The Salvation

by Melinda Metz

  “I’m gonna have to build me one of these when I get back home,” Trevor announced as he floated beside Michael. “After we shatter the consciousness and I help rebuild the planet, it’s on the top of my list.”

  “Ambitious much?” Michael asked. The stars had come out, and he stared up at them, feeling like he was floating in the sky, too.

  “It’s going to be a big job,” Trevor answered, his voice serious now. “The consciousness has been the foundation of our society for thousands of years. Together we’re all going to have to figure out what we want to replace it. Sometimes I don’t think the members of the Kindred think about that part enough.”

  “But you do.” Michael glanced at his brother as well as he could without tipping himself over.

  “Yeah. I do. A system a little like the one you have in the United States might even work.” Trevor flipped over on his stomach and paddled out to a sandbar just breaking through the water. He sat on it, letting the ocean advance and retreat around him.

  Michael swam over and joined him. Trevor kept his eyes focused back on the beach, and Michael could feel that his brother had something big on his mind. Maybe even bigger than the consciousness, if that was possible.

  “I was hoping, or wondering, I guess, if you’d come back with me when we’ve figured out how to break the consciousness,” Trevor said finally. Michael felt an excited tingle run all over his body, but oddly, it disappeared rather quickly. “The planet is going to change forever. I want to be a part of that change.” He turned toward Michael. “I want you to be a part of it, too.”

  “Go back home,” Michael said, stating the obvious because he didn’t know what else to say. He’d been dreaming about this moment for years—ever since he’d discovered the truth about himself. Only lately, that dream had begun to change. He had a place of his own now and a family. A strange sort of family that actually included humans, but they were his family.

  “Aren’t you curious?” Trevor asked, his eyes guarded. “Don’t you want to see it? Don’t you want to be there when everything changes?”

  Michael felt another surge of that old longing. What would it be like to stand on the planet where his parents were born? Would the air feel more right in his lungs? Would everything feel somehow familiar?

  “You don’t have to give me an answer right now or anything,” Trevor said, breaking the silence and looking out at the shore again. “Just know I want you there.”

  Liz peered into the refrigerator. It was crammed with food—Crashdown stuff, some of her mama’s baking experiments, a batch of her abuelita’s tamales—but nothing looked good to her. She reached over and pressed the long white button that controlled the little light inside the fridge, then released it. On. Off. On. Off.

  “I remember when you figured out that mechanism,” a voice said behind her. She turned around and saw her papa smiling at her. “You were about, oh, six, and you were determined to know whether the light stayed on when the door was closed. I think your sister was doing a unit in school about energy conservation, and that’s what set you off.”

  “I don’t even remember that,” Liz told him. She pushed the fridge door closed, struck by how easily he had brought her sister, Rosa, into the conversation. That was a change. A change for the better.

  “Want me to make you something?” he asked, leaning-into the counter. “Remember, before I owned the Crashdown, I was the fastest short-order cook in the West.” He ran his fingers over his bald spot. “Back when my hair managed to completely cover my scalp.”

  “No thanks. I’m not really hungry,” Liz answered. She had a feeling she was supposed to laugh at her father’s joke, but she wasn’t up to it.

  “Just saying good night to the food?” he asked.

  Just avoiding going to bed, Liz thought. Every time she lay down under the blankets, waves of grief smashed into her until she could hardly breathe. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. When she was alone in bed, it brought up all kinds of memories of Adam. Their most special times together had been on the dream plane, and now whenever she began to drift off to sleep, entering that almost dreaming stage, Adam’s face would appear before her, eyes bright and hopeful, so eager to try new things. Things he would never have the chance to experience now.

  “Liz?”

  She realized she hadn’t answered her papa’s question. “Um, yeah, saying good night. It’s lonely in the fridge in the dark,” she said quickly, forcing a fake laugh. She flashed on an image of Adam. Alone in the dark, deep under the desert floor.

