Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  Jessup cranked the heat in the Stargazer’s balloon.

  Angus ran across the deck of the ship and started pulling out the airship-to-airship highwire.

  “Fuck! Jessup, hurry!” I screamed. Already the Étoile’s deck and ropes were on fire.

  “Where the fuck are the Marshall ships?” Angus screamed.

  I scanned around. The Marshall ships that were supposed to fly with us were still docked.

  The Stargazer blasted upward like a cork being shot out of a bottle. I turned the wheel to bring us alongside the Étoile as we lifted. We reached the burning ship just as the first of her ropes snapped.

  “Lily!” Etienne screamed from the deck of the ship.

  The Étoile started to tilt starboard.

  “Now, Angus, now!” I yelled.

  He cranked the high-wire launcher and shot the line to Etienne’s ship.

  Etienne was screaming at his crew to lash onto the hoops of two-way drag line.

  “Come on! I’ll pull you in! Hurry!” Angus yelled.

  Grabbing safety belts, the crewmen started to hook on.

  “The balloon isn’t going to make it!” Jessup yelled. “Etienne! Come on!”

  Another rope snapped. The ship shook as the gondola began to hang sideways.

  “Burner is gonna catch! We’ve got to cut her loose or she’ll pull us down too!” Jessup yelled down to me.

  I locked the wheel and went to the side of the ship. “Etienne!”

  The Frenchman held on tightly to the remaining ropes and tried to make his way to the back of the ship. Angus towed the crewmen toward the Stargazer. The high-wire machine cranked quickly and soon Angus was pulling both men aboard. On the Étoile, Etienne was hanging on for dear life as the gondola looked like it was going to capsize.

  “He’s not going to make it, Lily! He’s not going to make it! Where the fuck are the Marshall ships?” Angus cursed again.

  There was a boom as the burners set the soft fabric of the balloon on fire.

  Etienne hung onto a rope, but as the balloon burned, the ship started to plummet toward the ground.

  Angus disconnected the high-wire between us as the Étoile.

  Etienne’s crew stood speechless as they watched in horror.

  “Take the wheel!” I called to Angus.

  “Lily?”

  Etienne screamed as he let go of the rope and began to free fall toward the ground.

  “Angus, come take the fucking wheel and get the Stargazer out of here!” I yelled and with a running jump, leapt off the side of the Stargazer.

  “Lily!” Jessup and Angus screamed in unison.

  The earth rises quickly toward you when you are falling from the heavens. I set my eyes on Etienne, narrowed my body as I’d seen every bird do, and aimed toward him. I gained speed, and a fraction of a second later, I came face to face with Etienne. The look of shock on his face was priceless.

  “Let’s try not to die,” I said, and wrapping my arms around him, I held Etienne with all of my strength. I turned, and with my teeth, pulled the pin from Sal’s harness.

  A leap of faith. The silk unfurled with a swish like a woman’s gown. The fabric yanked the halter when it filled with air. I nearly lost my grip on Etienne, but he was holding onto me so tightly I could barely breathe.

  The parachute held. Our descent slowed. I saw a mob of people rushing across the Champs de Mars toward us.

  “Lily,” Etienne whispered aghast. Tears were streaming from his eyes.

  “I owed you one,” I said.

  We still had some speed as we neared the ground. I pulled my legs up and tried to shelter my head against Etienne’s chest. We hit the ground hard and were separated by the jolt. I rolled across the grass. The landing had knocked the wind out of me, but otherwise I felt all right. The parachute fell on top of me, and I lay under the blanket of white material. It was like lying in a cloud.

  Moments later, I heard the Étoile crash to the ground somewhere not far from me. The burners exploded with a boom.

  Voices drew close.

  “Mademoiselle Stargazer? Are you all right? Are you alive?”

  “Etienne est vivant!” I heard someone call. He was alive.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  They pulled the parachute off me.

  Overhead, the clouds broke for just a moment to reveal the early evening sky. From the star garden above, a single bright star shone down on me.

  * * *

  The End

  Continue The Airship Racing Chronicles in book two, Chasing the Green Fairy

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  About the Author

  Melanie Karsak is the author of the Amazon best-selling steampunk series The Airship Racing Chronicles, the award-winning horror/dark fantasy The Harvesting Series, and The Celtic Blood Series. She grew up in rural northwestern Pennsylvania and earned a Master's degree in English from Gannon University. A steampunk connoisseur, white elephant collector, and zombie whisperer, the author currently lives in Florida with her husband and two children. She is an Instructor of English at Eastern Florida State College.

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  Germination

  Jamie Thornton

  Germination (Feast of Weeds, Book 1): A Novella © 2015 Jamie Thornton

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  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Germination

  Feast of Weeds, Book 1: A Novella

  Stay alive. Don’t get caught.

