Surviving Minimized: A Novel

by Andrea White

  “Come with me to church?” his father asked. He had bartered a square of rat fur for a new tan shirt, sewn from a BIG sock. When he first brought it home that afternoon, he had pulled a toenail clipping half the length of his forearm out of it. “Don G. is giving the sermon.”

  “Probably about why newcomers should go home,” Zert said. Only we can’t.

  “I admit Don G. isn’t as friendly as everyone else, but I think he’s going to change his mind once he sees my boots,” his father said. “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” Zert shrugged. “I’ll stay here.”

  “You like your teacher. She’s coming,” his father said. He had a goofy smile on his face.

  Mary Kay Casey had given the class homework over the weekend. Going back to school tomorrow morning with those kids was going to be miserable enough. He didn’t want Casey to be angry with him too. “I should finish my short story,” Zert said.

  He picked up “The Adventures of Henry Popter” from the desk. “Leave the door open, will you?” he called to his father. If the world’s weather was controlled by a thermostat, this morning he wouldn’t adjust it even a degree.

  “I’ll see you after church,” his father called as he headed off down the trail.

  Zert lay down on the floor next to the open door and listened to his father whistling and the leaves of a nearby aspen tree fluttering in the breeze.

  He reread the beginning of the first sentence on the paper in front of him: “When I undocked from the floating garage in Shanghai …” His story was about a lifter racer who flew around the world.

  A black thing with hairy legs scuttled by him and then ducked underneath the wall—a roach. Another bug for his herd. Roaches lived year-round. Although toasted fleas and fried minnows tasted better, with the wet season coming, he was going to have to get used to roach soup.

  He picked up a string from the table and twirled it overhead—like a roach cowboy.

  As he headed to the door, he spied a flash of purple through a chink in the hut.

  Millicent burst in the door. Her hair was tousled and her purple shirt muddy.

  “Zert! It’s Beth Gibson!” Millicent cried out. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “By the trickle!”

  “What’s wrong?” Zert asked.

  “A monster’s got her.”

  33

  A QUARKING JOKE

  As Zert raced down the trail after Millicent, he heard her screaming for Don G.

  Rudolpho, Carlos, and John stood along the bank of the trickle next to Cleama Gibson. They looked as if they had been on their way to church, because all of them wore their hair slicked back and their T-shirts tucked into their pants. John was shaking a stick at the monster, and Carlos was aiming a doodlebug at it.

  The giant winged animal stood in the middle of the trickle. It had its back to the crowd and was wagging its tail. These basset hound–duck blends—designed by some prankster scientist—were featured in the windows at Frank’s Pet Store. With its warm eyes, dangling ears, sausage body, and stunted white wings, the bassetduck was a quarking—barking, quacking—joke. But he could see how the Rosies would mistake the animal for a monster.

  The bassetduck stood in the shallow part of the trickle between two rocks. “Hi, girl,” Zert said as he rushed forward. Then, the bassetduck turned to face him.

  Beth’s head and neck hung out of the animal’s half-open mouth. Her brown hair spiked downward.

  The bassetduck tilted her chin back as if she were going to toss Beth into the air.

  Beth let out a bloodcurdling scream as she clung to the animal’s front tooth.

  The bassetduck began looking around for the terrible sound. Its ribs stood out like a basket underneath her lackluster coat and tattered wings. No collar circled her brown-and-white spotted neck. She must have been a stray.

  He looked around for his father and Don G., but Cleama Gibson was the only adult on the bank. Moaning, she drew her cloak around her and bent over toward the ground.

  Zert waded slowly toward the bassetduck. If he startled the animal, it might swallow Beth, and she would slide down the creature’s esophagus and end up in the dark ocean of its stomach. But if he waited, the animal might hiccup and … same slimy fate.

  Above its saggy lids, the bassetduck’s eyes were warm and mischievous, like Chub’s. But he’d already made one mistake with that rat. He needed to be careful not to overestimate his abilities again. Not with someone’s life at stake.

  As Zert drew closer, his nose filled with the familiar odor of wet fur.

