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VOLT: YA Fantasy

Page 11

by Dawn Brazil


  Joe and I exchange confused expressions. “Who the hell are you now, Ferris?" Joe says, but his voice sounds playful.

  “Are you not familiar with the phrase? It’s from Antony and Cleopatra, by Shakespeare. It means our heyday, our youth. Aw, our youth we are in." He flings his arms out like the kids who perform musicals at my school. "So young and vibrant, and love appears to be hovering among us like a forlorn friend, searching out whom she shall conquer."

  "Okay, Ferris, you've earned a nickname. So, unless you want me to call you Chatty Cathy, you better chomp down on the impulse to talk about love, Shakespeare, or salad days from hence forth. Am I clear?"

  "Perfectly," Ferris says, a mischievous smile plastered over his mouth still.

  "Okay, break's over," Joe announces. He walks around me briskly, without helping me to my feet. Ferris rises and strolls over to him, and the two walk in the same even strides. Neither turn to ensure I’m up from the bench.

  Of course, I am. Wow. Chivalry died fast.

  I wobble behind them. My strides are unable to match theirs because both Ferris and Joe are a half-foot taller than me. No sense in trying to keep pace with them and hurting my leg further. So, I lag.

  A chill runs through the air as the suns have disappeared. We each have a thin jacket on that Joe purchased in the lobby at the hotel for twenty-five Zygos. I tug mine closer to my chest. My teeth clatter against the cold that slams into me with each step. I smash my hands into my pockets and keep trailing behind. For some reason, they have a great deal to discuss.

  Joe rakes his hands through his hair, seemingly upset at what Ferris says, and Ferris runs his hands over the back of his neck. On and on they talk. Their conversation escalates at times, but is never loud enough for me to grasp a word of it. Truthfully, and I’m not certain why, I want to know what they’re talking about. I limp faster, trying not to attract their attention.

  As I near them, Joe turns and looks at me. "Hey Quasimodo, you okay?" He glances at my leg. "Sit. You’re bleeding through. I need to change your bandage."

  With no benches or anything else stable to sit on, I bend to sit on the ground. “Wait, it's all gravel here,” Joe says.

  I stand. He looks around like he’s trying to find another place to do this. No other place is close by. He takes off his jacket and places it on the ground. “Sit.”

  I’m careful not to peer into his eyes. I hate the flutter of my abdomen. It makes me feel sick. Why can’t he be an Alaska all the time? Where the Houston did that guy go?

  The ground is cold and I can feel small pieces of gravel beneath his jacket. Still, it’s the sweetest thing he’s done. Aside from saving my life a few times, which I don’t count, because it’s questionable.

  Once he replaces the bandage, he helps me to my feet. He, Ferris, and I walk side by side, and of course, they say nothing at all.

  I didn’t notice the sky yesterday when we were out—most likely because we were running for our lives the entire time. An aurora light dances across the night. Shades of purple, blue, and magenta skirt around us like a floating tie-dye shirt hugging the air. We walk silently for a few blocks.

  I miss my next step and stumble forward three paces. Ferris cups his hand to his mouth and Joe laughs boisterously. I right myself, roll my eyes at them both, and continue.

  The earth beneath me jostles again as I walk. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe my imagination is in overdrive. Another strong vibration beneath my feet sends me crashing into Ferris. “What the Florida is that?” Ferris helps me to my feet and I don’t cringe from his touch. His face is splotched red, and he looks as concerned as I’m certain I appear.

  Without warning, Joe snatches me from my feet and flings me over his back. I grab hold of his neck as he breaks into a dash. What the Florida?

  Ferris hurries manically after us. As my head is poised to turn to the front, a pair of large metal legs comes into view.

  “Kinda heavy up there,” Joe grunts.

  Oh wow. He never said that before. I whip around to face forward and alleviate the additional weight I’m imposing. The vibrations are more pronounced as the giant thingy makes its way to us.

  A thundering roar escapes from the metal giant. After a few seconds of the ear-aching clatter, I realize the thing is talking. I take a deep breath to try and ascertain what it’s saying.

  The thing's voice is autotune on steroids. "Give her to me," it says. "I want her."

