by P. T. Hylton
“Hey, why don’t seagulls hang out in bays?” her dad asked.
Alice was already grinning. She’d heard this one before. He’d told it only a few nights ago. He was always telling the same jokes over and over again.
“Why?” Alice asked.
“Because then they’d be bagels,” her dad said, and he took another bite of meatloaf.
Alice giggled. Mom swatted at Dad playfully, but she was smiling.
Alice felt her mind drifting to the future. School would be out soon. And then…
“How many weeks ’till June?” she asked.
The table grew quiet, and Alice knew she’d made a mistake, though she didn’t understand how.
After a long moment, her mom said, “Two weeks,” and then went back to her meatloaf.
Alice should have stopped there; the long silence should have been warning enough, but she couldn’t help herself. “That means it’s only two weeks until acting class!”
This would be Alice’s third summer in the youth program put on by the King’s Crossing theater. It was the highlight of her year. She was generally a shy girl, but something about being on stage, about pretending to be someone or something else, brought her to life. This year they would be performing Peter Pan and she could hardly wait.
Alice was a bit tall for her age, and she had a wild head of blond hair that never seemed to stay in its ponytail. Her enthusiasm and her stage presence had made her popular with the teachers at the theater and helped her win larger roles than most of the other nine-year-olds.
When she mentioned acting class, a tiny noise, almost like a gasp, came from her father. Alice looked up and saw her mother’s eyes were squeezed shut.
“Helen,” her father said. “We have to decide. Tonight.”
“No!” her mother answered in a harsh whisper. “We agreed. We can give it another day. We said we’d keep things normal for her as long as we could.”
Her father sighed. “You’re scared. I get it. I am too. But this…waiting. It’s just stupid.”
Mom set her fork down, and Alice’s heart leapt into her throat. Her mother was angry. She was trying to hide it, but Alice could see it in her eyes.
“Waiting for what?” Alice asked.
Her mother gaped at her father. “You had to bring it up now? At the table?”
“We can’t avoid it anymore.”
“Okay, then,” mom said. “Tell her. Tell her what we’re waiting for.”
“Seriously Helen, you’re just being spiteful.”
Her mom stood up slowly and set her napkin on the table. “I can’t listen to this. Excuse me.” She walked away, and every footstep sent a jolt of worry through Alice. She knew what would happen next.
A moment later, her father sighed and followed her mother out of the room.
Alice sat alone at the table. Times like these, she wished she had a brother or sister. Someone to talk to so she didn’t have to sit in the silence. A couple years ago she would have talked to her stuffed panda bear, but she was a bit old for that now.
She took a small bite of meatloaf, but it suddenly didn’t taste so good. The sauce seemed harsh and spicy rather than sweet and tangy.
A moment later, she heard their voices. They weren’t whispering now; they weren’t holding back at all. As if being in their bedroom with the thin door closed would keep her from hearing. Sure, she couldn’t make out the words, most of them anyway, but she heard their voices. The anger and fear in their shouts came through to the dining room loud and clear, even if the words were too muffled to make out.
She took a deep breath. This argument was her fault. If she hadn’t brought up acting class, this wouldn’t have happened. It made her feel bad to know she’d caused the argument, but in a strange way it also made her feel good. Because if she had caused it, she could also prevent it.
She knew what she had to do. She needed to Pull Back.
Alice closed her eyes and pictured the rope. It was a thick, coarse thing, as big around as her dad’s arm. The type of rope that might be used to tie a big ship to a dock. She pictured it suspended in a sea of blackness. Nothing existed but the rope.
She reached out, not with her hands, but with something else. Something she didn’t have a name for. Something in her mind. She gripped the rope, and she felt its prickly coarseness. The heat in the back of her head began as soon as she touched it. It hurt to Pull Back on the rope, but she knew from experience that if she didn’t pull, if she just touched the rope for too long, it would hurt far worse. She would get sick and throw up. She’d be weak and wouldn’t be able to get out of bed for days. Then there would be more doctors and more tests. And when the first tests didn’t find anything, there would be even more. She couldn’t let that happen.
