by Kat Quinn
Locking my own pinky with his, I shake. This is the most solemn of covenants. I don’t know what the official consequences of breaking a pinky promise are, but I accept the terms knowing full well this is a very serious agreement. “Okay, we stick together. Even though it’s safer for you if you don’t have to get caught up in all my shenanigans.” In the back of my mind, though, I build up exceptions. I’d only break it if I really had to, I tell myself, bargaining that it would make sense at the time. That’d probably be okay, despite the pinky.
Connor, beside me, squeezes the hand we’ve basically always got linked together. Pretty much everyone gives me a good, solid, disapproving glare. Even the potentially imaginary green girl. Even Aria, trying to go unnoticed on one corner of the table as she steals scraps off plates and quietly drops some on the ground for Stubbs (keeping the best for herself of course) gives me a ‘girl, you must be trippin’, now hush’ look.
Holding up both hands defensively, “Fine, fine,” I say. “But what else is there to do? If they can coordinate an attack like that when we’re out in a random ass field, then what can we do to stay safe? Hunker down at home, behind our defenses, living off Monty’s garden until it’s barren and we have to resort to digging up worms and slapping them into a bowl with mud as massive wriggly bowls of earth spaghetti? I don’t want to become the worm lady!”
My eyes widen, realizing that would be basically the worst of everything all combined. If I felt stifled before, literally staying at home all day every day, not even going out to the shop, or visit Lilly at The Wood Liquor, or just go for a casual bit of exploration when I feel the need for air would be even more restrictive. I love our home, and I’m starting to somewhat accept and love our life, but that love has been hanging by a string entirely held up by my undeniably magnetic connection to these men. A thin string that could probably be snapped in half by the asshole scissors of captivity.
Suddenly, my skin crawls, my chest tightens, I look frantically at the walls covered and covered and covered in Zeke’s scribbles, every symbol another bar on this prison. “I can’t do that, guys! I can’t be… trapped like that. I’ll go insane, you know it, I know it, even that green kid knows it.” I fling a finger towards the nemesis of my sanity, taunting me by just minding her own business and swatting Aria’s greedy hands away.
“Chill, lady. You’re freakin’ nutso.” The large, blocky boy glares at her after the comment, but the green kid doesn’t pay any attention to him, much more concerned with protecting her meal.
It’s too late, I’m already imagining endless days doing the same thing over and over and over again, slowly descending into madness, eating our own shoes just for a bit of variety after the third night of worm spaghetti. I’ll look out at the woods around our house, wanting desperately to charge through the trees but paralyzed by the idea that monsters wait in their shadows, ready to rip me and my men apart the second we walk outside. Every bit of movement out of the corner of my eyes will suddenly be death, stalking right out of sight, ready to pounce. Some day I’ll lose it and start blindly spinning towards my would-be attacker, fists raised, full of paranoid fury, only to let loose on one of the last people I’d want to hurt. Or just on air.
Eventually, we’ll all die, broken and psycho, not even at the hands of the people we’re hiding from in the first place, but probably from our own stupidness or insanity.
With a sigh, Aria abandons her quest to become the fattest little fluff ball on the planet and glides over to me, flapping her black wings just enough to hover at eye level. Back and forth, back and forth, she tilts her wings to swerve slightly, the rhythmic motion of her bright gold eyes hypnotic against pitch black fur. As she sways, she sings; a slow and sweet song that brings with it a sense of comfort, the constriction and madness gripping at my chest easing up. It only takes a few seconds, but it’s enough. I know everything will be okay, we won’t become crazy worm people.
Mellowed, I ask in a sort of blissful haze, “Hey, is there some sort of underground railroad for refugees from bad guys? We’d stay together but still be safe, hmm?” Lazily, I feel myself grin without a care in the world.
There’s a collection of the most bizarre expressions around the table, some squinted eyes, some wide, some delight, some confusion. It’s like someone took an entire emotions chart and flung the faces in handfuls around the breakfast blast zone. Notably, Jack’s brow is raised, lips pursed slightly in thought.
