* * *
I would like to have said that the rest of the trip was uneventful. But it wasn’t uneventful. We met another group at another set of tracks where a different steam train sat. This one looked older than the first and was all black from the top of its stack to the pointed tip of its cowcatcher. (Craig corrected me on the proper term.)
Craig was the only train expert around at the moment, so he was teaching some of the others how to be train engineers. (Not drivers. My mistake.) He even asked me if I wanted to drive one day but I passed. I had enough to do.
We plowed through snow in Iowa and stopped when we needed to stop. Sometimes we had to dig the snow off the lines to get through. We picked up a few more passengers, people who were amazed to see a running train. We saw other people, too. They watched from a distance, neither moving nor flagging us down. There were other things around too. It turned out that the unicorns weren’t only in the Pacific Northwest. We passed a herd near Des Moines so similar in coloring to the first ones I had seen, that they could have been the same ones, for all I knew. I could speak to some of them. Some of them didn’t want to speak to me. I think there was a couple species that would have been happy eating us.
The people on the train were fascinated with my abilities. Landers didn’t try to speak with me often, but occasionally, he tried to pry some bit of information out of me. He was smooth, but he’d played his hand too soon. He was interested in me or what I had, and he wanted to know more. There was something about him that gave me a cold shiver down my spine, and I didn’t like to ignore those baser feelings. I even asked the firefly pixies about him, but they clammed up. It reminded me of how they had clammed up about the Burned Man when he had been healed, and he had come into the redwoods camp trying to fool us.
Well, the Burned Man had fooled us. All of us. It was a trick that had worked until he made his decision, and the decision had prompted my clairvoyance.
I didn’t want to be fooled again.
When we got to Chicago, it was like Mrs. O’Leary’s cow all over again. Half the city had been burned to the ground. Against a snowy backdrop, it was a series of blackened frames and bits of steel that had melted into other bits.
Everyone was wistfully quiet because Chicago had been such a large city and a vivid place. I had visited there once while my father taught a class at the University of Chicago. My mother and I had toured some touristy spots. We’d seen the Frank Lloyd Wright Home and Studio, the Children’s Museum, and we’d played hooky on the Navy Pier.
Once we’d decamped from the train on the south side of the city, we’d made our way through the ruins to Lake Michigan.
Craig said, “The lake runs down to Indianapolis now. It’s like the earth opened up, and the water rushed in to fill it up. One of the Chicago guys in D.C. said the lake went down about thirty feet, but it sucked in water from the other great lakes. Voila. Big ass lake.”
I carried the gerbil cage in one hand while looking around at what was left. Without realizing it, Spring had left the cage and landed in the hair behind my ear. She sang, “Old human place.”
“What about it?”
“It’s cold and windy. Do the sisters need to stay here long?”
“No, we’re getting on a boat,” I sang to her.
“A boat,” Spring repeated. The word didn’t translate to firefly pixie.
“It floats on the water,” I explained. “I expect it’ll be a sailboat. I wonder if there’s a lot of ice right now. We might need a sled. How are we going to break the ice?” I asked more of myself than Spring.
“Floats on the water?” Spring sang excitedly. “Is it like the steam train?” She hadn’t warmed to the train for a couple of days, but slowly, the girls had gotten used to the strange technology, and it had begun to interest them. They didn’t want to be around the firebox, but they didn’t mind playing with the steam horn.
“Craig,” I said to the train engineer, “what kind of boat are we taking?”
“Tramp steamer,” he grinned. “It’s called the Lackamoolah. Gotta love those people who kept up old boats.”
I thought about it. “Very droll,” I answered dryly. “Yea, antiques.”
Chapter 10
Traveling, Traveling, Traveling…
“I want a hair dryer. I want popcorn, not the kind from a microwave, swimming in butter. Real butter. I want an electric heater. I want a hot pad when it’s…ah…never mind that.” In my dream, I listed my most wished for never-agains. Once, I had started a real list, but it was too depressing to continue to add to it.
