This is from the novel I hope/plan on publishing by the end of the year. It’s the start of a new series, called The Extra Fakes. It’s a lighter YA Urban Fantasy about a group of teens who start developing powers, and as always I’m not quite sure how to describe it. So have a read and then you can tell me what my pitch should be (seriously. I always need help on that!)
As always I appreciate any support for my writing, so please check out my novels #1, #2, patreon and ko-fi!
This city is not a magical place to grow up, despite the presence of the supposed Happiest Place On Earth.
It's what makes the old house over on Orangethorpe stand out. I call it The Fairy House because it looks like something straight out of a fairy tale. The old fashioned kind that hasn't been processed to remove the nasty bits. It’s got a real wood shingle roof covered in creeping vines. There’s diamond shaped windows of wavy glass, and this fence that looks like drunk elves built it in the middle of the night out of materials they thought were pretty. It even smells special. Rich and damp and green despite the baking dry heat that’s overrun everything else.
It’s obviously just a house. A funky, water restrictions ignoring old house that’s shoved it’s way into my head. I'm not sure when I first noticed it, it's obviously been there for a long time, but when did I first care it existed?
All I know is that I altered my running route, even doing extra miles in the summer heat some days, just so I could run past it. It keeps my mind occupied for the rest of the run, coming up with stories, about what if, what if it really was enchanted? I've found myself reading up on older versions of the familiar stories. The kind where people die for making bad choices. If the house is really enchanted I'd say there would be a fifty fifty chance of that being a bad thing for me. But I wonder, as I stop in front of it and breath in the sweet smell of flowers and grass if this was how Hansel and Gretel felt. This strange desire to know. To see. To go inside.
In the end it's just silly stories to keep my mind entertained on the long solo runs, because there is no magic here, no mystery. Around here people know better than to believe in magic. When you've seen backstage you know that it’s all a trick. All there is are people working crappy schedules for minimum wages to create the illusion.
The house might not be a planned illusion. But it’s false. Like an oasis in the desert, the evaporates when you get closer.
I still can’t stay away from it.
When I meet up with the track team the week before school starts, I find myself casually suggesting that we take the run down Orangethorpe. Because there’s some trees. Everyone wants shade, right?
Lionel, the team captain smiles indulgently. He's one of the few people that has bothered to keep up his training over the summer. He's also one of my best friends. I've made him run this route enough times to complain about it.
He’s a tall black guy, his long lean body cultivated into an ideal runner build. He's usually faster than me. I say it's just longer legs. But that doesn't matter today. As team captain he's opted to make this first run easy. The hell workouts will come in the next few weeks.
It's better to start soft, so these out of shape idiots don't quit on us. Their commitment level isn't the best anyway. We aren't exactly an all star team.
Lionel's not so great at figuring people out (he claims that's what he has me for,) but he's great at logistics and organization. If there's a leadership role available you can find Lionel filling it. Not so much that he likes telling people what to do, and more so that he's excessively responsible. Things run well when he's in charge, and teachers like that.
"Oh wow I wonder why we're running this route," he says. The Fairy House isn't as interesting to him as me for some reason. He's mostly amused and says I'm obsessed.
"Why are we?" asks Brad, dropping in on my other side. He crowds me a little and I edge closer to Lionel. Brad is a jackass, and he's never forgiven me for only going on one date with him. That was one more date than I should've done. It gives me perverse pleasure to see that his pale skin is now bright red and he's streaming sweat. Someone didn't stay in shape over the summer.
"Oh Lyse has a local tourist attraction she'd like to cruise past," Lionel says. He puts on a high pitched voice. "If you would turn your attention to the building coming up on your right. It's a falling down old house, which our esteemed team mate Carlyse believes to be inhabited by fairies-" I elbow him in the side and he makes a choked sound as if I've done him some actual harm.
"What?" Brad's frowning. "What are you guys even talking about?"
We've drawn level with the house now, and I flick my thumb at it in annoyance. "This old house. I think it's cute. And I don't think fairies live there." Ok, when I’m this close to it… maybe they do. Or something else like that.
Brad shakes his head. "Why are you guys always such jerks. I'm not an idiot. It's a model train store. Perfect for nerds. You should visit." He snorts in annoyance and gives up his battle to keep up with us, dropping back to a walk.
I look up and down the street. It's a light industry/retail area, and the fairy house is sandwiched between a mattress outlet and a janitorial supply. Further down is a sporting goods store, and a FedEx depot. It's a real mixture. But one thing there isn't?
"Hey do you see a model train store anywhere?" I scan back and forth.
"Nope. Just your dopey house."
"What was he talking about then?"
Lionel shrugs, unconcerned. "He's just pulling your leg. You know how he is. There is a model airplane store down on the next block. Maybe he got confused."
How could he look right at the fairy house and see a model store, train or otherwise? It's weird. I look back over my shoulder, and see him walking with a couple other teammates who have stopped to walk too. They're laughing and pointing at the house.
Obviously he's not confused. Just Brad being his usual ass-hat self.
