The Flight of the Silvers (7 page)

“My brother’s name is Robert J. Farisi. He’s with the Fourth Brigade Combat Team in Afghanistan. I know his e-mail address. I need to write him.”

“Mia . . .”

“He needs to know I’m alive.”

As Mia fell into soft new tears, Erin pulled her into her thick arms and held her. This poor thing. This poor lost child.

—

Hand in hand, Erin led Mia to a long green van that waited at the curb. A burly young man leaned against the passenger door. From his stout face, wide nose, and scattered brown freckles, Mia figured he was more than Erin’s associate. They were siblings, possibly twins.

The Salgado brother gawked at Mia’s wretched state. “Jesus. Where are these people coming from?”

Erin narrowed her eyes at him. “Start the engine. And get me the soapsheets.”

She opened the rear doors and helped Mia inside. A pair of long cushioned rows lined each side of the van. In the center of the left seat, a tall and skinny young woman hunched forward, either unaware or unconcerned about her new company. Erin studied her cautiously.

“You doing all right there?”

The woman offered a meager shrug without budging her gaze from the floor.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind about that epallay,” said Erin.

“Who is that?” Mia asked.

“Someone like you. She also had a bad morning. But she’ll be all right. You both will.”

Mia took a seat on the right side, near the back doors. Eric Salgado opened the gate from the driver’s seat and rolled a fat plastic cylinder down the length of the van. Erin popped it open, producing a small wet cloth that smelled like bubble bath. She dabbed it at Mia’s face.

“We have to get moving, so I’ll let you do the rest. No need to be thorough. There’s a hot shower waiting for you in Terra Vista.”

“Okay . . .”

“If you need anything else—a blanket, some juice, a baby spot—just yell, all right?”

“Thank you.”
Baby spot?

Erin closed the back doors and rejoined her brother. As the van pulled away, Mia meekly dabbed her skin with the soapsheet and took a moment to examine the stranger in the other seat. She was an enviably lithe woman in a scuffed white blouse and jeans. Her left wrist was wrapped in a makeshift splint and splayed out on a folded pink jacket on her lap.

Mia’s large eyes popped at the sight of her other wrist.

“Uh, excuse me . . .”

The stranger looked up. Mia could see that the woman was at least twice her age. She’d certainly be pretty under normal circumstances, but now her face was marred with grief and trauma. Her stare was dull. Lifeless.

“I’m sorry,” Mia said. “I just noticed that you have a silver bracelet like mine. I don’t . . . I don’t know how I got this thing. Do you know how you got yours?”

The woman studied Mia through hanging wisps of red hair. She took a good long time before answering.

“No.”

She gazed down at her feet again and was quiet for the rest of the ride. But Amanda felt hot stabs of guilt all throughout her psyche. In the span of an hour, she’d lost her mind and broken her wrist. And now she’d just lied to an orphan.

FIVE

She’d stepped outside the office for a much-needed cigarette. There in the alley, among the puddles and flies, Amanda blew tense puffs of smoke at her sneakers while the near and distant sirens of emergency vehicles shrieked from every corner of the neighborhood. She didn’t care about the world’s problems at the moment. She had a sister who didn’t want her there, a job that didn’t fulfill her, and a festering sickness in her marriage that had become all but terminal.

She fumbled with her necklace, pressing the golden crucifix to her collarbone like an intercom button. Her Lord wasted no time responding, though He only confirmed what Amanda already knew. She couldn’t run from her issues, no matter how much she wanted to. Dramatic exits were for actresses. Nurses worked to mend what was broken.

By the end of her cigarette, Amanda formulated a shaky plan to heal her life, a lofty to-do list that included everything from counseling to Zoloft to a second stab at medical school. The new resolve did little to soothe her anxiety. Her left hand itched like she had spiders on her skin and she felt an odd sense of spatial unease, as if something huge and heavy dangled high above her.

The echoey clops of wooden heels filled her senses, growing louder with each merry step. Amanda looked up and down the alley but couldn’t see anyone. She peeked behind the dumpsters on the slim chance they obscured the approach of a very short woman. Nothing.

The footsteps came to a stop. Amanda turned around and gasped at the pale and smiling creature who leaned against the wall, a mere ten feet away. She wasn’t short at all.

“Hello, child.”

She had a young girl’s voice to go with her young girl’s figure, and her curly brown locks were tied in a young girl’s ponytail. But the faint lines around her eyes betrayed her as a woman of middle age. Her patterned beige sundress flaunted every contour of her slender frame.

The moment Amanda looked into her coal-black irises, an emergency barrier sprang up in her mind. She refused to find the woman familiar.

The stranger launched from the wall and walked a casual circle around Amanda. “Look at you, my pretty rose. How tall you’ve grown. How red. Did I foresee this? I believe I did, though now I spy you black in many futures. The color doesn’t suit you.”

Amanda’s heart pounded. She took a clumsy step toward the utility door. “Listen, I need to—”

“You don’t remember me, flower? It hasn’t been that long. Or perhaps you choose to pretend.”

Amanda noticed the woman’s strange inflections, her over-pronounced d’s and t’s. Whether it was an accent or an affectation, Amanda didn’t know. She didn’t care. The vault was open now. She remembered.

