by L. B. Carter
Tossing in a kernel and enjoying the buttery crunch, Henley marveled that, in the last hour, she’d gone from a rule-following, hard-working soon-to-be-graduate to a law-breaking, on-the-lam felon.
Was it felony? She had signed a contract when she accepted the University’s fully-funded offer to perform research in exchange for a degree. She wasn’t sure what degree of law-breaking it was deemed to be, in terms of wrongdoing. Could it be considered quitting? How binding was that contract?
That said, she had also: two - aided and abetted in the theft of BSTU property, or perhaps it was kidnapping since this ‘model’ was biological, three - high-jacked BSTU transportation, and four - left campus with neither authorization nor escort. Stealing popcorn wasn’t quite so bad in comparison. It wasn’t like she had any money on her. She hadn’t been off campus in five years—four years and eleven months, to be exact—and everything at the University was inclusive, in return for her brains and diligence.
Some brains. It had taken four years and eleven months before Henley became aware that ‘with termination at project completion’ had been referring to the signer, not the contract itself.
With that evidence, it seemed fairly binding.
Henley hadn’t even realized it on her own; the Bus had pointed out the distinction. Then, he’d provided half of the escape plan. Unhelpfully, that had only been the get-out portion. He hadn’t outlined the get-across-the-country part, which she’d thought at the time would be the less difficult step.
As it was her first time off campus in four years and eleven months, it was also news to Henley just how pervasive the University had become in public life as well; everything was BSTU-centric, when you were locked inside their own buildings. Evidently that wasn’t an exaggerated consequence of living at the source.
All this left Henley stranded only a few blocks away from campus, alone, without her co-felons or transportation.
Yep, some brains.
She kicked her numb toes. The water launched in a beautiful arcing trajectory that obscured the view of the expansive horizon for a moment and brought her thoughts back almost seventeen years. The sun glanced off the ripples in blinding sparkles, and she shoved that memory back. Water had been her ally then too. In the distance, wave crests danced in little bursts of white across the expanse of blue mirroring the cotton-candy clouded sky. That stale seaweed and salt smell filled her nose. Smells were such an important part of defining a place. This one reminded her of home. The home she now had no idea how to get to or even if she could, evading all BSTU’s tech.
The water was her friend for the moment. As with all electronics, BSTU’s products didn’t mix well with water, which didn’t mix well with sea level rise. But that only held true until BSTU replaced her in their lab, coercing another blindly willing soul to finish the project she’d gotten so close to completing.
Henley’s water-proofing tech had been high priority.
The next piece of popcorn went down smoothly as she gave another smug little kick to her buddy H2O. The breeze blew her hair across her face, and she brushed it back to stare at the view again.
It went on as far as she could see, and she began to feel small, insignificant, helpless, the darkness hollowing out her stomach again. How was she going to stop her sister from making the same fateful life decision she did if she couldn’t get across the country to the Pacific Ocean? She was not a day out of the walls, still in the same city, for Pete’s sake, and already they’d traced her.
The piece of popcorn she angrily tossed was caught in the wind and, trapped in its powerful current, blown back onto the dock beside her.
A sudden rustle came from behind, and Henley snapped around, tense, flight mode engaged.
It was just a seagull, standing uncertainly on the cobblestones, head tilted as he eyed the popcorn.
Artificial things didn’t experience hunger. She relaxed, smiled, and tossed him a kernel.
He spread his wings and rose, his flight mode more literal, snatching it out of midair gracefully.
Henley felt something of a strange kindred moment with a piece of cooked corn.
The gull landed and snapped up the second gift from the damp stones with a gentle grab of the beak and a dramatic head-tipped-back swallow in one gulp. He took a step closer, eager for more, her new companion.