  Chub had smelled this way after a bath.

  Zert stopped walking when he reached the bassetduck’s shadow. Feeling lucky that the bassetduck’s body was so low to the ground, he took a deep breath and yelled, “Keep quiet, Beth.”

  He stroked the bassetduck’s oversized leg. “Hey, girl,” he said. “That’s a girl.” Her long ears grazed the surface of the water. He took a deep breath. “You’re a good girl. Yes, you are. Anybody can see that. I’m sorry that you’re lost. We’ll try to get you a little meat later. But first you’ve got to help us. That’s a girl. Good dog.” He took a breath. “SIT!” he shouted.

  The bassetduck swished its tail and raised its stubby wings that stuck out of its sides.

  “SIT!” Zert repeated as a twig floated by. The bassetduck ignored him.

  Chub had loved to chase anything. He grabbed the twig and hiked away so the animal could see him.

  “Wait, Zert, your father’s here,” Cleama Gibson called from the bank.

  But Zert had already heaved the twig with all his strength. “FETCH!” he yelled.

  The bassetduck slowly opened her mouth.

  As Beth tumbled out, Cleama Gibson let loose a long, jagged scream.

  The dog bounded down the trickle as Beth splashed into the water.

  The animal grabbed a branch, not the twig that Zert had thrown, with her huge teeth. The teeth that could have torn Beth in two.

  Zert sloshed toward Beth. His father was running toward her too, his sock shirt flapping in the wind.

  When Zert helped her stand, Beth spit out a mouthload of water. His father grabbed Beth’s other arm.

  “You hurt?” his father asked Beth.

  She shook her head, and her long hair sprayed them with water. “It was just a dumb game—a dare,” she gasped.

  A dumb dare like the rat attack.

  “I touched its leg,” Beth said. She bent over and gagged. More water flowed out of her mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and looked up. “That animal’s tongue was quick. It surprised me.” So the animal had licked her up. Yuck.

  “I’m glad you’re OK,” Zert said.

  Beth pushed her hair out of her eyes. She turned toward Zert. “You saved my life,” she said.

  Zert flushed.

  “Cleama,” Jack called, “your daughter is as good as new.” He turned to Beth. “Now, run over and give your mom a hug.”

  Keeping an eye on the bassetduck, Beth headed slowly toward shore.

  “Good job, son.” Zert’s father clapped him on the back.

  Cleama Gibson’s fur cape came untied as she ran toward Beth. The Rosies never wasted anything, yet Beth’s mother didn’t stop running when the cape fell into the water and drifted away.

  “Good job, Zert,” Millicent yelled from the bank. She had on her purple shirt and matching purple shoes that were fashioned out of … bubble gum?

  A few meters away, the bassetduck held the branch in her mouth. The animal stared at Zert as if to say, “What do you want to play now?”

  “Millicent, get me a big hunk of squirrel meat or jerky,” Zert’s father called.

  “OK.” Millicent rushed away to perform the errand.

  “I’m fine,” Beth said as she pushed her mother away, but freckles that he had never noticed before stood out against her bloodless face. They were the spread-apart kind, like his own.

  Beth had been inside that animal’s mouth. Lying on its bumpy to
ngue. Basting in dog spit. Ugh.

  The bassetduck bounded toward them, flapping its stunted wings and wagging its long tail. The animal was just playing, but Zert stepped backward anyway as waves doused him. He struggled to stay upright but lost his balance. The bassetduck was wagging its tail, creating a powerful current that jostled him and caused him to topple over. As he started swimming, waves flooded the banks.

  Holly Cannon screamed.

  “Everybody! Stand back!” Jack shouted, his head barely above water.

  The crowd stepped back from the trickle in unison.

  “Zert and I are going to lead the animal away from the village,” Jack called to the Rosies standing along the bank.

  Zert struggled to stand as the waves died down. The bassetduck rolled its head, flapped its wings, and shook its coat, slinging pellets of water in all directions.

  Artica Chang had appeared, along with Don G. and a few of the other villagers. They all wore dark clothes, probably Rosie church-wear.

