by Tish Thawer
Thia held the towel in a tight fist, approaching the tablet with tentative steps. The newscaster’s face vanished from the screen, replaced by a publicity photo of Evan. The breath caught in her throat as Thia swallowed down the pain of the scar on her long-wounded heart suddenly being ripped open again.
It had been so long since she laid eyes on him, yet he strode through her dreams in vivid detail every time she closed her eyes. The smell of his skin. The curve of his lips. The pulse that coursed through her core every time their eyes met. Those bits of dwindled magic lingered in her memory, snuffed out in her wakeful hours by the reality of the shattered mess he left her world in when he turned his back on them all.
Jelly legs refusing to hold her, Thia sat down hard on the edge of her hammock. For a beat, she stared straight ahead without seeing.
“You thought you knew better than any of us, you dumb son of a bitch,” she growled to the ghost of Evan’s presence, which had long faded from those walls, “I will find you … just to prove to you how wrong you were.”
Cracked tile crunched beneath Thia’s scuffed motorcycle boot as she stepped from her car and slid the door shut behind her. Only owning three pairs of jeans, the pair she wiggled into that day had holes in the knees and frayed stitching across the bottom hem. Her thin, cotton hoodie did little to block the draft of the windy tunnel, but combined with her leather bomber jacket—gifted to her by one of her more generous foster families—she achieved a passable barrier from the day’s chill. Ironic as it was, when she ventured topside, the models on the covers of the Nary (ordinary folks) magazines were clad in similar ensembles they probably paid hundreds of dollars for. They called it grunge chic, she called it “It’s this or nothing.”
Around her, The Hive—a clever nickname the Anomalies, aka the Malies, came up with to own their mandated space—was alive with activity. A swarm of bodies ebbed and flowed through what had once been the terminal of the subway station. Often, Thia marveled at the beauty of the forgotten space. High archways were decorated with rod iron scrolls. A multi-colored stained-glass window drew the eye up to the domed peak of the terminal. Hand-laid tiles surrounded hammered plates which stated where each tunnel would deposit busy commuters. All of this, that had once been lovingly maintained and even doted upon, had been cast-aside … including the people.
To an outsider, the hurried masses—off to work, collecting supplies, struggling to keep busy—appeared as any other Nary crowd. Only upon closer inspection could the subtle differences be found. Solid black eyes here, reptilian scales there. Beside an Amazonian-sized woman with thick, gorilla-like body hair strode a fella with no mouth … at least not on his face. They all bore some sort of mark of shame, Thia was just one of the lucky few who could go undetected at a casual glance.
Throwing herself into the sea of bodies, Thia cut through the throng, making her way toward the ramp labeled City Hall. As she passed, she exchanged nods, waves, and brief salutations with familiar faces that bobbed by. Riding the wave of the crowd’s current, she made her way to the stairs. There, the mob thinned. Only a select few risked venturing topside without justifiable cause.
Squinting into the sunlight, Thia filled her lungs with the crisp morning air and pulled the collar of her jacket farther up her neck. Almond-shaped eyes scanning the chain-link fence that sealed off The Hive, she snorted in contempt at the ever-present band of scantily clad Naries propositioning every Anomaly that wandered within earshot of them.
Still shaking her head, she approached the platform of the guard’s station with a steady gait. As always, two heavily armed guards were positioned there with more patrolling the perimeter. One of the two—whose name Thia never bothered to learn because he had the temperament of an agitated rattlesnake—attended to the short line of Malies at the gate. Scanning the trackers embedded in their wrists, he confirmed on his tablet if each one was approved for passage before allowing them to leave or enter the compound. The second guard, with sandy brown hair falling into his eyes and an easy smile, offered Thia a steaming cup of coffee the moment she hopped onto the platform.
“The Maly Munchers are getting an early start today,” Thia commented in place of a greeting, jerking her head in the direction of the leering and catcalling Naries.
Sergeant Lance Baker chuckled in response, the steam from his own cup wafting over his reddened cheeks and nose.
“That’s a horrible term.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. The timbre of his voice was gruff and raspy, yet oddly soothing. “So what if one glimpse of someone with any kind of abilities makes their hearts flutter and panties drop? Who are we to judge?”
“Hey!” A Maly Muncher with billowing blonde hair and practically nonexistent denim skirt curled her fingers in the chain-link. Her heavily mascaraed stare locked in Thia’s direction. “What can you do? I’ve got an open-mind and plenty of time for you, doe eyes.”
Thia tipped her chin in Lance’s direction, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. “How about now? Can I judge them now?”
“I think it’s required after that.” Holding his gun out in front of him, Lance ducked behind Thia to kick the fence with the toe of his boot. Metal clanged at the impact. “Back away from the perimeter! Three feet, you know the rule. Or you should, you’re here every damned day.”
Shrinking back, blondie recoiled into the comfort of her band of like-minded eccentrics.
“So tough with your big gun,” Thia mocked, letting her gaze travel the length of him. “Can you imagine the world of crap you would catch if you actually opened fire on a Nary?”
