The Flight of the Silvers

by Daniel Price

  With uncharacteristic fervor, she convinced the others that it was a perfect place to hide and heal, a welcome change from their usual digs. She was right. From the moment the landlord left the Silvers to themselves, the ones who weren’t David felt a gushing love for the place. They’d spent the last two months in a state of flux—as guests of the world, guests of the physicists, guests of the hotels and motels of Altamerica. Now they had a house all their own. Those who craved a slice of domestic tranquility suddenly found one on a platter.

  For the Great Sisters Given, serenity lay at the bottom of a cooking pot. Though neither one considered herself a culinary goddess, Amanda and Hannah took fervent glee in playing house chef. They spent hours each day twirling around the kitchen, passing spoons and spices between each other as multiple mixtures bubbled on burners.

  While they worked, they smiled and giggled. When they disagreed, they disagreed kindly. Their knockdown brawl on the hotel balcony filled them with a desperate need to be perfect to each other. Soon their forced rapport snapped into place and they found themselves speaking intimately for the first time in years. Amanda finally shared the details of her broken marriage with Derek, his vicious last words. Hannah revealed the mystery of Jury Curado, from her strange ghostly vision to Evan’s cruel hints of love undone.

  The only topics they dodged were their current thorny entanglements. Hannah swore that everything was fine with Theo, though the tension between the ex-lovers was clear for everyone to see. Amanda claimed she wasn’t worried by Zack’s grim new state of being, a ceaseless black mood that filled the house like smog and only intensified in her presence.

  “It’s just pain,” she insisted. “Once his ribs heal, he’ll become his old self again.”

  Hannah wasn’t so sure. For the first four days in Nemeth, Zack carried all the textbook signs of depression. He stopped shaving. He rarely spoke. He spent most of his time alone, either sketching in his tiny bedroom or staring out at the lake from a patio lounger.

  On their third night in Nemeth, Zack finally opened up about his fateful phone call. He shared everything he learned about Evan’s alternate history with the Silvers, plus the stunning but questionable revelations about the Pelletiers.

  Though everyone sensed Zack was withholding something, only David succeeded in drawing it out of him. Late Wednesday night, the boy invaded Zack’s room and pestered him until he divulged the fate of his brother. Zack relayed the news with matter-of-fact aloofness, never once looking up from his sketchbook.

  David leaned against the dresser and gazed out at the rain. “As with all of Evan’s information—”

  “I know.”

  “I’m just saying you should take it with a grain of salt.”

  “You’re the one who told me I shouldn’t get my hopes up about Josh.”

  “I did. I still believe you shouldn’t. The odds suggest he died on our world like everyone else.”

  Zack took dark pleasure in David’s tactless candor. It made a nice contrast to the delicate tiptoe everyone else walked around him.

  “I don’t know how you always manage to stay so rational. Doesn’t this stuff ever get to you?”

  “Of course it does,” David attested. “Why do you think I’m so eager to get to New York? I’m convinced that Peter Pendergen can provide us with all the shelter, safety, and crucial information he promised us. You used to feel the same way.”

  Zack put down his pencil and looked at him. Evan’s harsh words about Peter were never far from his thoughts.

  “Well then maybe it’s my turn to tell you not to get your hopes up.”

  “Zack . . .”

  “Think about it. If Peter’s information’s so crucial, why didn’t he include it in his letter? If getting to him is so important, why didn’t he offer to meet us somewhere halfway? And then there’s the big question. Why do the Pelletiers want us to go to Peter? Why did they give us the van?”

  David chucked a loose hand. “I can’t answer any of that. I just know in my heart that he’s our only hope. Unfortunately, I see the way the others react whenever I mention Brooklyn. Now I’m scared that we’re about to add Peter to the list of people we’re avoiding.”

  “They just need time,” Zack said. “I need time.”

  David opened the door and turned around, his face a somber veil.

  “Sooner or later, Zack, our problems will come find us again. It’d be nice for once if we met them on our terms.”

