Subject Nightingale 1: Birth and Death (11 page)

“He's the coolest! He goes from city to city with a coffin full of guns, fighting crime!” She proceeded to act out several of her favorite scenes from the comic book as they walked, complete with over-exaggerated hand gestures and unrealistic gun sound effects, which included, but were not limited to,
KABOOM! BLAM-O! POW, POW!

“
I've been teaching her to read,” Elise said as Whisper got carried away and began running all over, reenacting a small-scale war in the middle of the street, “but she can get carried away sometimes...”

Nightingale nodded, but she was still smiling at watching the girl play and have fun. “How long have you two been on the streets?” she asked.

“Hmm, well...” Elise thought for a moment. “I've been on the streets for seven years... My parents died when I was just a kid. And Whisper was only six when I found her.”

Nightingale's eyebrows pulled together at Elise's history. “What do you mean you found her? I thought you two were sisters.”

“We're not related by blood, but we've been together for six years,” Elise explained. “We look out for each other—we're all we've got, so we're family.”

Nightingale frowned thoughtfully and looked down at her medical kit as she walked. She was suddenly reminded of what Michaela had told her about Glitch squad—about how they were like family. “I think I understand...”

“She didn't even know her own name when I found her,” Elise said next, keeping her eyes on Whisper as she ran ahead and used a mailbox for cover. “It took her two years to pick the name
Whisper—
up until then I was just calling her
Kid
. Or
Brat
, depending on the circumstances.”

“
Didn't know her own name?” Nightingale said to herself.

“
Whisper!” Elise called out. “We're here!”

Whisper came running back to the two, out of breath and sweating. She wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve and panted out, “Well, you get the idea. Mister Coffin is awesome.”

“You read volume three yet, Whisper?” a middle-aged man with a light southern accent in a particularly loud Hawaiian T-shirt asked. “Mister Coffin dishes it out real good this month!” He sat in a folding chair behind a water pump, feet against the wall to prop it back on two legs. He tapped the brim of his off-white cowboy hat up to see the girls from beneath it, and he held an unlit cigarette between his lips.

“
No spoilers, Daryl!” Whisper immediately shouted, and slapped her hands over her ears. “We just found a copy!”

Elise retrieved her water bottle from her bag, and motioned for Nightingale to do the same. “Mind filling it up?” she asked.

Daryl dropped all four chair legs back onto the ground and grabbed the handle for the pump. He waited until Elise had her bottle under the spigot, and began cranking the handle to fill it with the clear water. Once Elise's bottle was full, Nightingale placed hers under, and Daryl filled it as well. “Picked up a new friend, huh?” he asked upon seeing the new girl.

“
Yeah, she'll be sticking with us for a little bit,” Elise answered.

“
Well, you could do worse, kid,” he said to Nightingale. “Elise and Whisper here practically run Baker Street! They know that place inside and out.”

Elise laughed and zipped her bag back up. “We've just lived there for a while, that's all.”

Whisper grabbed her stomach with one hand when it began grumbling, and she tugged Elise's hand with her other. “Elise, I'm starving. Let's go home.”

Elise nodded at Whisper's request. “Thanks for the water, Daryl. We'll see you next time!”

“Anytime, girls!”

“
Is he in charge of the water?” Nightingale asked quietly as they walked away.

“
Nah, he just likes to pretend he's got a job,” Elise answered.

Chapter 13
What's in a Name
 

A few blocks down from the water pump, the girls turned onto Baker Street. Nightingale looked up at the tall post bearing the green street sign, and then all around for wherever she thought their home might be set up. The foot traffic was beginning to thin out as the day dragged on; it was evening time, so people were home or heading there—she didn't imagine there was much of a night life in this part of the city. The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over everything in sight, and the tall streetlamps were beginning to flicker on.

“Is that where you live?” Nightingale asked when she spotted a shantytown constructed on a couple-square-mile plot of grass.

O'Shea Memorial Park was one of the few places in White Rain Falls that actually had grass—artificial as it may be. The rest of the city, aside from the outskirts of the outer ring, was spoken for by real estate and paved roads. The park was the only safe place to construct free housing, so the denizens took advantage of it, and the police didn't see running them off worth the effort. Single-level shacks had been built out of whatever material the homeless population could find: discarded sheet metal, wooden planks, even entire doors had been repurposed into sturdy walls.

“Not yet,” Whisper answered. “But we've got a good spot to keep an eye out. So once one of those shacks open up, if we can grab it before someone else, we're in!”

Nightingale looked at Elise for clarification.

“It's not often someone moves out, but it does happen. Have you ever heard of hermit crabs?” she asked.

Nightingale just shook her head.

“They were these little critters that lived in shells. When they found a bigger shell—a bigger, better home—they crawled out of their smaller shell, and moved into the better one.”

“
How'd you learn about them?” Nightingale asked. She was impressed by Elise's knowledge, and instantly felt smarter for knowing about hermit crabs.

