Convergence

by Marita Smith

  She stepped out into the night, wrapping her arms around her chest as the cool breeze hit her. She hadn’t even unpacked from her trip to Montreal. If only she’d had the presence of mind to grab her backpack, just sitting there, propped up against Derek’s bed …

  “Robyn.” Derek stepped out of the shadows as if her thoughts had summoned him. “We’ve found somewhere to hole up for the night.”

  A light bounced and Kate’s face appeared. “All clear.”

  Robyn shuffled behind them, her legs stiff from being curled up in the van. The wooden structure was a barn, stove in on one side, moonlight shifting through the vines that had grown up to cover the wound. She smelled rising damp and mildew.

  “Mice, but not many.” Fletcher stepped into the dappled moonlight with straw in his hair. “There’s a loft.” He jerked an arm upward.

  Kara’s voice carried down from above them. “And it’s dry.”

  Robyn hugged the ladder as she slowly climbed, breathing shallowly to avoid inhaling the dust that made her eyes water.

  Eva snuffled in the straw on the barn floor with Fletcher, and Robyn felt a pang of jealousy. She missed Eva’s comforting heartbeat already. Sighing, she crawled into a corner of the loft. The twins sat against a stack of straw bales murmuring to each other. Too exhausted to talk, Robyn curled onto her side, vaguely registering Derek’s body next to hers. Then sleep claimed her.

  Her arm itched where she had snuggled into the straw, little red lumps rising where she scratched. Mites, maybe. Gross. Weak light peeked through the old boards, sending dust motes swirling in parallel lines. It was still early. Crawling over to the ladder, she hesitated at the top rung. Kate and Kara lay on their backs, the laptop open by Kara’s hip dinging every few seconds. Eva and Fletcher had disappeared. Derek curled on his side next to the nest Robyn had made in her sleep. He looked peaceful, a slack expression on his face that made him look like a stranger; there was no trace of the rigid lines that Robyn had become used to over the last few days. He’d been sleeping on the couch, though Robyn never saw more evidence than a folded blanket with regulation corners. Derek would always be gone, a note on the counter wedged under the still-warm percolator of coffee the only proof of his presence.

  Robyn had never really shared a space with a boy. It had never come to that with Levi, or with Travis; couch make-outs at his place barely qualified. A smattering of crushes observed from across the room but never approached in the post-Travis era meant she’d never slept beside anyone properly, much less beside someone she cared about. She found spending time with Derek surprisingly easy: someone who knew how frustrating, how belittling and how humbling a life in pursuit of discovery could be. How it consumed the waking mind like a vice, sidelining all other instincts.

  But now – Derek’s fingertips grazed the edge of Robyn’s nook, and she wondered what it would feel like if he had rolled over in his sleep, slung an arm across her, pulled her in tight. She pushed the thought away, shocked both at how quickly it had formed and the resultant pool of warmth in her stomach.

  “Robyn,” Fletcher whispered from below. “Is that you?”

  Robyn blinked, realising she’d been staring at Derek the whole time. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Coming.” She stole a last glance at Derek’s tranquil expression, so foreign to her.

  Robyn hit the earthen floor and straightened. Fletcher was boning a stack of fish, Eva munching on offcuts by his side.

  “Breakfast?”

  Fletcher nodded. His movements were slow and methodical despite the rusted knife in his hand.

  “Where’d you get the knife?” She was curious, eager to explore now that it was daylight, although half-terrified she might stumble across a farmer in overalls wielding a pitchfork. Git offa ma land!

  Fletcher pointed to a bench down the rear wall. “Some old tools back there. Even a generator. Maybe your friends can get it up and running.”

  Kara. Robyn wasn’t sure if she really knew her friend at all. Last night came back in a rush: the thrum of the hovering chopper, the pinging sound of the bullets against the van. Robyn shuddered. And Fletcher – the green light almost a force field – he’d stopped the bullets. Without the twins, they wouldn’t have made it out of Derek’s apartment. Not with her in charge, anyway. Useless. Robyn bit her lip.

  Robyn pulled up a cobwebbed milk crate. “Last night. That sort of stuff just doesn’t happen in real life.”