  I glance back again, trying to determine exactly what’s after us this time, but it’s so mammoth, I’m unable to see all of it without craning my neck, which Joe already forbade. I can only see its silver metal legs and feet. Its feet and boots are highly polished red metal.

  Joe starts to slow. I’m too heavy on his back. “Let me go, Joe.” He shakes his head.

  “Come on. We can hide in here,” Ferris yells. He directs us to a large, red brick building with security bars that run along the front. A sign of a dove is hanging above the bars. A hatch flings open as we approach. Ferris is through the opening first; he stands at the entrance, urging us on. The large metal talking box is close behind, too. The vibration it causes makes my teeth clatter as I gather Joe’s shirt in my grip. My nub of nails don’t help me hold on, though.

  We’re still too far and the giant is close.

  We aren’t going to make it before the giant spots us.

  Chapter 21

  Joe isn’t responsible for me. I can’t let him get hurt because of me. Still, I don’t release my grip on him. A searing hot fire poker slams into my left leg, which is already barely hanging on to Joe. “Owww!” I scream. I release my hold on Joe's neck. Like a heavy anchor, I plunge to the ground and knock out what little breath I have left.

  My eyes slip shut as I gasp for air to fill my failing lungs. I wrap my arms around myself as I thrash on the icy ground. With my eyes closed, I scramble away from the sounds of the giant monstrosity. I don’t care if this thing slams one of those giant boots into my skull. My only concern is my responsibility for what it might do to Joe in the process.

  A wail of victory from the giant toolbox startles my eyes open.

  This monster’s picture was plastered on the coffee shop window, and possibly somewhere else—the MegaHex.

  Its red metal head is in the shape of a hexagon, and its arms, which stretch close to the magenta clouds, are blue metal. With giant hand-claws, like a crab, it reaches for me. I continue to push away from it. A meter in the center of its chest alerts others to its temperament.

  The meter’s a simple dial that ranges from: play, to run, to hide. Right now, the meter’s dial reads, “Hide.” I have no idea why this giant robot wants to kill me. I assume that’s its purpose, however.

  Maybe I should let it sink its metal claws into my skull… be free from it all. Free from thinking, free from breathing, free from wanting and needing and not having…

  Is there peace in death? Will the aches and pains of life follow me to my death? Will the universe release her grip on my head and allow the maggots to feast on me with no interference? Will it all truly be over?

  Joe snatches my arms and drags me across the rigid ground to him. “No. Joe!” I yell.

  “Shut up!” he yells back.

  The robot grabs my left foot and pulls me toward it. I’m a human rope in their tug-o-war battle. I scream in pain as the metal box tries to rip my foot from my leg. Joe grabs my shoulders and yanks backwards.

  A game of Tug-a-Sam ensues.

  Joe’s grip is no match for the colossal metal box, though. I’m dragged away from him with each wrench from the metal monster.

  “Let me go, Joe.” I shove his hands away. If I could jump and run, I would. I’d run away from Joe. I’d run away from everyone. I have a knack for getting others into terrible situations they don’t come back from.

  Joe isn’t going to be another casualty.

  “Florida,” I scream. I yank myself loose from his grasp and to a sitting position.

  With my peri
pheral vision, I see his face go slack with fear. His arms swing wide and fast, trying to get hold of me again. Before he can reach me, I bend forward and untie my tennis shoes—both of them, for good measure.

  I fall back to find Joe's hands ready to grasp mine. The robot snatches for my feet again, but this time when he yanks, my shoes come off in his giant claw-hand.

  I stare, unblinking, as the robot teeters as if it might fall. Joe’s hands swiftly engulf mine and he pulls me to him. I counted on the robot to not understand why I unlaced my shoes. I limp to my feet and Joe smashes me into his side.

  Then we run. Joe runs. I limp.

  The ground shakes as the robot hits it with the sound of a clap of thunder. We continue our sprint to the waiting sanctuary. Ferris tears his eyes from us to the robot. I don’t glance behind me. We reach the building and someone slams the hatch behind us. Ferris grabs both Joe and me, and we cling to each other without saying a word.

