by Erin Lorence
Most of the liquid ran down her chin and neck, but a little must’ve made it into her mouth. She choked. Then coughed. Swallowed. And cracked open her eyes.
I shoved the empty jar at Wolfe.
“Rain?” Melody tried to focus on me.
“See? She wants to go in the shower.”
I shook my head at Jezebel.
“It’s raining.” Melody fingered the wet fur of her collar.
“No way.” I stayed firm. “You don’t want the indoor shower.”
I watched her mouth tug up at the corners.
“Yes. Please? No danger.”
~*~
This must be a dream. Because it couldn’t be real.
I sat on the fuzzy, sand-colored floor of a pagan home. An indoor shower pounded behind the door at my back. And the Brae girl, who panicked over everything, voluntarily bathed in it.
I rubbed my hands together, creating doughy rolls of grime. I bet it felt good, though. All that water.
“Popsicle time.”
Jezebel was bored—now that the excitement of capturing prisoners and Melody dying had ended. I shared a sleeping porch back home with an eight-year-old. I knew how little-kid thinking works.
She skittered off somewhere. Thumps and a slam echoed from a different area of the home.
“They’re no good. Power was out for too long again last night.”
She sauntered back, holding something red on a stick. She stuck it in front of Wolfe’s nose and then slurped its bright juice.
“All right, all right.” He shoved her head away, his shoulders shaking.
She waved the frozen liquid at me. “You like popsicles?”
I swallowed hard, shook my head, and screwed my face into a grossed-out expression. As it disappeared outside with the girl, I wondered if it tasted as much like wild strawberries as the red promised.
The water falling at my back cut off.
“You know I’m going to figure you out, Bird.”
I plucked up a long string from a crack between floor and wall—a perfect strand—and began unraveling its woven threads.
“Even if you don’t tell me voluntarily, there are ways I can find out.”
A thread snapped between my fingers.
“Oh—no. No. I don’t mean...I’m not going to make you tell me or nothing. I’ll find it electronically. Everyone’s info is out there, including yours, waiting to be discovered, at least if the electricity will hold out for another while.” He grimaced at the strip of lights above his head.
Since Melody had pleaded for the shower, I hadn’t spoken. And on principle, I refused to ask for a favor. But for five years I’d been obsessed with Dead Nights. The sudden darkness. The reason lights and cars didn’t work. The pure evilness of it all.
I waged a war in my head. The obsessed part won.
“And the electricity goes out because?” I retied the frayed ends of my string.
Wolfe leaned forward, grinning. “Nice try. But I’m willing to trade. An answer for an answer. Mine first since I asked first. What were you doing in Sisters?”
My retort was automatic. “Following God’s plan with faith and obedience.”
He waited with raised eyebrows, which soon lowered into a low, solid line. “That’s it? Following God’s...It doesn’t tell me anything—”
“It’s a true response and all you’re going to get. Now my turn.”
“Ok, Miss Charisma. You want to know about our town’s freaky power outages? Which, to be honest, makes me suspicious that you care, but I’m not going to bother asking why you want to know or how you’re going use this information ‘cause you won’t tell me, correct?”
I nodded.
“Ha!”
I cringed.
“Now I know the outages reach you since you’re asking about them. You don’t live too far from here. Right? I’m right. Right?”
I held up my string—now quadruple its original length—and squinted at it.
He sighed. “Fine. Well, in Sisters, when the lights go out it’s a good bet some kid has let off a mini EMP. Although I know a few adults who’ve let off some, but they’re happy to let us take the blame. And even when the power comes back afterwards, it’s unstable for a few days.”
He gestured at the strip overhead, which had dimmed and brightened twice since I’d slid to the floor.
I dropped the thread and squinted at him. Confused.
He noticed. “EMPs? Never heard of mini EMPs? They’re, you know, those handheld devices made for soldiers to carry to interrupt the flow of electricity. Electromagnetic pulses. Their way to stop the enemy’s communication, high tech weapons, vehicles...things that use electrical currents. Get it?
