Sanguine Mountain

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  Jeremiah’s mouth twists, but Decker breathes an audible sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry, Jeremiah.” He shrugs and starts to walk in the direction of my house. I know it’s shallow, but I’m relieved to be on his good ear side.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Decker says, gesturing that I should go before him. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Really? How does that work?” My brain can’t grasp that concept. Isn’t blood a protein? Or does he not drink from meat eaters? What?

  Jeremiah stops dead and turns around. “You’re a what?” His voice is loud and unexpected. So he can talk—just not to me.

  “I don’t eat dogs.”

  “Since when?”

  They stand face to face. “Since I knew Connie cooked the poor creatures up and served them in buns.”

  “Oh, no—” I say.

  “You would so feed off a dog, Decker. I know you would. Maybe not a cat … I’d draw the line there unless I was desperate, but definitely a dog.” Jeremiah crosses his arms.

  I watch the conversation go back and forth. Rocks is open, but at the same time I never get free information without donning my Spanish Inquisition hat. I wonder for a second if I make Rocks doubt who he is. Is it me that’s making him feel ashamed of his world?

  “’Maybe not a cat?’” Decker repeats. “Are you planning on losing the other ear? That’s a death wish dinner if ever I heard of one.” Decker mirrors Jeremiah’s body language and crosses his heavily tattooed arms as well. He’s only a few inches taller than I am, but there is something in the way that he moves his body that reminds me of Rocks.

  “You just got to be quick,” Jeremiah shrugs.

  “And get your wings shredded. No thanks.”

  “Hot dogs aren’t dogs,” I state. Both boys focus on me. “It’s not made from dog meat.”

  Decker frowns. “Well, why are they called dogs?”

  I laugh. “I don’t have the faintest idea.” So many things in my world must seem ridiculous to them.

  “Well, you’re not going to get employee of the month, are you, Beans?” he asks with a wide smile.

  Beans.

  My heart flutters. Maybe I’m not such a dirty little secret after all. Decker doesn’t seem as though he wants to do away with me and hide my body. Jeremiah I’m not so sure about, but Decker is without a doubt friendly. They walk on and I follow.

  We’re silent for a few blocks, but my mind is screaming a thousand questions.

  “So everyone’s okay?” I look at Decker. “You know, from the recent attacks?” I don’t want to get Rocks into any more trouble. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to know.

  “Sort of,” he says quietly. “Bailey might lose her eye, but she’s alive so that’s good, right?”

  My blood runs ice cold. “Bailey?” I half yell. “Little Bailey? No. She’s what … five?” The dog I ate earlier rolls around.

  Decker looks at Jeremiah and back to me. “Yeah, she’s five. I’m impressed you know who my little sister is. What else has Rockland been telling you?”

  I know Bailey is the reason Rocks is so Mini obsessed. He misses his baby sister because she’s mostly a bat due to her age. I have to keep reminding myself that the owls are just owls and don’t know they are attacking five-year-old girls. They’re just trying to survive in nature. It’s not personal.

  “I’m so sorry, Decker.” I raise my hand to touch his arm, but catch myself. I drop it back to my side and look away. Aeronaught germs probably wouldn’t go down well.

  “Thanks. She’ll be okay. I hope.” We continue on.

  I want to text Rocks and tell him how sorry I am, but I know he’s busy. He must be devastated. I wish he’d told me.

  “Is there anything I can get her?” I have no idea if this is appropriate or not, but I want to help.

  Decker laughs. “Nah, she’s got Zada doting over her, but that’s very kind of you, Beans. You’re alright for an aeronaught.” I look up in time to see him wink.

  I stop again. At this rate, it’ll be dawn before I’m home. “You don’t, um, hate me?”

  Jeremiah snorts and continues walking. Decker answers, “Nope, I can’t. You make my brother smile in a way I’ve never seen before. He’s been sad for a long time. I worry about him out here for sure, but I don’t hate you.”

  Decker could answer my questions about Celand, but he’s being so nice I don’t want to push my luck. Not belonging might make Rocks lonely, but sad?