The story so far… Lyse is drawn to the charming old house over on Orangethorpe, but when she tries to point it out to others, it’s like they can’t even see it. After a terrifying moment when her little sister disappeared into the house Lyse seeks out the one person who has been acting just as weird about it as she has. David, the twitchy new guy on the running team. Who turns out to be a werewolf, or something like that. Now he’s convinced that she’s different too.
I have a wip page here
Here’s links to the previous chapters 1, 2 , 3, 4, 5
Please let me know what you think, I love feedback!
A text from David is waiting for me when I wake up.
Last night seems too crazy to be true, so him wanting to meet up today sounds like a good idea, if only to confirm that it really did happen. That we were thrown off the wall of the fairy house by some strange force, and then chased by people who were shooting at us.
I go along with my family to church, worrying the whole time that I'm putting them in danger by my very proximity.
By the time our family Sunday brunch is over I'm a stressed mess.
I sit on the window seat in my room waiting for him to show up. My stomach churns with anxiety. I probably ate far to much at brunch, but I was ravenous. Now I’m paying for it. Although I don’t feel as bloated as I should be. My mother’s eyes had widened as I downed plates of steak and eggs, as well as pancakes swimming in butter. Not my usual fare at all.
I wrap a vintage quilt around my shoulders, shivering a little in the chill of the air-conditioning and I finally see David coming down street.
I shove a key and some cash in my pocket and run down stairs.
“I’m going for a run,” I tell my mom as I pass her in the sewing room.
She gives me another weird look.
Yeah I know, it’s hot out and I just gorged myself. But I’d rather not have David knock on the door and have to introduce him to my parents.
I meet him before he can even start up the front walk, and start walking down the street. David looks confused for a second and then turns to follow. I swing my arms and resist the urge to break into a run. Now that he’s here I’m suddenly buzzing with energy.
"Do you think that we should have reported it to the police?" I demand.
"What, that someone fired a gun when we were trying to break into a place? I don't see how that would go well for us."
He has a point.
"What should we do then?"
He hesitates, not quite sure if he should ask.
"Spit it out."
"Last night, when we were running away, did you feel... different?"
"You mean besides the unusual feeling of terror for my life?"
"Yeah, besides that." He's quite serious.
"No, should I have?"
"Yes. Because you kept up with me."
It takes me a moment for it to sink in. "You're not particularly impressive as a sprinter, and I was terrified."
"I hold back because I don't want to stand out too much. I can run much faster than I do at school. I have no idea how fast I actually am. Last night wasn't really a sprint anyway, it was more like a steeplechase, and I know how good I am at jumping and climbing. I should have left you behind almost immediately, but you stayed right on my tail."
"I guess chivalry is dead then," I mutter. Clearly if he could have he would've run away and abandoned me.
He turns red. "Sorry. I was panicked too, and it took me a minute to remember you. I would've come back for you. But still, I didn't need to, because you kept up. I was right. You're like me."
"I am not. I can't turn into a wolf, or anything else. And nothing strange has happened to me either. I didn't get lost or loose a chunk of time like you did. I'm the same as I always was."
"Because you've always been different. Special."
I grimace at his persistence. "Why are you so determined that I’m like you?”
But as soon as I ask I know. He's alone and desperate for connection. He needs me to be like him, to make him less of a freak. He needs the world to make sense again.
"It’s a logical assumption," David persists. "Come on, let's go over to the school track. There shouldn't be anyone much there right now. We can run some laps, and see how fast you really are. And hey you’re even dressed for it today.”
His eyes run across me in what should feel like a casual assessment. I tug at the hem of my shorts feeling exposed. Nothing is casual to him.
"I know how fast I am already," I mutter, but I follow him.
Partially to humor him. But also...
He's sown doubt in my mind. Because I remember that mad race to escape with a vivid clarity that I thought was adrenaline fueled hyper-awareness. But now he’s got me wondering, was I using some sort of superpower? But I wasn't lying when I told David that I don't feel any different. I feel like myself, whole and complete, like always. Nothing is different about me from yesterday to today. The only thing that's different is that now I'm fearing for my life.
#
The air at the track is hot and muggy, curtesey of the sprinklers that are running on the field. There are a few people, adults, running slow laps on the school track, so we do the same, running a few warm-up laps, wasting time until the other runners leave. It's getting toward the hottest part of the day, and although it's almost October now that just means the we’re having some more peak temperatures. Within twenty minutes we have the place to ourselves.
David stands to the side of the track, his phone in hand, determined to time me and prove that I'm faster than humanly possible, or something stupid like that.
The track is loose gravel with no markings and you have to be careful making the first turn, because the sprinklers over-spray onto it, leaving it muddy, and then pitted and rutted once the mud dries. What can I say? I live in Anaheim, not somewhere with rich schools. Which makes me wonder what David is doing going to school here.
I line up roughly with the stripe on the ground rail on the inner edge of the track. I’m not stressing about accuaracy. He's timing me on his phone, it's not like this is an Olympic trial.
"What do you want me to do? A hundred or four hundred?"
"Four hundred is a lap, right?"
"Yes! The boy pays some tiny amount of attention at training!"
He smirks. "Sometimes. Anyway. Do a hundred first, and then we'll come back for the full lap."