The woman shined a crooked grin at Amanda’s gaping revelation. “Ah, now she recalls.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Ask me nicely,” the stranger insisted. “Ask my name.”

“What’s your name?”

“None of you ever ask my name. Thirty-three circlets and not a single . . . Wait, did I not give you your circlet?” She scanned Amanda’s bare wrists, then winced at herself. “Forgive me, child. I grow careless at the end.”

Like a skilled magician, the woman rolled her wrist and produced a large metal loop in her hand—a thick silver bracelet, shiny and featureless. She deftly balanced it on the tip of her finger.

“It’s so exciting. I’ve seen a terminal fold before but never from the surface. The air crackles with ionization. I should really take samples. Esis.”

“What?”

“My name. My first name. I’d tell you my last name, but my wealth insists on guarding it. He overplans, as always.”

“Look, uh, Esis—”

The bracelet fell to the concrete. Amanda watched it roll in a circle and settle on its side. By the time she looked up again, Esis’s expression had completely changed. The smile was gone. Her dark eyes narrowed. Now she glared with furious umbrage, as if Amanda had just spit on her.

“You stupid, stubborn girl.”

Esis grabbed ahold of her hair. Her voice dropped two octaves.

“Why do you have to be so difficult? Why can’t you do what you’re told?”

Amanda writhed in her grip. “Let go of me!”

“Do not entwine with the funny artist. I grow tired of telling you this. You entwine with your own, you won’t be a flower. You’ll just be dirt.”

“Let GO!”

Amanda broke free and stumbled back to the wall. She pointed a trembling finger at Esis. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re ungrateful. I save you and save you, and yet you never follow the strings.”

“Just leave me alone!”

“Not yet.”

“Fine. I’ll leave.”

Amanda hurried back to the building. She felt a sudden hot breeze along her side and heard what sounded like a flat drumroll. Before she could process the new stimuli, Esis stood right in front of her, blocking the door with her limber form.

“Not yet.”

Amanda jumped back with a shriek. This woman just moved twenty feet with the speed of a gasp.
That’s not the kind of thing crazy people do,
her muddled thoughts insisted.
That’s the kind of thing crazy people see.

“What are you?”

With a coy smile, Esis slung her ponytail over her shoulder and stroked it like a pet. “A wife. A mother. A French Canadian, by ancestry. Oh, and I’m a doctor. Unlike you, I finished my schooling. Curious how you and your sister both dawdled on this world, living far beneath your potential. Perhaps on some level you knew it didn’t matter. This is all just prelude.”

Amanda’s whole body trembled. She took another step back. “Please leave me alone.”

“I will,” Esis replied with new empathy. “But first you need to don your circlet. It’s rather crucial. In three minutes, you’ll know why.”

A thin white tendril suddenly sprang from Esis’s palm. Like a frog’s tongue, it seized the silver bangle on the ground, yanking it back into her grip. Amanda’s eyes bulged with horror.

The bracelet split apart into four floating corners. Esis gently guided the pieces over Amanda’s fingers, tickling her with static. They reunited around her wrist with a loud metallic
clack
. The seams melted away. The bracelet contracted to fit snugly over her skin.

Amanda fought a high scream. “W-what is this?”

“A life preserver,” Esis replied. “That’s twice I’ve rescued you now. I don’t expect your thanks, being as ungrateful as you are. Just remember my warning about the funny artist. He’s not for you. Silvers don’t entwine with Silvers.”

She swept her hand in a lazy circle. A round white portal bloomed on the concrete wall.

A half moment passed before Esis’s upper half abruptly resurfaced. “Sorry, child. Forgot to mention. Don’t move. You’ll want to stay at ground level. Trust me on this.”

Amanda pressed her palms to her wincing eyes, trying to will the universe back into order. By the time she dared to look again, Esis and her portal were gone.

She huddled against the wall and pressed her crucifix to her collarbone like a broken call button. There was no divine wisdom to be found on the other end of the line. Suddenly her Lord had nothing to say.

—

Against the madwoman’s advice, Amanda ran back into the building, up the stairs, and down the long hall. By the time she reached the door of the medical office, her face was flush with strain.

She stopped to gather her wits and form some semblance of a strategy. Should she tell Derek about the crazy thing that just happened? Would he believe her? Would
anyone
?

Hannah.

Yes. Of course. Her sister was just a little girl when the first encounter happened, but she’d remember. She’d believe.

Amanda pulled her cell phone from her jacket, cursing at the little spinning radar dish. In all the chaos, she’d forgotten about the signal issues today.
Maybe I should drive to her place. See if she’s—

The screen on her phone suddenly went dark, along with every light in the hallway. The blackout was so thorough that Amanda had to use her cigarette lighter to rule out blindness.

She opened the door to the office and saw a second lighter come to life behind the reception window. Amanda had no trouble recognizing the face above the flame.

“Derek!”

He squinted through the glass. “Amanda! Where the hell were you?”

“Outside. What . . . what’s going on?”

“Power outage. And to think of all the money we paid for that backup generator.”

“Derek, something happened . . .”

