My heart beat out a drum line like never before. It almost banged a hole through my chest and kept going.
Then Howie had to go and ruin it by talking.
“Back to the tunnels.” The words came out so low I had to concentrate on his voice. Then a flood gate opened and everything he’d been hiding from me gushed out. “I... I didn’t get released. I escaped. I couldn’t take one more moment in that place and... I heard guards talking one night about a second wave. I don’t know if it was rumors or if they knew something we didn’t. But they were convinced that more deaths were coming. And fast. Then they started up about the ships. And Fox... I’m so sorry about Fox, Syn.” He patted my hand under the covers and stopped long enough to take a panting breath.
“I knew I had to get out. Get to you and Bit and... and I don’t know. Save you. Save you like I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t... I can’t lose you too.”
“You won’t. You won’t. I’m here.” My words felt like nothing next to his torrent of emotion. Just a feeble assurance in the dark.
“That’s why I was so scared. I can’t go back. The things they did... We were animals to them, worse than animals. One guard had a pet rat that he’d feed, from our rations. That fat little bastard scurried around like he owned the place while we had to fight...” His hand went to the place where his worst scar cut a jagged line across his chest.
For a long while, we said nothing. We just lay there holding each other, and I waited for his breathing to slow. For his heart to stop beating fast against mine. I thought he’d fallen asleep. I thought he would finally get some peace, his conscience spent.
Then, a thought floated across my chip, the first transmission we’d risked in so long. //I heard you.//
I dropped his hand. Fear coursed through my legs, making them dance under the blanket. They wanted out. Wanted to spare me from what I knew was next.
//That night. When you got hurt. I heard you calling for me.// His hand went to my jittering leg to calm it. //I heard you call me and I had to get out of that place.//
Chapter Fifty
The scooter got us within ten miles of the Cape, which was seven miles out from the Wall of the Lost. We woke up on that bone cold morning, exhausted from a hard night’s sleep on an unforgiving floor. The closer we got to civilization, our sleeping arrangement worsened.
The trees, no matter how far off the road we walked, could barely hold themselves up. Most of them didn’t bother anymore. That last night, nothing remained but blackened corpses of once majestic oaks. Fires had eaten everything in our sights then burned themselves out, gorged on trees and houses and abandoned vehicles which littered the highway.
Although not what I’d call ‘clean’, the air didn’t reek of smoke as my lungs expected with each inhale. The fires had been long since extinguished, and yet no new growth fuzzed the atrophied stumps. No signs of tentative, eager life anywhere.
We did find a hollowed out building that night. The long flat roof had broken right in two, giving the appearance of an adorable cottage front—if we ignored the “Stop ‘N Sip” lettering that climbed up one side of the point and down the other.
Curdled milk and mold aren’t the most relaxing aromas to drift off too. But at least we had half a roof over our heads for a change. The flat concrete floor stabbed every pressure point in my back and hips, making me feel more like my Nana than an eighteen-year-old. But after peeling myself off that bike seat day after day, sleeping sitting up wasn’t an option.
We finally dragged ourselves outside when the sun turned the gray dust particles in the air to orange dust particles. They swirled around my head like angry gnats, desperately trying to jump down my throat. I shuddered to think of how many got their wish last night as I lay there oblivious with my mouth wide open and inviting.
My butt bones screamed for mercy when I lowered myself onto the seat as slow and easy as possible. Howie seemed to be moving just as gingerly. He rubbed his freezing hands before placing them back on the handle grips. And poor Brooks. As the smallest, he had to sit on that cold metal bar. We tried to switch it up a couple days before, but Howie couldn’t see over me.
So, that freezing January morning, we got all loaded up and mentally prepared for the last leg of our journey. And the scooter wouldn’t start. It sputtered and choked, then with a grinding swan song, it died.
With a groan, we climbed off and gathered our belongings. At that moment, I wasn’t too sad to see the thing go. My butt really hurt. It wouldn’t take long for my mind to change on that point.