  “Is something wrong?” her papa asked. “I mean, besides the plight of the friendless vegetables?”

  “No, I’m just sort of tired,” Liz said, going into reassure-the-parent mode. She didn’t want to upset her father. She didn’t want to give him any reason to worry about her. She—

  Stop, she ordered herself. He doesn’t need your protection. Liz pulled in a deep breath and met her father’s warm brown eyes. “Actually, something—something bad happened. Something awful,” she admitted.

  Her papa pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and gestured for her to sit. As soon as she did, he sat down beside her. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  “I had this friend … Adam?” She looked at her dad to see if the name struck a memory, but it didn’t seem to. “Well, you might have met him in the Crashdown once. He’s … dead.”

  Her father shifted in his seat, and Liz told herself to slow down and choose her words carefully. She could tell her father what she was feeling, but she couldn’t tell him everything.

  “He—” She broke off. There were some things that still had to be kept secret, even from him. “He was … he was in a burger place in Hobbs, and he ordered a fish sandwich,” Liz continued. “Then he left, and a drunk driver hit him. He’s dead.” Her voice wobbled as she realized for the hundredth time that he really was dead.

  It wasn’t even close to the truth. And it was a totally lame cover-up. But it still conveyed how random Adam’s death had been.

  Her father shook his head. “Mija, you’re still a baby. You shouldn’t have to know that the world can be so painful. I wish I could—”

  “Protect me?” Liz interrupted.

  “Yes!” her father burst out angrily. Liz noticed that his hands were curled into fists on top of his thighs.

  “I know. I understand,” Liz told him. “But you can’t.”

  He let out a sigh that sounded like it came all the way up from his toes. “That’s a hard thing you’re asking me to accept,” he admitted. “I’m your papa. Protecting you should be part of the job.” He sighed again, his fists loosening. “But you’re right. There are some things I can’t control.” He lifted one hand and placed it over hers on top of the table. “I can keep you company, though, right? And that helps a little, not having to go through something hard alone.”

  “It helps a lot,” she answered, not trying to protect him or make him feel better. Just telling him the truth. Change for the better.

  They sat for almost an hour, mostly in silence, sometimes chatting about customers at the Crashdown or something her papa had read in the newspaper. Liz felt something inside her unclench as they hung out together.

  Finally he yawned. Then she yawned. Then he yawned again. Then she yawned again. “Copycat,” her papa said.

  Liz used the tabletop to push herself to her feet. She gave the lazy Susan a spin, watching the daisy in the center twirl. “I’m falling asleep sitting here. I’m going to bed,” she announced.

  “Anytime you want to talk about Adam or anything else, I’m sure the vegetables will be happy to listen,” her papa teased. “Or if they’ve been made into a salad, you can come find me.”

  “Thanks,” Liz answered. She kissed his bald spot, then headed out of the kitchen. Behind her she heard her father begin to hum one of his favorite Grateful Dead songs, a sure indicator that he was feeling good.

  And so was she. Well, better, anyway. A little light
er somehow. Liz walked quietly into her bedroom, undressed, and climbed into bed as quickly as she could, trying to hold on to that lightness. She began to drift off to sleep almost immediately. Adam’s face flickered briefly in the darkness behind her eyelids, but the image didn’t cause quite as much pain as it usually did. It just means he’s inside me, she thought sleepily, the way I told him he would be.

  With a dizzying rush she crossed the border between sleep and wakefulness. She was dreaming, but she also knew she was dreaming. I wonder why I’m dreaming this? she thought. She was sitting in the bleachers of some kind of aquatic show. A blond girl, dressed in white, stepped into view and started a spiel about the very talented dolphin they were about to see. She asked for a volunteer from the audience and picked Liz, even though everyone around Liz had been waving their hands wildly and she hadn’t even raised hers.

  Obediently Liz stepped up next to the girl in white. The girl handed her a fish and told her to walk out onto the end of the diving board. Liz stared up at the high dive in question. “The dolphin isn’t going to be able to jump that high, is it?” she asked. The steps leading up to the board went up for what seemed like five stories.

