Greenhouse

by Stephanie Mylchreest

  Her parents stroke Marissa’s face, now talking to her softly. “You never left your mother’s side for the longest time,” Philip says, his voice gravelly and raw. “You’d hold on to her tunic, a sweet little cherub of a thing, and follow her through the house. She never minded.” He kisses her forehead softly. They continue to talk to her until she finally slips away. They hold her until the very end.

  My mother calls to Carl and me in a quiet voice, and she beckons us to follow her outside. We step into the forest. It’s still night but not for long. The moon is low in the sky and the easterly horizon is glowing. The new day will be here soon.

  My mother surveys the sky. “I want to give them a few minutes alone with her,” she says to us. “We will have to leave soon.”

  “What about my father?” asks Carl. His eyes are red from grief.

  “We can’t bury him, I’m sorry,” says my mother gently. “I wish we could do something but we don’t have time.”

  “No one here would want to help bury him anyway,” I add. Mother looks at me and shakes her head.

  “We need to stay together now Chris, more than ever. Who knows what lies ahead? We need our allies and friends close right now.”

  Suddenly, from somewhere deeper in the forest, there is the unmistakable sound of horses approaching.

  “It’s time to go,” my mother says urgently. She holds open the curtain and the two of them are huddled over Marissa’s body in the dwindling candlelight. Philip looks at his daughter and picks her up, cradling her in his arms. Marissa’s mother stands, her face still wet from tears. She surprises me by picking up the candle as she passes.

  As the leafy curtain swings shut on Spool’s body inside, Marissa’s mother holds up the candle, touching it to the tree. There’s been little rain recently, and it doesn’t take long for the leaves and a branch to catch on fire.

  “Burn in hell, you bastard,” she whispers. Tears continue to stream down her face. Grief has indelibly marked her now.

  Once more, it’s time to run. The forest is dark but the five of us move deftly, navigating fallen branches and gullies. I glance over my shoulder and the willow tree is engulfed in flames. The fire twists dramatically against the night sky.

  We make it to the beach near the West Chop Light as the edge of the sun nudges over the horizon. We find the others huddled together where the forest meets the beach. They look at us silently, taking in Marissa’s body; my mother’s protective stance towards Carl; our overwhelming sadness.

  A dozen boats bob wistfully in the water, the blue ocean presenting one final hurdle to cross to our freedom.

  The emerging sun is gaining strength.

  We must move now.

  Philip is barely holding himself together. As the only other sailor in the group, Rich steps forward and breaks the silence.

  “There are fourteen of us. We need to go in two groups. The first group will take that rowboat over near the water.” He points to a small wooden rowboat. “The second group will hide here in the forest and wait until the first gets to Philip’s boat before leaving.” He points out Philip’s boat, a traditional fishing vessel painted a deep red. He looks at Philip, who nods his confirmation.

  “Why two consecutive groups?” asks Sally. “Why don’t we all go together and take the two rowboats at the same time?”

  The others murmur their agreement. Rich looks unsure of himself and turns back to Philip.

  Philip inhales deeply, steadying himself before he speaks. “I thought it would be safer,” he says. “I thought we would draw less attention.”

  “Well, let’s just get out of here,” says Sally. “The sun will be up soon. They will find us here on the beach at any moment.”

  “It’s true,” says Mother. “We heard horsemen back in the forest.”

  “Why didn’t you say? Let’s go!” says Sally. “When I get to three, let’s all run for the rowboats.” She counts to three and we all take off down the sand. It immediately becomes clear that no one knows which boat they should run to.

  I arrive at the second boat and I stop to count the faces standing around me. There are nine of us to fit in the small boat.

  “Is there a third boat?” asks Ada. She looks increasingly nervous.

  Philip shakes his head. “Not on this beach.”

  “Leave her,” says Ada. She’s talking about Marissa’s body. “Please. We won’t all fit.”

  “If it comes to that, I’m staying here,” says Philip.

  “It’s okay, we can make this work,” I say. “Come on, let’s get the boat to the water.”

  We pick up the rowboat and run clumsily, the boat clanging between us, to the shallows. The water is cool and feels like freedom. We get in one by one, the boat rocking precariously as each person steps aboard. Rich is the last on and he wedges himself inelegantly between Delphine and me. We can barely reach the oars but somehow we launch ourselves from the shore. Rich rows on one side and Ada wields the other oar.

  I glance at Philip’s red fishing boat—the other rowboat is almost there. Soon they are climbing aboard. They tether the rowboat to the side of the main fishing vessel and stand on the deck watching us. I raise my arm to wave, the beginnings of a fleeting smile on my face.

  Suddenly, my mother shouts in alarm. I turn back towards the island and realize the horsemen have reached the beach. I yell for Rich and Ada to row harder, faster!

  The horsemen don’t dismount and instead pull out their guns where they stand, their horses knee-deep in seawater. We all huddle low in the rowboat, trying to make ourselves as small as possible. There’s little space in the boat and we remain exposed. Bullets are flying close to us and one hits the side of the boat near my back.

  We are more than halfway now. Our little rowboat is rocking side to side with every desperate pull of the oars. Turning to the horsemen again, I realize that my father is amongst them. We lock eyes and it’s as though he is aiming his gun directly at my head. I slide further down into the boat.

  “Throw her out,” yells Ada to Philip. I realize Philip is still holding Marissa’s body. Rich elbows me as he continues to row while bent over double.

