Scarlett offers the bottle to Emanuelle who sniffs at the liquid, wrinkles her nose at the pungent aroma and passes it across the flickering flames without drinking. I grab it and take a swig, in time for Rabbit to turn around. I wrinkle my nose in his direction, the liquid burning down my throat and piling like rocks in the pit of my stomach. Diego reaches for the whiskey and I give it over.
For a while, nobody stirs. I stare into the barely blazing embers of the fire, to the point where the flames turn blue and dance along the edge of the wood like beckoning fingers, tiny licks of electricity. The Salt works its magic and my lips spread foolishly, without my consent.
“Should I move down the rim a little bit? I don’t want to crash your party.”
“But you’ve already set up your telescope,” Emilia points out, her voice turning musical and lilting. "And there is safety in numbers."
“I don’t—”
“There’s room around the fire,” I say.
Rabbit studies our group with the patient calculation of a deer stepping into an open meadow. His ears almost twitch and flick in response to the human tension. His big ears hidden in his soft curls.
The upward tick of his mouth is the only indication he recognized my attempts to welcome him. I do have an ulterior motive of wanting to keep tabs on everyone in this group, in order to safely sneak off in the early morning hours. But also—it’s Rabbit. I don’t want him to go.
The whiskey makes another two rounds and we finish up the joints. Emilia is faded with intoxicants and Scarlett presses a finger to her forehead, tipping her backwards onto the bedroll. She collapses onto it with a resigned sigh, as if she’s given up fighting the urge to fall.
“This is going to be the best meteor shower you’ve ever seen,” Scar tells Emilia.
She nods without comment, her eyes wide and staring up at the infinite night sky. Worlds too numerous to count. Light years away yet visible in the blackness and void of space. A falling star whizzes by, and another ticks past, blinking in and out. A satellite. Maybe the one used to monitor us. We all ignore the overbearing presence of the Iron Curtain. It’s not beautiful like the stars.
We all watch Diego stoke the fire. The wood catches quickly and soon it’s blazing, to the point where we all scoot our bedrolls back for fear they might burst into flames. Rabbit seems to ponder the idea of joining us on the bedrolls then shrugs over to the telescopes again, where he stands apart from the group while Diego insists on another round of whiskey and Salt. Everyone is properly plastered at this point, and I check the time on my band. Twenty minutes to midnight. I fight the urge to mirror Emilia’s example and lay out on my bedroll as well. She looks peaceful enough to be sleeping, but her eyes are glazed open. She’s happily lost in her own inner world.
The Rosas have abandoned any efforts to use their telescope. The assignment was extra credit anyway. I doubt they needed it to maintain their perfect grade point averages.
Rabbit holds sentry at his telescope with a stillness bordering on eerie. I'm half tempted to believe he's fallen asleep standing up when he stirs and mutters under his breath. “You guys are missing it.”
“Oh, they’re enjoying the show,” I say, observing the placidly smiling bodies scattered about the fire.
Rabbit turns and surveys the group with obvious disappointment.
“What about you?” he asks, giving up his vigil of the night sky and taking a seat on the ground across from me. I try not to focus on his movements and lose myself in the fire again. After awhile, Rabbit coughs and shakes me out of my reverie. Stupid Salt.
“Eleni?” he asks, waving across the distance.
“Space isn't really my thing.”
“This your thing?” He gestures toward the group. “Whiskey and weed?”
“It’s a thing I do. And you’re killing my buzz.”
Rabbit laughs without humor. “That’s number five on the Eleni Garza list. Weed and whiskey.”
“Number six. You forgot I’m exceptionally good at cleaning toilets.”
He cocks his head. “Did I? You’re only so-so. You don’t have much of a future in the toilet business.”
“I don’t have much of a future at all.”
I nervously grab at a chunk of my hair and static electricity shocks me. I wince in surprise and pain. Rabbit notices. Of course he notices. He clears his throat and stands up abruptly, heading back towards the telescope.