He wanders down the outside of the track until he seems to find the 100 meter marker.
I take a sprinters start as best I can without starting blocks. May as well half ass this properly.
When David calls out, "Ready Set Go," I go. As fast as I can. Which strangely, feels very slow, like I should know how to be faster.
I book it all the way past David, and then turn and jog back.
"So?"
He's frowning at his phone. "I don't actually know what's fast?" But I can see he's disappointed. I take a look at his screen. 13.60
"Yeah, that's about my usual. A a bit slower than usual. But you know I'm not really a sprinter."
He frowns some more, then tosses me the phone.
"I don't know how fast I am, why don't you time me, as sort of a control?"
He lopes off back to the start of the straight, and gives me a wave, and I call out go and start the timer, hitting stop as he blazes past me. And stare at the number in front of me in shock.
"So, how did I do?"
"David, you just ran a hundred meters in 9.6 seconds. That's like top sprinters in the world speed."
"Huh."
"You aren't excited by that?"
"Not like I can do anything with it. I got a pretty strong feeling that it would be a bad idea for me to go around calling attention to myself, you know?"
"I know running is something you do for the pleasure of it, not the result, but please. You can run almost as fast as someone in the Olympics. Isn't that a bit exciting?"
"I guess."
As I watch him shaking out his arms and legs I feel a tingling in my muscles.
"I want to try it again. I feel like I can go faster."
I pass him his phone, and go back to the start line, trying to sink myself into the zone. I wasn't taking this seriously before, but now, I know I can go faster.
I kick myself toe holes in the dust of the track, and when he calls out Go I bound forward, and somehow this time it all falls into place, I feel that stillness that I've only ever felt when I’ve pushed myself to my max on long distances, but now, it's immediate. I am the stretch and contraction of my muscles, the thump of my feet hitting the ground, each draw of breath, the pulse of my blood in my ears. It's all me, and I am aware of it all, David is shouting something, and I realize, I didn't run 100 I did the full lap. More. I've passed David for the second time. I reluctantly slow and turn back toward him. Reluctant because I want to just keep running, and keep feeling that perfect feeling. But also because I know. I know I just did something extraordinary. And I can't keep claiming to be perfectly ordinary.
"I didn't realize you were going for the full loop. I didn't get a time on that, sorry."
"That's okay," I say, feeling a confused sort of relief. If I don't have the data then I don't have to be a freak, right?
"But you took almost 4 seconds off your 100 meter time."
"Four Seconds? Four seconds!" I grab the phone from his hands, and stare in mingled shock and horror at the number on the screen 10.15. "You faked this!"
"I did not! You know you were running differently just now. You felt how fast it was. Just admit it!"
I choke a little and the enormous effort I just outlaid rolls over me and I turn away and puke up all the brunch I just ate. And still as I'm retching I'm wondering how much faster I'd be on a decent track in proper track cleats, and without a big meal bouncing around in my stomach. The reality that the amazing number I just pulled is probably not even the fastest I can go.
By the time I'm at dry heaving I'm crying.
David has a hand resting on my back, and I turn and throw my arms around him, sobbing helplessly into his shoulder, probably smearing vomit and snot on his shirt.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't think, I'm sorry," he keeps saying. As if this is his fault.
I should tell him this is on me. Instead I drop down in the steamy grass, and lay back, looking at the sky. The sun is high overhead, turning the sky a washed out faded shade of blue. Not my favorite sky, but I'll take it over having to look at the guy I hardly know that I just cried all over. After a moment he lies down beside me, and we stare upward in silence.
The sun burns into my skin and my head throbs. The taste of bile still burns at my throat. This is real. It’s real and I have to deal with it.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you."
"It's okay. Better here with only you to see, than at some random meet right?"
The silence stretches out again as I try not to think too much.
"What do you want to do?"
"My mouth tastes like puke, so, how about we go over to In-N-Out and get a coke?"
If you’ve made it this far thanks for reading! I appreciate any support for my writing, so if you’re enjoying this please check out my novels #1, #2, patreon and ko-fi!
tHey everyone! I was thrilled with the response I got from posting the first part of this chapter so here is the rest. And the introduction to the other 2 members of the Extra Fakes crew, David and Georgia. No powers yet, just hints about them. But be patient.
As always I appreciate any support for my writing, so please check out my novels #1, #2, patreon and ko-fi!
Also here’s a link to the first part in case you missed it
"I've got a new prospect," Lionel tells me.
"Yeah?" I don't care much, but Lionel is always on the lookout for track team talent. Our mediocre team’s indifferent performance at meets is a constant source of shame to him, as if he's personally responsible for every single non ranked finish that the team produces.
We're standing out the front of the main building waiting for everyone to change and straggle out here for the afternoon run. We’ve only been back at school for two days, and it’s killer hot. Summer is hanging in the air like it's never going to end and the low water landscaping in front of the school, with all the beds of pebbles, sand and succulents isn’t doing much besides reflecting the heat back at us. So half of us get to stand here baking while the slackers take their sweet time.
I would prefer to run before school, you know, when it’s cool? But you can guess what kind of reaction that got.
