The Book of Phoenix (18 page)

The winged man would have
understood how I felt. Seven was out there protecting and saving people like some New Mythology superhero. Where the new myths had villains like Penguin Men, Goblins, and Human Magnets, Seven had the Big Eye. To both of us, the taste of justice was sweet, metallic, and warm. However, up here, in the sky, above and away from everything, with no one but the sun and the spiraling columns of warm air during the day and the moon and whipping cool winds at night, it was easy to be that which was separate from anything alive. It was easy to be that which knew death, intimately. During the hours where I had to fly high above the ship to stay out of sight, I often had to work to keep the ship in sight—not because it was difficult to do, but because I'd become Other up there.

It was not silent. The air rushed past, below, above, into, and behind me constantly. It was noisy, harsh, and smelled like the ocean even up here. I spread my bright red wings wide, feeling with every one of my cells but at the same time blending with the air. Then the sun would set, and I would hear Mmuo in my head, “Phoenix, come back.” Familiar words to me that always managed to bring me back to myself, no matter where I was. And it was when I set foot on that ship, smelled the food cooking and chlorine from the ship's many swimming pools, got a whiff of sewage from the ship's plumbing, when I smelled the general smell that human beings give off when in a community, that I remembered the burning, rolling, vibrating ball of heat inside me.

 • • • 

I saw Saeed and Mmuo for about two hours in the evening. “We stay out of sight and help some of the workers when we can,” Saeed said. He shook his head. “They work these people too hard.”

Because he was good with machines, Mmuo worked with two men from Colombia in the engine room. Both of these men had been engineers in Colombia and couldn't find work. Neither spoke English, but they knew exactly who Mmuo was and were delighted. “They are constantly grinning at me and shaking my hand,” Mmuo said. “One even brought a piece of paper and a pen for my autograph.”

Saeed said there was also a Yoruba worker on the ship named Omo who had taken a liking to Mmuo. So much so that Mmuo kept disappearing with her. “She's not an engineer,” was all Saeed said. I never saw her, but I was glad for Mmuo. From what Saeed said and what Mmuo refused to discuss with me, Mmuo hadn't been with a woman since he was imprisoned in Tower 7. That was seven years. I didn't know much about men and knew even less about sex, but if I had to guess, this was a long time for a man.

Saeed volunteered to help wait tables at one of the restaurants near the swimming pool. He said several women made passes at him, even going so far as giving him their room keys.

“The women here behave worse than whores,” he muttered that second night as we ate in the small room. Today's meal was roasted chicken, asparagus, some kind of salty rice, and a dessert of canned peaches. I found the meal disgusting and only nibbled at the rice. Mmuo turned on the jelli telli, and the next thing I saw was my face and the words “Phoenix Rising” in charred letters and “Ledussee the Future” just below it on the CNN channel. No anchorperson explaining, warning, or discussing. No ads scrolling by on the top, sides or bottom of the screen. Just my face and those words. A full minute passed, and my face and those words were still there.

“They've hacked CNN,” Mmuo said, grinning. He sat down on his bed, staring at the screen.

Saeed giggled and then glanced nervously at me.

I got up, my legs shaky. I glanced at the image one more time. The image of me looked intense and unsmiling; like I was staring right at the camera, at you. My bald head was shiny with sweat, and I was glowing. The image was from Tower 7, maybe right after I realized I could wipe my hair away. When had that image been captured? The Big Eye and their big eyes.

I sighed and ran my hand over my short hair, enjoying the feel of its roughness on my palm. “I will see you tomorrow night,” I muttered. Then I quickly threw open the door to our room, then to the outside, and I flew off. I had one more full night to fly alone before we'd arrive at the Virgin Islands. One more night in limbo.

 • • • 

The ship arrived at the Ann E. Abramson Pier that morning. And when the time came, Mmuo disrobed, sunk through the ship's lower deck into the water and swam to a nearby quiet beach whose location we'd each intensively studied on the 3D map. He hid in a small cluster of palm trees and waited for Saeed to arrive with some clothes. I slipped and met him there a half-hour after he arrived. Saeed packed on the ship then got through customs using his passport. Once on land, he took a cab to the hotel near the beach and this is how he rejoined Mmuo and me.