She pulled ever-so-gently on the rope, using just the right amount of pressure. The pain shot through her brain and it was so hot she didn’t think she could stand it. But it was over in only a moment.
Alice slowly opened her eyes, and what she saw made her smile.
Her mother and her father happily eating meatloaf.
Dad looked at her. “Hey, why don’t seagulls hang out in bays?”
Alice grinned, but this time it wasn’t from the joke. It was pride.
She never talked about the rope or the way she could Pull Back on it. Not anymore. When she was very young, she’d thought it was something everyone could do, and she’d discussed it openly. Everyone thought she was playing make believe, but a few times she’d seen a worried look on her parents’ faces when she brought it up.
When she was four, her best friend Becky had broken her arm. Alice asked her why she didn’t just Pull Back to before it happened so her arm wouldn’t be broken. Becky had looked at her blankly, so she’d tried to explain. If she Pulled Back to yesterday, she could be more careful in the tree, or not climb the tree at all. Then her arm wouldn’t be broken. When Becky’s blank stare had continued, Alice had come to the startling conclusion that not only could Becky not Pull Back, she didn’t even know what it was. And if Becky didn’t know, maybe other people didn’t either.
So, Alice had stopped talking about it. She didn’t even mention it to her parents anymore. She took it as fact that no one else she knew had this particular skill.
Since no one else could do it, no one could appreciate how difficult what she had just done was. When she was younger, a single Pull Back on the rope would send her back days or even weeks. It was impossible to control. She’d sometimes worried what might happen if she were to pull a little too hard and get sent back to before her birth. Would she find herself huddled in her mother’s womb, complete with the memories of a nine-year-old?
But slowly, over time, she’d gotten better at it. And now she was very precise.
“Why?” Alice asked her father.
“Because then they’d be bagels,” he said, finishing the joke, and he took a bite of meatloaf.
Mom swatted at him playfully, just as she had the first time.
Alice felt the familiar tug, the slight urge to say what she’d said the first time, to ask how many weeks until June. Reality wanted to flow like it had originally, and she had to fight it a little to get it to deviate. But just a little. And Alice was used to it.
Alice didn’t ask about June or acting class. She just kept eating her meatloaf.
Her mother cleared her throat suddenly. “Hey, isn’t acting class starting soon?”
Alice’s heart sank. Sometimes reality was difficult to change. Others might fill in the gaps even if she didn’t.
Dad’s face went pale. “Helen. Don’t you think it’s time we talked to her about it?”
Alice saw the flush on her mother’s face. She knew how this would play out. She’d already seen the argument that was about to happen. She closed her eyes. She’d have to Pull Back again.
She tried not to do it more often than she needed to. Occasionally she would use it if she’d done badly on a test or if something embarrassing happened. But sh
e didn’t do it for anything too trivial. And it wasn’t just the hot burst of pain that made her reluctant to Pull Back. Ever since she’d learned not everyone had this skill, she’d felt funny about it.
She’d been able to do it for as long as she could remember. The rope had always been there in some dark corner of her mind waiting to be pulled. But something about it wasn’t natural, she knew. Something about it felt wrong.
There was no time to think about that now. Not while her parents were arguing. Alice took a deep breath and gave the rope the tiniest of pulls.
She let the pain wash over her for a moment, then opened her eyes. Her father was smirking at her.
“Hey, why don’t seagulls hang out in bays?” he asked.
Alice reached out as if she were grabbing a napkin and knocked over her glass of milk.
“Whoa!” Dad said, hopping up to avoid the milk flowing off the edge of the table and onto his lap.
There, she thought. That should be enough to knock reality off its tracks. Things would proceed along a different path now.
Alice helped her parents clean up the milk and they all went back to eating their meatloaf.
3.