“Actually, yes,” She says, tapping one blunt finger on her strong chin. Her eyes dart to each of her partners, them giving a slight nod in return. “Sometimes, the kids that come through here need a little more help when the system fucks up. Not always, but it does happen. We’ve worked with a couple people to make sure they’re given a real chance. I try not to know the specifics, but I know they’re safe.” Jack tilts her head up, eyes squinting as she tries to remember something. “Matter of fact, one of our contacts isn’t too far away from you. I’m sure I’ve got Fern Thorn’s number in my phone… she might be able to set you guys up with something.”
A sharp, yelping guffaw is cut short; a chuckle not quite coming to pass. “Of course it’s Miss Fern,” Lin says, thoroughly amused. Digging in his pocket, Lin tosses me his phone. “Here, call Lilly.”
Happily, I dial my magical guardian angel sex goddess of a chocolate cake-baking wife. Only takes a couple of rings for her to answer.
“Hayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, girl. So. Don’t freak out, but we kinda-sorta-maybe got into a bit of a scuffle earlier. Totally okay, everybody’s fine now, but do you happen to know if Miss Fern or maybe The Girls know somewhere we can go that we won’t just constantly be in danger, won’t limit me to staying locked in a room for my own safety at all times, and… like… I don’t know, is reasonably near enough to a grocery store that I won’t need to survive on worms alone?”
Lilly giggles through the phone, used to but still amused by my delightful and completely endearing rambling. “Oh, was this today? I’m supposed to tell you that you’re always welcome here, and we can talk to Grams about where to go from there.”
I suck my teeth, “You know, for a psychic you really sure do seem to know about things AFTER they’ve already happened. Not so much before.”
“Hey, I’m working on it, alright?!” She defends, “Not everyone’s as good with The Girls as Grams is. Seems like that old coot is just plugged in nonstop, but my connection isn’t nearly as strong as hers. It’s more static and silence and overlapping nonsense than actual clarity when I try to keep up with the feed. I’ll get there some day, though,” she raises her voice but it sounds muffled, like she’s shouting over her shoulder, “IF SHE EVER FINISHES TRAINING ME PROPERLY.”
In the background, Miss Fern fires back. “Don’t you go givin’ me none of your sass, Lillian, don’t think I didn’t hear that. In my day, we respected our elders! Still do.”
You can practically hear Lilly rolling her eyes through the phone. “Of course not, Grams, I’d never sass you.” Volume returning to normal as she stops shouting over her shoulder, “Anyway, gotta go, Dizzy. Pack up your stuff, come over when you get the chance, and we’ll see what we can do for you once you’re here.”
“M’kay, see you soon, schmoopie!” We hang up, Lin checking something on his phone after I hand it back. Unlike the two they tried to get me a few weeks ago, this one isn’t smashed to smithereens in the process. Turns out phones are safer with anyone except me.
“Well, that’s us sorted,” Lin says, smiling in that way that he does that should totally be normal and friendly but always looks slightly sly and devilish. Wonder if he’s part cat demon and that’s why his grins are so cheshire-esque?
“Good,” Jack says gruffly, leaning back in her chair with arms crossed. “But if you hide shit like this from me again, I’ll hunt you down myself and whoop your ass for not keeping me in the loop. I know you’ve got this, kid, but I’m still your mom and I’ll be damned if I let someone else fuck with you.” She smiles a hal
f-smile, “Good to see I didn’t raise no doormats.”
“Mmm,” Monty hums, mouth happily plucking the food off his fork. He pauses, mid-chew, vibrant violet eyes dulling as a storm cloud thunders through his thoughts. “Hey, Pops?”
At the head of the table, the stoic man acknowledges his son with eye contact and nothing more.
“Can you… could you take care of Al and Molly? I… I didn’t have time.” Monty averts his eyes, shame morphing his normally warm and loving face into something dead and dull. Pain forms in the tightness between his brows, the slightest of inclines tugging at their center. I don’t like it.
There’s a break in the clanking of forks against plates, silence rushing in to fill gaps where sound once reigned supreme.
“Of course,” Remy replies. “I’ll handle it.”
“The farm… The animals…” Monty trails off quietly.