“So, when I was ten or eleven, we had this ex-SEAL military guy who lived in town and stockpiled a ton of them. Illegally, of course. Then he went PTSD.” He laughed at my furrowed brow. “He went cr-a-zy. He handed them out to us kids on Halloween. Best trick-or-treating ever. The guy’s still locked up, I think, getting his brainwaves checked. And the military officially ordered us to give up all EMPs, but I’ve still got a couple tucked away in my sock drawer. Like most people my age around here.”
“But...why? Why do you want them?”
He thought for a moment. “Having the power go off is annoying...but you feel like a god or something when you’re the one doing it. Plus, it’s hilarious. And it gets us out of school sometimes.”
I shook my head in wonder. It’s kids causing Dead Nights. For kicks.
“It’s not that big of a deal, though.” He came over and leaned his back against the wall. My wall. “It’s not like the cops are going to arrest a kid for causing a short blackout.”
I found my feet and stepped away with my arms crossed tight. “Just like they can’t arrest me for being a Christian. Loving God isn’t illegal either.”
At least, I didn’t think so.
He closed the gap. His arms copying, a dumb smirk on his face. “True, but hurting others who are more open-minded about what’s out there is. Say what you like, but it’s wrong for you people to say your religion is the only right one and condemn everyone else to Hell. All while you creep around, blowing up junk and setting fires to prove you’re better than the rest of us.”
The door swung open behind him. A blast of muggy air tinged with summer’s flowers wafted out, carrying Melody with it. Dampish but fully-dressed in boots and pelts, she chattered in Amhebran.
“Dove, Dove! The water can be warm or cold. And it doesn’t end. Ever. At least I don’t think. I’m serious—as much hot water as you want. You don’t believe me. Here. Go try it.” She tugged at my arm, attempting to pull me inside the white room, but then she bumped against Wolfe. She stopped trying to pull me.
“Oh. Um. I’ll...I’ll watch the door for you.” She gulped.
I decided to go for it. If I passed up this opportunity for water, I’d most likely shrivel up here on this fuzzy floor. After the hateful accusations he’d hurled at me, I’d rather die than ask him for a cup.
His body reclined against the rectangular opening I’d passed through. “Well, we’ll see—about your arrest, Bird.”
I shut the door in his face, but that didn’t stop his words. “That’s right. Go relax. Enjoy your shower. I’ll be out here, checking out the FBI’s Most Wanted page for who you really are. Let’s hope there’s at least a decent reward.”
I brushed a metallic spot in the wall, and a waterfall-like burst drowned out the rest of his incomprehensible taunt. The water’s warmth, taste, sound, the sting of it against my sunburned skin, nothing else mattered.
Melody hadn’t lied.
It was so different from the frigid water bathing experiences back home. There, unless you hiked all the way to the stream, every drop was precious and never quite enough.
Dingy brown rivers collected around my toes, escaping down the fir-needle-shaped holes.
I watched the flow. Did it end up in a pond under their home? Or did it water a gar
den outside I hadn’t noticed?
Goodbye grit. Sweat. Last dregs of poison.
What if enough poison came off me to kill their vegetables? With a smile, I unrolled my hair and scrubbed my scalp. My other hand clutched the long piece of white material that acted, I assumed, as a privacy curtain. And, of course, I still wore my undergarments—a cord-strapped shirt and fitted shorts that reached my upper legs. Their water-resistant material would be dry in an hour.
Opening my mouth baby-bird style, I took one last, long drink. Then I turned off the water, wrung it from my hair, and fast-coiled it back up.
The next few minutes I spent lacing the small plastic bag with the two prayer results I’d set on the slippery ledge back onto my undershorts. Finished, I peeked around the curtain and grabbed for the damp towel Melody must have used. My eyes skimmed this alien, winter-white room.
With a gasp, I leaped over to the spot next to my shoes—the place I’d left my clothes. On all fours, I patted around on the hard—now puddled—white squares. As if my missing tunic shirt and pants had somehow become camouflaged.
