Faded Flare
Page 26
This time they’d do the crossing right, though. They were going to pick up supplies from Mrs. Acton first in addition to the truck that far outperformed Lindy’s… even Reed’s baby.
Mr. Acton emerged again, carrying a bundle of blanket in his good hand. He held it out to Henley. She exchanged looks with Ace whose expression conveyed that he didn’t know what it was.
She took it gingerly. It was about the size of a tablet and just as heavy, bearing something inside the folds. Carefully, she unfolded the blanket, the aroma of smoke filling her nose before the object was fully unwrapped. Her bad hand lifted to cover a huge gasp, her good one supporting the preserved item.
Cooked paint had flecked off the rim, and what remained was further faded than it had been the last time she’s seen it to a desaturated earthy orange. The glass was missing over the face, and the interior singed, the edges of the white disk curled and blackened. Minnie’s dress was sooty and half burned away. One of Mickey’s hands was gone, that devastating forest fire having taken three limbs with it that day… and a life. But the mice’s smiles still shone, their timeless dance still ongoing.
Henley’s vision blurred as she gulped back a clogged throat, feeling like her lungs were bursting. “You saved it,” she choked out and sniffed back a sob.
She could hear her father pointing to that one long arm, crossed over Micky’s chest, repeating the minutes it associated with and smiling down at her, calling her his clucking Hen.
She pulled the clock gently to her chest, looking up at Mr. Acton, who was smiling fondly and with compassion.
A tear tracked down his cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, too. I thought that—” He took a breath. “—this might be something you’d like to remember him by.”
She shook her head, hair swinging, and moved to embrace the retired fireman softly, her improved hand curling gingerly around her memento between them. “You couldn’t save him,” she said into his shoulder, knowing that now, absolving both of them of their guilt. Fire was an unstoppable force at times; humans were not made to withstand it. Trapped under a tree as Henley’s Daddy was, if Mr. Acton had stayed, Ace’s father would also have been consumed. “But by leaving him, you saved me. And that’s what he would have wanted…” Her sentence fell with a sob.
She pulled back and gave a watery smile, lifting the clock without removing it from her breast. “Thank you,” she managed, voice cracking.
Before Mr. Acton could reply, his phone rang, a sharp trill. He blinked, swallowed, and took a reorienting breath. “That’ll be your mother, Ace. Let me just go see what she needs before you two head off.”
Henley uncurled the clock to stare at the resilient couple as Ace came over to take a look.
“That expression—wonder,” Ace said. “It’s you.”
Henley looked up at him, but he was staring at Minnie. She hovered a finger over the female mouse in her flouncing dress and nodded. “That’s how I used to look at my dad when he’d dance with me in the living room.”
“No.” Ace shook his head, long, finally-clean hair swishing back and forth. “I mean, I’m sure that’s true, but it’s how you look at the world and everything in it. Like it’s full of adventure and surprises. Like you’ll never get bored of it. Like there’s always more there, something interesting, to capture your interest.”
“Look at you, with the long sentences and intuitive psychoanalysis.” The gibe lacked conviction. She couldn’t remove her attention and thoughts from the couple, finally seeing what Ace saw, unable to stop crying.
“Actually, son,” Mr. Acton interrupted, sauntering back again with phone in hand. Marissa was brief like her son. “That’s how you look at her.” He raised a brow and laughed.
They both looked up, shocked, Ace’s dark irises connecting with Henley’s brown. Ace’s surprise could either stem from what Mr. Acton had said or his laugh, which seemed foreign, something his father hadn’t done in a while.
“Just like I did with your mother. She was my hero. And I will be hers again,” he referenced Henley’s promise. “Now that I have no reason to wallow.”
Ace looked back at Henley, and a fiery blush flamed her cheeks.
She returned her gaze to the clock, instead seeing her face in that burnt spot over Minnie’s; seeing Ace’s instead 0f Mickey’s side she was pressed into; seeing her holding him up, supporting him while he went about his business happily instead of just cuddled up; seeing the awe and wonder in her expression, ready to learn the few bits of information he had to offer, regardless of how many times he’d repeated them over the hours and days and years.
She looked up at Ace, who was watching her closely. “Well then, what do you say? Is it time, to go?”
He didn’t quite smile, but his face softened and his eyes dropped to her lips as she smiled.
“Actually, there’s a hang-up.” Mr. Acton ruined the moment with a frown.
“What?” Ace cast a glance at his father’s phone then back at his father’s unhappy face. “What did Mom say?”
“The fire’s jumped east of the intercontinental,” he said heavily.
“What? Impossible. That’s a huge distance for it to cross, and the bridge is down.”
“Improbable.” Henley deduced the process that had occurred with a flutter of horror kindling at the base of her spine. “It is Professor Tate’s fault.”
“What?” Ace asked urgently.
Henley laughed despite what was going on. “Questions,” she admonished, then answered him. “The traffic jam. She left a long line of vehicles across the waterway like a trail of gunpowder, or a gasoline-soaked shirt… or a fallen tree.”