Lionel points out a boy, easily noticed, dressed as he is in his gym uniform rather than the team tee-shirts and running shorts that everyone else is mostly sporting. He's standing off to the side, watching us from under the shadow of a grey ballcap. He's vaguely familiar. I'm pretty sure he's in some of my classes, but I can't remember ever talking to him. He's not much to look at. Small skinny white guy, that cap pulled down to hide his face. But good runners are often small and skinny. Take me for example.
"That guy? In the gym uniform?" I ask, although it’s obviously who Lionel means.
"Yeah. I don't know how I've never noticed him before. But I saw him today in gym class, and he's got something. He’s smooth and fast."
I rack my brain, I can't recall seeing that guy ever participating in sports.
"Maybe he started running over the summer break?"
"Maybe." Lionel sounds dubious. "He's got some grace for a newbie. Anyway, can you take care of him for me? I don't want to crowd him."
Well now I am curious. How good is he? And what has he been doing for the last couple of years that Lionel didn't notice him before? Lionel may not have much in the way of interpersonal skills, but he notices everything, especially when it comes to things he feels responsible for. I know that boy has been going to school here. I remember him, even if I don't remember his name.
And mostly, why is Lionel worried about crowding him? He's usually the high pressure sell, rattling away in prospects ears about how good a sport looks on college applications and the lower pressure environment of our sport is with it's scope for individual achievements rather than the team teams. Lionel is from a huge family and has no understanding of the meaning of subtlety and personal space.
For him to hand this boy off to me he must be really worried about making a good impression. Or the kid is majorly weird. Yay for Lionel deciding to let me handle the weird ones.
When Lionel leads off down the street I make sure to fall into step with new guy, although honestly I feel like he's matching his gait to mine rather than the other way around.
I wait for him to speak, but he remains silent. Lionel is right, his gait is smooth and easy, his footfalls are quiet even. The bill of his cap bobbing along in my peripheral vision is the loudest thing about him. It's actually pretty nice. I don't like to have my ear talked off on a run, and since I seldom get the chance to run with Lionel once school is in session I usually don't get what I want.
But after a while I notice the people in the main pack glancing back at us. Particularly Brad. The ass. Lionel is pushing harder today making the pack fight to stay with him and Brad is starting to turn that telltale shade of red. It's not a problem for the new guy. He's making no effort to catch the lead pack, but he's keeping the distance between us and them steady.
Brad shoots us another nasty glare as he gives up the fight and we pass him.
"Don't mind them" I say.
The guy makes a noncommittal noise. "Nothing wrong with pushing yourself a bit."
"True. Maybe having someone new around will be good. Some of them could stand to push themselves a bit."
"I don't intend to be any threat to anyone."
Now that's an odd thing to say. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he's the kind of person who doesn't like to make any waves.
"I don’t think we’ve ever talked before. I'm Carlyse."
"David."
Ah, that's it. I can place him now. David Smith. A bland name for a bland boy. And definitely not an athlete.
"Aren't you in chess club? I seem to remember..."
"Last year. That was last year."
He says it so firmly. It makes it sound like something heavy went down in Chess Club. I stifle a giggle, imagining those serious studious kids flipping boards and throwing down. It could happen I guess.
"It's nothing dramatic, I just couldn't handle it anymore."
"Was it too competitive? Because I can tell you right now that Lionel is not going to be okay with you not competing seriously."
He sighs. "You're kinda in charge here?"
"Lionel is in charge. He's Team Captain." I thought he knew that.
"I know, but the two of you, you work together, right? You might not have a captain tee-shirt, but you're a basically co-leader, right?"
I don't view myself like that but okay, I do work with Lionel a lot on team stuff. "Sure, I guess."
"Ok. Well, you probably should know then, just in case I do something-- weird. I've had some stuff happen in my life, and I have some-- anxiety issues. I get stressed, I panic sometimes. I tried, but I can't handle chess or gaming or pretty much anything that's closed quarters and intense competition."
"Chess is intense competition?" That's probably not the right response to someone who's spilling some pretty personal information, but he snorts.
"You have no idea."
I think for a moment. I'm curious about exactly what this stuff that happened was, but on the other hand, what if it's something awful? Do I really want to involve myself? If he's as messed up as he’s saying I'm guessing it was something bad. I don’t want to know details.
"I guess you already told Lionel this."
"No."
Then why did he hand him off to me? And tell me that he didn't want to come on too strong?
"Coach then?"
"No. Lionel just cornered me in the locker room and asked me to check it out so I showed up to take a run. I haven't talked to anyone."
Lionel cornered him. That sounds like Lionel. Probably while he was half naked. It would never occur to Lionel that a stranger getting in your space when you're on the way to the shower would be stressful. And he managed to do it to a kid who’s been attacked or traumatized somehow. Lionel must have freaked him out. And even Lionel is smart enough to realize when he's scared someone.
But still, David had shown up for the run instead of running in the other direction.
"You seem okay right now," I say cautiously.
"I am. Mostly. It's just certain situations that I have problems with. Running is good. I'm outside, it's stupid, I know, but I feel like if I get scared I can just run away. And I don't think any of you could catch me."
"Oh, so you're gonna be like that are you?"