  The next day, while the group ate lunch in the dining room, David told the others about Mia’s strange incident in town, the self-combusting note from the future. No one seemed willing to explore the issue with him.

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” he assured Mia. “For all you know, your future self used a new type of paper, one that doesn’t handle time travel very well.”

  She rolled her shoulders in a feeble shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  Zack watched from the end of the table as the others stared down at their food. That seemed to be the default reaction now whenever David soiled their haven with real-world matters.

  The cartoonist dropped his napkin over his plate and vented a loud, wistful sigh.

  “We need to get better.”

  Everyone turned to look at him. It had become a rare occurrence for Zack to join a discussion, much less start one. He tapped the table pensively.

  “The way I see it, we have four different threats out there and Evan’s the least of them. And yet he kicked our asses worse than the Gothams, the Deps, and the Pelletiers ever did. Hell, we kicked our own asses for him, all because some of us still can’t control their weirdness.”

  Hannah took umbrage at his stern implication. “It’s not Amanda’s fault. She was drugged.”

  “So were you. So was I. And yet we didn’t go crazy with the shifting and juving.”

  Flushed with guilt, Amanda looked down at her fingers. “He’s right.”

  “No, he’s not,” said Hannah. “This was nobody’s fault but Evan’s. And by getting pissy at you, Zack’s playing right into his hands.”

  “I’m not saying this to be pissy.”

  “Bullshit. You’ve been cold to my sister for days. Everyone sees it. And I don’t think it’s fair.”

  Now it was Zack’s turn to blush. He couldn’t look at Amanda now without recalling Evan’s teasing hint of the future, her predestined romance with Peter Pendergen. He was ashamed to let it bother him so much, and doubly ashamed that it was noticeable.

  “Look, all I’m saying is that we need to get a better handle on these things we do. They’re our biggest advantage when they work right and our biggest liability when they don’t.”

  David nodded his head. “I agree. I mean if we’re staying here awhile, we might as well put the time to good use. We’re hidden away now. No one will see us if we practice.”

  “You sure about that?” Mia asked. “If you’re wrong, the Deps will be all over us again.”

  “Maybe. And maybe someday soon you’ll get a portal in public that can’t be concealed. Wouldn’t you like to learn how to avoid that?”

  She narrowed her eyes at David. “That’s not up to me.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Zack gestured to Theo and Mia. “To be brutally honest, I think you two need the most work. You’re our early warning system. If you were both a little more attuned to the future, maybe we could have avoided Evan’s prank before it blew up in our faces.”

  The two resident oracles stared at Zack with pained astonishment.

  “Now you’re really being unfair,” Theo griped.

  “Now Zack’s right,” Hannah shot back. “Did you get a flash of warning at all when we were drinking our spiked mimosas?”

  Theo glared at her. “I would have told you if I did.”

  “Well then you just proved Zack’s point, did
n’t you?”

  “Hey, you know what else I can’t foresee? An end to your grudge against me.”

  “This isn’t about that. Get over yourself.”

  “It is about that, so why don’t we both get over me?”

  Amanda raised her hands. “Okay, stop. This isn’t helping. Now Zack needs at least two more weeks to properly heal. If some of you want to spend that time practicing, then do it. If not, then don’t. But we can’t fight each other like this. We have enough problems.”

  In the cool silence, Zack uncovered his plate and stared at it until it glowed. The others watched now as his razed corn cob repeatedly vanished and reappeared, each time with more kernels. The ash-gray clone of a chicken breast re-formed itself piece by piece.

  Soon the dish regressed to an empty state. Zack squeaked a finger across the pristine surface.

  “Mia, what’s the term for the thing I just did?”

  “I think that’s called zilching.”

  The others studied Zack in wonder. More surprising than his table trick was the bright look on his face, his first smile in days.

  “Zilching,” he said. “I like that.”

