“Eat that!” I told the storm, and turned to Eryx and Irene. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“That’s it?” Irene said.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s it. Come on, Irene. We’re done here. No matter how it turns out, we’re done.”
Irene gave me a look, but eventually she flung her knife into the water after the pistol—we didn’t want to be caught with it—and we walked back to the Pieria Nursing Home. Eryx looked shaken but relieved. Irene remained silent. I could tell she was disappointed. I felt lighter now that I wasn’t carrying the mug with me.
We’d been planning to grab a few things and head for the bus station. It was Eryx who pointed out that, thanks to Lucian’s cash box, we probably had enough to get the other Pieria people out of town, too, though we’d have to hurry. We ran around the nursing home, looking to tell them the good news, but we couldn’t find anyone. Even Cerise’s garden was empty. Irene finally found everyone tucked behind a crumbling brick wall. They were all there, huddled around Ephram’s radio. Henry saw us first, and dashed over to give all three of us quick hugs. His cap was still on sideways.
“We were so worried about you three,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Perfect,” I said. “Listen, everyone, we have to—”
“Quiet!” Phillip said. “Listen to this!”
“—changed course,” the radio said. “We repeat: Hurricane Tyler has changed course and is now heading back out to sea. It will not make landfall in Florida.”
A ragged cheer went up from the group. Everyone traded more hugs. I blinked at the radio, dumbfounded, and I think I heard the thin, crackly laugh of an old woman.
We still ended up at the bus station. It was crowded—not everyone believed that the evacuation order had been rescinded—but we got the last three seats on a bus that would eventually end up back in Michigan. Part of the money we used for the tickets included the last one hundred dollar bill. The rest came from Lucian’s cash box.
I had to go back, face Myron and my mother. Eryx felt the same way. And even Irene decided she should go home and talk to her parents. When they said they would come with me, I was so relieved, stupid tears leaked out of my eyes, and it only got worse when Eryx brushed them away and Irene kissed my hair. No reason to feel torn—the whole damn universe had been built around the way we felt for each other.
We settled into our seats, the bus already getting humid and a little smelly. The driver, a woman this time, fastened her seat belt and reached over to shut the door. That was when Irene made a break for it. She leaped out of her chair and bolted. It caught Eryx completely off guard, but I scrambled down the aisle and managed to catch her wrist at the last second.
“What are you doing?” I said, oblivious to the staring passengers. The driver stared too, the door still hanging open.
“I can’t,” Irene half-sobbed. “I can’t do it. I can’t face them.”
“You’ve been running all your life,” I said. “It’s time to stop.”
“It’s too much, Danny,” she said. “I’m not you. I feel like the storm washed the last of my color away. If I go back, I’ll just fade into the background and my parents won’t even see me.”
“You can’t fade into the background, Iris,” I said. “I saw your colors at the beach, and they were brighter than anything I’d ever seen.”
She gasped. “What did you call me?”
“I … it was just your name,” I said, confused.
“Are you getting off or what?” the driver said.
“You called me Iris,” she said. “My parents almost named me Iris. I never told you that.”
“I think of you with that name a lot,” I admitted. “Half the time I write it in my journal, and I have to erase it for Irene.”
“Iris is more powerful,” Irene said, half to herself. “More colorful.”
“She is.” I shifted my grip from her wrist to her hand. “We’ll call you that, if you want.”
“Yeah. You do that, diary-boy.” She tossed her head and waved at the driver. “You can drive. I’m staying.”
It didn’t seem to take as long to get home as it did to get away. Eryx says I slept for most of it, and he has the sore shoulder to prove it. At last, we all three disembarked at the Lake Trichonida station. It felt like I’d been gone for months, but it wasn’t even Halloween yet. The air was chilly and clean, and I inhaled the smell of fresh lake water.
My and Eryx’s bikes were gone and Irene Iris didn’t have one anyway, so we walked to Myron’s house. Myron’s SUV wasn’t there, but Mom’s old Toyota sat in the driveway. I stood on the front porch for a second. I should have been scared, but I wasn’t. It was a simple, straightforward thing to walk inside with Eryx and Iris right behind me. The three of us took up all the air and space.
Mom was watching TV in the living room, some makeover show. She turned, and her face stilled for a moment before she leaped up and almost knocked me over with a hug. I got teary-eyed again. The questions started up almost instantly. Where had Eryx and I gone? What did we think we were doing? Had I gotten her e-mails? Who was this girl? Why did we run away?
I was able to answer the last one easily enough. “Mom,” I said, “you remember what I told you in the bar, right?”
A hint of stone hardened her face. “Danny, I don’t want to argue about—”
“I’m not going to argue, Mom,” I said. “Just come with me.”
I took her to the bathroom. Water was dripping from the faucet in the sink, and I showed her the camera. Then I showed her the camera in my room and the one in Eryx’s room. Eryx watched in silence. Iris looked pissed off.