  “Do you approve?” If I can gauge how he feels about humans in general, it might help me understand something about the mystery of his sister.

  He shrugs and pulls a face. “I’m not gonna scare you away like the others would, but, I don’t know. It’s fraught with danger, Connie.” He points to the red scar above my eye. “And not just that kind either.”

  13.

  E.A.

  Decker turned out to be the chattiest bat I’ve met. He’s a sweet boy, and I like him a lot. He prefers savory snacks to sweet, and while sitting on the porch swing, devouring the leftover mac and cheese, he told me about the new job Rockland has been given by the Sire.

  Apparently, Rocks is part of the official envoy to visit one of the other colonies in the coming week. The other colony had ordered some goods from the market that are ready for delivery, and the Sire thought it was a good opportunity to see if they are also under attack. Decker wouldn’t tell me where Rocks was headed exactly, and he bristled when I asked him, leading me to think the colony locations are a guarded secret. I know Rocks has said their colony roost is highly classified, but why would they care about the other colonies? I guess bats of a feather—wing—stick together.

  The down arrow chimed on my emotional elevator when Decker confirmed I wouldn’t be seeing Rocks for a while.

  It’s Monday afternoon and instead of quizzing Rocks on his Driver’s Manual, I’m in the library with Parker. He was serious about the tutoring, and after brushing him off twice, I figured I might as well just get it over with. I do feel traitorous spending time with him on a Rocks visit day, but colony business still has him absent. I haven’t had a single text in ten days.

  Ezra and Decker were on escort duty this past weekend, and those two bats are fun. I almost feel as much at ease with them as I do with Rocks. The two of them are best friends, are the same age and hero-worship Rocks. This information surprises me since Rocks thinks everyone is trying to vote him out. But the boys insist they aren’t the only ones at the colony who feel Rocks is destined for leadership. I had to bite my lip from saying that the weight of impending leadership is nearly killing their friend.

  Poor Rocks.

  Parker has decided to write his paper on the pros and cons of building stadiums with government subsidies. I can guess already what side he’s going to take, and I have to restrain myself from yawning. This should be almost comical, but the annoying part is that I’ll have to help him with his research.

  “Did you do this topic?” Like he needs to ask.

  “No.”

  He watches me and I imagine Tiff bruising me tomorrow if I don’t report having played nicely. “I discussed how effective cigarette taxation is and whether or not the amount collected offsets the increased pressure on our health care system.”

  Parker’s eyes glaze over. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

  I seemed to have found more information and highlighted more points in fifteen minutes than Parker has in the entire hour we’ve been here. I mark two more sections and slide the journal articles I printed earlier across to him.

  When I stop, Parker is just sitting and watching my methodical research methods.

  “What?” I lift my copy of Essentials of Economics and block all sight of my boobs. I’m not in this library because I want to be, so I don’t want to make the experience any more pleasurable for him.

  “Got Thanksgiving plans?” he asks.

  “Yeah, family stuff. You?” The ease with which I talk to Rocks has abandoned me.

 
“Same. Dad’s taking me hiking though so that’ll rock.” He flips his pen over his thumb with his index finger. “Can I take you to the dance?”

  Parker’s eyes scan my face, and I bet he’s seeing the shock and horror written all over it. I thought this was about grades—him and me. “Don’t look so scared, Connie. I don’t just want to study with you.”

  Huh? Are my ears working properly? “Say again.” It’s a struggle to fill my lungs with air. Shallow breathing will have to do for now. “The dance?”

  “Yeah, we could go together.” He frowns. “You haven’t been asked already, have you?”

  I shake my head, blinking.

  “Well?”

  The reappearance of the girl who goes mute when talking to boys couldn’t be timed any worse.

  “You really thought I just wanted to study with you, didn’t you? I know my wrestling doesn’t impress you. In fact, the stuff I do that leaves the cheerleaders crying for more, you ignore. So I went for the study angle.”