Frank stood frozen for a long moment, staring at Zed. How was it possible? How had the man known they would be here at this very moment? Had he been tracking them with the compass?
Frank’s hand slipped to the lock hanging from the chain around his neck.
He glanced at Sophie and saw she too was clutching her lock, a perplexed look on her face.
But Mason…
Mason stood statue still, staring at Zed. He had a look of fury and concentration Frank had never before seen on his face. His lip was curled slightly, and Frank could see the gaps where some teeth were missing. His fists were clenched in front of him. Frank prayed he wouldn’t attack. Not now. It wouldn’t do any good.
After a long moment of silence, Zed said, “This is slightly awkward. I can’t actually see you at the moment. I have to trust the look on my friend Brian’s face that you are standing here at all. Well, him and the others.” Zed nodded toward the wall to his left, and for the first time Frank noticed the eight men and women standing along the wall in the shadows.
They were all casually dressed, and they didn’t seem to have much in common other than the grim, determined looks on their faces and the guns they all held.
“What do we do?” Sophie asked. “Should we lock ourselves away from the rest of them?”
“Miss Porter!” Zed said with the hint of a laugh in his voice, and Frank grimaced. They’d had fourteen hours in the car and he hadn’t covered more than the bare-bones basics of the locks. He didn’t think he’d have to. Not yet. He thought they only needed to hide themselves from Zed’s compass, that they’d have time to plan things further. He’d been a fool.
Frank locked his voice away from everyone but Sophie and Mason. “Make it so they can’t hear your voice. Think about it and it will happen.”
Sophie hesitantly spoke again. “Okay. So what do we do? We can make ourselves invisible from everyone and head for the doors.”
Frank glanced back and saw two men with revolvers standing in the doorway to this section of the restaurant. And, sure enough, the emergency exit was behind the people lined against the wall.
“Well,” Frank said slowly, “we came to find Zed. So…mission accomplished, I guess.”
Sophie was staring at Mason. He was still frozen, his eyes locked on Zed. “You okay, Mason?” Sophie asked.
He didn’t answer.
Brian, the man who’d led them to the table, spoke. “Their lips are moving, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.”
Zed sighed. “Well, that’s just rude.” He gestured toward the table. “Would you all care to take a seat?”
Frank paused for a moment. He noticed Sophie waiting for him, letting him take the lead. That surprised him. She didn’t seem like the type of person who waited around for anybody.
“Let’s hear what he has to say,” Frank said.
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“We can always make ourselves invisible again and head for the doors. Whatever he’s going to say is sure to be a lie, but I’d still like to hear it.” Without waiting for a reply, Frank mentally turned off his lock.
Zed met his eyes and visibly relaxed. “Here we are again. I ordered you a burger.”
Frank wanted nothing more than to ask how Zed had known what he’d been planning to eat. But he wouldn’t give Zed the satisfaction. Not now.
He pulled out the chair next to Zed, the one with the burger in front of it, and plopped down into the seat.
A moment later Zed’s eyes settled on Sophie as she too turned off her lock and sat down. To her, he said nothing. Frank could see something in Zed’s eyes when he looked at Sophie. Something that was a cross between hostile, confused, and maybe a little frightened. Frank couldn’t read that look completely—it was a complicated thing and Frank could only skim its surface—but it was clear Zed didn’t like her.
Sophie met Zed’s gaze, and without breaking it, picked up a fork, stabbed the salmon on the plate in front of her and stuck a big bite in her mouth. She didn’t bother closing her mouth as she chewed.
Frank had to stifle a laugh. She could be incredibly juvenile at times, but something about her made him smile.
Zed grunted and looked away. “Just waiting for my protege then. How about it, Mason? Join the adult table?”
Mason was still frozen, nearly shaking with rage.
Zed said, “We can’t begin if you don’t—”
“No,” Frank said. “He doesn’t have to join if he doesn’t want to. You’ve done enough to him.”