But there is one more thing that I will speak of now, that I did not tell Saeed and certainly not Mmuo. I'd seen them just after the sun rose and only because the waters were so calm and the sky was so clear. The sunshine glinted off their shiny metal domes as they moved along. They had to be Anansi droids. They were about a mile from the cruise ship, moving in the opposite direction. I'd flown down for a closer look. There were at least fifteen of them, and they really did look like robot spiders! They were about the size of a small child. As I watched, several of them extended their long legs and spun over the surface of the water. Dare I say their movements were . . . playful? Some of them would drop beneath the water and come back up and spin some more. There were four that swam slowly a foot or two below the surface of the calm clear water, one on each side of the group, making a diamond formation.

I watched them for a while, wondering if they saw me, a bit afraid that they had developed the ability to fly, wondering where they were going, and wondering how much hatred they harbored for human beings. Then I flew back to the ship.

Human beings make terrible gods.

In the US Virgin Islands,
they drove on the left hand side of the road though with American cars where the driver's seat was on the left. I never knew something so minor would make such a big difference. I felt so off balance.

The air was wonderfully humid. I wanted to tear my burka to pieces and let the breeze caress my wings. Instead, I walked meekly behind Saeed as we left the hotel to catch another taxi. There was a taxi station down the road just as the congressman said there would be and the man in the white van named Lurrenz was waiting in the driver's seat. Lurrenz turned out to be a Rasta with long bushy dreadlocks, an even bushier beard and green yellow and red wristbands on each wrist. He was chewing on a piece of coconut.

Lurrenz looked us over with wide almost scared eyes. “Good marnin'” he finally said, as he chewed. He pointed at Mmuo. “Are you Mmuo?”

“Yes,” he said, firmly shaking his hand. “Lurrenz?”

“Correct. Welcome,” he said. I'd expected his Caribbean accent to be stronger. He sounded as if he'd spent some time in the States. “Wow, cannot believe this.” He looked at us with what I can only call admiration. “Get in,” he said, looking around.

He scrambled out when he saw me slowly stepping up. “Let me help you,” he said, firmly taking my arm. It was a tight fit for me, though not as tight as with a car. When I sat down, with my closely pressed wings facing the window in the first row of seats, I nodded my head so he could see my thankfulness. “Thank you,” I said.

“You can take that off, if you like. The windows are tinted.” He slammed the door shut, and I cringed as the door pressed my wings more tightly to me.

I looked at Saeed and Mmuo, who both nodded. Then I threw the burka off, shifted to face the door, and stretched my wings as much as I could in the cramped car. They pushed at the ceiling and seat uncomfortably curling over, some pressing into the side of Saeed's face. “Ahhhh,” I sighed, even half-stretching my wings was relief. Lurrenz was watching me in the rearview mirror.

“Praise to the most high,” he said. He started the car, and we set forth into the island of St. Croix.

The drive made me want to vomit. He drove carefully enough but the terrain was slightly hilly, and it was very windy. I held on as the car threw me from side to side. Saeed was quiet as he looked out the window beside me. Mmuo sat in the front seat.

“How de trip?” Lurrenz asked Mmuo.

Mmuo smiled and then laughed. “Uneventful.”

It was a half hour drive to our destination. About halfway through, I realized I was feeling hot in a way that I could not control or understand. I wasn't glowing, and this heat wasn't intense, but I didn't feel right. Saeed pressed his hand to my cheek. “You don't feel hot, like . . . not like your kind of heat.”

I nodded, trying to stay calm. “And I feel waves of hot and then . . . cold.” I shivered, feeling a cool wave. Never in my life had I felt cool within my body. I'd have enjoyed the sensation if it weren't so wrong.

“Maybe, it's just fever,” Mmuo said.

“I was goin' to say that,” Lurrenz said, laughing. “I know what to do.”

Five minutes later, he pulled to the side of the road. The stand was owned by some of his Rastafarian friends and they too had long dreadlocks. There was even a young boy smoking something that looked like a cigar. One of the men used a machete to slice off the top of a large coconut. He handed it to me, eyeing my wings. He offered me a brilliant smile and a wink.

“Do I need a straw?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Take and suck.” He brought his hands together as if he were holding the coconut and pretended to bring it to his mouth.

I pressed my lips to the opening and took in the coconut water. It was refreshing and delicious, the temperature of the warm air. I drank the whole thing. By the time we arrived at the resort, my fever was gone.

 • • • 

We pulled up to a small white stone building whose top was tipped with pink. It looked old and comfortable, as if it had withstood many hurricanes. The road beside it was narrow and quiet, nothing but thin bush across the street and no buildings to the left or right of this one. Mmuo and Saeed got out of the car, but I hesitated.