“Oh sweetheart,” Tyson speaks gently, “Don’t worry your head about it. We’ll take care of everything else, you just take care of your family,” he says with the softest, warmest smile. The biggest man at the table clearly also has the biggest heart. “Morgan, honey, would you mind helping me get things in order after breakfast? You spent enough time out there, I’m sure we can settle things, right as rain.” Playfully jutting a thumb out towards some of the other kids, “Maybe even teach a couple of these rascals a thing or two while we’re at it, what do you say?”
“Sure thing, Daddy-o,” a relaxed-looking teen says.
The silence is broken, breakfast clattering all over again. There’s a tiny, hopeful light zipping around inside my chest that we’ll be okay and everything will be fine, but it takes longer than I’d like for those storm clouds to clear from Monty’s eyes.
47. Monty
“Now, honey, you keep in touch with us, okay? I don’t like worrying about you so much.” Daddy wraps me up in a warm blanket of love, squeezing tightly to help keep my insides just as secure as my outsides. Nothing beats a hug from the bear of a man, and I let myself draw peace, love, and strength from it—knowing we might not get another chance to see each other if we’re forced to constantly move along or hide in distant places. One hand rustling in his apron pocket, Daddy places a full-sized chocolate bar into my hand, our bodies concealing the secret exchange. “In case you need a little extra sweetness,” he whispers, squeezing tightly once more; neither of us ready to let go. Reluctantly, we eventually do, tears shimmering in his eyes as he turns to clutch Connor to his chest, another candy bar secretly switching hands.
“C’mere, Kid,” Mom opens her arms to me, I gladly welcome their rough constriction. Leaning back, she aggressively ruffles my dreadlocks, almost giving a friction burn to my scalp in the process. “You know we’ve got your back, right? You need an army, we’re it, no question. And I don’t give a fuck what the risks are, this can and will always be your home.”
“Mom, if we move in with you, they’ll take the kids away,” I say sadly. Due to his mental instability, the foster program gave my parents an ultimatum when Connor turned 18—either he goes, or the kids do. Assholes.
“Just fucking watch them try,” she says, scowling. “Nobody fucks with my babies.”
Weakly, I smile. Mom’s a steel egg; impenetrable on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside. She’s always good to have in your corner, and a nightmare if you’re the one fighting against her. “We’ll be okay, Mom. We’re still figuring it all out, but the goal is to stay happy, healthy, and safe. Who knows, maybe we’ll blow you away with our exciting adventures some day.”
She snickers. “Yeah, sure. Travellin’ ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, Kid. Take it from an old gal that’s been around the block a few times,” Mom shakes her head while smiling. “For real, though, I’m proud of you.” I’m treated to another noogie. “You’ve built a strong family, and you’re doing whatever it takes to do right by them. Takes a lot of guts.” Just as rough as ever, she punches my shoulder. “Real proud.”
I skip a breath.
Beside her, Pops’ face is stern and calculating, emotion rarely breaking through the cracks. Awkwardly, he hugs me, a few firm, precise pats beating against my back. We separate in an abrupt manner, him straightening his spine and tucking both hands behind his back in a stiff, formal posture. “Montgomery,” Pops starts, “Do you have everything you need? Is there anything else we can provide for you?”
Shaking my head, “Nah, Pops, we’re gonna head home, pack up, then roll out. Miss Fern gave us a device that works against Dizzy’s stalker, so aside from that and some odds and ends, we should be set. It helps that she’s a bit of a pro at being on the lam, too. We’ll be fine.”
He nods, “Good.” There’s a pause. “I love you,” he admits bluntly.
My eyes tickle, knowing this is the strongest way he’ll ever admit at being worried. “Love you too, Pops,” I give him another quick squeeze for good measure.
Tiny hands yank at my cargo pants, tiny hands connected to a tiny Olivia, clutching her rainbow fish plush. Kneeling down, I pat her head. She kisses her fish and gives it a strong cuddle, then holds it out to me. “Mister Fishy keep you safe,” she says. “All da bad scaries stay away.”
Pulling her into a strong hug, I close my eyes tightly, taking a second to stabilize with a deep breath. This is too many goodbyes all at once, and they’re taking a toll on my heart. Smiling as wide as I can muster, I slide my hands through her hair, tucking the long strands behind her ears, fully exposing the tangled cluster of burn marks. “Why don’t you keep Mister Fishy here for me, Livvie, and I’ll come back for him as soon as I can. He’s not done learning everything from you yet, is he? Wouldn’t want to mess up his education.”