  Them holding me doesn’t feel terrible. It doesn’t feel right, either, though—or I won’t allow it to feel right. Right can’t exist where wrong lives.

  When we part, Joe lifts me from my feet and places me in a large high-backed chair. He uses another chair to prop my bad left leg.

  "You okay, Sam?" Ferris asks. His voice raises his tone a whole octave.

  "I am. But next time, leave me.” Joe doesn’t acknowledge my words. He’s digging around my leg, still trying to make sure I’m okay. I’m not—but it’s not his job to fix me. How many times does he have to rescue me?

  "Sam," Joe says. He places his index finger below my chin and elevates my head so my eyes meet his. "I don't always like you, but I don't want to see you dead. But for some reason, someone or something seems intent on you not finding this dude of yours. Have any theories why? You know, that way I know why I keep getting in these life-and-death situations with you."

  "How the Florida should I know?" I’m incapable of anything else because like him, I‘m curious about why I keep meeting opposition in my search. Is this normal? I can’t answer one question definitively, but the resistance makes me want to reach The End even more.

  Who knows what will be there for me?

  Chapter 22

  "We can't continue on foot." Joe announces as we sit at a counter high table in the bar that provided shelter from the MegaHex. "Look at her leg. There’s no way she'll make it. What little mobility she had, that giant robot destroyed."

  "That giant monster is called the MegaHex, and I have never witnessed an actual attack from him until now," Ferris says, shaking his head. "That was amazing. His meter rose to hide. Something else I’ve never seen."

  I shrink at his words. Of course, I know how to bring out the worse in anything.

  "I’ve never seen anything like your luck, Sam. Maybe you’re not meant to find this dude?" Joe says. My head pops up and I’m ready to attack, but I can’t because he saved my life—again.

  I bite my tongue against the swell of emotion choking me in its quest to escape. The nothing usually dissipates the feelings into mush before they begin to matter. Not this time.

  The words tumble out without my permission, though. "I don't believe that. Why would I be here, then? Ferris has been here forever and hasn’t claimed his mother. What's the Florida difference?"

  "Wow, such language from a lady," Joe quips. "Calm down, Yosemite Sam. What Mr. Watson and I are suggesting is you think hard about why we keep meeting such strong resistance from the locals. It’s not normal."

  "I’m not normal. I don’t know. How should I know? I’ve never been here before—"

  "That's it," Ferris yells, interrupting me. "That's it. You've been here before."

  "Didn’t I just say I’ve never been here before?" I roll my eyes. "Believe me, I’d remember this place."

  "Not necessarily," Ferris says. "You may not recall when you were here before, but the reapers and MegaHex certainly do. Have you lost someone or something of importance to you before?" They move in closer, anticipating my answer.

  Someone stuffed cotton balls in my throat. Parts of me want to shout all the truths I possess, and parts of me know better than to listen to those other parts. Inevitably, I fall apart when I’m forced to confront this. I–can’t–deal—or won’t.

  "I'm starving—does this place have any food?" I ask. I rise, lean on my good leg, and limp past them both. They’re not the police. This isn’t an interrogation, so I don’t have to answer their questions.

  I’m great at avoiding unpleasantness, and at the rate that conversation was going, something hostile was definitely on the horizon.

  For the first time, I inspect the place we dropped into.

  We’re in a bar with almost no other customers. It’s semi-dark, with a hint of light shining through the slats in the windows at the front. In the center of the large room stands an immense U-shaped bar. It’s made of oak, and carvings of mugs, and what appears to be happy people are engraved at the corners. The bartender is a plump man in a hilarious multi-colored outfit, similar to what the attendant at the hotel wore.

  I limp over to him to get food and something to drink, even if it’s only corn nuts or whatever kind of cocktail snacks they serve in bars.

  "Hi," I say, as I approach him. The bartender doesn’t greet me back, but I don’t call attention to it. His eyes, however, follow my every movement. "I um, would love to get something to eat. Do you have a menu?"

  "Sorry, but ya know I can't serve ya here. I know exactly who ya are," he says, eyeing me maliciously.

  I laugh. "You have me mistaken for someone else. I’ve never been here before. I don’t want any trouble. I want something to eat. That’s all."