“It's ok, darlin',” the driver said. “Just get into the building. You'll be fine. No guests here until day after tomorrow. Your man bought it out.” He smiled. “Go and stretch your wings.”

I don't know why, but his words made me want to cry. I saw no cybernetic limbs, mutations, alterations, additions, or subtractions on Lurrenz. He was just a man. He was like the people I met on my way to Ghana. He accepted what I was as if it were normal. He gazed at me but didn't stare. His world was big and there was room for me.

Saeed took my hand as I slowly got out and came around to the driver's window. “Thank you,” I said to Lurrenz.

He took my free hand. “Jah will protect you.” Then he kissed my hand and let us go. I felt like I'd been blessed. Coconut water sloshed in my belly as I walked with Saeed across the street to join Mmuo. We went inside. There were only three people in the hotel. The owner, his wife and his wife's brother. They stared at us as if we were, well, speciMen. However, they were kind, too.

They showed us to our rooms, promised to bring an early dinner in an hour, and quickly left us alone. The Sandcastle Hotel was right on the ocean. Our rooms opened to the most spectacular view I'd ever seen. White sands, light blue clear water. What struck me most was the noise the water made as it rushed up the beach and tumbled back. I'd never had a chance to actually
hear
the ocean. I'd never had a chance to just sit and listen to it like this. I was always flying over it. When I left Tower 7 the first time, I'd barely glanced at it as I flew clutching the alien seed. When I saw Africa's coast, I was so relieved to see land, that I didn't glance at the place where it met water. When I let the Big Eye capture me, I was too angry to care about seeing the beach. And when I arrived back in the United States, well, I skipped over the beach entirely and went for Tower 1.

Saeed and I had one room. Most of the furniture was wicker and had a beach theme. There was a jelli telli stretched across the wall of the main room and a kitchen stocked with fresh fruit, bottles of water and snacks. There were also bowls of rust flakes, crushed glass, and chips of concrete.

“They didn't have to do any of this,” Saeed said, though he looked pleased. “I am fine making a meal of sand.” He popped a flake of rust into his mouth and chewed. I shivered. His type of sustenance was not something I'd ever get used to.

The best thing about all the rooms was that the ceilings were high. I could move about freely. The shower was the grandest thing. Made of smooth marble, it was so wide that you had to step down into it. Using it was like stepping into a room with shower heads on the walls.

Mmuo disappeared into his room, shedding his clothes right at the door and walking through it. When I stepped out, his clothes were still there. Right outside my door was a table, shaded with an umbrella. Our early dinner was laid out on one of the tables. There was a plate of rust and a large glass of water for Saeed and for Mmuo and I, whole lobster tails, spiced rice, and slices of fresh mango.

“Very nice,” Saeed said, sitting down.

I knocked on Mmuo's door. He didn't answer.

“He's probably asleep,” Saeed said, his mouth full of rust. “Mmm, crumbles right in my mouth.”

I sat down, and Saeed pushed my plate in front of me. I'd never had lobster. It looked like the nether region of a giant insect that had been broken open. I poked at it with my fork. It was soft, but tough. I speared it and when my fork barely penetrated it, I put it down and used my hands.

Saeed only laughed and shrugged. There was no one around, and we were speciMen. Who needed manners?

“Peel it from the shell,” he said. “Dip it in that right there. It's melted butter.”

It tasted like rubber dipped in butter. But I was hungry, so I ate it anyway.

Mmuo came out wearing nothing but white pants. He sat beside me and gazed at the food. He smelled as if he'd taken a shower. “This looks good,” he said. He poked at his lobster tail with a fork and then dug into his rice. “When did they bring it?”

“I don't know,” I said. “It was here when we came out.”

He chuckled. “I think we are alone in this hotel.”

“Good,” I said.

“No, we're not,” Saeed said, quickly getting up. He was looking behind Mmuo. I gasped and got up, too. The man had come around a corner right beside our room. He skulked and then lunged, less than a yard away. I saw him raising his hand, and I saw what was in his hand.

I slipped.

I was standing right beside him a second before he raised his gun; I grabbed it from his hand. Mmuo moved forward just as Saeed reached into the pocket of his pants. The man held up his empty hand, still unaware that there was no gun in it. He even tried to squeeze the trigger that was not there. Mmuo grabbed him by the neck and flung him against the door, sinking into the door and pulling the man against the wood. As the man choked, Saeed ran at him with his switchblade and held it to the man's neck.