"Just telling the truth." But I can see him grinning, and before I really think I give him a bump with my shoulder, just like I'd do with anyone on the team when we joke around. But-
"Am I bothering you? Should I have not done that?" The sidewalk is fairly narrow, so I'm still in close proximity.
"Nope. You're good. You're the easiest sort of person to be around. You don't want anything from me and you're not threatened by me. It's nice. Relaxing."
I don't think a guy has ever complimented me on being easy to be around before, but he doesn't seem like he's flirting. Despite the heavy topic this feels like a really laid back conversation. Like he said, it's nice to be around someone who doesn't want anything from you.
Lionel drops back from the front group, and falls in on the other side of David. I can feel a change in David immediately. The smooth ground eating gait changes to something more choppy and rigid. I slow slightly, just enough to fall behind the two of them. What he said makes me think he likes having an open escape route.Lionel says a few words, slaps David on the shoulder and drops back some more to the group behind us.
"So," I say, coming back up beside David. "Don’t let Lionel bother you. He's intense but he's okay." Although I have to admit to myself that he can't exactly be described as mellow or easygoing. And he definitely wants something.
"I know. He's just assertive.” He shakes his head. “I know that,” he repeats, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Thanks for giving me space. It probably wouldn't be good for my chances if I freaked out and took off."
"Oh I don't know. He's pretty excited about you. I think he'd overlook most things if you're as fast as you think you are."
I see that grin, that flash of teeth again.
"Good to know."
#
We finish the run back in front of the school. I’m sweating like pig. The combination of the heat and the pace. Particularly keeping up with David. He seems to be moving as easily as he was at the start. He sweating, but he hasn’t even turned the bright red that I’m used to seeing from the white kids.
"How many miles do you normally run a week?" I ask him. This is important fact finding for Lionel. Nothing to do with me feeling slightly resentful that he's so unbothered by the run.
"I dunno. I usually run an hour or so in the morning before school, and then again at night if I get the chance. I don't usually do afternoons. Too hot."
"My thoughts exactly."
"Maybe you'd like to take a run later tonight then?" He's taken the cap off and I can see his face clearly for the first time. His face is average, forgettable. The normal features in the normal places, a lean pale face with earnest eyes. Yet something about the way he's looking at me sends fear skittering down my spine. His eyes. His eyes aren’t forgettable. I feel chilled, despite the heat and the sweat pouring off me.
"Perhaps another time. Keeping up with you today was hard work. I’m done running for the day."
"Tomorrow morning? Or maybe on the weekend?" he persists, not breaking eye contact.
I take a step back.
"No, sorry. I’ve got a busy schedule."
And he flinches. I don't know what else you'd call it. It's like he twitches all over, maybe startles is a better word. Then he hunches his shoulders and pulls the cap down over his face again.
"Okay. Sorry. I gotta go," and he slips between a couple of other people and disappears. I frown, trying to spot him, and then I finally see him over the other side of the parking lot talking to Lionel. How did he get over there so fast? And why do I feel so unsettled?
#
Georgia, my best friend, is waiting for me after I shower. She's not much for organized sports, but she's here after school because she's involved with the school newspaper, she writes lots of quirky articles about random topics.
"So, what's up in the exciting world of journalism?" I ask as I join her.
"Oh so many thrills. I have to come up with something about local architecture by next week. What should I talk about? Creepy Victorians? Or tract houses? Or maybe I should do an expose on heritage listings."
I laugh. "Hey, how about a house that's sometimes invisible?"
She raises her eyebrows. "I'm supposed to be writing about local history, not fiction."
"Trust me. This place is real."
She's amused, and jokes with me all the way to the elementary school where I have to go pick up my little sister from her after school program.
Of course I've pointed out the fairy house to Georgia, and unlike Lionel she was actually interested, but she’s been away staying with her grandparents most of the summer. So she’s missed out on what Lionel has started to call my obsession. If it’s only visible to certain people though she’s definitely on the list.
I roll my eyes at my own ridiculousness and wave to my sister. She bounces out the gate and hugs me, and the supervisor gives me a nod. He sees me here every day. Melody's only five, and I pick her up every day and watch her until my parents get home. I don't mind. She's a sweet kid, and it's usually only for an hour or so. Usually she watches tv and I do homework.
But I’ve missed Georgia, and homework can wait.
"Want to hit Goodwill?" I ask.
It's one of our favorite things to do together. Thrifting clothes. The Goodwill in the strip mall on the corner isn't the best place to shop, there are so many more discerning places that have a consistently good selection, and other less discerning places that are cheaper. But Goodwill has the benefit of being in walking distance and cheap enough. Which suits us today.
Melody complains a bit, but I bribe her with some gatorade chews, probably not the best thing for a five year old to be eating, but I make her wash it down with some water. She probably spent half her afternoon playing on the playground, so maybe she needs the electrolytes as much as I do.
“Haven’t you missed your other big sister?” Georgia asks Melody. “You’re the only baby sister I have and I’d be really sad if you forgot me over the summer.”
Melody giggles.