  Parker Reed wants to impress me. Me. Parker Reed! And me!

  It’s the first time a guy has ever admitted to trying to impress me. I smile. “Okay, yeah, let’s go to the dance.”

  Parker will never be Rocks, but I can’t have Rocks the way I want him. Maybe dating Parker and being friends with Rocks is how the universe thinks it should be.

  * * * * *

  I’m distracted and my Hemingway essay is getting worse by the second. Thanksgiving is a week tomorrow. My vacation will officially start in two days. I want to get a bit of work done before it starts so I can slob around the house for the whole nine days.

  Rocks is supposed to be sitting in his chair. He’s back and I can barely contain my excitement. He’s supposed to be helping me because he loves anything and everything related to literature, but he’s been lured to the kitchen. Kelly’s trialing new dessert ideas for Thanksgiving, and Rocks is the judge and jury—or the pig in mud, as I prefer.

  My sister is chanting, “Rocks. Rocks. Rocks.” Which in two-year-old speak—that Rocks is fluent in—means again. I have a funny feeling the thubalup, thubalup, thubalup sound effect that is echoing up the staircase is supposed to be a horse mid gallop. And if I was a betting girl, I’d put it all on the fact that she’s currently slung across his back and doing laps around the island bench while mom plates up the next morsel. They’ve missed him. We all have, and since he won’t be able to join us for Thanksgiving dinner, Kelly is going to stuff him full this afternoon instead. I’m actually looking forward to watching him taste his first pumpkin pie.

  Tiff thinks Rocks is emo cool. Big freaking marshmallow is what that boy is. He’s left his jacket on the chair, leaving his tattoos proudly on display. The effect on my internal temperature reminded me of Fourth of July bottle rockets. His arms are glorious now that I understand the pattern, and the bands of ink make his muscles pop. Without thinking, I pick up his jacket, hug it to my chest and take a deep breath. Rocks. The smell of a cool moonlit forest night fills my lungs. His wallet falls to the ground and pulls me from my temporary moment of insanity. If he found me sniffing his clothing, I’d die. Sniffing him that one time was bad enough.

  Picking up his wallet, my curiosity wins. I can’t help it. The heaviness makes me wonder what could be in there since every item has to come in under a total weight. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I wasn’t prepared to find the picture of Rocks and me. Where his license should be is a picture of us. The quality isn’t great as it just ordinary paper. We look happy.

  I remember the afternoon in my room when we played with photo booth. I’d printed those shots, but don’t remember him taking them. He must have swiped this one when I wasn’t looking. Back then he hardly knew me. Back then I hardly knew him—or anything about the Camazotz. I didn’t understand what the colony meant, or how he fit into that life and to some extent, I know I’m just scratching the surface.

  I replace the wallet and jacket on my way to retrieve the laptop from my parents’ office. Hemingway can wait.

  Firing it up, I check my email. The search for my father is dead in the water, but I’m hoping to get a response for Rocks.

  “ROCKS!”

  They’ve replied, but it can’t be right.

  Rocks tears into my room and stops behind me. His hand slips over my shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Read this.” I point to the email reply we’ve been waiting on. “You were right.”

  Rocks leans over and his scent distracts me.

  “Shit!” He slumps into the chair. “Sorry, sugarplums,” he corrects, looking toward the door. “I just can’t work it out. Ugh! What am I missing?” he says in a louder voice than usual.

  The National Parks Service has confirmed that no owl relocations or releases have occurred in the Appalachian Mountains this year. The email informs bird lover that she must have been mistaken in seeing their logo, but they would greatly appreciate any and all details to track down who is responsible. It does not miss my attention that lying gets better results than telling the truth. Is this what I need to learn in order to be considered an adult? Is this how all adults operate? But I have a more immediate issue to focus on.

  “Someone is targeting your colony. But why? Do other aeronaughts know about you?”

  “A few. Like you, sometimes the secret gets out.”

  “Could it be one of them?”

  “Don’t even think that.” He sighs. “Please no. That’s trouble that we don’t need.”