I whirled around, searching. I pried open a small door next to my legs and stuck my head into its dark, cluttered depths.
Slowly, I shut it, rolled back onto my heels, and hid my face.
My clothes—they were gone. Completely. Utterly. Gone.
I crouched there for about five seconds.
Then I got mad.
It took me another few frustrated moments to figure out how to wear the one towel in the room that wasn’t maple leaf sized. No matter how I tried, it wouldn’t cover all the skin it needed to. I wrapped the towel under my armpits and around my wet underclothes, which left my shoulders, arms, and the lower half of my legs still showing.
I yanked open the door, expecting to trip over Melody.
I didn’t.
She’d vanished.
Not my biggest problem right then.
“Where are my clothes?” My hands death-gripped the towel while I stormed at Wolfe. He sprawled on a cushioned bench, holding up a skinny, rectangle electronic. Then he dropped it. The whistling died.
“Where are my clothes?” I was ultra-conscious of my gangly, fish-belly white legs and arms. A startling contrast to the deep tan of my face and hands.
He stared.
Rage boiled up, staining the room red. A snarl started deep inside. I began to shake. “Where are my clothes?”
He eased upwards and backed away. “Whoa, bird girl. Relax.” His hands went up. “It was just a...a...I’m washing them—they’re in the machine. Hang on.”
In two strides, he left the room. His head reappeared. “By the way, seriously nice tattoos. Uh, right.”
A minute later he returned holding a dripping wad of brown material. He handed it to me with a cough. “They’re a bit damp still. Should I throw them in the dryer?”
My anger drained away. Leaving me with a hole in my chest.
I shook out my tunic shirt—a hand-woven, goodbye gift from my mom, aunt, and grandma. The fibers were created from special plants grown on our property. The Breastplate of Righteousness design stitched on the front tilted lopsided. Pathetic.
My traveling outfit hadn’t only been a surprise but a tribute to the Armor of God from the Bible. The one my family knew I loved. And the only tangible reminder of my family I’d brought with me.
“They were all stiff and brown. And I—”
“They’re supposed to be that way.”
“See, they’re still good.” He snatched the crumpled pants and flattened them. “They’re not ripped or nothing.”
Under his hands, the symbolic belt around the waist frayed and twisted like old corn silk on a compost heap.
I took them back and lurched toward the white room to put them on.
I will not cry over pants. I will not.
“That,” he spoke from closer than I’d expected, “is the most wicked sword tattoo I’ve seen in my life.”
I slapped my left hand over my right arm, hiding part of the ornate Sword of the Spirit that ran from shoulder to elbow.
He leaned over me. “What’s that on your other arm? Oh, it’s a shield—nice, the way it wraps around. I wouldn’t have taken you for the inked type. Hey, I can see part of one above the towel. Something gray?”
I yanked the damp cloth up to hide the Breastplate of Righteousness no one was supposed to see.
But the moisture at my eyeballs dried. I still had Trinity’s more permanent reminder of herself and home.
God gifted my cousin with the ability to create beauty out of anything. Out of nothing.
She told me once that when she met an object, her mind automatically saw its potential. To her, a body was a blank canvas. She’d been adding artwork to her own body for years—something her mom was OK with. My mom wasn’t so supportive of tattoos.
Of course, that hadn’t stopped me from accepting Trinity’s offer a few months ago. I couldn’t pass up a permanent reminder of my spiritual protection and weapon. All guaranteed by my Lord’s mighty power.
“Your ma and pop OK with so many?”
“Where’s Melody?”
“Ha! I didn’t think so. My grandma didn’t do the conga either when I got mine. Did you see it? I’ve only got one. On my back. Not as cool as yours but...OK, OK. Don’t go all postal on me again. Bite-sized screamers right outside. See? Through the glass there? Those are her boots behind the woodpile. She’s staring at the clouds or something.”
I nodded, not bothering to check. That girl was obsessed with sun sets. Every night, she’d watched the blue horizon melt into oranges and pinks while I’d set up camp. But tonight’s sky was way too thick with gray clouds for color.