  Fletcher’s knife stilled. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

  “You saved us. With that energy field thing? It was incredible. I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me,” Robyn said. “This is all because I analysed your blood sample, tracked you down. I’m sorry, Fletcher. I don’t know how to make this right.”

  “We have to find the others.” Fletcher glanced at Eva. “I think that’s what I’m supposed to do.” He rubbed the worn handle of the knife. “I can’t go back, can I?” he murmured.

  Robyn knew he didn’t need to hear the answer from her. None of us can, she thought. Life had inverted in a matter of days, everything she’d taken for granted stripped away. Robyn didn’t have a rational explanation for anything.

  The remnants of a forgotten vegetable garden stretched along the northern side of the barn. Gnarled pumpkins, beans and drooping corn stalks fought for sunlight. The vines over the breach in the roof were some sort of prickly cucumber.

  The generator buzzed into life, jerking Robyn from her reverie. She wiped grubby hands on her jeans and scooped beans into the bottom of her shirt. Soup, maybe a rustic cornbread. Fletcher and Eva could catch some more fish.

  When she stepped inside the barn, she saw Kate and Kara enthroned at the workbench, almost yelling at each other over the roar of the generator. Everything smelled like diesel. Robyn ran her eyes over the UHT milk and tinned vegetables. Kate must have just returned from town. Although it was only late morning, Robyn felt like she’d been up for two days straight.

  “Guess what?” Kara said. “Toothbrushes.” She chucked a plastic packet toward Robyn. Somehow, she managed to catch it.

  “Oh, thank God,” Robyn said. She yanked the plastic open and Derek appeared at her elbow.

  “Let’s do this,” she said, handing him a purple one.

  She could barely brush her teeth for laughing, Derek’s exaggerated moans sending foam everywhere.

  “Samwise,” he spluttered, reaching out toward her. “Take the ring, for I am done for.” He convulsed at an imaginary spider bite, eyes wide. White foam trickled down his chin, tributaries merging into one frothy stream.

  Robyn snorted, nearly choking on toothpaste. The corn swayed behind them, complicit for several long seconds as Robyn stared at Derek in wonder.

  Robyn shook her head to clear it. “You’ve done that before.” Another fleeting glimpse of relaxed Derek, still a stranger to her. Robyn spat out into a clump of chickweed, ignoring the heat in her cheeks.

  “Yeah.” Derek wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “For my brother, Damian.”

  “You never mentioned a brother.”

  Derek’s smile contracted. He scuffed a shoe on the ground. “He’s three years older than me, but he was born with a rare congenital defect.”

  Robyn clenched her toothbrush. “I’m sorry,” she said. Don’t ask for permission or forgiveness. She’d read it in a magazine in the doctor’s surgery in one of those cringe-worthy self-help columns. Post-Levi, pre-Travis. It had stuck.

  Derek peered up at the corn. “It’s no-one’s fault. These things happen.” He sighed. “My parents didn’t realise until he didn’t try to crawl, never uttered a word. Blind and mute. The specialists were baffled, still are.”

  Robyn swallowed the next I’m sorry.

  Derek turned to face her. “I don’t bring many people to meet Damian. But I think he’d be happy to meet you.”

&nbs
p; Robyn twirled her toothbrush. “I’d love to meet him. Thank you.” Her voice sounded flat even to her ears.

  Derek looked away, nodding at the earth.

  “Robyn, what am I doing with this dough? It’s bubbling and really starting to freak me out.” Kara’s voice drifted from the open barn door.

  “Crap,” Robyn said. The cornbread. Robyn jogged ahead leaving Derek in the warmth of the garden. At the edge of the barn she turned back. He looked out of place among the plants. Robyn wondered if he’d ever planted a seedling, or picked his own dinner. Probably not. Her mother had a word for him – townie. But even that didn’t encompass Derek, with his imported coffee and thousand thread count sheets.

  Kara burst into the sunshine holding a bowl aloft. Relief flooded her face at the sight of Robyn.

  “Good. You deal with this, and tell me what to chop.”

  Robyn carried the bowl inside before heaving the dough onto the rough table they’d fashioned. “The green beans, and some pumpkin.” Robyn kneaded as she talked. Sharp pressure with the heel of her hand, stretch the mixture out, then retract, fold over. Bread was one of the few things she could cook.

