two holes into the sun hat so it could open and fit around Frost’s head and horns. Next, he closed the gap with pins and sewed fabric over it, creating a fastener strap—then wrapped the ice bags in towels and tapped them to the hat’s inner liner.

“Here you go, should keep you cool,” Free offered the ice-hat to Frost.

Frost looked at it briefly then back at the road, “Give it to Foxx.”

“Eh? First, his head’s not big enough, and second—no, he’s not the one smoking like a steam engine.”

Frost looked at the rear-view mirror to see what Free was saying was true, despite his fur of metal and wearing a scarf as big as him, he seemed perfectly content basking in the sun.

“Honestly, I don’t know how,” Free remarked.

Frost slowed the Camper down as they grabbed the ice-hat and put it on, their head sizzling and the cascade of steam escaping from their jacket waning into the occasional tiny puff.

“Much better, yeah?”

Frost readjusted it a bit then continued driving at normal speed, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Cresting over the sea bridge’s peak, they weren't met with a beautiful view—instead, where they should have seen lively folk and shiny green, was a fog of thick dust which surrounded the island and crept right to the bridge’s end.

Free sat down next to Frost, confused at the sight, “Did we take the right route?”

Frost briefly looked at the directions for the route they chose, “Yep.”

Frost turned off the A/C briefly as they drove through the dust fog, so as to not take dust in—and on the other side was a loose dirt path through a forest of charcoal-dry trees. Not a single person, animal, or even bug in sight. No winds blew either, the dust the Camper kicked up stayed suspended in the air long after they passed.

The further they traveled into the island, the fewer trees there were until eventually the forest abruptly cleared, and past it was sectioned fields of barren farmland that, with the road, ran along an empty river filled with bleach-white fish bones.

“Hey, look over there,” Free leaned forward and pointed at a weathered-black sign held up by a minnow-thin post. Most of what was on it was illegible, but there was one thing left that could be read: Lilipass.

Frost looked at the sign, but didn’t react to it, only giving a nod of acknowledgement.

Shortly after, the river and road ended at the island’s shore, where there was an old fishing dock—its rickety center path all that was intact. At its far end was a wall of dust, the same one that surrounded the island.

Frost stopped the Camper at the road’s end and looked over the directions again with a careful eye, reading them aloud, “‘Go down the dock and board the ferry.’” Frost looked at Free, “Are you confident what you wrote was correct?”

“One to one to what Sal said,” Free answered.

Frost looked at the near-collapsing dock, then back at Free, then back at the dock, “I am going to look around on foot.”

“Fair, I don’t think that dock could hold five people, let alone the Camper—but I’m coming with,” Free got up from his chair as Frost did.

When they went to open the door, Foxx stepped right to their side, ready to venture out as well.

“Are you sure, Foxx?” Frost questioned.

Foxx nodded

“Probably for the best we all stick together,” Free said.

“What about the dust? He may be at risk if his respiratory system cannot filter it,” Frost said.

“Hmm, I think I have a spare respirator he can use—If I didn’t already take the filter out,” Free checked below the kitchen sink and fished it out, it was still in one piece, so he gave it to Foxx. He put it on and Free helped adjust it to fit his angular snout, “Good fit?”

“Yes.”

They walked out the Camper, dust kicking up as they stepped onto the sand. Still, no winds blew, despite being so close to the sea—the air heavy and sickly, yet clear besides where the dust was disturbed.

“‘Its natural landscape makes up for it,’ must’ve never been here,” Free said to himself as they walked up to the dock’s ramp.

Next to the ramp was a half-eroded statue of a two-headed three-finned fish with a missing eye, posed like it was leaping out of the water. Hanging off the hook on the left head’s lip was a sign that read, “Fera’s Ferry Dock.”

To the statue’s right was a row of vending machines, most dark and empty with their glass smashed in, but one at the end still seemed to work—looking almost brand new, shining with cold light and fully stocked with too salty and too sugary snacks.

The other two continued forward, but Free decided to nonchalantly saunter over to the working vending machine, hands in his pockets and eyes on the prize—a bag of seaweed chips hanging by a thread off a coil. A quick and easy snatch if he used the good ol’ free food technique of kicking it loose.