“Hell yes,” Sophie said through a mouthful of salmon.
Mason seemed to relax a bit at that. Frank could see by the way Zed’s eyes suddenly focused that Mason had turned off his lock.
“No,” Mason said. “If you’re talking, I’m joining.” He sat down across from Zed and brushed the soup bowl aside. He leaned forward on the edge of his seat, looking like he might pounce at any moment.
Zed’s face softened. “Mason, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have left you in the woods. I’m sorry for that.”
Mason spoke through clenched teeth. “You promised me. We talked about it for years and you said we’d leave together—”
“I’ve apologized, and that’s that.” Zed’s voice was sharp, like a parent scolding a child. And, to Frank’s surprise, Mason reacted like a scolded child, turning a deep red and dropping his eyes.
Zed looked out the window for a long moment before speaking. “Tonight’s a special night in King’s Crossing. Special and strange.”
“Why’s that?” Sophie asked. “Half price fish?”
“No, Ms. Porter. Tonight’s the night the mayflies come.”
Frank felt the sudden urge to grab Zed and shake him. He wanted to force him to tell them why he was here and what he was doing. But he’d had enough dealings with Zed to know the man loved to hear himself talk, and he wouldn’t share any information until he’d worked his way around to it. So he asked, “Mayflies?”
“Yes. See, there are millions of mayfly eggs that hatch in the Mississippi River tonight. It happens once a year. It’s usually a bit later, generally June or July despite the name, but this year tonight is the special night.”
“Fascinating,” Sophie said, and she went back to her salmon.
Zed ignored her. “The result is a swarm that is difficult to imagine if you haven’t seen it. It’s like a living cloud. The swarm is thick enough and large enough that it shows up on weather radar. Imagine a fog made of insects and you’ll start to get the idea.” He took a sip of his water. “But you won’t have to imagine it for long. I expect they’ll be out in full force in an hour or so. Probably by the time you leave this restaurant.”
“Not sure we’ll be staying that long,” Frank said.
“The swarm’s harmless really,” Zed said.
“An interesting, annoying anomaly.” Zed squinted at Frank. “I still don’t know how you do it. The disappearing thing, I mean. I expect that’s how your friends hid the Tools from me all those years in Rook Mountain. They must have had some of your locks. But how did you learn to make them? How do you give them their power?”
Frank said nothing.
Zed drummed his hands on the tabletop. “All right. Down to business, then. I invited you here tonight because I need your help.”
Frank tried to wrap his mind around that last sentence for a moment.
Sophie said, “You invited us?”
Zed nodded. “Make no mistake, you wouldn’t be sitting here with me, you wouldn’t have found me at all, not after years of looking, if I didn’t want it to be so.”
“Get to the other part,” Frank said. “You want us to help you? Why the hell would we do that?”
“Lots of reasons.” He paused for a long moment. “I can see by the look on your face you need me to list some of them for you.” He counted off the reasons on his fingers as he spoke. “Because the alternative is worse. Because there are people you love on this planet. Because you’re not idiots. Because you don’t want to be devoured by vicious beasts.”
“There you go being vague again,” Frank said.
“I’ll explain in a moment,” Zed said. “But if I can convince you of all that, that the four of us are the only thing standing between this world and its destruction, you would have to at least consider it, no?”
Sophie said, “You make a compelling argument. It’s bullshit, but compelling. As far as I can tell, you don’t care about anyone but yourself. Why would you save the world?”
“The oldest reason of all,” Zed said. “Revenge.”
“Might not want to bring up revenge to us,” Sophie said. “It won’t help your case.”
Zed ignored the comment. “It’s taken me a long time to plan this. Longer than you might believe.” Zed leaned forward and looked each of them in the eye one by one. It wasn’t the mind-reading gaze Frank had felt the time Zed knocked on his door long ago in Rook Mountain. No, there was something else in this gaze. Respect. “I’ve spent centuries planning for what’s going to happen in the next couple of weeks.”