  “It’s a very special dolphin,” the girl answered. “It’s not from around here.” And suddenly, without climbing the steps, Liz was on the diving board. She carefully made her way out to the end and held the fish over the water, using just her thumb and forefinger.

  She peered down at the turquoise pool below. “There’s no way any dolphin can make it all the way up here,” she muttered.

  Almost as the words left her mouth, a dolphin nearly as blue as the water, an amazing, light, bright blue, flew straight up into the air as if powered by power. Liz stretched out her hand, and the dolphin’s muzzle pressed against it.

  At the touch of its warm skin, Liz’s bones felt like they had turned to liquid. It was Max. She knew it. The dolphin was Max.

  Before she could speak, the dolphin was hurling back toward the pool. “Jump again!” she shouted down. “Jump—”

  The next word got jammed in her throat. There was something else in the pool now. Something much bigger than the dolphin. Black and white. A whale. A killer whale.

  “Get it out of there,” she screamed, scanning the ground for the woman in white. But she was gone. And the water was already turning red, red with blood. So much blood.

  “Max!” Liz screamed.

  She bolted straight up in bed, slick with sweat. “It was him,” she whispered, shoving her hair off her forehead. “He came into my dream.”

  Was the whale some piece of the consciousness that had entered her dream, too, trying to keep Max from communicating with her?

  Liz lay back down and closed her eyes tightly. “Try again, Max,” she said. “I’ll try, too.”

  Michael’s awareness of the room around him sharpened. He felt one of the flattened beanbags on the living-room floor under his feet, and he heard the clock in the kitchen mooing out the time. And he was back. All the molecules in his body re-formed.

  “My heart still hammers like crazy every time I teleport in this body,” Trevor complained.

  “It’s called fear. You have to accept the fact that you’re a wuss,” Michael joked. “I have a human body, too, and my heart rate is totally normal.”

  “Well, aren’t you special?” Trevor shot back.

  “I am,” Michael bragged. He looked his brother in the eye and grinned. “And that’s why I think you’re right. You’re going to need me to help reform society or whatever.”

  “You’re coming back with me?” Trevor exclaimed.

  “If we shatter the consciousness, yeah,” Michael answered. He’d been thinking about it nonstop ever since Trevor had asked him, and he kept coming to one conclusion. How could he not? His brother had asked for his help. And he couldn’t go his entire life without ever seeing the place he came from.

  Trevor actually jumped in excitement and slapped Michael on the back. “It’s going to be so great. There’s so much I want to show you, all these people I want you to meet, and—” He snapped his mouth shut and looked at the floor. “I’m gushing now.”

  “Like I said, you’re a wuss,” Michael answered, but a gigantic goofy grin was spreading across his face. His big brother was all excited about taking Michael places. Another cool moment. “Uh, I’ve got to go pick up the car. I’ll be back in a while,” he said, needing to get his goofy face somewhere else until it returned to normal again.

  “Bring back some of those green alien-head sugar cookies from the grocery store, okay? And some pesto,” Trevor said.

  “Yes, dear,” Michael answered. “But when we’re in public, and people know that we’re brothers, I’d rather you keep your pesto-eating habits to yourself. Pesto is for, well, wusses.”

  Trevor rolled his eyes, and Michael trotted down the circular staircase, dodging one of Trevor’s shoes as he went, then hurried out of the museum. He checked his watch as he started down Main Street. After midnight. Good. Maria would probably be asleep.

  He decided to walk over to her place instead of taking the bus. That way there’d be an even better chance she’d be making z’s when he got there.

  Not that he couldn’t wake her up. He’d woken her up lots of times, crawling through her window in the early morning. But he had to break that little habit cold turkey. If he was going back to the home planet—no, make that when he went back to the home planet—he didn’t want Maria to have to go through some kind of Michael withdrawal. He’d use the time until they shattered the consciousness to sort of break her of her Michael habit—wean her off him. And he was going to start by not hanging out in her bedroom late at night.