  “Did Zert dare you to touch that animal?” Don G. shouted into Beth’s face.

  “No, Dad,” Beth said.

  “But I bet he told you it was safe,” Don G. muttered. He had on a bumpy black shirt that was made from some kind of … cushion?

  “No, Dad,” Beth repeated.

  “Then why would you be stupid enough to pet that animal?” Don G. thundered. His hair, pulled back with a leather tie, stuck out like a horse’s tail.

  “Dad! Zert had nothing to do with this. He wasn’t even here!” Beth said.

  Artica waded out, holding two huge hunks of rat meat.

  Jack took the pieces of meat. “I’ve got some more rat meat in the smokehouse. You can have some of ours,” he offered.

  “I’m not worried about that, Jack. Your son just averted a tragedy,” Artica said. “Good job, Zert.” He started back toward the bank, not seeming to care that his black pants were getting drenched.

  “Thanks,” Zert said, taking one piece of meat from his father.

  Millicent waved. “Yeah, Zert.”

  Zert wiped off his face and patted the bassetduck’s leg.

  The silly animal still held the branch in its mouth.

  Zert and his father began wading through the trickle toward the parking lot. “Here, girl,” his father shouted.

  The bassetduck trotted toward them.

  The Rosies on the bank all clapped and cheered.

  Don G. had his arm around his daughter and wife.

  Cleama Gibson was crying.

  Beth was staring at him. “Thank you, Zert,” she mouthed.

  No problem, you ol’ scaredy dog.

  “I wish we could keep the bassetduck,” Zert said to his father. He and his dad had passed the outermost boundary of Paradise, and Rosie nets and buckets no longer lined the banks. “She seems sweet. Maybe we could use her for our getaway next Sunday.”

  “Zert,” his father laughed. “How would we feed her?”

  “It’s just for a week. Then, after we get kicked out, we could climb up the bassetduck’s long ears and get onto its back.” He’d hold onto its wings as they loped across the meadow to their next home. “Think about how far away she could take us.”

  “So long as the dog doesn’t mistake one of us for a mouse.”

  Zert shuddered. He had to face facts. Now that he was thumb sized, animals that he used to think of as pets would never be entirely safe for him again. He must take new care around them.

  That would be a lost dream except that he had discovered insects. There were so many kinds of bugs, and they could do so many crunchy things: spin webs, walk on water, walk up trees, and build houses underground.

  “Besides, Zert, what you did was a game changer,” his father interrupted his thoughts. “Those kids will never call you a coward again.”

  His father had never mentioned the kids’ taunts before, but then again, his father never told Zert all he knew. “It looks like we still have a problem with Don G, though.”

  “Did you hear what he said to Beth?” Zert said. “And I wasn’t even there when the bassetduck licked her.”

  “Don G. has got it into his head that you won’t succeed here,” his father said. Jack’s reflection sparkled in the trickle. He was staring off into the distance. “Did you try to attack Beth with a knife?”

  “I was carving the stupid soap statue for art class,” Zert said. “I wasn’t attacking her.”

  “That’s what Mary Kay Casey said.” His father sighed. “Well, we’ll find out next weekend.”

  “Dad,” Zert said, “where will we go when we get kicked out?”

  “Mary Kay Casey says we’ve got good reason to be optimistic,” his father said. “I like her. Don’t you?”

  “I think we should just follow the trickle.” Zert wondered why his father never answered his questions about their future plans.

  Without warning, the bassetduck stopped in its tracks. It started flapping its wings and bark-quacking.

  “What’s going on?” Zert said.

  His father threw back his head and laughed.

  The bassetduck was staring at its ridiculous reflection in the water and quarking at her bizarre white wings sticking out of her furry back, her own long snout, and her droopy eyes.

  Zert started laughing. He hadn’t laughed so hard since he and Cribbie had slid down the side of the old concrete dam on cardboard boxes. Chub had waited on top, howling in excitement.

  Before the Quarantine. Before Teen Jail. Before he lost Chub.

  Before … He couldn’t see it yet, but if his past was any guide, the next catastrophe had to be right around the corner.