I watch the fire shine and dance across the images imprinted on the metal coin, my mind flickering back to the heat of Rabbit’s fingers on my temple. To the warmth in my stomach from our near kisses. His resemblance to Mateo, real or imagined. Exhaustion winds its way into my eyelids and I close them.
“I’m gonna go,” Rabbit says.
I’ve nearly drifted off to sleep sitting up. Scarlett sits on the bed-roll with Diego, a rifle draped across her lap, staring dreamily into the fire. Everyone else snoozes. Rabbit stands sentry at the telescopes, but appears to be collapsing the tripod.
“I can’t see a decent comet with the light from the fire. I’m gonna move down the rim a little ways. Do either of you want to come with me?” I search for a hint in his question, an indication he directs his inquiry towards me. That he wants me to go with him.
Scarlett indicates the napping residents. “I’m good here. Someone needs to stay behind.”
“Garza? You want—you want to go with me?” Rabbit asks.
I reach for the coin necklace, but it’s already tucked inside my jacket. How long was I asleep? I stand and shake out my tired limbs like a wet dog, casting off the luring intoxication of Salt. Waking up my brain.
“You kids go on. Have fun. I’ll be here. Bored out of my mind. Fending off bears and wild pigs,” Scarlett complains, winking at me. “Catch ya later Lenbot.”
I fall in step behind Rabbit, offering to carry half the telescope. He brushes me off, stalking several paces ahead, his long legs outpacing my short ones. We walk in silence, with only our bands for illumination. We’re about fifteen minutes away from the fire, enough to get a better view of the night sky. I blow tepid air into my curled fists, watching Rabbit adjust the telescope settings.
“We won’t be able to see the meteor shower for much longer. Clouds are coming in.” Rabbit points off in the distance. I sniff the air, tasting moisture on the wind. I hate the way it smells right before a rainstorm, it reminds me of the copper on my tongue after a nano injection.
“Can I look through the telescope?” I ask. “Before we get rained out?”
He gives me space and I press my eye to the viewer. He aims it at a particularly incandescent cluster of stars and the meteors burn right through the heart of it. I inhale sharply.
“It’s beautiful.”
“That’s not the Salt talking?”
“Nope. All me. What star cluster is this?” I point towards it.
“Uhm, Lepus. It’s a rabbit—a hare. You don’t see the bunny ears?”
“You’re making that up right?”
“No, it’s named after a greek myth. Lepus is my favorite constellation—kind of a home base for my telescope.”
“You have a favorite constellation?” I ask with a mocking grin. “You are a space nerd. Tell me more about Leapus.”
“Lepus is supposed to be the image of a rabbit carved into the sky by the god Hermes to honor the swiftness of the hare. See how it’s tucked up right next to Orion? The hunter?”
He steps up close behind me to assist in pinpointing the new star cluster and adjusts the telescope to a different constellation.
“There’s a connection to the Easter Bunny which definitely makes it way less cool. Lepus used to be a bird, but the Goddess of Spring changed him into a hare for some reason or another. As punishment. He lost his power to fly, so she granted him the ability to run across land with great speed. Told you—not awesome. And no, I wasn’t named after the constellation. I found it after the nickname stuck.” He steps away from the telescope.
“
Your tattoo.” I poke a finger at his left arm. “Your tattoo is constellation mythology.”
“Most people just notice the nickname.” He smiles, rubbing the arm where I poked him. “Rabbit.”
No static shock this time.
“Why do people call you that? Aren't rabbits supposed to be small and fluffy and cuddly?"
“I’m cuddly.”
“But you’re not small.”
“I was in field and track in secondary. I could run a six minute mile and hit 6’4 on a high jump when I was fifteen.”
“Impressive.” I roll my eyes.
“My coaches thought it was pretty good. The other kids called me Rabbit. Clint picked it up. It carried over here—with him.”
“You knew him before the Academy?”
“Yeah. We lived in Houston together. We met there.” The warmth sucks out from his teeth and tongue. His nose crinkles. The bad nose crinkle.
“How did you meet?” I try to picture the circumstances and my head swims. Fuller is such a privileged asshole and Rabbit is so nice and normal.