“There’s more, Mom,” I said, “but that’s a start.”
“Myron told me all about these,” she said. “He said they’re for home security. He’s got a lot of valuable stuff in the house.”
I closed my eyes for a second. It hurt. Strong as I was, this fucking hurt. Eryx grabbed my hand, and I felt better. Mom gave us a strange look. “Mom, do you want to see the web site?” I said. “Do you want to hear what happened to Eryx?”
“Is this why you came back?” she almost shouted. “To ruin my—our—lives? Are you trying to get Myron arrested or something? Where would we live, Danny?”
“I’m done being a hooker, Mom,” I said. “I’m not trading sex for life anymore, and neither should you.”
She slapped at me, and I ducked out of the way. Her palm met only air. She snatched her hand back, looking horrified. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Danny. You come back to me, and I yell at you and slap you. I’m so sorry.”
I picked up the phone. Eryx squeezed my hand and Iris put her arm around me. “Last chance, Mom,” I said.
“For what?” she asked. “And why are you two hanging on Danny like that?”
“Say you’ll leave him,” I said. “I did it. You can, too.”
For a long, icy moment she stared at me. Her son had become a stranger. “This is where I live now,” she said. “This is my life.”
She walked away when I dialed.
The cops showed up in ten minutes. Eryx and Iris and I told our stories to the officers, then to a detective, and then to a social worker. Eryx showed them the web site. I showed them the cameras. Iris sat, tall and proud, wrapped in a multi-colored quilt the social worker had given her. The detective made some phone calls to Florida, and the sheriff—the real one—said he would raid the Haidou Hotel by the end of the week.
And when Myron came home an hour later, he walked straight into a pair of handcuffs.
I hadn’t expected them to arrest Mom, too. The cops counted her as an accessory because she knew about Myron’s little hobby and didn’t do anything to protect me. I felt weird about that, and not as upset as I thought I should be.
Iris is living with her parents again in Red Ridge. They were happier to see her than she thought they would be. She doesn’t dye her hair anymore, though—she says the colors are more powerful when they’re invisible. E
ryx and I are in two different foster homes, but we’re still at Lake Trichonida High School and all three of us are together almost all the time. My foster parents are named—no shit—Todd and Dina Foster, and they’re nice, I guess. I have my own room, and I don’t let any cameras or computers in it, and Todd and Dina say that’s cool with them.
It’s almost Halloween. The trees reach toward the sky with bony fingers, and plump pumpkins laugh at you from front porches. I’m sitting on the dock at my old house. The house itself is gone, and the skeleton of a new one is halfway raised. It’ll belong to someone else, but I don’t mind. Three big zip-lock bags sit on the wood next to me. Iris is looking over my shoulder as I write this and trying to distract me by changing the color of my ink from black to pink, pink to orange, orange to black.
Change it back to black, Iris. I can’t read what I’m doing. Thanks.
Now she’s nibbling on my ear. She is very pretty.
Damn right. Hi!!
That was Iris.
Eryx is lying on his stomach with one hand trailing in the freezing gray lake. I flick my fingers, and a little jet of water spurts up to squirt him in the face. He yelps, and I snicker until he turns blue eyes on me. Intense desire for him thunders over me, and I can’t do anything but stare with my mouth open. See that splotch on the page? It’s drool. Eryx breaks eye contact, and the feeling vanishes, except the normal stuff I feel for him all the time.
“Maybe you need a cold shower,” he says.
“You jerk,” I say, but we’re both laughing, and I can see little bits of red in Eryx’s hair. I like looking at him.
Me too!
That was Iris again. I don’t know what it means that we can do these things, or where the three of us are going
That’s because Danny’s scared to use the word LOVE.
That was Eryx. And I am not. Here, I’ll shout it loud enough to echo at the flowers.
That didn’t count. If it’s real, you write it down. So write it down.
Yeah, diary-boy. Let’s see you write it down.
love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
There. Happy?
Now they’re ignoring me, like cats that have made a point.
I’m almost done with this journal. I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to throw it into Lake Trick with the other seven. Maybe I’ll keep this one, make myself trip over the chip in the rim of the mug. I know for sure that I’m keeping the Ganymede story I wrote. It’s mine.
I’m Daniel Marina. This is journal number:
EIGHT
∞
8
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Copyright & Credits
Danny
Steven Harper
Published by Book View Café Publishing Cooperative, June 19, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-61138-528-1
Copyright © 2015 Steven Piziks
Production Team:
Cover Design: Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff
Copy Editor: Patricia Rice
Proofreader: Patricia Rice
Formatter: Vonda N. McIntyre
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Digital edition: 20150520vnm
www.bookviewcafe.com
Book View Café Publishing Cooperative
P.O. Box 1624, Cedar Crest, NM 87008-1624
About the Author
Steven Harper Piziks was born with a name that no one can reliably spell or pronounce, so he often writes under the pen name Steven Harper. He lives in Michigan with his family. When not at the keyboard, he plays the folk harp, fiddles with video games, and pretends he doesn’t talk to the household cats. In the past, he’s held jobs as a reporter, theater producer, secretary, and substitute teacher. He maintains that the most interesting thing about him is that he writes books. Visit his web page at
http://www.stevenpiziks.com
You can find more of his books at Book View Café.