Brooks walked slower than he had in all our time trekking to the Cape. We all did. Everyone.
The scooter wouldn’t have done us much good on that last ten miles, anyway. From that morning on, the roads and ditches were packed full of refugees. I had never thought of us as refugees. But the downtrodden, rail thin, dirty, morose people surrounding us fit that definition perfectly. And I knew that when they looked at us – not that anyone looked around or bothered with eye contact – but if they did, they’d see us for what we were, too. Refugees just like them.
The crowd thickened to an unmoving mass of bodies as it came into sight. The Wall of the Lost. People didn’t form lines so much as they weaved in and out of each other. One person dipped in to leave their memorial and another took their place in the pit. It reminded my starkly of migrating birds, taking turns at a body of water, flitting in and out of formation, an undulating mass that no predator could penetrate.
As the wall inched closer, Howie stood back, removing himself from the flock. I pled with him silently, my eyes imploring him to leave a message. If not for Pettine, then for his mom and the kids.
He didn’t budge and didn’t open his mouth to speak. Instead, //I’ve said my good-byes, and Pettine’s not lost.// floated through my mind. I shot him a glare for chipping and my eyes darted around for guards or guns or anything dark and looming that would get me. To make it that close to salvation only to lose it all. My head hung low at the thought.
I took Brooks by the hand and held his small form in front of me. Even in the chaos and frantic urgency of the mass exodus, people moved out of our way. A small tearful boy still meant something.
The Wall of the Lost towered over everyone. My neck craned straight up, peering through the dense gray fog and past the tree tops. Wherever the wall stopped up there, I couldn’t see it. Many people, myself included, whispered a stunned ‘wow’ or other declarations of amazement.
Flowers, balloons, and ribbons flitted in the wind. No space was left unmarked. People sat on each other’s shoulders just to find a clean spot for their memorial trinkets.
Brooks sniffled. I knew better but I picked him up anyway. He climbed onto my back and his shoes dug into my skin. I didn’t make a sound. I tried to distract myself from the crushing pain by reading some of the dedications scrawling across the screen my face. That was a mistake.
“My Dearest Femora,
It’s been two years without you. I still struggle to get out of bed. To breathe. They say this ship will take me to a better place, but the only better place I want is the one that has you.”
“Dad,
The kids and I will miss you. The Wasting took Jeyo last summer. I want to hope that he’s there with you and you’re both watching over us. Please keep us safe on this journey. I’m scared. Daddy I’m so scared.”
“Palo-
What can I say? I was weak. Now I’m going to die alone either on this planet or the next one. Is it wrong that I hope you’re alive somewhere out there? And she isn’t. The only reason I’m getting on this shuttle is because you might be on the other side. Can you forgive me for what I’ve done?”
“MOMMY AND DADDY
Syn is taking me to a new planet. And Howie too. I don’t want to go in space. It’s dark up there. But I know they won’t let me get hurt. I’m sorry we had to leave you here. When I’m bigger I’ll come back for you. I love you and I miss you so much.”
A strangled cry bur
ned my throat and the words of the next message vanished in a rush of salty tears. I pulled Brooks to me and held him for a long quiet moment.
“I can’t breathe,” he said, and pushed me away. His eyes, blurred by fat drops of water, stayed pointed toward the ground.
As we moved toward the outskirts of the swarm of mourners, someone punched me right in my face. The filthy hand scraped across my sore cheek, sending a tendril of electricity straight to the fight or flight center of my brain. For once, it chose fight.
Before I knew what happened, my own hands took hold of his scummy shirt and launched him backward, right off his feet. With Brooks in tow, I stormed forward, fuming. My fists clenched so tight my fingernails dug into my palms. Words flew out of my mouth; incoherent venom.
A large shadow darkened his face as he fell to the ground. I felt something take hold of my shirt and wrench me backward.
“Synta!” I looked up. Howie’s crystal green eyes bulged. “What the hell?”