Georgia always gets a kick out people thinking that they're the sisters, because they can both pass as white, with paler skin and lighter hair than me. It comes of Melody being my half sister. I haven't seen my father in years, and my mom remarried about eight years ago, to Melody's dad, Richard. He's white, and Melody looks a lot like him. I'm darker courtesy of the grab bag of ethnicities on both my mother and father's sides. My father always claimed that his family went all the way back to the mission period. But who knows. I don't really trust my memories of him anymore.
Stepping into the air-conditioned store is a relief after the heat outside. I showered, but I still feel heated and sweaty from the run. I take a few deep breaths. The air in Goodwill isn’t exactly fresh, it smells of dust and Febreeze, but it’s cool.
I look around, deciding where to start first.
I head toward the sweaters and jackets. In weather like this most people aren’t looking at that stuff, which means the pickings are much better. I like to sew, which opens up all sorts of opportunities for a devoted thrifter like me. I can alter clothes that are too large or don't fit right, and I love to find stuff with interesting designs and figure out how to copy them.
When my sister was a baby my mom was on this kick to make sure I didn't feel left out of the family or whatever, and she started doing mommy and me classes with me. I guess she was worried I'd be jealous of this squally baby that took over our house, whose dad actually stuck around. Honestly I didn't mind baby Melody so much. She was cute and seeing Richard doting on her, weird, I wasn't jealous. It made me happy. Like I knew for sure that he wasn't going to leave us. That's when I started calling him dad. It just seemed right, since that was what Melody got to call him.
But despite that my mom must have felt guilty or worried. All I know is that one of the things she signed up for was a mother daughter sewing class, and it was fun. Better than fun. It was amazing. It was like all the things suddenly made sense. Because once I understood the differences in fibers I understood why some clothes make me miserable and some make me happy.
It's the way it feels against my skin more than how it looks. Wool is especially my favorite. I don't get why other people say it feels scratchy. To me if feels like a hug.
At the sweater rack I start by running my fingers across the clothes, searching for that special touch of wool. Or angora, or cashmere. Silk is nice too. Pretty much any animal fiber is great. But wool from actual sheep tops everything.
Georgia has a different strategy. She comes to the same rack but immediately starting to flip through the green section. She loves green. And metallic, and shiny stuff. Where I sort by fabric, then design, then color, she's the opposite, willing to wear any scratchy sweaty synthetic if it has the right color and look. I don't know how she stands it. But, she does find more stuff than me usually. Which she loves. I swear she’s a hoarder.
She holds up a shiny green polyester top and laughs when I wince.
"So," I say.
"So?"
"There's this guy. I think he was sort of hitting on me?"
Georgia looks up in surprise. Guys hitting on me isn't a regular occurrence. Well, Georgia claims that it happens more than I think, that I just don't notice. I notice. But there's nuances that she never seems to get. Flirting is never just flirting. There's always more there. To an awful lot of people flirting is more about them than you. About their status, their attention. Their horniness. You’re just a prop. I’ve let Georgia coax me into going out with a few guys like that (Brad being one spectacular example) and it sucked. Now I know better. So it's not that I'm oblivious to that sort of thing, it's just not worth taking seriously. Georgia thinks I'm too picky. I'm not. Surely expecting that a guy hitting on me is actually into me as more than a girl shaped object, or a way to impress his friends isn’t being too picky. Right?
"What happened?" Georgia demands.
"I don't know. He seemed okay, kinda nice actually. But then he was a little too persistent, you know?"
"Who was it?"
"David Smith?"
She wrinkles her nose, thinking. "I don't know who that is?"
"Yeah, I didn't either. He's a white guy, not much taller than me, kinda skinny."
"Wow. Sounds like a catch."
I snort. “He’s not ugly, just kind of average. He's joining the track team I guess. Lionel has a captain crush on him. I ran with him today. He's a good runner. Graceful."
"So you ran with him, and you thought he was nice and graceful, but then you decided he was too persistent in asking you out? Sounds like you’re just being you.”
I roll my eyes at her. But she’s making me doubt myself. Maybe he wasn’t doing anything besides looking for someone to run with. I sigh. “I don’t know. He was just weird for a bit there. And he’s not cute or anything, although he's got these amazing eyes..." which I suddenly realize that I can't even remember the color of. How does that make sense? I was staring right at them.
Georgia smirks. "Yeah, I'd wait and see then. Maybe he just got excited and he’s not got much skills. Doesn’t mean he’s a jerk. Or maybe he's a jerk. Who knows? Maybe you will want to go out with him at some point. Don't stress until he's shown his true colors.”
Reasonable advice. Even though I know she’s thinking I’m being too shy or suspicious. I don’t think I am. But people I can’t figure out make me nervous. Perhaps he's perfectly normal. Perhaps just he’s lacking some social skills. And hey, I’m used to being around people like that. Maybe he was awkwardly trying to make friends and his anxiety issues made him seem weird. I can give him a chance.
And whatever else he was thinking, he sure he was focused on me as a person. Not on what his chances of getting me to sleep with him were, or what his friends thought. It’d be nice to be around one other guy besides Lionel that wasn’t always focused on that.
But still. I can’t forget that moment of pure fear.