  "Naw, it's you I'm talkin' bout. The MegaHex done gone and left us, so yaw'n ya friends oughten' to be leavin' too." He squares his jaw and purses his crusty lips. “I needn't ask again.”

  "Listen, I’ve never seen you before. I don't know you, and you don't know me." I march to the bar to stand in front of him. I want him to see my face. I want him to tell me kids come in here so often, he got confused. I look like one of them. I want him to say it’s not my face he’s seen before. I need him to say that.

  He ambles closer to the bar, too. His face, fully covered with hair, scrunches into a deep scowl the closer he gets to me. Neither of us speaks as we square off. He stands in front of me, only the bar separating us. He studies my face for an immeasurable amount of time, his head twisting and turning, and his deep-set charcoal eyes squinting over me.

  San Diego. San Diego. San Diego.

  "Come on. Let’s go," Joe says. He clutches my shoulders and turns me to face him.

  “Wait, Joe. Wait.” I spin back around to face the bartender. “Me. Have you seen me before? Me. You couldn’t have seen me.” He doesn’t say anything, but the curve of his dark eyes and slant of his mouth tells me he feels sorry for me. “Stop Florida looking at me like that. I don’t need your Florida pity.”

  "Sorry, Sir. Thanks for opening your doors when we needed it." Joe spins me around, grabs my hand, and drags me after him.

  "Hey—it’s on me," the bartender says. He tosses us a large snack bag, something like chips, and slides three cans of some sort of soda-like beverage to us on the bar. "I'll bag it for yaw." He stuffs the chips and soda into a paper bag. I meet his eyes. He grabs three additional drinks and stuffs those in the bag, too. He hands it to Ferris, who nods and turns to follow behind Joe and me.

  "Let's go," Ferris says.

  "Chris," the bartender shouts as we reach the hatch.

  I turn so fast my feet leave the floor, startled to hear that name. How does he know that name? I shove past Joe in a hurry to leave the bar, as well as the boulder-sized memories that crash into me.

  I take a deep breath, but I’ve been shoved under water. I’m drowning and no one can save me. No one even knows. The water bubbles above my head, and I collapse at the waist and hold tight to my knees.

  It’s coming.

  It drives its way throu
gh my legs, up my arms, past my neck. It thrusts across my eyes and through my neurons and brain matter. My leg screams for me to stop putting weight on it. Except, I don’t care. I’ve felt this nothing before.

  I love when it slips over me like a garment of protection.

  I can function again. I stand straight. Devoid of those pesky, overwhelming sensations called emotions.

  Chapter 23

  No one speaks or moves for an eternity. I feel, whether than see, Ferris' angry glare at me. He thinks he knows what’s going on. I want to laugh, because not even I have the luxury of that information. Joe shows no emotion. He clears his throat to get our attention and starts to walk in the direction we had been going before our run in with the MegaHex.

  I limp behind him, content in my nothingness.

  We walk in silence for a mile before anyone dares to say a word. Finally, Joe breaks the silence. "So, Chris… is he another of your boyfriends you couldn’t live without?" His voice is full of contempt.

  I like his anger. Anger is what he should feel toward me. That doesn’t mean I’ll answer any of his questions, though.

  "I don't know where he got that name. Now, leave me alone." I stumble around him to limp ahead of them on the road.

  Joe laughs. “I don't think so." He pulls me back to his side. "You owe us an explanation. We’re out here because of you. Risking our lives, our rights to be in VOLT because of you, so if you don't start talking fast, I’m gone."

  The nothing that's settled in my bones makes it hard for me to look at either of them—or care about his words.

  I take a deep breath and release it. I’m not about to go into my life story. Like Joe said, we can be anyone we want with new people. Me, I’m a girl. A too-tall, too-skinny black girl with a poof of tangled curls. Not the psycho I used to be.

  "There’s nothing to tell. I’ve never been to VOLT. You had to help me figure out why I was even here in the first place." Parts of me don’t care if they believe me. A part of me wants to tell them to leave. A part of me wants to disappear. Parts of me wish I could disintegrate into nothing on the ground. So many Denver parts.

 

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