“Drugs.” His voice breaks. “I don't really—”
“Wanna talk about it,” I answer for him. “That's fine. It's none of my business.”
“Maybe—maybe later.” He offers, brows knit together in an expression of promise. “I could tell you later, if you really want.”
An odd thrill blazes in my chest at his offer. It’s not a no. I turn back to the telescope and we drift into a comfortable silence for a time. The clouds pile up in the distance, long puffy fingers reaching towards us. He steps forward to fiddle with a knob on the telescope.
“Here’s another one,” he says, giving me plenty of berth to approach and look into the eyepiece.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Those stars represent a curving river named Eridanus. Do you see it between the two brighter ones? It’s supposed to be the Nile River. Anyways, it’s where Phaethon crashed after attempting to drive the Chariot of the Sun. He was running wild, creating chaos wherever he went. So Zeus struck him with a lightning bolt and sent him hurtling through the air like a meteor until he crashed into the water.”
I turn away from the stars. “Why did you pick this constellation?”
“It seemed appropriate. We’re watching a meteor shower.” He indicates the sky with a sweep of his arm. The clouds have crept almost entirely across the stars, and there isn’t much crashing meteor to behold.
“Smell the air. It’s going to rain any minute.”
He sniffs loudly and exhales. I catch a whiff of cinnamon gum again and my stomach does a nervous flip.
We debate the merits of heading to town vs. finding shelter nearby to wait out the impending rainshower. We decide to find a shelter close by. We grab the telescope and trudge over the dead, winter grass towards the low woods. It’s really more of an overgrown apple orchard. There’s no fruit on the limbs right now, but I know the difference between these trees and the cherry ones we already passed. These are taller. We use GPS on the bands to track our progress. The farmhouse is close to Cherry Heights Road, on the other side of these trees. We keep the Rim to our backs and Cherry Heights in front of us.
The rain clouds open up before we reach the house and Rabbit removes his jacket to cover the telescope. He wears a grey service t-shirt underneath, quickly drenched in the downpour and clinging to his scrawny frame. We reach the farmhouse and I slip in through a broken window, unlocking the door while Rabbit stands on the covered porch, shivering and dripping wet. It’s cold inside, but relatively dry. Only a few spots where the roof leaks. There’s a fireplace, but no wood. And the likelihood a hawk or eagle built a nest in the upper parts of the chimney is high. I don’t want to burn the place down or die of asphyxiation.
I unzip my jacket and drape it off the ledge of the fireplace. Underneath is my customary outfit—a simple black v-neck shirt. The air is chilly, but the nanos keep the extreme temperatures at bay. Rabbit modestly turns his back to peel the wet shirt from his torso, wringing it out and hanging it over a hallway bannister to drip dry. Goosebumps dot his skin and his teeth chatter as he shivers. He turns around to retrieve his jacket and water drips over the muscles on his bare stomach. A blush crawls up my neck and warms my cheeks but I can’t look away.
A black barcode tattoo over his chest hooks my attention. A prison camp tattoo. Rabbit's been to prison camp. Only violent offenders go to prison camp. I can’t will myself to avert my gaze, though it makes him uncomfortable enough to place a hand over the tattoo.
Rabbit gingerly sets the telescope down and retrieves his damp jacket. He zips his naked torso from view and flips the hood over his head. We decide it’s best to occupy the livingroom, and we sit up against a wall, listening to the rain and watching it buffet inside the glassless window by the front door.
“What’s with you and constellations anyway?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Kind of a hobby I picked up back in Houston.”
“With Clinton?” I try to keep the tone of my inquiry neutral.
“Without.”
I chew on the inside of my bottom lip and wait for him to speak again.
“My family lived close to Prothero’s Randolph Space Center. I went there all the time, hanging outside, watching the spacecraft. It’s an army base but they turned part of into a country club. I worked in the kitchens and as a lifeguard before joining the Academy. I would wander around the museum for hours. So that’s my constellation story. Now I’ve told you one of my secrets." He slides his gaze back to the window, the shadows obscuring his features. I don’t think he’s only talking about his love of space.