I'm not going anywhere with him after dark.
tagging @pinehutch @focusdumbass @sunsetsrmydreams @maximillianvalentine @q-oetry @timeenoughforamasterpiece Let me know if you want on or off this list!
Also I’m trying to decide how to continue posting sections of this. The whole novel is written (although clearly still completely unedited!) but posting stuff like this on tumblr is messy. I may move it offsite and just post links. I dunno.
OH yes please. I want to see David and Lyse from your Supers story in space. IN THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. Yes please. SPACE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.
Ask and you shall receive! Here is your Space zombies, and I even threw in some soulmates, just because this didn’t feel AU enough!
This story is for AU tuesday, where writers are challenged to write fan fiction of their own original work. The characters here are from The Extra Fakes, a WIP about superpowered teens.
I press my hand into the metal paneling beside my bunk to drag myself out of bed. The paint is worn away in a hand sort of shape, and I try to draw comfort from the familiarity of the cool metal under my palm.
My brother is waiting for me. “We’re here,” he says, and walks away, his long dark braid slapping against his back.
I follow Phil along the corridor down the length of the ship, headed for the cockpit. And for a moment the dingy walls feel like they’re pressing in on me, and I take a few gasping breaths.
He stops and looks back at me.
“Get out of my head little brother,” I say.
He scowls. “I wouldn’t have to look if you’d just talk to me.”
“Have you considered that I don’t want you to know what I’m thinking?” That my mind is a mess of conflicting emotions that he doesn’t need to take on?
He grumbles a little and then turns back to climb up into the cockpit. I shake my head to clear it. What’s going on with me? I’m not claustrophobic, I’m the one who squeezes into tiny, tight spaces when we’re scabbing parts from abandoned space hulks. But for a second there I felt like I was suffocating. No wonder Phil touched my mind. I’m probably projecting my freak out.
He’s usually very respectful of my mental privacy, the same way he respects the curtain around my bunk. We’ve grown up in this 2,000-square-foot ship, and we both try very hard not to overstep. That he’d touch my mind without permission just shows how frightening this situation is to him.
I hurry to catch up to him, but he’s already sliding into the copilot seat. There’s only two seats, so I’m stuck hovering behind. Felipe, our father, is already in the pilot seat.
I stoop a little to get a better view of the target.
The ship is massive. It hangs in space like a giant silvery coin. One of the newer combined cargo and passenger ships, designed with an outer ring of passenger berths leaving the center an enormous cargo hold. It’s got to have a circumference of five or six miles.
“My God,” Phil hisses. “What happened to take out a ship that large?”
Felipe shrugs. “Does it matter? All I care is that we’re here first.”
I chew on my lip, still uncertain about the push-me-pull-you feelings this job is giving me. “What if the rumors are true? That it was some sort of virus?”
“Then put on a full suit, with breathing gear. Do I have to explain everything?”
“Are you kidding with me? You’re fine with sending your daughter out to scavenge a plague ship? Bastard.” Phil jumps up and slips past me, ignoring my pleading look.
I know why he’s angry. It’s the same reason I’m scared. This ship had quarantine buoys surrounding it, and the stories we’ve been hearing are wild. Something happened that has everyone from the central government to other scabbers running scared. It says something that we are the only scavengers here. But Felipe is getting impatient, and I know if I don’t go I’ll have a fight on my hands. I need to decide now.
“I don’t see you rushing off to suit up,” I say, the acid of it biting my tongue. Felipe would never risk himself if he could send one his children instead. But I can’t stop myself from goading him. Just to see.
“You’re the one with the abilities for this, girl. You know that.”
Ah yes, the old ‘it’s not my ability’ excuse.
We’re chameleons. Not actual lizards of course, but it’s what we call our sort of Extraordinary. The family heritage. We can sense, mirror, and copy in ways that ordinary humans can’t.
My father can be what you want him to be to make you trust him. He’s a the ultimate grifter, basically. He sees everyone around him as marks to be manipulated. Even me and Phil. Although we’re both immune to his powers. Which means we’re the only people in the universe to know what a giant ass he is.
Phil can touch minds, sense what people are thinking. It’s a painful and complicated ability, and it drives him further inside himself than is healthy, as far as I’m concerned.
And then there’s me. There’s a reason why I get to go in alone to scout out these ghost ships we want to scab. Because, of the three of us, I’m the only one who’s primarily a physical chameleon. I can out run and outfight almost anyone because I can mimic anything they can do.
People like us have always lived a hidden or outcast existence, and my family is no different. Scabbing has been our business as long as I can remember. Find a ghost ship, one that’s been cataclysmically damaged or abandoned, and slip on board and take the most valuable things we can find. Parts, cargo, whatever. Usually the only risk is situational. If it’s lost atmosphere and I get snagged on something and tear my suit, or if we encounter other scabbers (although they tend to stay away from us— we’re creepy— on purpose.)
But this plague. This is an unknown quantity. Phil voted against doing this. And I appreciate that. He voted no because he loves me and considered it too risky.
Felipe considers it an acceptable risk. He’s an ass, but I agree. Mostly because some instinct is pulling me toward that giant death disc.