I stood there, wide eyed, grasping the gun. The man wore a black military uniform and shiny combat boots. His hair was shaven close to his round head, his dark skin made his black uniform seem to fit even better. On his chest, at his heart was a white circle with a black hand grasping lightning bolts. He was a Big Eye. And Big Eye were like ants, where there was one, there were always more.

“Why are you here?” Saeed asked, pressing the blade to the man's neck.

When did he start carrying that?
I wondered. He held it easily. Naturally. Maybe he'd always carried it.

The man squirmed. He was tall and strong. But Mmuo was taller and stronger and pulling his neck against the door from inside it. The man coughed. He might have been in his early twenties. “Please!” he managed to gasp. But Mmuo pulled harder.

“Call off the others!” Mmuo shouted from behind the door.

“I . . .” He hacked, gasping for breath.

Saeed pressed the blade closer. “Mmuo, let up! Let him talk!”

He gasped when Mmuo released his throat. “I came to ask for your help,” he pleaded. He coughed. “Please! There's no one else!”

“Then what's the gun for?” I shouted.

“I'm not stupid,” he said. “I work with your kind. I'd never come near any speciMen without bearing arms. Y'all crazy.”

“How did you find us?”

“I work in Tower 4,” he said. “Some . . . there're speciMen there who know of y'all. Especially you.” He pointed at Saeed. “They said you'd come back, and you'd be staying at the Sandcastle Hotel. I been coming by here, checking.”

Saeed looked as if he'd seen a ghost, the switchblade nearly dropping from his hand. Mmuo was silent behind the door. He lessened his grip on the man some more. I had his gun. Saeed stepped back. We waited.

“Don't kill me. Please,” he said, raising both of his hands. “I'm on your side. For this. I'm asking for your help.”

Saeed kicked one of the chairs to him as Mmuo shoved him forward and stepped through the door. The man slowly sat down. Mmuo stood before the man watching him, his arms crossed over his broad chest, stark naked. His pants had slipped off when he stepped through the door. The man stared back at him, but said nothing. Smart man.

“It was stupid to come with a gun,” Mmuo muttered, moving to his plate of food. He picked up a lobster tail, peeled back the shell and bit into it.

“Maybe,” he said. He was staring at me now.

“Talk,” Saeed said.

“I guard the fifth layer,” he said.

Saeed's hand twitched, grasping his switchblade. For a moment, I was sure he would shove it into the man's chest.

“Don't look at me like that, man,” he said. “I never hurt any of those children. I . . .”

“Were you in the lower level?” Saeed snapped.

“Yeah. Sometimes,” the man said quietly.

“And you did nothing to stop it?”

“What was I gonna do?” he said, looking away. “I know guys who tried, and they weren't just fired. They disappeared in the night, never to be seen again!”

“What is in the lower level?” I asked.

“That's where I woke,” Saeed said.

“Shit,” Mmuo said, looking hard at Saeed.

“Yeah,” Saeed said.

“
What?
” I asked, annoyed.

Saeed shook his head. “Not now, Phoenix,” was all he said. He turned to the man. “What is it that you want?”

“I didn't do the harvesting. I swear! I—”

“You just watched it happen!” Saeed shouted.

“Let him speak,” I said. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“My name is Dartise Lenard,” he said, focusing on me. He was right to do so. I was the only one who wasn't looking at him with murder in my eyes. “I'm from Atlanta, Georgia and I started with LifeGen Technologies right out of college three years ago. Joining erased my ten years of academic indenture.

“I was stationed in Tower 4 a year ago and . . .” he looked at Saeed who was glaring at him.

“Go on,” I urged.

He looked back at me and smiled sadly. “It was a dream come true. The Virgin Islands, like getting a job in paradise. They had me guarding the speciMen in the innermost layers because, well, they said I had a kind face, and I was black. The speciMen in this area preferred guards who were black and looked nice. I found out later that this is because these speciMen, though they long-lived, some over 70 years, stayed children. Children like faces that are soothing, friendly, smile easy. And children like faces that look like theirs. All these children were black—African, to be specific. Most of them were from Ethiopia, some were from Sudan. They were all real dark-skinned.” He took a breath, glancing at Saeed. “So, these children . . .”