Another long silence ensues. I’m not anxious to interrupt it, even though I strongly desire to know more about Rabbit. I want to know everything.
“Can I tell you something I think you already know?” Rabbit asks.
“Can I add it to my Rabbit Santiago list?”
He laughs, but it’s empty and hollow. My stomach tightens. His knee bounces nervously and he bows his head, the jacket hood pushing his face into total darkness. "I’m not at the Academy to be a soldier,” he says softly. “I’m not going to war. The thing I owe the Fullers—this is it. It’s my ticket out of national service.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, leaning forward to catch his quiet admission.
The farmhouse livingroom warps with the intensity of a church confessional. My mind spins but doesn’t catch on anything substantial. I have no idea what he’s about to say next.
“The Space and Aeronautics Institute. I’m gonna pilot a spacecraft,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Prothero’s not sending you off to fight Contras.”
“Rabbit—”
“They’re sending you to SAI,” he says. "That’s one of your secrets. I know admission is super competitive and there were only ten slots this year, but I got my acceptance wave last week. You got yours right? We’re going together aren’t we?”
“No.”
“You said you needed Clint, like I needed him. I thought maybe you meant—“
“No Rabbit. Prothero doesn’t want me piloting space shuttles. They want me on the battlefield. That’s where I’m going. They’ve already signed my death certificate.”
We sit in silence. There’s another way out of National Service—a way Prothero never offered me. They said my only options were Fort Columbia or a debtor’s camp. And here’s Rabbit Santiago escaping in four months to the safety and comfort of a space institute. Far from the front lines. Far from danger. He has a future. He’s known this whole time and made me feel things this whole time and the reality is he’s going to live and I’m going to die again.
“I thought you were coming with me.” He looks up and the hood falls from his face. His expression is earnest. He’s the Rabbit from the SIMs and the church and the Commons and flight testing. The Rabbit I’m going to lose when our paths diverge.
“Number seven on the Eleni Garza list. I don’t get to escape. I don’t get to choose.”
Rabbit stalks over and slumps down in front of me, leaning against me—so close we’re exchanging breath. He touches my cheeks with his icy fingertips. Fear seizes me. He strokes the rigid, bumpy scars of my left temple with a thumb. He tilts my head down and bumps his forehead against mine. The heat of our bodies trapped together is extraordinary.
“Six,” he says, lips brushing mine, heavy with emotion. “I’ll take you with me.”
It’s the saddest, nicest lie I’ve ever heard. Better than any of the ones in Mateo’s letters. Even if Rabbit figured out a way it wouldn’t matter. I wouldn’t survive piloting a spacecraft with this strange tumor growing inside me. I’d never pass the medical exam. My body’s breaking apart and changing. My past is always in danger of catching up with me and my future lies elsewhere. I can’t tie my fate to anyone but Mateo. But it’s such a beautiful lie—I want to believe Rabbit when he says it.
“Promise?”
He nods and his lips gently settle against mine, delicate and soft like a battering moth’s wings. He tastes like his promise and I breathe in the scent of cinnamon, sweat, and chlorine radiating from his pores.
He makes a low moaning sound in his chest that vibrates through us. My stomach dips. Our kiss intensifies and our tongues meet and tangle together. His fingers trace the scarred curve of my neck. They trail along the cloth of my shirt, encircling my upper back, pressing me to him. The insistence, the hungry way his lips push into mine, makes me shudder. The heat generated between us rises up and wraps over us. It’s unbearably hot. My body is on fire.
My eyes slide open and I push away from Rabbit. His hands fall from my back. A vaporous blue crackles in the air between us, trembling on the places our bare skin brushes together.
“Are you hurt?” I ask. "It's not hurting you?"
“No. It tingles. What is it?”
He leans back and the light dies. He reaches towards me and the electricity returns as soon as his fingers touch my cheek. He makes a surprised noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.
“I have no idea,” I say.
Metal Heart: Book 1: The Metal Heart Trilogy Page 13