“It’s your dream,” Zach’s wonderful voice came to me. “You can have those things if you want to. You just wish for them. Would you like to know what I want?”
I glanced around, not particularly surprised that he was there, but pleased all the same. I would have thought I would be running to him, but he seemed distant and hard to reach. It was the formal dining room again, but it was so big and he was at the opposite end of the table again. He was so far away, and no matter how hard I longed for it, I couldn’t make him appear at my side. “What do you want?”
“I just want you,” Zach said and even at that distance I could see him smile ruefully. He was wearing the prince charming crown again and even had on the matching ensemble. Velvet jacket. Ruffled, white cuffs. I couldn’t see the bottom half, but I imagined it would be skin tight leggings and knee-high leather boots. It suited him. After a moment, he added, “You’re in a boat now. I can smell the water. I can hear the seagulls crying out. But you’re not at the Atlantic Ocean yet.” He tilted his head curiously, waiting for my answer.
“Lake Michigan,” I told him. “New and improved Lake Michigan. Apparently, the lake killed parts of Michigan and Indiana. Swamped them with mystifying forces we don’t understand.”
A map materialized on the table before the faraway Zach. He looked down, and his eyes followed his finger across the path we had taken across the United States. “You’re more than halfway there,” he said. “How is that possible? You should still be in Nebraska. Or maybe Kansas. You should be taking a southern route.”
“There’s a steam train. People got it running. Actually, there have been two of them, no, three of them. One is in Colorado and Nebraska. Another one runs from Omaha to Chicago. Then there’s a third one that will run from the east side of Lake Michigan all the way to Washington D.C. It’s supposed to take four or five days. Providing we don’t have any more giant moths or other disruptions.”
“A steam train,” Zach repeated. He glanced up and the immense locomotive of Number 457 manifested beside the long table. The motor was rumbling and the stack was huffing and puffing black smoke. Zach blinked and then rubbed his eyes with one hand.
“It’s from the 1920s,” I said. “They got it out of a museum. It had been restored in the last year to use in a movie. I think.”
“A mother—” Zach breathed. It was odd that I could hear him since not only was he so far away from me, but the grumble of the train’s engine should have been deafening. “A freaking steam engine?”
“And we’re on a tramp steamer now,” I said. I could almost hear the raucous purr of the boat’s engines. I had found a place under the deck to take a nap. There were bunks there for the hands on the boat. They were compressed because of limited space but not uncomfortable. One only had to remember to be careful sitting up upon awaking because it would have been easy to bang your skull against the bulkhead.
“My God,” Zach said. “How is this possible?”
“No electricity, but steam does work. We’re back to the 19th century, and we’re left with antiques that people have kept running. It’s like Cuba with cars from the forties and fifties except with steam. The steam powers the engines. The fuel is coal. What happens when they run out of coal, I don’t know. Possibly they could use wood in the fireboxes on the trains. I’m not sure about the boat.” I stopped and thought about it. “Someone’s going to make a steam-powered car, am I right?”
>
“Is there a lot of ice there now?” Zach asked. “I heard the Great Lakes can freeze up in winter.”
“Some ice, but it doesn’t seem to be holding the boat back,” I said. We could have been talking about the weather. I could have told him about the ice imps. They lived on the floes, and they looked like skinny little monkeys with bluish-white fur and long curling tails. They cackled boisterously at us as we went passed but otherwise left us alone.
Zach fell silent for a moment. Then he said, “I’m thankful for the technology you’re able to use, Sophie. It means you’ll come back sooner. Instead of years, perhaps only a matter of months.”
I smiled at the longing in his voice. “They came for us, you know.”
Zach’s wistful expression faded. “Who came for you?”
“The President’s people have psychics, too.”
“They talked about you? You specifically?”