When she still counted herself among the normal folks, Thia probably would have found Lance attractive. His lanky frame, military muscle, and chiseled jawline were unarguably easy on the eyes. The situation being what it was, she considered him nothing more than an ally that required the same type of arm’s length distance as the fence.
Pulling back as if she’d slapped him, Lance’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry, a … Nary?”
“Nary—Ordinary person.” Thia nodded, her lips pressed in a thin line. “I coined the phrase. Clearly, it caught on.”
“Clearly.” He laughed, never hearing the term before and feeling out of the loop. “You’re quite the trendsetter,” he continued, slinging the strap of his gun over his shoulder.
“If only I was the one that coined the phrase Maly Muncher,” Thia tsked, pantomiming sincerity. “I wanna hug that brilliant bastard.”
Pacing along the front edge of the platform, Lance’s head swiveled to monitor the fence line. “I actually meant that you’re becoming quite the voice of the people, smartass.”
Filling her lungs, Thia forced on a mask of confidence that countered the hammering of her heart and pivoted to face him. “I do have the ear of the Maly people. They trust and respect me, because they know I will look out for them no matter what.”
Picking up on the somber change in her tone, Lance turned to face her. His head tilted with interest. “Oh, this is going somewhere,” he mused.
“I’m worried about Gigi. I haven’t heard from her in a couple of days,” Thia explained in a long-winded ramble. “I know it’s against regulations, but if I could use the tracking tablet I could pinpoint where she is, and put my mind at ease.”
Snaky Guard lashed at them both with his venomous glare.
Clearing his throat, Lance offered him a nod of reassurance. “You know I can’t do that, Thia. We could both get cast to The Hill for even talking about it.”
Thia raised both hands to halt his objection. “I’m not trying to cause any trouble. In fact, I don’t have to see or touch the tablet at all. You could pull up her location and whisper it to me. Or, scribble it onto a paper airplane and float it across the yard to me. I don’t care, I just need to—”
“Enough!” Lance boomed. Mood shifting in a blink, he closed the distance between them, shrinking Thia with his towering stature. Dropping his voice to a threatening whisper, he growled, “
You are the only Maly allowed to work the gate. Do you know why?”
“B-because the Malies trust me, like you said,” Thia stammered, taken aback by his sudden outburst.
“The Malies trust you, and the guards see you as the safest way to keep the lines of communication open between us and them.” Softening his tone, Lance’s eyes pleaded for her understanding. “Both sides need you, Thia. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that role will allow you any extra privileges or allowances. One wrong move and the iron gate on this opportunity slams shut. None of us can afford for that to happen. You need to toe this line carefully. Do you understand?”
Thia choked down the painful reminder of the cavernous divide between their kinds. She could stand beside them, joking and jovial, but that didn’t change the fact that they were there to lord over her and all the Anomalies. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Good.” Stepping back to grant her room to breathe, Lance reverted to his stoic soldier façade with a roll of his shoulders and shift of his weapon. “Why don’t you do a perimeter sweep? Make sure none of your so-called Malie Munchers are cutting the fence for a bit of nookie.”
“Sure,” Thia croaked, hating how breathless she sounded, “that’s what I’m here for.”
When she jumped from the platform, a small cloud of dust kicked up under her boots. Shielding her eyes from the hazy rays of the sun, Thia evaluated the paths that lay on either side of her. Did she want to see rundown buildings with shattered windows and crumbling stone faces first, or hold her breath walking past the abandoned water treatment plant with its funk of stagnate waste? Its tower loomed over The Hive, forever mocking them as the cause for their isolation, like a dirty syringe still plunged into the vein it infected.
Opting for the dilapidated building route, Thia only made it three strides into her march when shouts rose up behind her.
“Sir, I need you to step away from the gate!”
“I need to get out! I have to see my daughters! They need to know I didn’t abandon them! They have to see the truth!”
“We have scanned your tracker twice.” Snaky Guard held his tablet in the crook of his arm, reading the verdict displayed on its screen as if it were gospel. “You are not authorized to leave the compound. We cannot grant you access from the premises.”
Thia instantly recognized the Maly at the root of the scene: Eugene. In the world before the infection he had been an accountant living the dream with his wife of twenty years and two pre-teen daughters. As dismal fortune would have it, he was the only one of his brood to be affected by TS901. Everything he knew, everything he loved, was ripped away from him. Horrible as it was, that sad tale didn’t belong to him alone.
While other Malies could occupy themselves with hobbies, or odd jobs out in the world no Nary wanted to reduce themselves to—garbage detail, housekeeping, security, legalized prostitution—Eugene couldn’t cope with all he lost. Alcohol became his therapist, mistress, and best friend. Despite being heartbroken and lost, Thia knew him to be harmless … as long as he didn’t become agitated.
“Check it one more time!” Softening his tone, Eugene tried again with all the sensitivity he could muster. “Please, if you could check my tracker once more? I was told by my case worker at the CDC that she was going to clear me for a day pass.”
“I’ve checked it twice, sir, and have a line of Malies behind you that have followed protocol,” the guard grumbled, his barrel chest puffing in anticipation of an altercation.