She pondered her lost friends. Well, they were more like escape partners since the Bus never spoke to any of his peers until he surprised her with his revelation about her impending execution, and he’d been the go-between with Jennifer Tate, who’d been necessary since her mother, Professor Katheryn Tate, was faculty with high clearance, thus awarding them an all-access pass to the exits. Still, Henley hoped BSTU didn’t find them, and they were long gone by now.
That left Henley.
If Henley had wings, that’d make evading sight much easier and the travel to her mom’s house much faster. Then she might stand a chance of making it… and that meant so would Bromley.
The seagull had sidled up during her mental crisis and was standing next to her on the edge, pretending to be looking out at the ocean too. Henley held her arm out, and he politely took another single kernel. She ate one with him.
“Do you think Buster made it?” she asked the gull. “You’re like a drone right, so can you fly up and check?”
He blinked.
“Yeah, I doubt you’d see him. Buster is too smart to be seen. Unlike me.”
The gull and the girl munched another piece each.
“Not that I know him well enough to know that for sure. I only saw him at our weekly check-ins. His meetings and mine often overlapped. It’s alphabetical,” she explained to a bird. “Acton. Bickford. He’s second in his field. I’m second in mine. That was pretty much the extent of our relationship—sitting in the waiting room next to each other and a girl named Judith Ashby from Math, who’d already gone into her meeting that day.” She shook her head as if in regret, but it was more an effort to shake the recalled shock and fear that had flooded her when she’d read the note he’d passed her.
She paused her story for a moment, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal, reminding herself she got out.
The gull stepped closer and grabbed another bite.
When she too could swallow the popcorn again, she finished the thought that had been bugging her. “I don’t know how long he’d known about it… It seemed like he’d been planning his coup for a while with how precise it was. Why did he wait so close to the—” She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the word that had come to mind. “—the end,” she forced out. She stared at the rapidly darkening sea and wondered what his project was about. Had he been that dedicated to finishing it and just needed to save himself at the last possible month?
Henley glanced at her newest cohort who’d made a pyramid of popcorn in front of him and was working his way through it. The giant bag that was meant to feed all three of them—four? Did that girl they’d helped Jen sneak out eat, unlike Henley’s products? Henley had no idea what beings the genetic biology department concocted.
Another seagull called out and landed next to the pyramid, trying to nab some.
No point in saving the popcorn now. Henley tossed a handful and watched as the newcomer dove for it, leaving the first alone with his prize for listening to her lamentation.
But it was too much, enticing a feeding frenzy as several others approached who’d been circling the harbor, hungry with much of the marine ecosystem dying or migrating to more amenable water temperatures as the ocean heated with the climate. The swarm cried out in joy and greed, dive-bombing her little sanctuary.
Henley backed further between the boats. She hadn’t meant to call attention to herself. The birds were like an alarm, cawing and swooping around her. Within moments, though, the crowd was gone, save for her original companion.
She needed to move, to hide more succinctly, in case anyone showed up to investigate what had excited the remaining wildlife in the area. It’d
be just her luck if they were BSTU scientists, like her. She couldn’t go back the way she’d come.
Standing, she startled the seagull off, but at this point, without her crew, she was all about saving herself. Henley made her way timidly around the more sea-ward of the two boats and climbed the ladder, landing unsteadily on the listing deck, holding her breath.
Trepidation stilted her movements like a buggy ’bot. The yacht was nice, almost too nice. There was a chance the rich owners had made a BSTU purchase that would pinpoint and leak her new location. The fact that it was a boat wouldn’t help. The rich were both lazy enough and wealthy enough to simply replace any water-shorted tech.
Taking a deep breath before committing her eighth crime, Henley focused on the cabin door, which popped open after only a quick touch of her hand. Wielding her hand like a taser, she entered, but double luck ensured the room was empty except for a mini fridge, a small bathroom, and a bed. Wishing she could set up the trip wire she’d designed after the first few pranks in the dorms, she instead grabbed the only utensil next to the tiny sink—a fork.
Then Henley crashed onto the bed, beyond exhausted after their midnight escape.