  Mary knows how to thrive on the street. She makes it her mission to keep other kids away from everyday monsters. But when she’s attacked by a crazed man clutching a bloody heart she realizes—there’s a new kind of monster in town.

  A single drop of blood, and now Mary’s one of the infected. Unless she can stop the virus and save her friends, the new monster in town might just be her.

  GERMINATION is the series starter for a post-apocalyptic series where the runaways are the heroes, the zombies aren’t really zombies, and you can't trust your memories—even if they're all you have left.

  “Should I Run Away?”

  Posted August 10th at 5:36PM on Do More Than Survive: How to THRIVE as a Runaway.

  If you are asking that question and wonder what the answer is—the answer is no. It’s not bad enough. Stick it out, whatever you’re going through. It’s more dangerous on the street.

  If it doesn’t matter what I say, you’re going to run away—then read on.

  Pros:

  » Lots of freedom and travel

  » You will become very skilled at living outside

  » You will meet lots of interesting people

  Cons:

  » If it’s cold, you’re going to be cold, if it’s wet, even worse. If it’s hot—you get the idea.

  » If you are traveling between cities, sometimes you will go without food for several days.

  » Lots of the interesting people you meet will want to steal from you, hurt you, or sell you something that will hurt you.

  » If you look under sixtee
n it’s going to be really hard for you to make money without getting into serious trouble.

  » If there’s anybody at home who still cares, like a little sister or a grandpa, you will seriously hurt them.

  If you’re actually trying to thrive as a runaway, I don’t recommend:

  Stealing—if you get caught you go to jail which is worse than whatever home you left, but sometimes you need something, just don’t expect to get away with it forever.

  Drug dealing—you’re likely to get hooked and become a tweeker, or get caught and go to jail. I’m not saying street kids don’t deal drugs. It’s fast money, but it’s risky. If it’s really about money for you, then why did you run away in the first place?

  Prostitution—this is disgusting. People do it, but not me. Not ever. But sometimes you have to trade favors because you want a hot shower or a bed to sleep in and that’s okay. Just don’t make it a habit.

  Believing in monsters—people will tell you so many rumors about monsters while you’re on the street. Sometimes it even makes the news, like right now. It’s true, there are monsters on the street. There have always been monsters on the street, but not like what the news is talking about. Don’t let the stories scare you too bad—only just enough to find some others who will watch your back.

  I’m not saying I haven’t done any of the above. I’m saying I wish I hadn’t. So it’s better if you try to avoid it from the beginning. I hope you don’t have to learn the hard way like I did. But if you do, I won’t judge.

  If you can endure it for a little longer, the older you are before you run away the better your chances at making money without resorting to sex, stealing, or other stuff that might hurt you or make you sick. I ran away when I was thirteen. I did a lot of stuff I wish I could take back. I’m almost seventeen now and thinking maybe I don’t want to live on the street for the rest of my life.

  Also, if you think you’re going to find happiness by running away, you’re dead wrong. Happiness comes from within.

  If you run away, all your demons go with you.

  Just saying this because I know. But I’m not telling you not to run. I did it after all, which is why I’m writing about it—to maybe help those like me who are going to run no matter what.

  If you’re still fed up and it’s time to go, then this blog is for you.

  Chapter One

  The guy, middle-aged, wearing business casual, probably walking home from work, held out a dollar like it stank.

  The cell phone lay in plain sight between me and Gabbi on the hot sidewalk. Seconds before Mr. Casual had shown up, I’d hit submit on two posts scheduled to go live an hour apart—my readers expected constant updates. And anyways, if someone were thinking right then about running away, they couldn’t exactly wait a week to read my next one, could they?

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” Gabbi actually said it without any sarcasm in her voice, which was more than I’d have bet she could manage with his holier-than-thou attitude.

  Their hands hovered in mid-air—hers, dirt-streaked, with half-moon lines under the nails. She grabbed for the green bill.

  His pale, clean hand didn’t let go.

  I looked up. His gaze was locked on a spot near Gabbi’s knee.

  On the phone.

  “What are you two playing at here?”

  Gabbi folded her hands in her lap, her back straight, her round face and brown eyes expressionless.

  The phone had been free, someone’s discard. We loaded it when there was extra cash. I liked posting more than the public library allowed, plus it kept us in touch with the rest of the group. But he wouldn’t understand. None of them ever did. “We’re good people. We just need some help,” I said.

  “You stole that.”

  “A first generation iPhone?” I said, not being able to stop myself. “Please. I would have stolen something newer than that.”

  You could almost see him get madder even though he didn’t say a word. He stalked off a few steps, stopped. Looked down the street, started to come back.

  Damn.

  Between the window washing job I’d finished yesterday and today’s spanging money, we almost had enough for Jimmy’s birthday cake, some gas for the van, and this month’s gym membership. Clearly we weren’t getting any money out of Mr. Casual. The faster he left the better. This was a good spot, but only during rush hour.