“He,” I looked down at my attacker. My victim.
The old man cowered at my feet, crab crawling to get away from me. Scattered around him were hundreds of flyers. Light blue and pink paper rectangles blew away. In his hand, the one that brushed my cheek, he held a crumpled one out to me. I took it and helped him up, apologizing profusely. It was the least I could do. Howie and Brooks scooped up his pamphlets before they could all fly away.
Back on his feet, the old man bowed at me and patted my arm. His eyes were kind with pity. Even after what I’d done to him, “I understand child.” Those warm eyes glanced over to the Wall and he patted me again.
“We gotta go,” I said before my stupid tear ducts betrayed me again.
“Please, don’t get on that ship.” His voice was hoarse, dry. He’d probably been standing on that street for days, preaching to the refugees. I tried to pull away, but his clawed arthritic hand hooked my shirt. “You’re inviting danger. Think of the boy.”
I struggled against his grasp. For an old man he was very strong. Maybe the desperation that now filled his eyes had seeped into his hands. “I have to,” I found myself justifying. Like I owed this old man an explanation just because I’d tried to flatten him a moment ago.
“You don’t know where those messages are going. Where that ship is going. We’re weak. Now’s the time. They’re coming!” The warmth and kindness had disappeared, and an ominous gloom fell over his face. How had I not seen just how crazy he was?
Howie flung me backwards, almost knocking Brooks over, but it was enough to tear me from the man’s grip. “Leave her alone!” I’d never heard someone bellow before. I’d read it before in books and thought it was overly dramatic but, Howie bellowed. He seemed to grow several inches and expand outward like a puffer fish to shield me from this Truther. “Go!” He turned and strong-armed me until I had no choice but to run.
A mile down the road, he caught up to us, hands conspicuously in his pockets.
Another mile and Brooks went from lagging behind to not walking at all. I almost yelled at him until I saw the color drained from his face. His lips had turned blue. Between coughs and wheezes he cried silent, manly tears. Howie picked him up and carried him the rest of the way.
“HERE, TAKE THIS.”
“What is that?” Howie asked. “They look like earmuffs.” He huffed under the dead weight of Brooks, who had worked himself into an asthmatic frenzy and passed out. I didn’t let myself count how many hours ago that was, or notice that the blue tinge hadn’t left his lips.
“They’re called headphones. Just put them over your ears.” I jiggled them at him.
“Why?” he asked, obeying nonetheless. He awkwardly maneuvered them around his ears with one hand. I could have helped but I was enjoying the performance too much.
“They’ll block the sensors.” I retrieved another one out of my bag and unscrewed the earpiece. “See,” I said, presenting the guts of it to Howie. “Modified.” Tightly wound foil lined the inside of the cushion.
“You think that will work?”
“It has to.”
We walked in silence, neither of us wanting to pick away at the plan for fear of what we might find. The truth was, it just had to work. We were out of options. So why bother reminding ourselves how dumb the scheme was?
Not that there was much room for conversation, anyway. The sea of people ahead of us compacted with every inch of forward movement. We found ourselves crammed into a large covered outdoor area with a light metal fence wrapped around the perimeter. A holding pen. Sardines wouldn’t want to be us by the time we got within sight of the security tables.
Howie shifted on his feet, moving Brooks from side to side every few minutes now.
“You want me to take him?” I offered.
Howie just shook his head, again.
Every now and then we’d hear a Truther or Rebel yell something through the fence and get a ZapStick for his trouble. Then they’d writhe on the ground for a minute making the most awful noises, and another would step up to take over. It was a true testament to how screwed we all were that the two groups of nutjobs had banded together. Neither wanted to see the ships take off.
At some point during the night the line stopped moving. People started getting nervous, whispering to each other that the ships were full. We’d missed our chance. One woman shouted accusations at her husband for making them miss it on purpose. I chuckled despite myself, wondering if it was our old friends from I-95.