“
Once in a while I'll find a big thick book and read through it,” she answered.

“
Yeah!” Whisper exclaimed. “My sister's wicked smart!”

Elise grinned and tousled Whisper's hair playfully. “So once one of those shacks becomes available, if we can drop our stuff in and claim it first, we'll have a pretty nice home for the winter.”

“We can just move in if someone moves out?” Nightingale asked next.

“
Sure,” Elise said. “Nobody really owns them. They were built a long time ago, and people just make repairs or improvements when they need to.”

Eventually the girls stopped right across the street from the park, their backs to an alleyway.

“And everyone follows the rules? Nobody tries to force anyone out, or steal someone's shack?”

“
Nah, for the most part we all play nice. Like I said before, there
are
a few bad apples, but we mostly look out for each other. They're sort of like unwritten rules,” Elise explained.

“
You girls sure are persistent,” an elderly male voice said, and Nightingale looked over her shoulder. An old man and woman sat in a pair of rocking chairs beside a steel drum containing a tall fire. They were set up at the front of the alley, and shared a large wool blanket draped over their lower bodies. “I don't think anyone's ever kept such a close eye on that place.”

“
Mister Grant!” Whisper greeted them with an excited wave. “Got the time?”

Mister Grant pulled a silver pocket watch out of his chest pocket and flipped it open. “It's just about 6:45 in the PM, miss—isn't it getting close to your bedtime?” he joked.

“Aw, I got a few more hours!” Whisper replied, and then looked up at Elise. “I'm gonna go get the fire started!” She ran into the alley, to where they had their makeshift home set up.

Mister Grant pocketed his watch. “If only we had your patience, maybe we'd finally find a couple walls for ourselves.”

“Oh, dear, no,” his wife chimed in next, her tone upbeat and friendly. “You know I can't stand to be in one place for too long. A new alley every month, now that's what makes life so interesting!”

Elise chuckled and glanced at Nightingale. “This is Mister and Misses Grant, they just set up here a few weeks ago.”

“It's nice to meet you,” Nightingale said through a bit of a nervous smile.

“
Why don't you go see if Whisper needs any help?” Elise said to Nightingale as she removed her backpack and unzipped it.

“
Sure.” Nightingale headed into the alley, following Whisper's path.

“
We had a pretty good trip to the pit,” Elise said as she began pulling items out of her bag. “I grabbed a few extra winter hats for you two.”

Nightingale found Whisper about halfway down the alley, struggling to get a fire started. She was knelt beside a tall, rusty steel drum, repeatedly dragging a matchstick across the pavement.

“Come on, light!” she muttered, her frustration growing with each failed attempt. “Please!”

“
Is something the matter?” Nightingale asked, kneeling beside her.

“
It won't light!” Whisper looked up at Nightingale, worry plain on her face. “I dropped it in a puddle, I ruined it! Elise is gonna be so mad, we don't have many matches left!”

“
Here, let me try.” Nightingale took the match and dragged it across the ground. When it didn't light she inspected the match head, and saw that most of the flint had been worn away. The entire stick was damp and completely useless. She frowned and looked down at Whisper, who looked rather concerned. “I don't think it'll light.”

Whisper pouted and sat on the ground. Her worried expression deepened when she looked up and saw Elise coming over, but then her eyes widened in surprise when the match suddenly lit.

Nightingale gasped and jumped to her feet, the entire stick burning. She dropped it into the drum when it burnt her fingertips, and shook the pain out of her hand. “Ow!” She cringed and looked into the barrel, watching as the stick slowly burnt out.

“
You did it!” Whisper said, jumping to her feet along with Nightingale.

The fire burnt down to a single ember, the matchstick resting atop a pile of dry sticks, logs, and branches. “No, don't go out!” Nightingale said with a frown, and then as if on command, the ember erupted into a mostly contained inferno. She jumped back just in time, grabbing Whisper and yanking her out of the way as well, the flames rocketing a couple feet into the air before settling back down and burning at the rim of the drum.

“Wow, cool!” Whisper said, wide-eyed and watching the fire, not even a little concerned that it nearly claimed her eyebrows.

“
Wow, yeah, what was that?” Elise asked as she approached the two.

“
Nightingale's awesome at starting fires!” Whisper said.

“
Well that's always a useful skill,” Elise replied.

Nightingale just smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of her head.
Did I do that?
she thought. The matchstick was soaked, but she turned it into a fireball.

“
Well, hey,” Elise interrupted her thoughts, “who's hungry?”

“
I'm
so
hungry!” Whisper raised her hand high. “What's for dinner?”

“
Well, let's see what we've got.” Elise knelt beside a large hut that used the brick wall of the alley for its fourth wall; the other three walls and the roof were formed by a large blue tarp propped up on some tall planks. She pulled the front of the tarp aside, and dragged a cardboard box into the open. “We've got soup, bread, pasta—”

“
Pasta!” Whisper interrupted.