  Plus, we both feared Norman would appear at any moment to take back his corner. Street rumors said someone or something had murdered him in a weirdly gruesome way.

  You had to figure people would exaggerate. But still.

  A red four-door drove through the intersection and then another handful of cars all in a row. The light turned yellow and the cars began to slow, but Mr. Casual blocked them from our view. He stepped closer into our space. His cologne was so thick I wondered if he secretly liked to suffocate people.

  “What do you want?” Gabbi said, all thankfulness gone now. I’d taught her that early on—be super nice when people help you out, otherwise get aggro.

  “You two, out on the street like this, begging. It’s disgusting. You think it’s funny, acting like you’re hard up?”

  “We ARE hard up,” I said, fiddling with the braided end of my hair. We got more money when I let my black hair down to offset my dark eyes and brows, but it was too hot for that.

  “You should be in school. I work hard for my money. What do you do? Beg like this?”

  “Don’t give us your money," I said, tugging on my braid until it hurt. "Go home to your wife and 2.3 kids and your TV and your mortgage. We don’t need your help. You don’t even know—”

  “Is this what you always wanted—to be homeless?”

  “We’re not homeless,” I said. “A homeless kid stays at a shelter and never leaves the neighborhood where they got left. We’re travelers. WE left. We’re out here, seeing the world and what it’s really like and all the cool people in it, and sometimes all the dicks in it like you.”

  He stopped listening to me and pointed at Gabbi as if somehow sensing he was getting to her. “Where are your parents? They should know you’re pretending, taking peoples’ money just for kicks. Your parents must be disappointed in you. They must have hoped you would become so much more than this.” He jabbed his finger into Gabbi’s face.

  She seemed to melt into the sidewalk. Each word made her head sink lower until her forehead was inches from the sidewalk, as if in an ashamed bow.

  Crashing waves of air filled my ears. I lost feeling in my toes and my hands began to shake.

  How dare he.

  How dare he put that look on her face.

  I jumped up and pushed him hard in the chest. My hands left dark imprints from sweat and dirt on his clean, pale blue shirt.

  The flush of his forehead deepened into a purplish-red. His blonde hair was stringy, in one of those styles where you could see the pink flesh of scalp underneath.

  “We were nice to you. We didn’t point any fingers. We didn’t harass you. You think you know her?” I pushed him again and he stumbled back a few inches. “You think you can talk to her like that because you were going to give us one stinking dollar?”

  “Young lady, you should be ashamed—”

  “You better stop right now.” I clenched my hands at my sides and dared him to say something else, anything.

  He opened his mouth, closed it. He backed up a step, then a second one. “I’m calling the police.” He left quickly, rounding the corner.

  The light turned. The cars, filled with people pretending not to look, disappeared in a thick cloud of exhaust.

  I tried to calm the roar in my ears.

  Gabbi hadn’t moved.

  “Gabbi.” I brushed my hair off my face and realized my hands now smelled like his cologne. I spit on them, rubbed in the spit, and then wiped the smell as best I could onto the newspaper. “He’s a jerk. He’s a 9-to-5 wage slave who knows nothing about you or me or anything. Forget him. Stand up for yourself ne
xt time. You’ll feel better about someone being a jerk if you’re a jerk back.”

  “I’m fine,” she said after a long second.

  “Come on.” I touched her shoulder. “We need to move.” No doubt Mr. Casual was already calling the cops. I decided I would find a way to make her laugh. God knows we both needed it.

  I gathered up the newspapers we used to keep our pants off the gum-pocked sidewalk. Gabbi slipped the phone into a zippered pants pocket. Both of us wore our spanging shirts—ratty, threadbare things we kept dirty. People gave more money to kids who really looked the part. The dirt I had sifted into Gabbi’s hair had caked into mud a while ago. My long dark hair washed out pretty easily. Gabbi’s light brown frizz was a different story. At least the newspapers grimed up our hands in an easy-to-wash-off way. We’d go by 24 Hour Fitness later and clean up.

  A couple of blocks away, I set down our jar and sign and we folded ourselves against the wall of a corner liquor store. Gabbi moved into the shade to keep herself from burning. I didn’t like the heat, but my skin never burned, it only turned a darker cinnamon.

  I sighed. Spanging was the crappiest job ever.

  We made sure to hide the phone when a green Ford sedan slowed. The driver’s side window hummed down, revealing a woman behind the wheel with a too-sunny smile even for summer.

  “Can you spare any change?” I said, returning her smile. You had to smile, you had to be nice no matter how horrible you felt, and Gabbi wasn’t that good at acting.

  She held out a fiver. A gold bracelet caught the light, flashing us.

  Gabbi jumped up, her shoulder-length hair frizzing like nobody’s business.