  34

  A COUCH WITH A NEW KIND OF SPRING

  There was a knock on the door a few hours later.

  Beth stood in front of Zert’s hut in the fading light. Her long, stringy hair fell unbrushed from under a cap woven from pine needles. Her knees, knobbed from crawling around on all fours, poked out of her holey overalls. Tiny red wildflowers peeked out of her front pockets.

  “Can I come in?” Beth asked.

  Zert swung the door open.

  “Where’s your dad?” she asked as she followed Zert inside. Her bare feet padded soundlessly on the dirt floor.

  “Bath,” Zert said simply. His father had gone to the turtle bath to wash off the smell of wet bassetduck, but Zert didn’t want to remind Beth of her awful experience.

  As he walked over to the couch, Zert saw the room through Beth’s eyes.

  The rat-skin rug on the floor gave the hut a homey, lived-in look. His father had removed the magazine photos from the walls, exposing the cheerful blue cybratom, and had built a series of shelves for his work tools and unfinished boots, and a bench.

  Zert’s new gray boots sat in the center of the table. They were sturdy and comfortable. Once his father figured out how to make laces, they’d be perfect for the frigid, wet weather that the villagers had warned was coming.

  His short story, “The Adventures of Henry Popter,” lay open on his desk, surrounded by his growing collection of objects: a snail shell, the stalk of a bird feather, a piece of frog skin, a baby pine cone. And his prize finds: four pairs of waterbug feet that felt like wax paper. He was studying these to try to learn how to walk on water.

  Zert sank into the couch stuffed with dandelions that his father had rented in exchange for a patch of rat hide. He used to think his old purple couch was the most comfortable in the world, but he knew better now. This new couch was not only softer but smelled of spring—the season, not the metal springs that had popped out of his old couch’s upholstery.

  Beth, who was still standing there, cleared her throat. “I feel bad about the rat attack game.”

  You should.

  Beth looked into Zert’s eyes. “Did you really see a rat last night?”

  Zert nodded. “I did.”

  “I didn’t know we were putting you in any danger,” Beth said, sitting down next to him. He was about to say, “That was st
upid,” when he remembered that he hadn’t thought he was putting Cribbie in any danger on the night they’d snuck out to fight that trash war. He could have stopped Cribbie. Or maybe he could have gotten Cribbie to promise to keep his mask on. He would never know.

  He had been stupid that night. And death was permanent. He knew now that you didn’t get any do-overs.

  Beth kicked her feet against the side of the couch. “You were great with that animal.” She stood up and began pacing the room. “We’re not allowed to fight here, because of the mission and everything.” She passed by the couch without looking at him. “I’m trying to say that I won’t hold things against you anymore.”

  “What things?” Zert asked as his past nasty comments ran through his mind: “These abacuses are for cavemen”; “No BIG I know would dress like me”; and “This doesn’t look a bit like a Statue of Liberty.”

  Before Beth could answer, he spoke up, “I know I haven’t been easy to get along with either.”

  “It’s not all your fault,” Beth said. She cocked her head curiously at him. “Have you slit someone’s throat before?”

  “What? No!”

  “But isn’t it much more violent where you lived?” Beth said.

  “Yeah. It was.” Zert nodded. Not just on the holo-imagetube. When he was just a little kid, he had seen some trampos pain-laser a drug dealer known as the Umpkin, right in front of the store. Lying in bed at night, he often heard the blasts and screams of gang fights.

  Beth looked out the door. “How many different kinds of designer animals are there?”

  “I don’t know.” Zert shrugged. “Ten thousand, maybe.”

  “Wow.” Beth’s eyes lit up. “Do you have plans next weekend? On Saturday morning?”

  Zert shook his head. Saturday was their big day, the day they were going to get kicked out. But the vote wouldn’t be until after dinner on Pancake Rock.

  “After I finish my chores, will you go with me to the parking lot?” Beth said as she started pacing again. “I’d like to spend some time with you in case …” Her face grew red. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just mean …” She looked down at her bony hands. “It’s the adults’ decision. If it were up to me, you’d be staying. I’d—”