“Something like that.” The direction of the conversation made me uncomfortable. I had thought about what Stephen and Craig had meant by the words they’d used. They had come back to find us. That meant Lulu, the girls, and I. But Craig had said, “There was something about you, however.” He’d been looking at me at the time. In typical antisocial Sophie fashion, I hadn’t taken it personally. I thought they had been talking about generalities or that since we’re females or maybe even the firefly pixies, that we really weren’t that special.
“Hanley is able to speak to their psychic on the train,” I said flatly. “The guy’s name is Landers. He can talk to people from long distances.”
Something in my tone alerted Zach. “What’s wrong?” he asked sharply.
“I don’t like Landers much.”
“Why?”
“He wants to know everything,” I said, and the answer was simple.
“You don’t have to go with them,” Zach said. “You can come back.”
I didn’t answer for a bit. The steam trains wouldn’t return me. I didn’t think anyone would be happy if I suddenly said I wanted to return to California. There would be no special trips going backwards. I supposed I could lie and say something about a premonition, but it would be a lie, and I wanted to be better than that. The firefly pixies would probably be happy as hell. They liked the adventure but from there they were all Judy Garland to the max. There was no place like home, but ruby slippers were woefully lacking.
“I made a commitment,” I whispered, but Zach still heard me.
“I don’t like it,” he said immediately. I glanced at the locomotive, and it vanished, leaving puffy black clouds in its wake. “Gideon said something about fulfilling your role. I don’t like that either.”
“What did Gideon say? I found that town he wanted me to see. Sunshine, Colorado. It’s where the train found us. But the town was strange, and there was someone else there. He said his name was Bansi, and he implied he was a god. What does Gideon know about that?”
Zach frowned fiercely. He was good at frowning fiercely. It made me think of what Lulu had said about him.
“Be careful, Sophie,” he said.
“I really like these dreams,” I said. A hot fudge sundae had appeared by my place setting. It was topped with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Someone had thoughtfully sprinkled nuts over it. Just the way I liked it. There was a long silver spoon sitting beside the silver bowl with the dessert. “If you come down here, I’ll share my sundae with you,” I offered playfully.
“Only if you let me lick it off your lips,” Zach said promptly.
And even in the dream I blushed. I could feel the touch of his wonderfully soft yet firm lips in the mysterious arena of my mind. His fingers trailed down my shoulders, lighting on every nerve of my body. He wasn’t even next to me, and he could impact me in such a manner.
On the other end of the long, long, long table he tried to rise, but his body seemed as if it was an insect trapped in amber.
“I can’t come closer,” Zach said sadly.
“But—” I started and stopped. It was my dream. It should have been the way that I wanted it to be.
Fingers abruptly clamped on my shoulder, and startled, I looked up. Powerful digits squeezed my flesh and began to hurt me.
Bansi’s black eyes glared down at me. “He can’t, but I can.”
* * *
Of course, I sat up when I woke so rapidly and hit my head on the bulkhead. “Bloody bits of gopher guts,” I said. It was an old curse, one of the few my mother allowed me to use after I started calling the boy in 3rd grade a name I wasn’t supposed to know yet.
“Watch out for the top of the bunk,” a voice warned. I rubbed my head and muttered some other choice words. I was going to have a lump high on my forehead. Next time I would get the lowest bunk.
Below me, Clora lay in the bottom bunk rubbing her stomach. I leaned over the side of the bunk and watched as the firefly pixies flew and darted around her baby bump. Her brown eyes met mine. “Did you hurt yourself badly?” she didn’t wait for an answer as she asked another one, “They like the baby, don’t they?”
I nodded. “They like both of you. They haven’t seen how a human produces another human, though. They lay eggs in the water, and the eggs are fertilized by the males who live in the water. They don’t have the male/female relationships we do.” I rubbed the bump on my head. It was a bruise and nothing more.