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Chapter One
You can sell a body without consent, but never the soul.
—Captain Irfan Qasad, First Bellerophon Landing Party
The slave auction took place in a room big as a school gymnasium. Evan Weaver, hands shaking, shuffled forward with the rest of the colonists as the slavers herded them forward. A silvery metal band encircled his left wrist, and a similar one bound his left ankle. The auction room floor was gridded with green squares, each a meter on a side, with yellow
“Pick a square and sit!” ordered a slaver in blue coveralls. “Move!”
The colonists slowly scattered themselves across the floor. Mystified, Evan picked a square and sat. His mother, father, older brother, and younger sister did the same. The moment Evan sat down on the floor, his square turned red. The plain white tunic he had been given to wear did little to blunt the chill of the hard floor. More and more white-clad people from the colony ship arrived and were told to take up squares. Green squares steadily changed color until nearly all of them were red. Voices rumbled and echoed around the huge room until a computer tone announced the PA system was active. The colonists instantly fell silent, already knowing from experience that talking during the PA announcements resulted in instant pain.
“The auction will be starting soon,” announced a harsh voice. “When the buyers come in to look at you, do what they say, but don’t leave your square. Any question the buyers ask, you answer, and you better say ‘master’ when you do. Otherwise keep your mouth shut. It’s a silent auction, so you won’t see who’s bidding.”
The PA snapped off. Evan’s heart was pounding again. Martina, his ten-year-old sister, whimpered and reached for their mother. When her hand crossed the boundary of her square, her silver bands snapped blue. Martina screamed and snatched her hand back. Rebecca Weaver started to reach for her daughter but stopped herself barely in time. Rhys Weaver’s jaw worked back and forth, his dark skin mottled with helpless anger. Evan’s brother Keith, who at fifteen was three years older than Evan, stared at the floor. Around them, the other colonists also looked at the floor or whispered to each other in frightened voices. Evan’s mouth was dry.
Then the floor shifted. Evan tensed as all the squares, including his, rose slowly upward until they were about a meter above floor level. They locked into place with a bone jarring thump, creating dozens of platforms all around the auction hall. A moment later, a set of doors opened
and more people strolled into the room. Evan blinked, then stared. His mother gasped and the buzzing among the slaves rose in volume. Not all the “people” were human. A tall, willowy being with a shock of white hair like a dandelion clock glided across the floor, followed by what looked like a giant caterpillar. Two humanoid lizards came in, tongues flicking in and out, and a short, shaggy thing with three legs skittered by. It carried a smell of wet leaves. Evan almost missed the twenty or so humans who were with them.
“Aliens,” Rebecca said in awe. “All life!”
Similar murmurs rose around them. Evan continued to stare. He had overheard the slavers talking about aliens and alien buyers, but it hadn’t actually thought about what they meant. Aliens were the stuff of the entertainment industry, something you only saw on a screen or in a VR game. Now they were here, real and breathing. The caterpillar pittered by, its legs moving in a dazzling pattern.’
Evan swallowed hard. From his perspective, he had boarded the colony ship only four days ago, along with his family, various other members of the Real People Reconstructionists of Aboriginal Australia, and other groups. They were all bound for a planet named Pelagosa. Evan’s last memory was the lid of the cryo-chamber clanging shut above him. There was a slight hiss, a heavy feeling, and blackness.
The next thing Evan knew, he was being yanked shivering out of the chamber and fitted with a silvery wristband and ankleband before his half-frozen mind could comprehend what was going on. His family and the thousand-odd other colonists had been fitted with similar shackles. The slavers had unceremoniously hauled them on board their ship and stuffed them into cell-like rooms. The colony vessel was taken for salvage. Anyone who fought back or even protested received a debilitating shock from the bands. Even saying the word “escape” or “revolt” earned a shock. No amount of banging, picking, or clawing would get the bands off, though Evan’s wrist and ankle became red and raw from the attempt.
During four days of captivity, they had picked up tiny bits of information here and there, mostly from what the slavers told them. The colonists had been sleeping for either nine hundred years (real time) or fifty years (ship time), take your pick. While the colonists lay in cryo-sleep, someone had discovered something called slipspace, which allowed faster-than-light travel between solar systems. Pelagosa and hundreds of other inhabitable planets had quickly been colonized. Slower-than-light ships vanished into history and the vastness of space, their slumbering inhabitants forgotten.
Danny Page 29