  With Kara clattering away with the knife by her side, they soon had a vat of soup simmering on the gas cooker. It was a long way from ladling alcoholic slurry into college kids. Kara shifted, putting the knife down. Robyn wondered if she sensed it, too.

  “Robyn, jeez. I never meant to lie to you. I’m sorry. Our grandparents were very clear that they would only pay tuition for ‘proper’ degrees. Law and economics were kind of the default …”

  “You didn’t need to pretend around me,” Robyn said. “You’re like my sister. I thought you trusted me.”

  “Of course I trust you.” Kara ran a hand through her hair. “We’re not really doing anything illegal, just software development and …”

  “Yo, master chefs, I think I’ve found something,” called Kate from the bench. Kara turned away at the summons. Software development and what? Robyn wondered, resentful of the intrusion. The duffel bag spilled strange devices onto the floor. Robyn couldn’t help peering in as she passed it, but none of the equipment looked familiar. More like a military arsenal snatched from some futuristic race.

  Robyn peered at the screen, a website for some international school based in Beijing.

  “Brock. I’ve been trawling through his email. This Chief Director he keeps up to date on Robyn? I cracked the encryption on her location. It took long enough. This is where she is now. China.” Kate pointed at the screen. “Here, to be exact.”

  “A school? That doesn’t make any sense,” said Derek. Robyn looked over. She hadn’t heard him come in. All trace of fun-loving Frodo had evaporated.

  “No newsletter, debate tournaments. Here’s the satellite video, the most recent I could get is time-stamped about two weeks ago.” Kate clicked on a fuzzy map then zoomed in. “You’re going to love this. Screw the cornbread, let’s just make popcorn.”

  Kara glared at her sister and Kate cleared her throat. “Or not, whatever.”

  The video was pixellated, but the men in dark fatigues standing along the fence line were clear enough. On-screen, soldiers admitted a truck through the gates. Robyn swallowed. She wondered if anyone had survived the fireball; she knew it was unlikely. Some of these men might be dead now. Maybe all of them. The pleasure that ran through her spine surprised and sickened her. They’d killed Fletcher’s family, too. This was war, in a way. The knowledge weighed on her shoulders.

  More men surrounded the truck as the rear door rolled up. Crates with bars. Cages, Robyn realised.

  “Is that a –” Derek began. Robyn leaned in closer.

  “A leopard? Yeah.” Kate paused the video then zoomed in. A window of code flashed up, and she typed a string of commands. The video cleared to reveal the big cat snarling against the bars.

  “Oh my God,” Robyn breathed.

  “That means … they could be testing already,” said Derek, aghast. “If they’re collecting animals.” He slapped his forehead. “Shit.”

  Robyn’s arm reached for his shoulder before she registered what she was doing. Derek reached up and grasped it, pulling her toward him. A flower of warmth spread through her chest.

  Derek squeezed her hand tight. “Robyn, the samples from Fletcher and Eva – they’re still in the lab fridge. At least, they were.”

  Robyn swayed and Derek’s hand flew to her waist, steadying her. The warmth in her chest turned to ice. She didn’t understand. “What … what are they doing there?” Frankenstein visions flashed across her eyes – horrible animal experiments, shrieks of pain, wide-eyed kids strapped onto beds.

  “I’m not sure what, but I know who.” Kate brought up a photo of a serious-looking Chinese woman. “Xiaofang Fisher. The last researcher.”

  Robyn straightened, and the pressure on her waist disappeared. She dreaded what Kate would say next.

  “She’s working with them, Robyn. It took me a while to figure it out, because she calls herself Fang.” Kate crossed her legs and jiggled her right foot as she scrolled through code interspersed with foreign characters.

  “They’ve got kids in there, Robyn.” Kara’s voice was small. “Lots of them.”

  Fletcher. Robyn closed her eyes for a moment. They would have had Fletcher, too.

  “Now they’ve probably got Fletcher’s DNA, and Eva’s too,” Derek said, deflated. The hairs on the back of Robyn’s neck prickled.

  “That’s not good, right?” said Kate.

