TANGO Heavy - Chapter 14

Pen hears something whir above her from the bauble in-between her sobs. They begin to move, as Tango walks a few steps towards the side. Neither of them say anything. The heat of the space encapsulates her no-longer numb body, bringing an unwelcome sensation of feelings to the raw skin of her feet and mangled legs, that dripped now anew with fresh blood, which seeps down the seat and towards the crystal below.

“Hold on,” says Tango as they lurch. Through wet eyes, she sees as his metal fist raises into the air and then a moment later slams down into the round circle of ice that was outside of the house. There is a great shattering, as the metal hand cracks through the surface like a fist breaking a mirror. He leaves his hand there. A window appears and then vanishes a second later again before she can see it. Pen watches through wet eyes as the sheet of ice cracks all around, splinters flying off with violent force in all manner of odd directions.

And then it slowly starts to dissipate.

The sheet of ice slowly seems to fade away, as if nested underneath the hot morning sun on a summer’s day, it simply vanishes. The water it leaves behind is clear and begins to swish around and then a moment later it begins to bubble.

Pen watches in confused fascination, as if now staring at a giant pot of boiling water.

“What are you doing?” she asks between sniffles.

“Your injuries are going to get infected if you don’t clean them out,” replies the man.

Pen realizes what he was saying. He wanted her to get out again. She didn’t want to go out again. It hurt. It hurt out there. She huddled herself back together. “No,” she says plainly and closes her eyes. “I don’t care.”

“Did you open the box yet?”

Her eyes shoot open again and she looks towards it. Towards her prize. She had forgotten. Meekly, she reaches over towards it and pulls it into her lap. It isn’t cold anymore, but cool enough to bother her as it touches her bare skin. It has a small latch on the front that she easily opens, a small pebble that was jammed inside falling down below somewhere into a crevice.

Lifting the lid of the rectangular box, she looks inside, not sure what she was looking at. Silver sachets, small, thin and rectangular, lined the inside of the box. All neatly arranged in a row, perfectly fitting inside. She sniffles.

“What’s this?” she lifts the box up to the eye above her.

“That’s food, told you there was some,” explains Tango. As soon as the word ‘food’ is uttered, the box is already back in her lap and one of the packets is torn out from the line-up. She looks at it hungrily, greedily. She was famished. Starving. Was this good to eat? It was ancient, it couldn’t be. Did she care? She would eat it no matter how old it was, thought Pen to herself. Her eyes went wide. Food. Food.

Food?

She twisted the odd metallic square around, trying to look at it. Warily, she holds it up to the eye again. “How do I eat this?”

“Wash your legs and I’ll tell you.”

Pen narrows her eyes. “No.” She wasn’t going to go outside again.

“What if I told you that you need hot water to make it edible?”

Her sore hand had already gripped the hatch behind her, the skin prickling as she pressed down on it. Hesitating for a second, she twists it open, her drive to eat stronger now than anything she had felt before. She looked out.

“Turn around,” commands Pen.

“No,” says Tango.

She winces. “Turn around… please?”

Tango turns around and she faces the pool of water behind them, with a swing, she throws the single foil packet into the steaming circular pool and watches as it floats there. Proud of herself, she begins to close the hatch again to wait for it to get got, as the cold air begins to nip at her.

“I wouldn’t do that,” says Tango.

“Why not?” she asks suspiciously.

“Because there’s a slight current and your food is going to be carried away if you don’t hold it,” he explains, shrugging. Her eyes shoot open wide and she shoves the hatch back open. It was true, she sees it drifting sidewards, sinking a little deeper every second beneath the hot water. The underground channel of water that had been blocked by the ice before, was now freely flowing again. Pen yelps and gritting her teeth clambers out of the back of the bot, as if her life depended on it. In a sense it did. She needed to eat. She needed food. She wouldn’t let it get away. Not like the crystal before. She wouldn’t lose a life-line ever again.

As her bare feet hit the stones now a second time, the girl barrels over forward, her palms slapping against the stones, as the feeling of a lurch of bile shoots up her gut from the intensity of the fresh, white-hot pain. A deep nausea sets in. She crawls forward, ignoring it, and reaches the edge of the pool. It was steaming. She places a hand above it. It wasn’t boiling anymore, all of that hot water had already been carried away by the current. But it was warm. More than warm. But not deadly hot. But in contrast with the icy air that surrounded her body, it was like lava.

The silver packet sank under the water. She lets out a cry and without thinking further, dives in after it. She hits the water and screams.

Nothing comes out except for bubbles, as the hot water covers her mouth. Her skin prickles all over, her legs flare with an intensity that she never felt before. She spasms, vomiting somehow after all. It is carried away by the current and she lurches forward beneath the hot water, the glint of silver still in her eye. It hurt. Food. She couldn’t swim.