  —

  The rain went away that night and didn’t come back until the first of October. In the nine-day space between storms, the Silvers spent a lot of time thinking about temporis. They endeavored in their own unique ways to become better acquainted with their peculiar talents. Their results, like the weather, were a mix of scattered clouds and sunshine.

  No one was surprised to see David blaze his way to the head of the class. Rarely a day went by without him demonstrating a mind-blowing new aspect of his weirdness. On Thursday, he created miniaturized ghosts of the group at dinner, displaying them on the table like a shoe-box diorama. On Sunday, he filled the backyard with constructs made of last night’s darkness. On Tuesday, he summoned five real-time projections of himself. They surrounded him like bodyguards, matching his every move and sound.

  The next night, he premiered his greatest special effect yet.

  “Bear with me,” he said, as the others watched from chairs and sofas. David stood by the fireplace, pressing his temples with squinting concentration. His friends chuckled at his comical intensity until the air around him rippled like pond water. Suddenly the boy was gone.

  Five grins melted away to hanging gapes. Theo shook his head in bafflement. “What . . . ? How did you . . . ?”

  A disembodied laugh rang from the front of the room. “Guess it worked then.”

  “Yeah, you’re completely invisible! Can’t you tell?”

  “No. I see myself just fine over here. I can’t see any of you though.”

  Once Theo stood up and saw the oddly skewed perspective of the fireplace, he understood the trick. David had created a flat ghost image of an empty living room and cast it in front of him like a movie screen. Hannah poked her head through the illusive wall and now glimpsed David clear as day.

  “Obviously the deception falls apart under scrutiny,” he admitted. “But in a pinch, it could get us out of a tight situation.”

  The actress didn’t share his success in breaking new ground. After two hours of running in high-speed circles and one afternoon skimming Temporis in a Nutshell, she lost her urge for higher knowledge. She soon fell back into the joys of cooking and sibling harmony.

  “I’m fine with what I already know,” she told her sister as they diced vegetables together. “I’m not in the mood to discover any new complications. I sure as hell don’t need another case of time lag.”

  Amanda shared her reluctance. She spent one hour moving paint cans around the basement before she realized the futility of practicing her tempis. She had perfect control of it when she was calm. It was stress that made her dangerous. She enlisted Hannah to teach her some relaxation techniques. They spent an hour each day on theatrical breathing exercises.

  Annoyed by the Givens’ denial-and-yoga approach to handling their powers, Zack found Hannah in the kitchen and placed an open book on her cutting board, a mid-chapter spread from Temporis in a Nutshell. Hannah balked at the gruesome photos of people with rotted limbs. One poor casualty was mummified from the neck up.

  “Eww. God. That’s disgusting. Why are you showing me that?”

  “They’re all victims of rifting,” Zack explained. “You and I work with loose temporal energy. We’re like microwave ovens without the door. If we’re not careful, we’ll make more victims like this. It might even happen to someone we like.”

  “What do you want me to do, Zack? I tried practicing. All I have is an on/off switch and a gas pedal.”

  “If you’re stuck, go talk to the sensei.”

  Hannah grudgingly took his advice and told David about her impasse. He scrutinized her from the porch swing, stroking his chin in scholarly contemplation.

  “It’s an interesting issue. I have a theory about this temporic field you create. I’d like to test it, with your permission.”

  “That depends,” said Hannah. “What does it involve?”

  “A swimsuit, if you’re modest.”

  An hour later, she soaked in the claw-foot bathtub, feeling self-conscious and skeptical as David watched her from the edge of the sink.

  “Okay. Shift.”

  She turned the key in her mind. Time slowed down all around her. The water in the tub took on the sluggish consistency of a milkshake. When Hannah dragged her arm across the surface, the liquid near her skin still rippled normally.

  “Wow. You were right. I can see the field. It’s barely . . .”

  David was still lost in a hazy blue languor, unable to comprehend her. She de-shifted.

  “You were right. I saw it. All the water within a half inch of me was moving normally.”