It was a waterbed. That decision was irrational for a boat. The constant rocking of the waves would keep it sloshing constantly. The owners must have a great disinclination for seasickness.
Though Henley’s stomach was already tumbling about what she’d done—add breaking and entering to the list—and what she had yet to do, it didn’t matter. The nausea was a reminder that she was alive. Henley Bickford had escaped ‘termination’. She just had to remain that way while she traversed thousands of miles home with her warning.
◆◆◆
The water was rising. The coral polish on her toes made them look like little seashells, poking up out of the water as it rose. Henley smacked her foot on the surface, making a splat sound. Daddy had said the oceans were rising, too. Was that happening as fast as the hose in her house? Maybe Mama and Henley shouldn’t go to the beach anymore.
She yawned, still tired.
“Shoes on, now,” Daddy said, calmly, without looking at her.
He didn’t have any on. His big feet were even deeper underwater. He was always barefoot when he let Henley stand on his toes to dance, like the penguins on the TV.
Tom from school had owned a pool at his house. She had gone to his birthday last year. Not this year. He got mean, so she didn’t go over there anymore. This wasn’t like having her own pool.
Henley wiggled her toes again. The water was cold, and she couldn’t really feel them anymore. She splashed again. Little ripples moved away from her and ran into the waves Daddy’s shins were making.
He was still collecting all the special things: worn books with no pictures, boring black and white photos in silver frames, a few china teacups, the doilies Grandma knitted, and the mouse clock. He wasn’t treating them carefully like Mama had told Henley to, shoving them into a heap on top of the blanket Grammy made on the coffee table. The magazines and flowers that had been there he’d thrown on the couch next to her. Thrown! Henley wasn’t allowed to touch that glass vase because Mama said it was breakable. He was lucky she was upstairs, packing and didn’t see, or he’d be in time-out.
He added more to the pile.
The corner of the blanket slipped to touch the water.
Henley watched the light pink color darken, creeping up like a scary shadow monster, closer to the specials. Henley slid further down the couch, stretching out her leg, and kicked the corner out of the water. It landed on a book.
Henley glanced up at Daddy, but he was facing the other way and didn’t see what she’d done. She looked back, debating sliding to the ground to go fix it. The clock started to slide, kind of like the ice cream did off her cone at the beach. Mama had gotten her another.
That clock used to be red around the edge, but now it was old and orange on one side like a moldy peach. Mama said that was because of the sun hitting it through the window for so long. It should have put sunscreen on. At least Mickey and Minnie hadn’t gotten sunburned.
They were in the middle of the clock. He had his arms spinning around to point at the time all day and all night. Daddy was teaching Henley to read it. Right then, she couldn’t remember what the numbers were; this clock didn’t have any on it. Mickey’s right hand pointed across his body at his left shoe, the other was up by his right ear. It looked like he was dancing but with backward arms, pretzel twisted. Henley guessed it wasn’t uncomfortable because he was still smiling.
But really, she thought that was probably because Minnie was next to him in a fluffy red dress with white polka dots. They were cozy snuggly with her arms around him like how Mama always did to Daddy when he got home from work. Except Mickey and Minnie were dancing together, just like Daddy and Henley. He said they looked like his mommy and daddy, who gave it to him when he was just her age. It was his special.
Mama said Mickey and Minnie were mice. Could mice swim?
Marlowe leaped past, barking happily, his white fluff tickling Henley’s leg, and it almost made her drop her storybook and stuffed Doggy.
Doggy used to be white too, but now he mostly looked kinda like Marlowe when he went to play in the mud after a rainstorm. Mama was always trying to steal Doggy to put in the laundry. Marlowe was sad and whined a lot when Mama washed him. She didn’t want Doggy to be sad, too.
Marlowe jumped in a circle between Henley and the table with Daddy’s pile, making big splashes.