Sinking like a rock, she grabs the little sachet and clambers up the side of the wall. It was shallower near the edges, enough for her to climb up a bit and to pull her head out of the wet. It hurt. Blood rushed to her face. Her hand clutched her prize tightly, deathly.

Pen leans over the edge of the pool, heaving and spewing out a mixture of water and bile, while taking in the icy air around her. Her body screamed, her fingers clench down on the sachet, squeezing it tight. She saved it. She saved this one. Pen opens her eyes to look at it. She did it. She saved it. She did it.

Her skin still pricks and burns all over her body, but not from the severe heat. Rather from the sensation of blood shooting to her outer layers now in a shock reaction to the sudden contrast. She looks at the thing in her hand. It hurt. She was hungry. How did this work? How was this food? Not willing to let go of the little thing with either hand, she rubs her face against her shoulder to get the strand of wet hair out of her eyes, so that she could better see her treasure. This was hers. Hers.

She looks at it.

“You need to open it.”

Pen turns her head to look towards the voice. Tango stands there watching her. Open it? Her head turns back towards the sachet and her skeletal fingers grab the top of the thing. How did this open?

“Tear it,” says the voice. “Grab the top and tear it sideways.”

She does as he said, a piece of the silver foil comes off, ripping with a satisfying smoothness along a dotted pattern that someone had drawn onto the package. She hadn’t noticed before, but whoever wrote on this had perfect handwriting. Not that she could read. But it was still optically impressive how every single symbol was made in exactly the same size and pattern. It was like the window inside Tango, but this was real. It was hers. Inside is a mixture of a strange, brown powder and a small yellow box. Her eyes sink in disappointment. It was dust.

“It’s not good anymore,” she tells Tango, defeated, her head laid down on the bricks. At least the hot water felt nice now. Even if her legs still hurt so badly.

“No, it’s fine. Take the little yellow thing out first and then add some of the water,” explains Tango. “But ah… try not to get any with your blood in i-“ Pen was already fast at work, the little yellow box set to the side, she scoops in meager amounts of the hot water with an open palm into the sachet. Before looking at it again, still disappointed. It looked worse now.

“You gotta close it, see the top there? That little thing inside? Squeeze it shut and then shake it a little.” Well, what did she have left to lose, thinks Pen before doing as he instructed. As she shakes the little bag, she notices that its contents sloshed less and less. Curious now, she looks inside again. It still looked terrible.

“-Yeah, I know,” says Tango, as if reading her mind, perhaps through her ever-worsening expression of depression. “You can eat it, but it tastes as bad as it looks.”

Pen didn’t care. She smells it, it smells like… she isn’t sure actually. It is a vague brownish-tan mixture, with a thick, grainy texture that reminds her of gruel. She dips a finger inside and licks it, flinching as she does so. It tastes awful. It was like… like a piece of old wood that had been shredded into a fine powder. She reaches in again, now with two fingers to take a bigger scoop and eats that as well, shutting her eyes.

The sensation of eating the hot food however is too overpowering, absolutely too alluring to resist. It didn’t matter what it tasted like. It fell into her stomach like a rock and she keeps shoveling in more of the strange slop with her hand, forgoing any sense of caution and manners now. Food. How many days was it? She didn’t even remember. Food. She wolfs down as much as she can, as fast as she can. The voice speaking beside her, telling her to slow down was lost entirely. It didn’t even enter her perceptions. All she sees is the glint of the silver sachet and the strange mixture that was inside.

The hurt of her body, the warmth of the water, the nausea, the aches, the suffering, the crying; everything now meant nothing. As if a switch had been flicked, her mind is singularly focused on this one thing alone. Eating. Eating as much as she can, as fast as she can before anyone can take it from her. Something wet ran down her face, she’s crying. Pen rubs her eyes on her soaked upper arm, realizing only now that she still had the jacket but then continues eating. Soon enough though, the little bag is empty. She dunks it beneath the water for just a second to fill it up once more and gently shakes it without closing it, swaying it from side to side. Then, closing her eyes, she leans back and drinks the last of the mixture. The hot food and the hot water mix inside of her heating body, giving her a sensation of absolute inner warmth that she hadn’t known was possible. It tasted terrible. She was crying.

She shakes the empty bag, getting out every last drop, before setting it down on the stones and admiring the little thing. It was beautiful. The water shimmers off of it, reflecting gleaming sparkles from Tango’s light. Her eyes shine as she stares at the little thing. It was like a crystal. It was wealth. It filled her with joy.