  Michael turned onto Maria’s street. He kept his eyes on the Caddy in the driveway, not letting himself check to see if the light in her window was on because on or off, he wasn’t going in.

  He took the car keys out of his pocket as he cut across the lawn and circled over to the driver’s-side door. He pulled it open—and his breath left his lungs with a whoosh.

  Maria was curled up on the front seat. Her raspberry-colored lips were partially open, and her sweater had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a stretch of creamy skin and a bright orange bra strap.

  His fingers itched with the desire to run across that skin. His mouth tingled with the longing to kiss those lips until Maria woke up and wrapped her arms around him. Because that’s what she would do. It had been a long time since Michael had kissed Maria, but he remembered exactly how it would feel, her tongue brushing against his, her hands pulling him even closer.

  Do the words wean her off mean anything to you? Michael asked himself. How about cold turkey?

  He closed the door as quietly as he could, then turned and ran back down the street.

  Alex leaned against the locker next to Michael’s, going for a casual, just-hanging-out-with-my-bud kind of feel. “I think my next list for the web site is going to be the top ten things a guy looks for in a girl. So, uh, what do you look for?”

  He felt like a total dweeb, but Michael didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. Which wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.

  You’re doing this for Maria, Alex reminded himself. A little reconnaissance mission. He hadn’t told her he was going to try to squeeze some info out of Michael. If he found out anything good—like that Michael went for girls who were into aromatherapy—he’d pass it on. If, on the other hand, Michael told him he was a Xena, Warrior Princess kind of guy, then, well, this conversation never happened.

  “Skin,” Michael answered.

  “Skin?” Alex repeated. “Like showing a lot of skin?”

  Michael pulled a bag of Hog Phasers, Roswell’s answer to spicy pork rinds, out of his locker and held it out to Alex. Alex checked to make sure Michael hadn’t added chocolate sauce or anything yet, then took a handful.

  “Showing a lot would be okay, but what I really mean is, I like soft, smooth skin, you know?” Michael pulled out a can of whip
ped cream and sprayed some into the bag.

  “I’m a butt man myself,” Doug Highsinger offered from the end of the row of lockers. He grabbed a stack of books and slammed his locker closed.

  “You certainly are,” Alex joked. “I already did the top ten favorite body parts list. I’m looking for other … qualities, I guess you’d call them.”

  “Oh. Well, then, I have nothing more to add.” Doug wandered off with a half salute.

  “So you’re looking for stuff like a good sense of humor.” Michael crammed three of the Hog Phasers into his mouth and chewed loudly.

  “Yeah. Exactly,” Alex said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Is that something that’s important to you—a good sense of humor?” Because that would be great, he thought. Maria didn’t make hilarious jokes or anything. In fact, she usually made really lame ones. But she was always finding something to laugh at, and that was the best kind of sense of humor, if you asked him.

  Michael licked a smear of whipped cream off his top lip and shook his head. “Hasn’t it completely sunk in that pretty much any girl in school would go out with you if you looked at her cross-eyed?” he demanded. “You don’t have to suck up with some sensitive-guy list on your web page. Those days are over, my friend.”

  “I wasn’t—,” Alex began to protest.

  Michael slammed his locker shut. “Gotta go. I’m meeting up with Trevor and Maria. Good luck to you and the B team.” He strode off down the hall.

  “You guys are the B team,” Alex called after him, then shrugged and headed out to the parking lot. Liz and Isabel were already waiting for him in the Jeep. He swung himself into the back. “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work—” Alex stopped himself. “Sorry. Pulled another Maria. I can’t get Snow White out of my head.”

  “Oh, just so you know,” Liz said as Isabel pulled out of the parking lot. “Maria said if she ever heard you use that expression again, she was going to use your head for a planter. For an herb garden or something.”