  “Huh. That’s a thinner field than I expected. The temporis seems to cling to you like spandex.”

  “So does that mean I’m not the nasty threat Zack thinks I am?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t suggest hugging anyone in your accelerated state, but I don’t think you’re in danger of accidental rifting.”

  “Wow. That’s great. Thank you, David. This was really clever.”

  “We’re not done yet. I’m curious to see if you can expand the size of your field.”

  Hannah crunched her brow at him. “Even if I could, why would I?”

  “Because in case you haven’t noticed, we make a lot of hurried exits. With enough practice, who knows? Maybe you could shift us all.”

  After five more baths, Hannah found the switch in her thoughts. Soon she was able to double the thickness of her temporic sheath, then quadruple it. By the end of September, she was able to shift all the water in the tub. Though the act of expanding her field was as easy as puffing her cheeks, she couldn’t maintain it for more than forty seconds without getting a blinding headache.

  There was of course another downside to her new skill.

  “I keep thinking about those photos you showed me,” she told Zack, as they rocked on the porch swing. “As much as I love the thought of us all zipping away like Road Runner, my new biggest fear is rifting one of you. Or all of you.”

  Zack could relate. The image of Rebel’s withered hand still haunted him at night. Rather than explore new aspects of his talent, he worked to improve his aim. He spent hours each day attacking a family of bananas, ripening and unripening them from various distances.

  On September 29, he staged a backyard demonstration of his new prowess. The sisters and David sat in folding chairs, eyeing the three banana bunches that dangled from the porch awning.

  “Nice decorations,” Hannah teased. “Is it Monkey Day or something?”

  “It’s Shut Up and Watch Day. Shall I tell you how to observe it?”

  “No. I think I get it.”

  Zack aimed his finger like a pistol and rotted the X-marked banana i
n each bunch. As a crowd-pleasing finisher, he repeated the trick while the targets spun and swung on their strings.

  Hannah led the others in applause. “Wow! Very impressive, Zack!”

  “Thanks. Maybe the next time someone points a gun at me, I can rust it without rifting them.”

  David cynically pursed his lips. “And while you’re taking the extra time to preserve the gunman’s precious fingers, he could end your life.”

  “Even rifting a finger can be fatal,” Zack countered. “If an air bubble—”

  “I’m just saying you shouldn’t put your enemy’s well-being ahead of your own.”

  “Well, I consider ‘not being a murderer’ to be a part of my overall well-being.”

  Amanda held his arm. “I think what you’re doing is admirable, Zack. You’re a good man.”

  He gave her a lazy shrug and told her the bananas would disagree.

  The quiet time in Nemeth had done wonders for the cartoonist. As the pain in his chest diminished to a sporadic moan, he slowly began to resemble the man the Silvers knew and missed. And yet despite all progress, Amanda could still feel a maddening wall of space between them, as if Zack had demoted her to the status of neighbor or colleague. She stewed about it so deeply one night that she unwittingly shredded her socks with short spikes of tempis. She had no idea it could sprout from her feet.

  On the last day of September, she joined Zack in the kitchen, drying the lunch plates he washed.

  “I think Theo’s coming down with something,” she said, for lack of a better topic. “He’s looking a little peaked.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I wish he and Hannah would work out their issues already. It’s been frustrating to watch.”

  “Yup.”

  Scowling, Amanda rubbed a plate into a state of squealing dryness.

  “Not like us,” she said, through seething black humor. “You and I are doing great.”

  “Amanda—”

  The back door flew open. Hannah rushed into the kitchen and seized Zack’s wrist.

  “We need you! Come with me!”

  She’d been exploring the woods with David, a brisk morning hike to fight their growing cabin fever. Soon they heard a soft animal whimper and traced it to a clearing. A spotted fawn had splayed itself out on the leaves, taking pained and shallow breaths. One of her legs was bent at an unnatural angle. Blood trickled from her nose and a deep gash in her chest.