  “No,” murmured Robyn. “It’s bad. Really bad.”

  14

  Ariana

  The Indian runner ducks waddled toward the pond. Ariana remembered the fête where she’d first seen their costume-wearing cousins: pink frocks, waistcoats and top hats. She was eight, and Terence had bought her a pink orb of fairy floss as big as her head. She’d needed two fillings in the winter. One of the ducks angled his giraffe-like neck toward her. She imagined him in a mini-tux.

  Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched them slide into the water. Contented quacks drifted up as they paddled, sifting for bugs with long slurps. The breeze brought whiffs of mown grass, cow manure and fresh zucchini bread. Beyond the pond stretched rows and rows of vegetables, her parents’ pride and joy. Spinach, kale, lettuce, bok choy – every conceivable type of edible green. Bastions of wellness, her mother called them, the woman with a week’s rota of colourful headbands. Val still wore her silver hair in pigtail braids. Well, she used to. Ariana rolled onto her back and tried not to think about the funeral. At least her brother had come back for a while. She wondered who would be the one to go through her mother’s drawers, her books and drawings. Ariana hated the idea of anyone else wearing those headbands. She’d stopped braiding her own hair, wearing it loose even though it got tangled when she weeded. Two weeks, her mother had been gone for two weeks. Everything should have stopped, but somehow the world kept turning. Her teachers stepped warily around her, the other girls whispering as if Ariana’s loss was somehow contagious.

  Ariana ran her fingers through her hair, snagging them in the matted mess at the back. She sat up and worried the knot. Her fingers smelled of soil. Painting her nails was a waste of time, even though the girls at school sniggered at her calloused hands. It was just so dumb, spending time doing something so fiddly when an afternoon crushing white butterfly larvae melted it right off, sizzling like acid.

  The brassicas would need attention soon. With her father gone, she’d have to crush hundreds more larvae, or supervise the ducks. Left to their own devices, they’d be less selective and rip the leaves to shreds.

  The ducks. Ariana blinked, searching for the mini-harem. They had gone silent, floating in the very middle of the pond in a protective triangle. The reeds rustled and Ariana heard a faint buzz in the air.

  A little fire salamander stood on i
ts rear legs in front of her. She recognised it from the book in her father’s study.

  Hello, walker of the sea.

  Ariana stared. She’d imagined it, of course. The buzzing grew louder, more like a cloud of mosquitos now.

  My name is Jericho.

  The salamander’s lips didn’t move, yet somehow Ariana knew the words were his. She heard them in her head, like when she read and conjured a character’s voice in her mind. Only she had no book. Ariana gazed down at the glistening, bronze-speckled salamander in wonder.

  Screwing up her face in concentration, Ariana focused on making her thought clear. Hello. It came out more as a wavering question – Hello?

  The salamander – Jericho – flicked his tongue onto her palm and stepped aboard. Blue light snaked up her arm. Ariana’s skin crawled, like she’d brushed up against one of the low-voltage electric fences around the vegetable garden. Unpleasant, but not painful. She gasped as the voltage abruptly increased, sparking in a huge blue arc onto her chest. Images burst behind her eyelids: a deep watery abyss, an enormous whale orbited by a pod of silver dolphins, then that word again. Walker.

  Called by the sea spirit, you are furnished with the tongue of my kind.

  Your kind? Ariana raised her hand, peering at the salamander. Her skin thrummed with blue light.

  Many generations have passed. There is much to do, but first we must find the others. Jericho’s smooth voice penetrated all the recesses of her mind.

  Others?

  Terence jumped when the heavy door clanked open, knocking his muddy gumboots onto the kitchen tiles. His mother would have been horrified. Cringing, Terence looked up in surprise at the lizard on Ariana’s shoulder. It darted across her back before he could get a good look.

  “Hey, sis.” He wrenched open the oven door, pausing to wipe the condensation from his glasses. The vegetables needed more time, the tofu was still marinating in the fridge. He’d chuck it in the oven for the final twenty minutes. There had always been something reassuring about the larder, stocked with dried beans and his father’s home-pressed tofu. The family had weathered plenty of harsh weather before, but no amount of stockpiling would help now.