She crinkles her button nose as me, “Fishy’s no good at edjumacation. Morgan said fishies gots schools, but he don’t go ‘a no school! He’za lone fishy.”
Booping that soft little snoot of hers, “Well then, it’s even more important that you keep him close and make sure he learns everything you know, hmm?”
Olivia holds the rainbow plush close to her mouth, whispering something to it before holding it to her ear while nodding. “M’kay. But Mister Fishy says he’ll keep an eye on you anyway ‘n give you all da good dreams.”
I rub Mister Fishy’s shimmering fin, “Thanks, pal. That’s real nice of you.” Kissing Olivia’s temple, I stand.
Ormaht holds out a blunt, gray-green fist. I bump it. “Good luck, Monty.”
I eye the feisty winged girl his other hand is firmly weighing down. “Good luck to you too, Orm.”
She sticks her tongue out at me quickly. “Don’t die, or whatever.” Generous words, accompanied by a generous scowl.
“For you, most beautiful and kind angel? Of course,” words accompanied by a swooping bow. Mirabell's brow is still furrowed as deep as can be, but her head tilts up with pride. The corners of her lips tightly try to deny the smile attempting to break through.
“Ya good, Bro-ski?” Morgan asks, posture lanky and relaxed, hands tucked loosely in his pockets. I nod. “Cool. I’ll hold down the fort, don’t worry.”
A chuckle escapes through my grin, “I know you will, Morg. You da man.” I hold my hand out, he grasps it as we pull each other in for a hug. “Keep these hooligans in line,” I whisper.
He juts his chin up at me quickly as we part, both of us confident in his abilities.
“Come on guys, time’s a wastin’!” Dizzy shouts from the SUV, her goodbyes long since finished. I step back, taking one last mental snapshot of my family all gathered on the front lawn of a home I’ll always belong to.
Then I admire the cluster of bodies in and around our black SUV, hanging on one another, joking despite the impending doom, holding hands, keeping watch, whistling a tune—the family I built all on my own. Family is a choice, not a right. If you are very, very lucky, then someone will choose to give you the privilege of being part of theirs. My heart is full, surrounded by such a wealth of love; I am one lucky man. Whatever sacrifices
have to be made, I’m all in.
“Coming!”
48. Zeke
I don’t recall the last time I’ve needed to pare down and consider what is absolutely vital for basic operation. My collection of resources, tools, and projects, both finished and still in-progress, has flourished over the years. Even more astronomically since venturing out to cohabitate with these people in a place I’m now committed to no longer habitating at all. This dwelling has been important, but these walls aren’t nearly as essential as the lives nurtured within them. It will be a pity to abandon such luxuries, but at least we will do so intact, while we still have control over the chance.
Kinnnnnda hard to pack when you don’t really have much stuff in the first place. Should I just grab a bag and start chucking other people’s things in it? Or would that be weird, carrying around someone else’s underpants just to make it seem like I grabbed enough stuff? Maybe not underpants, but towels? Aren’t you always supposed to carry a towel?
Hm. What about spoons? Spoons are useful, and it’s not like they’d be unwelcome in any situation. Especially if that situation is soup! Or cereal. Although soup and cereal are basically the same thing, what with chunks floating around in broth and all that. So maybe only the soup spoons, since those’ll be good no matter what needs a good scoopin’.
Despite the fact that Dizzy’s nearly endless mental commentary is often bizarre and amusing, there’s a comfort in its certainty. She lacks ambiguity, if only between the two of us. I do not think the woman is capable of intentional deception; so carefree and open in both her actions and intentions.
Flicking open the lid on its case, I ensure my tattoo machine’s parts are all present, as many vials of infused ink tucked snugly in their designated slots as possible. Restoring the lid to its latched position, the box fits nicely in a space between my clothing and a few other pieces of equipment I can’t justify parting with. Chief among them, the light prison Miss Fern gifted us to guard against and eliminate the shadow creatures we’ve now come up against twice. It stands to reason they’ll be one of our biggest concerns, no matter where we eventually find ourselves residing.