So, he kicked it full force—and nearly cracked his foot and dented his boot. The vending machine was as hard as rock and its contents fused to it, like they were soldered together

Frost looked back to see Free holding in a yelp of pain, “Stick together.”

“Right—right,” Free caught up with the other two.

The dust they kicked up on the dock didn't stay in the air for long unlike before, instead it quickly gathered over the water beside them then dropped into it like stone.

Foxx looked into the water, curious if there were any fish like the statues at the mall. However, all he could see was the same as before, wood and dust, not even a piece of dead kelp.

They reached the edge of the dust fog, a wall of dust and murky ocean water congealed into head-sized droplets of dirt, salt, and sand. Frost poked a droplet, but it didn't pop, only drifting away deeper into the fog.

Frost put their hand over their hunting knife, “I will go ahead, wait here.”

“Didn’t you just say to stick—” before Free could say anything, Frost had already walked into the fog. He sighed, “This always happens—Okay, Foxx, can you hear Frost on the other side? Just in case they suddenly got ambushed or something.”

Foxx wiggled his ears, “I hear nothing.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing?’”

“I cannot hear something.”

“The fog blocks sound?”

Foxx wiggled his ears once more then nodded.

Free groaned, “Fine, I guess we’ll follow after them.”

“But they said to wait.”

“Yeah, and then walked into who-knows-what without a word. Don’t exactly have much reason to listen.” Free kicked a rock into the fog, “Acting all tough, when right now—I would be surprised if they could win against something half their size, and I’m the one who’s gotta fix them up after.”

Free let out a puff of air, “Still your call, not gonna leave you behind.”

Foxx pondered for a moment then answered, “Ok. Let's go.”

The two walked through the fog and on the other side was… a ferry anchored at the end of the dock. Its front spotless and clean, but its back was dirty and dusty—like someone power washed it but quit halfway through.

On the ferry, leaning against the railing looking down at Frost was an old, pipe-smoking, Gilieot with a half-cut tail, wearing a sea-captain’s cap and thin shirt with tropical flowers on it.

“That’s not the north star!” the ferryman yelled at Frost, his muzzle snarling. “That’s five notches off north, landlubber.”

Frost didn't match the ferryman’s tone, but seemed just as engaged, “That is not the true North Star, we are talking about different things.”

“Like shell we are—but never mind that, you need to drive that land-star-ship down here or so help me!”

“I will not,” Frost crossed their arms, “This dock cannot handle it.”

“Can’t handle—can’t handle?!” He forcefully leaned closer down, his hat bouncing up—showing milky white eyes underneath. “This dock used to hold hundreds and survived the terror of the Dust Devil—I think it can handle your little ship.”

“Frost, who’s this guy?” Free spoke up.

Frost didn’t take their eyes off the ferryman, “I told you to wait.”

Free walked to their side and gave them side-eye, “Sorry didn’t hear you—who’s this guy and why are you two arguing?”

“I’m not arguing with them—they're arguing with me!” the ferryman yelled.

“Okay…” Free didn’t know how to respond to that. “You know Sal, right? We were told to board a ferry, I’m guessing it's this one?”

“Yeah, I do, and yes—I know, but your…” the ferryman stopped and took out a note from his pocket and put it right against his face. “...‘Traveling companion’ here,” he put the note back, “Won’t drive your dang ship down.”

Free looked at the shaky dock then back at the ferryman, coming to the same conclusion as Frost, “You can’t just move to the shore and pick us up there?”

The ferryman’s face scrunched up in rage—but before he could speak his mind, something in his pocket beeped. It was a pager, and just like the note, he put it up close to his face to read.

He sighed and put it back and whispered to himself, “If my ferry gets scrapped to shell, it’ll be on your head, Melli.”

“Huh?” Free didn’t hear what he said.

“I’ll move to shore—don’t make me wait,” he sat down at the helm and started the ferry back up.

“See you there,” Frost said as the trio walked back to the shore.

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