“Help Leni get everyone into windowed rooms. I don’t want people tripping and suing us.”

“I was just in the alley—”

“Wait. First help me find the blankets. It’s freezing in here.”

“Derek, I’m trying to talk to you!”

“Can it please wait? We’re in the middle of a crisis here!”

Her silver bracelet vibrated. Suddenly the waiting room was bathed in a lambent glow. When Derek looked at his wife again, she was encased in a seven-foot egg of shimmering light. They stared at each other through the hazy wall.

“No,” Amanda replied, in a low and trembling voice. “It can’t wait.”

—

The new plan was to evacuate. Chandra Wilkes, the junior oncologist, organized the cigarette lighter exodus. No one needed their Bics in the waiting room. They had Amanda.

Chandra poked a nervous finger at Amanda’s baffling light shell. “What the hell is this?”

“Just go,” Amanda urged. “Get everyone out of here.”

A thunderous quake rocked the building, knocking half the pictures off the walls. Chandra shepherded the evacuees, shouting them forward while they all stopped to process at Amanda.

For nearly a minute, Derek had tried everything he could to break her free of her enclosure. Then his hands grew numb, his face burned with arctic chills, and it finally occurred to him that Amanda was safer than he was. Now he lounged on a waiting room chair, blowing smoke through shivering lips.

As the last of the patients cleared out, Amanda fixed her wide eyes on Derek. “You should go too.”

He took a deep drag of his cigarette. “Nah.”

“It’s not safe!”

“Honey, it’s ten below and dropping. If it’s that bad in here, what do you think it’s like outside?”

As a man who fought cancer for a living, Derek was no stranger to the fine art of the mercy yield. There were simply times when, despite all efforts, the battle was lost. He’d told Amanda time and again that he hoped to face his death with the same dignity as his best and bravest patients. Amanda found his resolve to be vain in all respects, never more so than now.

A new quake shattered the reception window. The walls began to splinter, along with Derek’s calm façade. “Oh God . . .”

“Derek, please go!”

He tried to get up but merely tumbled to the floor. He pressed his palms against Amanda’s light.

“This is what I get?”

“Derek—”

“This is what I get for working hard? For saving lives?”

“Just try to get up! You can still—”

“Why aren’t you feeling this? Why were you saved?”

A huge new fissure split the ceiling. Tiles fell. Dead wires dangled. As the building screamed in distress, Derek narrowed his eyes at Amanda. His skin cracked with frost.

“Guess G-God thinks you’re pretty damn great, huh? At least you two h-have that in common.”

Warm tears spilled down her cheeks. “Don’t do this . . .”

“I’m actually glad we’re going to d-different places. What does that s-say about you?”

The roof finally gave way. The upper floors rained down on them.

“DEREK!”

He disappeared into the crumbling wreckage. Amanda fell to her knees, covering her eyes while the building collapsed all around her.

“Please stop. Please stop. Please. Please . . .”

The metal squeals fell silent. The darkness gave way to bright white nothing. By the time Amanda pried her hands from her eyes, the scenery had changed. She saw small buildings all around her. Blue sky. She was outside again, and everything seemed fine except for her.

She caught her reflection in the nearest window. She floated sixteen feet above the ground, hovering on a cutaway disc of office floor. Before she could even begin to process her surreal state of being, the blue light of her bracelet faded, the protective egg vanished, and Amanda plummeted to earth.

She met the new world, hand extended. It welcomed her by breaking her wrist.

—

The Salgado van was not a gentle vessel. Every bump on the road jostled her screaming injury. She had no idea where she was or where she was going. From the moment Esis sent her down the rabbit hole, Amanda existed in a raw and tender state of rejection. Only the pain of her fracture kept her tethered to the reality of her situation, such as it was.

She’d woken up forty-two minutes ago in the back of a city ambulance. From inside, Amanda had no idea that the vehicle was flying at second-story altitude or that it was moving at an external clock speed of 312 miles an hour. The only odd thing she’d noticed was the coffin-size device that rested against the opposite wall. An ominous orange sticker brandished a curious warning:
THE UNAUTHORIZED USE OF THIS REVIVER IS A FEDERAL FELONY. ALL ILLEGAL REVERSALS ARE INVESTIGATED BY DP-
9
AND CAN RESULT IN A MAXIMUM PENALTY OF TEN YEARS IN PRISON AND A FINE OF $
200,000
.

Upon arriving at the emergency room, a dour young nurse pulled Amanda through a gauntlet of daft and impenetrable questions, asking for her CID, her FIP/N, and eight other alien acronyms. Even stranger were half the conditions on the medical history checklist—Casparitis, Tillman’s Malady, Severe Time Lag. After several blinking nonresponses, the nurse put down her tablet and left the scene. Amanda had little doubt she was calling for a psych consult.

She’d languished in bleary solitude until the curtain opened to a freckle-faced brunette in a green security uniform.

“Are you taking me to the psych ward?” Amanda had asked.

“I don’t work here,” Erin Salgado assured her. “And I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Now after one stop, one girl, and twenty minutes of foreign suburbs, the van weaved its way up a twisty, tree-lined driveway. Erin turned around to her two passengers.