“Rivera,” Lance snapped, his tone rumbling with authority as he edged up beside the lower-ranking officer, “refresh the screen and check again.”
Jaw clenched tight, Snaky Guard—or Rivera, as Thia now knew him—obeyed the order.
Rooted where she stood, Thia held her breath and prayed for a miracle.
No such divine intervention would come.
The surly guard said nothing, but showed the display to Lance with a victorious smirk tugging back one corner of his mouth.
In a blink, all traces of emotion vanished from Lance’s face. “I would suggest you contact your case worker again,” he began, hoping to placate Eugene whose face bloomed from red to purple with each word.
“No! She ignores me! You ignore me! I will be heard!” Arms locked to his sides, Eugene squeezed his hands into tight fists. His head shook slowly at first, building with speed and intensity with each spastic twitch. “You can’t keep us locked here! We have families! We are people!”
Lance’s hand hovered over the butt of his weapon, fingers itching for the trigger. “Sir, I need you to back away from the fence.”
Frisbeeing his tablet aside, Snaky Guard flipped a switch on his polished chrome weapon, switching it from kill to stun. The gun emitted a high-pitched squeal of warning. “Stand down or we will put you down!”
“Rivera, I need you to relax immediately!” Lance warned. Pulling his hand away from his weapon, he held up both palms to pump the brakes on the escalating situation. “Sir, this doesn’t have to become anything more than it is. You want to see your family? You need to do it right. Think of them, and what they would want you to do here.”
“They … would … want … me … free!” Eugene’s voice rose with each clipped word, morphing into an ear-piercing shriek that tore from his lungs. Legs parting into a wide-legged stance, he planted his feet and leaned into the roar. A cyclone of deafening sound ripped from his splayed jaws, forcing both guards, and all the lingering Maly Munchers, to their knees.
The Naries protected themselves in the only way they could, covering their ears in hopes of capturing even a shred of relief. Thin streams of crimson began to trickle from their ears, the onslaught ravaging their blood vessels with a strain that could easily prove fatal.
Rage building as control of the situation shifted in his favor, Eugene hooked a scrawny hand on the edge of the guard’s platform and heaved it end over end with barely a grunt of effort. Lance and Snaky tumbled to the ground, shielding their heads with their arms as the metal structure winged over them and crashed to the ground.
Thia was on Eugene in a blur of speed no human could achieve, holding him to her chest in an unyielding, reverse bear-hug.
“Eugene,” she breathed against his ear. While his wail wasn’t incapacitating to her or other Malies, it wasn’t exactly a sweet symphony she wanted to revel in either. “What was it you used to say to your girls every night when you tucked them in? You told me you wanted one more chance to whisper it to them. Help me out here. How did it go? Close your eyes, ride a moonbeam. Escape into sleep, and …”
Thia let the prompt hang in the pregnant pause between them, hoping it would crack his wall of wrath. Those sweet spoken words—meaningless to some—managed to stomp the fires of his raging storm down to dying embers. The pained caterwaul died on his lips, morphing into an anguished sob as he crumbled into her embrace.
“… And meet me in my dreams,” he wept, finishing the last line of the treasured sentiment.
Thia turned him to face her, allowing his head to slump against her shoulder. Watching Lance and Snaky scramble to their feet and close in on their assailant, she held up one finger in a plea for a moment of understanding.
Placing her palm to the rough stubble of his cheek, Thia urged Eugene’s red-rimmed gaze to meet hers. “I want you to see your girls again, Eugene. They need their Daddy. For that to happen you have to do things right. Don’t ruin it all because one stupid moment got away from you. Right now, you need to go call your case worker. Take a walk through the tunnels …” She winked. “Hell, go crack into that homemade moonshine of yours. Do whatever it takes for you to get control of yourself, and get out of the sight of these nice officers. Because they’re going to let you walk away from this as a favor to me, but that generosity won’t last. Take this as your one and only free pass, and don’t waste it.”
Eugene risked a glance over his shoulder to the guards, doubt sharpening his scraggly features.
“Get out of here,” Lance o
rdered, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the compound.
Spinning on Thia, Eugene offered her an appreciative jerk of his chin before scurrying back down into the depths of The Hive without a second look back.
Dragging her tongue over her top teeth, Thia hitched one brow in the direction of the guards. She didn’t point out that she was the saving grace of the tense moment of mayhem. She didn’t need to. That realization was etched into the frown lines of their foreheads.
“So,” she mused, swinging her arms in front of her in a broad clap, “about Gigi’s tracking device?”
Scooping Snaky’s tablet up from where it settled into the dusty earth, Lance called it into action with a series of rapid clicks.
“Not a word, Rivera,” he snapped to the scowling guard before he could utter a syllable in protest. “Looks like your friend has made connections in high places. The old cafeteria near Station B has been turned into her private suite. She’s either a huge asset, or an unimaginable security risk.”
“Knowing Gigi,” Thia contemplated, lips screwing to the side, “it’s both.”
TS901:Anomaly
(Book 1 in the TS901 Chronicles)