“
Pasta it is!” Elise placed a box of spaghetti aside, then reached back into their hut to grab a pot with one hand, and an oven rack with the other. “Grab the water, Whisper.” She placed the oven rack on the drum and the pot on the rack, and then Whisper grabbed a jug of water from their food box. Elise took the jug and popped the lid off, and filled the pot about halfway.

“
Do you like spaghetti?” Whisper asked Nightingale. “It's my favorite!”

Nightingale shrugged a little in response. “I'm not sure... I don't remember ever having it.” She still felt slightly awkward, though, and didn't want to be rude. “But I'm sure I'll like it.”

“Me too, it's so good!” Whisper's eyes went wide when she suddenly remembered something. “We found some sauce today, too, didn't we?”

“
Yeah, I think so.” Nightingale removed her backpack and placed it on the ground, and knelt to open it up. She removed all the food items they had found and set them on the ground.

“
Oh, yeah!” Whisper cheered and grabbed the jar of sauce. “This is gonna be a great first dinner with us, Nightingale!”

“
That'll take some time to boil,” Elise said, “so I'm gonna change into my new pants. Keep an eye on things, alright?” She grabbed her bag and stepped into their hut.

“
Hey, let me sew your shirt!” Whisper said once Elise had stepped inside.

“
Right now?” Nightingale asked, looking between her torn sleeve and Whisper.

“
Sure. You don't even gotta take it off, just sit still.” Whisper plopped her backpack onto the ground next, and retrieved a small sewing kit from one of the front pouches.

Nightingale nodded and sat on the ground, and crossed her legs. Her bird fluttered to her other shoulder so Whisper could work.

“It's just the seam that's torn, that'll be real easy to fix.” She threaded a needle with a long black string and stood behind Nightingale. She pinched the fabric together and began to work.

Nightingale was a little nervous about having her sleeve sewn while she was still wearing the shirt, but Whisper seemed to know what she was doing. She was careful to keep the needle away from her skin as she worked.

“So Elise told me that you picked the name Whisper for yourself,” Nightingale said, mostly just making conversation.

“
Yeah. Why, you don't like it?” she asked.

“
No, I do,” she answered. “I think it sounds cool... Though, don't you think you're a bit loud for it?” she joked, her lips curling in a bit of a smirk.

“
Aw!” Whisper pouted. “I can still be real sneaky when I wanna be, you know!”

“
Is that why you picked it?”

“
Yeah,” she answered, continuing to thread the needle and string through the sleeve. “Elise used to say I'm as quiet as a whisper. It totally sounds like something you'd read in a comic book, like a superhero's secret identity, doesn't it?”

Nightingale nodded and smiled. “Yeah, it does. It's super cool. Nightingale isn't my real name, either, you know.”

“Really? Do you know what your real name is?”

“
Nope.”

“
Why'd you pick Nightingale as your name?” Whisper suddenly felt a bit closer to Nightingale at knowing they shared this bit of personal history.

And suddenly, Nightingale didn't feel so alone. “I didn't really pick it myself... Someone picked it for me. I think I was actually named after this bird.” Her nightingale chirped.

“Well it's a super pretty name,” Whisper said, and then leaned in close to tear the string with her teeth and tie it off. “All done!”

Nightingale looked down at her sleeve and gave it a gentle tug. It looked as good as new. “Wow, that's perfect! Thanks, Whisper!”

“Anytime!” Whisper smiled and packed her sewing kit away. “I've gotta keep it looking nice so I can wear it someday, right?”

Once Whisper was finished, Elise waved
Mr. Coffin, Volume 3
in front of her face. “Any little homeless girls wanna read a comic book before dinner?”

Whisper gasped and her eyes shot open wide. “I do!” She bounced and tried to grab it, but Elise pulled it out of her grasp just in time.

Elise grinned and hid it behind her back. “Put the spaghetti in the pot, then we'll talk.”

Whisper grabbed the nearly full box and dumped its contents into the boiling water. She grabbed a fork from the box Elise had pulled out of the hut and stirred it, then practically bounced from excitement. “There, it's in, let's read!”

Elise nodded and sat against the wall across from the fire, and Whisper sat by her side. Elise draped her arm around her sister's shoulder and they huddled together, and Whisper took the comic. She opened it up excitedly and began reading.

“
Pre—previ...ously, in Mi...Mister Coffin!” she began, sounding out the words.

Nightingale stayed by the fire. She shivered and hugged her legs to her chest when a chilly breeze picked up, and her bird chirped and took shelter in her hair. She watched the sisters read the comic together; Whisper did most of the reading, while Elise helped her out with the bigger words and turned the pages.

Elise looked up after a few minutes. “You can join us if you'd like, Nightingale,” she said, smiling. “But grab a coat first—it'll be dark soon, you don't wanna freeze. There's one in my bag, we found it earlier.”