“It took her roughly, oh, one millisecond to bail on you when she realized it was only her and me.” He flashed a hangdog expression, which I didn’t buy. “I don’t think she likes me.”
“Try not tackling her so much.”
He was still cracking up when Melody screamed.
I beat him to the glass door. But since all I could do was fumble the useless latch up and down, I had to step aside. So I was only second to reach Melody, who balanced on a pyramid of chopped wood. No, not even that. Third. A dog with droopy ears stood on skinny hind legs and sniffed her boot.
Melody’s eyes were huge. They stared into the distance while her teeth clenched her knuckle.
The hound wasn’t snarling and didn’t look particularly vicious. So why did she act like her danger radar registered immediate death?
I scanned the area for blood, any sign of attack. My eyes hit on the nearest corner of the home, and I bit my lip.
Not the hound she’s freaked out about.
Six teenagers came striding around it with Jezebel in the lead. She pointed at me. “See? Told you we catched us some radicals. I hit the tall one with a pinecone when she started talking her voodoo. It was so weird. The short one fell down and—”
“No.” Wolfe dropped the dog’s collar.
Then I almost dropped my towel. Because his one word—‘no.’ And the way he’d said it. It was like expecting a bee sting and receiving a handful of honey.
He’d hinted at turning us over to some authority real soon. So, why act all concerned now about some other godless teens finding out about us?
I am with you.
A girl brushed past Jezebel to face Wolfe. “Hey, cuz.”
She was as tiny as Melody, but my instinct registered the threat.
Her air of tough confidence, the way she stood—shoulders back, arms taut and ready—identified her as someone I’d never overlook or intentionally mess with.
The skin around her unnatural violet eyes gleamed black and green in the low light. “Well, well. Jez said you got us some radicals. I see she wasn’t pretending this time.”
Wolfe’s frame slumped as if relieved. Without checking, I knew he smiled.
Myself, I was paralyzed, couldn’t even jerk away when he draped his long arm around my tense
shoulders.
“Jezzy!” He sounded mad—except for the note of laughter that contradicted and confused me so much I gave up trying to figure him out. “You little liar. I’m going to whoop you if you don’t cut it out.”
His sister started to argue, but he snatched her up with his free arm and flung her over his shoulder. Out of the way of his conversation with the girl with shrewd eyes.
“Nah, Diamond. They’re just some friends, my grandma’s friend’s nieces, who’re staying with us. From Alaska. Colder up north there, you know—wear animal skins and all that. That’s what must’ve given Jezebel the idea about—Quit it!”
Jezebel continued to kick him.
“So,” he grunted between blows. “We were...were planning a bonfire. A welcome-to-Sisters sort of thing for tonight. You guys in?”
“A bonfire. Tonight. In the storm.”
“Oh. Uh...yeah? Sure?” Then, “Umph!” as his sister’s toes smashed his ribs.
“Let me down, let me down, lemmedown, lemmedown...”
The other two half-naked females sniggered at Melody in her lumpy, patched mole outfit, still crouched on the woodpile with her mouth open in a silent yell.
Diamond kept her suspicious purple slits on me. “What’s your deal? Where’re your clothes? Why the towel?”
Wolfe’s arm dragged me to his warm side. I could feel Jezebel struggling against him. “Party planning.”
I glanced up in time to catch his wink.
Thunder rumbled in the west.
“Nice, bro.” The guy with shoulders sloped like snow-laden evergreen branches extended his fist for a bump Wolfe couldn’t manage.
I peered through the pre-storm twilight at the expressions on these strangers’ pagan faces. Excluding Diamond’s, I read zero suspicion. Wolfe’s arm glued me to the godless teenagers as an accepted addition.
Party planning? What was that?
I might not know, but I wasn’t so clueless I’d missed the insinuation that went with it.
Bile churned, and I struggled to get out from under the stubborn, unreleasing arm. In the end, Jezebel’s kicks worked in my favor.
Now free, I peered into the violet eyes. “He’s a liar. I’m not his friend. And we haven’t done what he says we’ve done.”