“Or the wick of a firecracker,” Ace added, realization hardening his jaw. “Those old diesel-engine cars from the mid-country are incredibly combustible.”
Henley shook her head. “Any tech is flammable.” She raised her hand—the other one—reminding him of the drone explosion that had restarted it all.
“Fire is a determined force,” Mr. Acton philosophized, haunting experiences flaring behind his eyes. “And with the drought over there, it’s basically prepped kindling. Your mother has diverted all relief efforts she can spare that way, but it’s going to spread fast. They’ll be overwhelmed—they won’t be able to get to everyone. Not in time.”
Ace cursed as Henley’s eyes widened, and she spun to Ace.
“Sirena,” Ace gasped.
“Reed,” Henley said.
“Jen,” they intoned together.
“We have to go,” Henley told Ace’s father as Ace bolted for the door. “I’m sorry. We’ll be back like I promised,” she called over her shoulder, racing after his son.
“How will you get there with the bridge down? Your mother said to tell you she can’t spare extra resources for you after all.” Mr. Acton trailed them to the door.
Ace skidded to a halt in the front lawn, the air heavy with fire pollution, cursing again.
Henley slammed into his broad back while he reprocessed for a moment, running iterative scenarios to reach the most optimal choice.
“Nor,” he concluded, plowing onward and leaving Henley to accelerate after him again. “He knows someone with a helicopter. And they’re probably still nearby.”
“Someone we can trust?” she asked, wary after their adventure.
“An excellent question.”
And they were diving into the truck, tearing down the street.
“Go be heroes. Look after each other, and be safe,” Mr. Acton willed from the front door as Ace revved the truck east, back toward the fire.
For more in the Climatic Climacteric series, look for book three, Arid Alarm
Sign up for L.B. Carter’s newsletter to read the first chapter FREE at www.LBCarter.com.
Drought is baking.
Who will dry?
Who will fry?
When a trade puts Valerie Acton, the government’s Natural Disaster Management Director, in a genetic lab that can alter appearances, it�
�s easy to convince even her brother that she is superhuman creator Jennifer Tate. But she’s just discovered that the exchange partner she thought she sent to safety met an explosive end…
Trapped with what feels like the last man on Earth, Val must table her independent streak to reevaluate her plans to save humanity.
When he offered to remain behind on a rundown farm and care for someone else’s diseased elderly, Reed Stanley, a trained bodyguard, didn’t expect to enjoy his sentence. But his company toes his banter and has both looks and brains. Hopefully they can survive long enough for his damaged heart to reopen…
After all, the death of Reed’s last girlfriend was an accident.
With the drought depleting nearby drinking water and baking local agriculture, Reed and Val are at the mercy of their friends’ ability and willingness to return and rescue them during multiple natural disasters…
Unless their tension fries each other first.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Book two was much easier than my debut novel to share with the world, though the nerves when clicking publish never abates. That was largely thanks to you, my readers, for encouraging me after Silent Siren’s release. So, don’t hesitate to let me know what you thought of Faded Flare in a review or via email or social media—find me via my website LBCarter.com.
As cynical as this novel seems toward academia, I’m also thankful for my experiences at various universities, which satisfy my insatiable curiosity as a scientist and through which I can breach institute walls to share with the public—no termination.
In regard to making this story really flare, I am indebted to my invaluable beta readers, award-winning author C.L. Monaghan, fabulous author LeAnn Mason, future author Lorna Richmond, and my lovely beta and editor Dawn Yacovetta, as well as to my crew (join on Facebook). I’d also like to recognize the amazing and generous photographers featured on my cover (via Unsplash): Matt Howard, Alla Biriuchkova, Michael Held, Guido Jensen, and Louis Maniquet. Once again, I would fade without my apple and my lap-warming furball and their limitless support and comfort.
I also want to acknowledge those whose lives were impacted by the many and extensive forest fires, particularly this summer in the United States. I try, with this series, to raise awareness for the natural disasters that directly affect the human population as the Earth adjusts to climate change, and though I keep it mostly scientifically realistic, I also know that words can never truly encompass how devastating surviving something like that can be. I hope your internal flame continues to burn bright.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.B. Carter is a bookworm, grammar fiend, doctor of geology, and native New Englander who refuses to own a purse that can’t fit her kindle. As such, her novels are a myriad of fantasy, science, mystery, nature, humor and romance. Like the fox in her favorite book, Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, L.B. believes what’s important to the heart is not seen with the eyes… but sometimes visible with imagination.
Curled up in front of a fire with a book, with fairy lights, a cup of spiced hot chocolate, and something she baked, is her happy place. When not writing, editing (notice the Oxford commas), designing, working her day job in science communication, or reading,
L.B. enjoys hiking and travelling, though not leaving behind
her snuggly, orange lap-cat, Ty.
Follow L.B. Carter on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram,
join her reader group, find her books on Amazon, BookBub, BookBetsy and Goodreads, and subscribe to her newsletter at www.LBCarter.com to learn more about her, enter awesome giveaways, get the latest news, teasers, sales and FREE samples of her books and read exclusive stories.