I had an odd feeling in between my shoulder blades, and I looked up, expecting someone to be standing at the door watching us. There wasn’t anyone else in the bunk room, and I could hear chatter above the engines. There was some space behind the room where someone was cooking what smelled like spaghetti sauce.
The captain of the boat, an effortless man of Indian descent named Ranjan, had said it would take about four to five hours to make the crossing. I wondered about what kind of new stuff was swimming about the lake. That was before we’d seen the ice imps.
Ranjan had correctly interpreted my skeptical expression and laughed as he’d said, “We’ve crossed a dozen times now and haven’t seen anything larger than a few sea serpents and what we think might have been a catfish. Those little monkey things on the ice floes, too.”
I had taken the girls below and had a nap, dreaming about Zach, which was always a positive. But then Bansi had wandered into my dream, and it was somewhat tainted.
I crawled carefully out of the bunk and smiled at Clora and the firefly pixies. They buzzed around her stomach, and Spring flitted up to my ear to sing, “The sisters can hear the little human inside her! Ask if she swallowed the egg! Why would humans do such a thing?”
Covering my mouth, I said in English, “They want to know if you swallowed the egg, Clora.”
Clora giggled. “They really lay eggs in water?”
“Yes, really.” I sighed and sang to Spring, “We don’t swallow eggs. The eggs stay inside us. A baby grows in our abdomens until he or she is ready to be born.”
Spring thought about it. “How does it get fertilized then?” Several other of the girls flew up to perch on my head. I knew they wanted to hear the answer, too.
Oh crap. I had to explain the birds and the bees to the firefly pixies. I was pretty sure my face was the color of a ripened strawberry. “Human males…um…come inside a human female.” I loved this. Not.
Spring tittered with the other pixies. “Human males put something inside a human female?” she sang curiously.
“Remind me to find a book on human sexuality at the next town we hit,” I deprecatingly said to Clora. “The girls want to know how we reproduce.”
Clora laughed.
“That’s right,” I sang to Spring. “I’m hungry. I’m going to eat. I’ll explain it all to you later. I’ll get pictures.”
Thank God that was the end of it until I found a book called Let’s Talk About SEX! in a Barnes and Noble store.
* * *
The boat ride went pretty well. A few people got sea sick, or lake sick as the case was. Lulu got involved in a hot poker game on
the poop deck and didn’t come up until the boat bumped against a pier on the opposite side of Lake Michigan.
We had to walk about five miles to where the third steam engine met us. This one was white with brass highlights. It was something out of an amusement park that had been used to cart children around the perimeter of the park. The name painted on the side in pink and purple was the “Happy-Go-Land Express.” I’m certain Craig was thrilled to death.
However, the steam train had begun, it was now the D.C. Express with minimal stops to Union Station in the District of Columbia. We chugged through a corner of Michigan, putted through the top of Indiana and Ohio, with quick peeks at Lake Erie. Then we crossed into Pennsylvania and dipped down into Maryland. There were frequent stops to remove debris and snow from the tracks.
One incident had us stopped for a full day while we waited for a herd of what Stephen called chupacabras to cross the lines. The reptile-like, dog-sized animals were gray and had odd blue eyes. There was a series of prongs down their backs, and they were grazing along the sides of the tracks. No one really wanted to get down to shoo them away.
“Goatsuckers,” Stephen said. “They suck the blood out of goats.”
I had climbed over the tender to see what the stop was about.
Craig glanced at me. “You want to talk to them, Sophie?”
I looked out at the herd of dozens of the creatures. One suddenly pounced on something. It had gotten an errant squirrel. The squirrel squealed once and two of the beasts bent to it. “Are they really—?”
“I’m not sure,” Stephen said. He crossed his chest with his hand. “My abuela would have said, ‘See, mi hijo, I told you about that.’ She knew things, you know. On dark nights when the moon was new, she would tell us to shut all the windows, even on the hottest nights, and stay inside. The next day, there was usually a goat missing or a sheep. Once one of our donkeys.”
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