  “Go on,” yells Ada again. “Please. Throw her overboard. We can’t row. We are all going to die!”

  “Philip,” cries his wife. “Don’t do it. Don’t.” I crane my neck and try to see Philip’s face, but he has his head down. We are pressed together too tightly.

  Delphine screams in pain. I sit up, trying to locate her in the tangle of bodies. I call to her: “Delphine, have you been hit?” But she can’t hear me.

  A bullet zips through the air close to my head and my mother screams out to get down. I slide back down low in the rowboat.

  “Chris,” says my brother. “She’s been hit in the shoulder.” I can hear Delphine’s cries of pain over the sound of the ocean and the bullets that continue to pelt us.

  “Who can reach her,” I call out urgently. “If you can reach Delphine’s wound, let me know.”

  “I can reach her,” yells Ada over the chaos.

  “If you can press something on the wound, do it now,” I say. “Otherwise apply pressure with your hand.” Delphine screams and Ada’s voice tells me she’s done it.

  There’s another cry of pain and Rich tells me they have shot him in the arm. “I don’t think I can row,” he cries helplessly. “My hand is too slippery from the blood.”

  I sit up and take the oar from him. “Keep as much pressure on it as you can,” I say through gritted teeth.

  I realize what a difficult task Rich has had trying to row while seeking shelter from the avalanche of bullets. Then, the pressure of bodies either side of me lessens and I’m able to row more freely. A cold limb rests on my back. Philip has hoisted Marissa’s body over the top of us. Her body shelters us as we sink lower into the safety of the boat.

  Several times over, there is the thud of a bullet sinking into her flesh above me. I can hear Philip sobbing. The macabre sounds accompany us until
we are out of range and we finally bump into the fishing boat.

  One by one the others haul us into the red fishing boat. We hug each other as we board. I even surprise myself by throwing my arm around Carl, his black hair flying in my face as I thank him. We can stand freely now. The main vessel is beyond the reach of the horsemen and their guns, beyond the reach of my father.

  Rich holds my hand as I lean over to the rowboat to reach for Marissa’s body. I lift her into the fishing boat. I hold her for a moment, looking into her face. Standing there, holding my dead friend while watching the island get smaller, I’m struck by the absolute wretchedness of it all. I pass Marissa gently to Philip, who cradles her again and takes her body over to his wife. We give them space to mourn Marissa’s death.

  Mother and I work together to tend to Delphine and Rich’s wounds. The bullets have passed cleanly and there is little to do other than bathe the wounds and stitch them closed. Rich flexes his arm and examines the stitches.

  “Thanks, brother,” he says.

  “You’re lucky it was just a superficial graze,” I reply.

  Rich smiles at me. He steps up to take control of the boat, winching sails and setting our course for the mainland. I pause and watch him for a moment. He’s confident on the boat, broad shouldered and strong; more a man with every moment that passes.

  He is busy issuing directions to the others but stops and bows his head when he catches my eye. I smile back at him.

  Delphine finds me and takes my hand. Our fingers interlock. She hands me a note.

  We did it.

  I put my arm around her and pull her in. It is good to hold her. We stand on the boat’s deck and stare back at the island. I point to the West Chop Light and Delphine is misty-eyed as it pulls further and further away from us. It seems unlikely we’ll ever walk the island’s sandy shores again.

  Ada and my mother walk over to us. Ada offers an apple and I take it gladly.

  “Philip did well,” says Ada. “The boat is well stocked with everything we’ll need. How long will it take for us to reach the mainland?”

  “We can be there today if the wind favors us,” I reply, crunching on the apple. My mouth fills with sugary, crisp tartness. I’m suddenly very tired.

  “The station needs us to set off for Washington as soon as we arrive,” Ada says urgently.

  “Washington?”

  “Yes, we need to get there as soon as possible,” says the girl who fell from the sky, holding her hair back from her eyes against the wind. “It was my mission before I crashed near the island. The station needs us to get there as soon as possible. My people’s lives are depending on us.”

  I open my mouth and then close it again. I’m not sure what to say to her.

  Mother puts her hand on Ada’s arm. Sensing my exhaustion, she says: “Give them a moment Ada. We’ve sacrificed so much to get here. They need to rest. We need to have our wits about us on the mainland—and yes, to get to Washington.”

  I nod but words are beyond me. I need to find somewhere to sleep. I look around at our little group of insurgents; everyone is worn down, wearied. The young girls are curled up with their parents, already asleep. Others are stretching out on the deck.

  I look up at the sun, which is now high in the bright, cornflower-blue sky. “What do you suppose will happen to the island when the sea levels rise suddenly?” I ask Delphine, as we take a seat on the deck.

  I lean my back against a roll of fishing nets and take her note, reading it before finally closing my eyes.

  I can only pray that those we left behind will survive. I’m scared for what lies ahead, both for them and us.

  * * *

  Postscript: Don’t miss Glasshouse—Insularity Book 2, which is coming soon! You can join my newsletter to find out when it is released, or check back on Amazon shortly.

  If you liked this book, I would be grateful if you left me a review.

  If you want to read more stories by me, check out my website: www.StephanieMylchreest.com

  While you are there, you can sign up to my newsletter and hear about all my upcoming releases. You can also email me anytime at steph@stephaniemylchreest.com. I love hearing from my readers!

  And a shout out to my dad, Peter. Thank you for everything.