  “The other colonies?”

  Rocks rubs his temples. “The Sire suspects so and that’s where I was last week. We went to take a look around. We had an order to drop off so it was a good excuse. They said they’ve been under attack as well.”

  “Really?” Does this mean all the Camazotz are under threat?

  “I spoke with one of their Fold members—Océano—she seemed nervous. She … I can’t describe it.”

  “Of course, she’s nervous. If they’re being attacked and killed too.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know. They had a new truck.”

  “So?”

  “We have an old beat-up van to get supplies when we need them, but they have a brand new one. That’s a lot of cash for a colony to lay down on one purchase.”

  The Sire and their Sire—Saturno—had a long meeting, Rocks explains. The topics were Sire to Sire only, but afterward his Sire seemed convinced that Saturno isn’t behind the attacks.

  “They explained the new leather harnesses we made them were designed to carry a large number of bats by other bats.”

  “Huh?”

  “Strong bats fly connected to the harness carrying the elderly and young pups. They’re gearing up for a colony move.” He steeples his fingers and rests them against his lips.

  “Why don’t you all move?” The thought of Rocks moving away sets the eel loose.

  “Not possible. It’s a huge undertaking. We live under the radar to a certain extent and that many people suddenly showing up in a new town would bring attention we don’t want or need. Finding a suitable location is extremely difficult. There just aren’t that many places for us away from aeronaughts. Setting up the marketplace? No, that’s a headache we don’t need.”

  Opening the bottom drawer, I pull out the purple sparkle gift bag and hand it over. The contrast of color against his dark leather is a little frightening. Rocks peers inside slowly, and his frown is replaced with a cute smile.

  “They’re called Beanie babies.”

  “Bean’s babies?” His face lights up.

  “Almost.” I smile. “They’re for Bailey, but I didn’t know if …”

  The pain I was sure he had been hiding flicks across his features for a split second. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. She’s … well, it was so close. I don’t know what I would have done. I should’ve been there.”

  Oh Rocks. I want to slap my forehead for not connecting the dots correctly. Of course, Rocks would feel responsible
for not protecting his littlest sister. “It’s not your fault.”

  Rocks nods, but I know how that brain of his works.

  “Will she be allowed to have them?”

  “I’ll make sure of it. She’ll be the envy of all the pups. You might be able to sell these next time you visit.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  Rocks sits the dark magenta wooly mammoth on one knee, the pastel tie-dyed peace bear on the other knee, a hot pink seahorse joins them, followed by a dark brown moose and that hardest one to find—the little black bat with orange lined wings covered in gold stars and moons.

  My selection, at first, only included bright colors, but remembering the mini Goth kids in the forest, I added the two in earth tones.

  “This is too much, Connie.” His head falls to one side, and I watch his gaze roaming over me. Warmth bubbles up inside my chest, lighting the next rocket for launch.

  “No, it’s not.” I touch the cupcake clip in my hair. “But don’t let Mini see those, or you’ll never get them out of here.”

  Rocks folds himself into the chair. I know he needs time to think. The email changed everything. He was counting on the National Park being responsible. The alternative is far worse and sinister. I open Google but am stumped on where to start. Owl sightings? I stare at the screen.

  After a moment, Rocks speaks. “Why don’t you search for your dad? I want to talk to the Sire about that email.”

  Every search on Josie Hendersen I did never had any links to a person with the initials E.A. I hate to admit it, but the sinking feeling deep inside my gut is telling me the search for my real dad is over.

  I retrieve the Polaroid from my bookshelf and study it some more. There’s absolutely nothing in the photo to give me any clues. The beach is generic and could be one of thousands. Is this Georgia or some place way more exotic? I contemplate going back to Josie and quizzing her on holiday locations. The problem is I know she’ll have missed her photo by now and will be onto me.

  My eyes wander to the boy in the corner. He’s reading about wireless Internet from information I collected at the mall. He thinks the colony should connect to the modern world, even if only by the Internet at first.