Ink black night poured through the holes in the fence, only to be vanquished by the flood lights strung up in rows on the ceiling. Paranoia infected the crowd with each passing moment of stillness.
A deafening roar rose up from somewhere unseen. Red and yellow glowing light crept around the edges of the building. The light and noise grew until we were blind and deaf to anything else. It was everywhere. And nowhere.
Heads turned and people turned with them, eyes wild with terror. Nobody could find the source of the never-ending rumble.
Finally, the speakers overhead crackled to life. The crowd fell silent around us, all eyes on the voice that would make it all better.
“Launch in T minus 10... 9...”
Sobs rang out from men and women alike. Sorrowed gasps and moans that brought back memories of my mom in a heap on our dining room floor, crying over my dad’s body.
We were too late.
“6... 5...”
Howie and I clung to each other. The crowd drowned out the voice as it counted down to our deaths.
Some didn’t wait.
“...3...”
Multiple shots echoed around us. Howie and I ducked. The woman behind me threw her two children to the ground and shielded them with her body. More shots, from every direction.
“2... 1...”
The red and yellow glow turned blue and white in an instant. The engine growled around us, then above. Higher and higher until the massive silver shuttle became a speck of dust in the sky.
More gunshots.
Through it all, Brooks never budged. I held his cold hand in mine and stared intently at the faintly thumping vein on his neck, as I huddled on the floor with Howie.
I must have dozed off sometime during the night.
I woke with a shudder as something beside me moved. My eyes flew open in time to see a large ugly guard with a strange birthmark on his forehead dragging a body away.
To my left, a pile of bloody pale corpses. To my right, Brooks’s smiling blue lips. “Are we almost there?”
I kissed his frozen forehead. “We sure are, look.”
His droopy eyes followed my pointing finger. With the number of people who took Sturn’s way out, our future looked a little brighter. The crowd closed in on the guard tables, filling the empty spaces. Howie picked up his pace to make sure we were one of them.
The speakers crackled and Theoda’s callous voice pierced our ears. “If you can hear this message, you are the lucky few who will depart this derelict planet. This is the last
ship to Gliese. Only those worthy of our new propitious world shall step foot on it. Samaritans, join me in ushering in a better, duteous mankind that will be the future of the human race.” The speech grew louder as Theoda became more enamored with herself. Then, as a quick afterthought, “No chips allowed. Please have your identification ready. Single-file orderly lines everyone.”
Another crackle and she was gone.
Howie and I hugged in tight and adjusted our headphones to hang down around our necks while still covering our chips. The moment of truth.
When we reached the bag check, a fat guard at the next detector waved Howie over to him.
I squeezed his hand, too scared to let go.
He pulled away and smiled over his shoulder at me. Then, meeting the guard’s gaze straight on, he somehow managed a smile.
The woman in front of me struggled to show her papers with a crying baby in her arms. The thing mewled like a dying cat. My guard pushed her aside with his wand. “If you’re not ready, go to the back of the line.”
Howie’s guard told him to put Brooks down so he could walk through the detector on his own.
I fidgeted and shook my head nervously at my guard. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”
The woman looked at me with such gratitude. My heart swelled. I was only doing it to stall, but she took it as an act of kindness.
Brooks fell to his knees with a huff of ragged air.
“Please sir, he’s been walking for days.” Howie bent to pick Brooks back up.
I saw something metal flash out of the corner of my eyes and held my breath, bracing for the ZapStick to hit him. But then the guard swiftly pocketed whatever Howie had passed him and waved his wand.
A tiny squeak erupted from my lips as Howie gathered Brooks in his arms and walked through the detectors, undetected. Free. Safe.
The woman in front of me dropped her bag just as she passed under our detector, and it set of the alarm.
Howie swung around, terror in his eyes. Then exhaled as he watched the guard run his wand up and down the woman. Then the baby. Then both of them again.
Epoch Earth; the Great Glitch Page 25
