by K E Lanning
John opened the door. His eyes were red with fatigue and his face rough with whiskers.
Lowry smiled slightly. “Um, sorry to bother you, but I have something to give you.”
He had a sneer on his face as he waved her into the house. “And you just happened to be passing by.” She walked into the living room and he smirked, “Welcome to the den of fools.”
With pinched lips, she took her coat off and draped it over a chair. The stress of the last weeks had worn on both of them. With furrowed brow, she replied testily, “I thought the saying was ‘den of thieves.’”
He gestured with his thumb. “No, they’re down the street. Remember, your uncle—no sorry, your father—shot one of them.”
“All right, enough!” Her lips twitched. “I know you didn’t want this, but now you’ve got it, so stand up like a man. Nick made the ultimate sacrifice—don’t belittle him. He did what he felt he had to do to save Antarctica.”
“To save Antarctica!” He mocked. “I guess he should have wrapped himself in the Antarctic flag and set it on fire. That might have gotten the good people to forget that he plugged your mother.”
She winced against the gibe. “Look, if I hadn’t been smeared along with Nick, my name would have been on the ballot. But that’s not the way the cookie crumbled.” She dug in her pocket and lifted Nick’s silver disc up into the light. “I wanted to bring you the plans Nick gave me, before he . . . he shot Durant.” She placed it on the coffee table. “He had ideas for Antarctica that you might find of use, and I wanted you to have them.”
With a frown, John shrugged, and waved to the chair facing him. She sat, folding her hands, while he flopped onto the couch. He pursed his lips and stared vacantly out of the large window looking across the valley. The wind whipped across the bare fields, and the hum of the breeze through the stubble of wheat was the only sound between them.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I used to never believe in fate, until it smacked me in the face. It’s ironic that I so distrusted politicians that I felt the best solution was to shanghai some poor fool to be the illustrious leader. I never dreamed the fool would be me.”
Lowry tilted her head as she started to protest, but he held up a hand for her to stop.
His gaze dropped to the floor, and a twinge crossed his face like a sharp pain had shot through him. He said hoarsely between pinched lips, “I once told Durant that ambition would ensnare him like a bee in a Venus fly trap; but it’s funny, he wasn’t the only one to get trapped in the flower of death.” Slowly he turned toward her, staring at her with bloodshot eyes. His voice was flat, like the edge of a knife. “And guess who’s the flytrap.”
Her mouth parted and she exhaled. She blinked and drew in a gasping breath as the truth in his eyes washed over her. Lowry slumped in the chair and dropped her gaze to the floor, whispering, “I know.”
His shoulders sagged, and his gaze wandered away from her. Then, with a sigh, he dropped his head into his hands.
A chill went up her spine. She swallowed the bile of reality and mumbled, “I’m sorry, John—”
John glanced at her and shook his head. “Lowry, I should never have allowed my name on the ballot. I have no one to blame but myself.” Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply. “I gave up everything to escape from a stifling corporate system. I came here for freedom to farm my land and to raise my daughter away from an urban jungle.” He lifted his eyes to her, whispering, “I came here to become a human being.”
Lowry dug her nails into her palms, fighting back her anguish.
As if she was no longer there, John stared past her. “Ego was the bait in the trap of my own stupidity. Funny thing, ego. It pushes you to think you’re the only one when in reality there are a dozen right behind you. As soon as the finger is drawn back, the water closes in behind it.”
He swayed slightly. He rubbed his eyes and sank back onto the couch.
The wind rose again and blew dead leaves against the glass pane with a rush, and a whirlwind of dirt, sticks, and leaves danced before the window, then fell into a heap as the gust died.
Lowry turned back to John, numbly staring ahead. With his brow furrowed in puzzlement, he shook his head. “How can a man, through blood, sweat, and tears, carve his commandments on the tablet of his life: this is what I stand for, then in the next instant discard them in the dust, like a child with a forgotten toy?”
His mouth quivered and he licked his dry lips. Hoarsely, he whispered, “What will Ginnie think, a year down the road when she hasn’t seen her old man in weeks? I hope she doesn’t get eaten by the political machine.”
Lowry’s mouth twitched and she forced out, “She’ll be all right.”
He cleared his throat and stared at her. “Lowry, if anything happens to me—take care of her, will you?”
She glanced at him and realized what he meant. With a nod, she whispered, “Of course. I’ll see to her like she was my own.”
Silence fell between them.
In the valley, the rays of the sun touched the hillside facing them. With the slanted light, the shadows revealed streams cutting vertical lines down the face of the slope, rock which before had been smoothly carved by glaciers. The gradual deterioration of a mighty mountain, inevitably collapsing into the depths of the valley.
Lowry turned back and studied the anguish on John’s face as he stared at the floor. He, too, had new lines cutting into his face, exposing the chaos beneath the surface.
She clenched her teeth, fighting the tears welling in her eyes. In a tight voice, she murmured, “Entropy.”
With a puzzled expression, John turned to her. “What?”
She started as she realized that she had spoken. Their eyes met and she smiled sadly. “Entropy.” She pressed her fingers into her temple and whispered, “Entropy is a state of increasing destruction, of disorder, of decay in the world.”
John tilted his head, trying to discern if she was joking or not. Then with a curled lip, he lifted an empty glass from the table and snarled, “Let’s have a toast to entropy!”
Despair washed over her. Lowry turned away, clasping her arms against his hatred as nausea gripped her stomach. She was the force of his destruction, changing the course of his life with a push of her hand, sacrificing his dreams to save her version of Antarctica. And in this, she had destroyed the bonds between them.
She rose on unsteady feet. “I must leave,” she said, glancing at him.
John stared at the floor. “Yes, it’s time.”
In a daze, Lowry slipped on her coat, walked to the door and opened it. She paused and looked back at John, frozen in place with his head in his hand. She stepped into the bright morning sun and stumbled as the light blinded her.
The End
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My deepest appreciation goes to my friends, family, and supporters, especially my author friends: Lisa Tracy and Cristina Pinto-Bailey, early readers who believed in me and bestowed great feedback, and author Sonja Yoerg, for her prodigious support. Special thanks to my wonderful editors for this novel: Heather Webb and Jim Thomsen. Thanks to Kit Foster for creating the fantastic cover and Walter B. Myers for the flooded Earth imagery. Much gratitude to my family, for supporting me during the long process of crafting these stories. Thanks to my friend and ‘cheerleader’ Stevie Bond for reading and supporting my writings. And a special thanks to all my reviewers and readers.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
www.kelanning.com
K.E. Lanning is a writer and scientist. Born in Texas in 1957, she grew up near Houston in the small town of Friendswood, laced with white oyster shell roads and open fields dotted with huge live oaks, riding horses rather than bikes. But nearby, NASA’s space program shepherded thoughts of astrophysics into her head.
Lanning received a bachelor’s degree in Physics in 1979 from Stephen F. Austin St. University in Nacogdoches, TX and a MBA in 1986 from the University of Houston.
A longtime fan of science fiction, Lanning
is intrigued by the multi-dimensions of the genre, allowing the author to explore society, humanity, and our future, and bring the reader along for the ride.
The Sting of the Bee is her second novel, and follows her debut book, A Spider Sat Beside Her, the first story of the Sting of the Bee Trilogy. The final novel of the trilogy will be Listen to the Birds.