One time when Mama was out with her friends, Daddy let Henley go out with Marlowe after it rained, and they stomped in puddles and got all wet. Daddy gave Henley a bath, but it was fun with him.
This wasn’t as fun.
Mama came down the stairs with a big backpack on, and another bag in her hand, and Henley’s baby sister stuck to her front like those snails on the rocks. “I’ve got some things. Have you got everything collected?” She was breathing a lot like she’d gone for a run like she used to before, when it was just Henley, not Henley and Bromley. She looked scared.
“Almost,” Daddy said. He didn’t look scared. He looked focused like when he was reading.
Marlowe barked at Mama and splashed over to her, knocking the clock. Micky and Minnie smiled as they tipped off the edge.
Henley didn’t want Daddy to be sad, either.
She slipped off the couch cushion, stomped in the cold water to where Daddy’s clock had just landed on top of the water. Mickey and Minnie were face down, bobbing, so she scooped them up and watched the water run off the glass over their faces.
Micky grinned, happy, not sad. Probably because even when they fell, Minnie hadn’t let go.
“Henley!” Mama snapped, sounding angry and scared now.
Daddy turned around, concern finally lifting his brows. He looked Henley over, and she gave him a smile and held up the clock to show him she had it safe, but he just turned back to the picture of the family hanging over the fireplace and said, “I said shoes on, Henley.”
That’s when she knew this was bad. Not a fun indoor pool. He called her Henley.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she said. Now she was sad. She pulled herself up to a stand next to the couch using one arm. With the other, she tucked the clock in her armpit and kept it tight while grabbing for the book and Doggy on the cushion. She couldn’t reach.
Then Mama was there, lifting her back onto the couch. Henley grabbed her things, hugging them all close, Doggy and Mickey and Minnie and the book. Mama put her boots with the frog eyes on. She never usually wore them because Mama didn’t like her to go out in the rain. When Daddy let her, she had worn naked feet like Daddy liked to have.
“Done,” Daddy announced. “We need to get going.” He pulled the corners of the blanket together and tied them into a bundle.
“Daddy, the corner’s wet! You’re going to get Mama’s specials wet!”
“That’s fine; we need to go,” he repeated, not fixing the blanket. Mama didn�
�t even say anything about her specials either. “I got this and Henley. You go ahead and get Bromley settled with the firemen,” he told Mama.
“Should we just leave the hose on?” She handed Daddy his boots and he put them on, but they were underwater.
“Best defense we’ve got,” Daddy said with his mouth down as he looked around. He was sad.
“I got your clock,” Henley told him, hefting her arms a bit. He smiled, but she could tell he was still sad. Then he scooped Henley up, and they all faced the door.
Henley put her arms around Daddy to cheer him up like Mickey.
It wasn’t a scary door like Henley’s closet. But then Mama reached out to open the door and cried out, yanking her hand back like there was a spider. She turned back to Daddy, wearing her worried face.
“Stand back,” he said to her and plopped Henley on the couch again. “Don’t move, Hen.” She nodded, but he didn’t look at her.
The vase fell against her, and Henley used an elbow to nudge it away. It fell into the water with a plonk.
Mama moved close, stroking her hair like it was bedtime, like her breakable vase hadn’t just fallen down. She was watching Daddy. Henley watched too.
He backed up to the stairs and then took a big kick with a thud and a crack. Daddy broke the door! He kicked again, giving a big grunt. One more kick, and it broke open really loudly.
The sound wasn’t just the door breaking.
Now it was letting in all the noises from outside. It wasn’t birds like usual. The forest was roaring like a lion, and there was lots of crackling and snapping, like when the squirrels threw acorns down on the dry leaves in the fall.
There was a big pop as if there was a giant popcorn bag in the driveway, and Mama jumped.
So much noise. Henley tried to pull her shoulders up to cover her ears because her hands were full of stuff.
“Shit,” Daddy said.
“Bad word,” Henley whispered, mimicking what Mama always told him, hoping he’d hear but not her.