But, still looking at that huge ship, I feel a gut-wrenching terror. It physically cramps up my stomach for a moment and I curl into myself.
Felipe cuts me a few sidelong glances. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
His deep paternal concern is heartwarming. Still, I nod and slide out of the seat. I go back to the airlock and start suiting up.
Phil finds me there. “Something’s different about this one,” he says. He cuts his eyes back toward the cockpit as if he thinks Filipe might be eavesdropping. He leans in closer. “Someone is still alive over there.”
“Hell. No. No way. Felipe did scans. You saw. The only thing alive over there is some animals. Probably the usual cats and rats.”
“I know what I sense.” Another look over his shoulder. “I think you sense it too. You’ve been off— with your abilities. You keep swiping me with feels, and they’re all bad.”
I bite my lip. My brother is my best, and in many ways only, friend. He knows me better than anyone. And I trust his instincts.
I’m feeling weird things. Fears when I’m perfectly safe. Like that moment of random claustrophobia a few minutes ago. “You think these weird feelings are because I’m picking up something from someone on that ship? But I don’t work that way.”
We’re huddled up close, both whispering now.
He puts his hand on my forehead. “Can I look?”
I sigh. “Sure.” It’s not as if there’s much in there he doesn’t already know. It’s not even as if I’ve got any decent sexual escapades to traumatize him with.
He wraps his arms around me, seeking skin contact, and I lean in, craving the comfort. He’s been through a major growth spurt in the last year or so, and he’s suddenly a lot bigger than me. It’s comforting to be enveloped like this. Our breathing synchronizes, and I feel him in my head. It’s always that way. He says most people can’t feel him doing it, but I guess on some level it’s a part of my abilities too. But I can’t touch other people’s minds like he does.
Phil pulls away gasping.
“What!” I’ve never seen him like this after being in my head.
“He’s calling out to you to save him.”
We both look out the porthole at the giant ship.
“He? And why me and not you? This isn’t my ability.”
“You’re still a chameleon. And he’s projecting emotions, not thoughts. You are more attuned to that.”
“Why hasn’t he sent out regular distress calls then?”
Phil grasps my shoulders and presses his forehead against mine. “Perhaps he has. Maybe they’re being blocked. You know it doesn’t matter. You have to find him. He’s terrified. When you get over there, forget about parts. Follow your gut and find him.”
“What if he’s contagious? I can’t bring that back here.”
“I’ll set up containment while you’re gone.”
I shake my head. I can’t do this. Phil’s still basically a kid, and he’s got a little of that childlike optimism left in him. But he must see that this a terrible idea. I can’t bring that mysterious plague back onto our ship and and risk my family.
“Lyse, please. He’s still alive and everyone else is dead. And he’s broadcasting. He’s like us. Maybe that made him immune.”
“Or he’s the carrier.”
Another pulse of fear, not my own, hits me. And I know I have to at least find him. If he’s infected, then I’ll just have to put him out of his misery. But what if he’s not? It’s been a long time since I’ve met a new Extra. And he’s managed to survive this long. Can I really just abandon him?
“Felipe is going to kill us.”
Phil grins. Damn his soft heart. “Turn around and let me braid your hair up,” he says. “It’s all coming down.”
I turn and let him wind my hair into a practical braid and twist it up and out of the way. I mentally review the layout of the ship I’m about to breach. It’s a cargo ship, so there could be a minimal crew, potentially even living and working on one part of the ship. Okay, so it’s not beyond possibility that this person has managed to confine himself to a different non-infected section.
But most likely there’s passengers. People too poor to shell out for a berth on a fast ship, or who are willing to spend months of travel time to get where they’re going at a cut-price rate.
And I’m procrastinating.
I need to move fast. I know my father is going to flip out if I bring someone from a ghost ship back here, so I have to get to this guy and make a decision before Felipe starts to wonder what’s going on. Of course Phil is entirely capable of locking Felipe out of all the systems. I still don’t want to leave him to deal with it on his own.
I finish dressing in a my full-exposure suit. It won’t save me in open space of course, but it will protect me from just about everything else, including mid level radiation and airborne and contact contaminants. I strap on my tool pouches (the light set, not a good idea to weigh myself down in an unknown environment) and, lastly, my weapons. I don’t carry much of those either. Just a gun and a knife. I mostly rely on my agility and speed to get out of danger.
My heart is pounding as a seal is made with the porthole, and I wait while the systems check the atmosphere on the other side. If I have to I can put on my spacesuit, but I’m betting there’s still atmosphere, since there’s obviously at least one person still alive over there.
The pad beeps. The air quality isn’t great, but it’s not showing any serious contaminants. At least not any of the ones we test for. The artificial gravity is a bit iffy in a few places, but again, not dangerously so. I still slide my helmet on and open the air valve. I have two hours of air. Plenty of time to recon and get back here.
I click on my com. “It all looks good. I’m heading in.”
“Okay. Keep me updated,” Phil replies.
Usually it’s Felipe on the com with me. I wonder what Phil told him.
“Thanks,” I say.
I can feel the mysterious man’s feelings more clearly now that I know what’s going on. He’s still afraid, and claustrophobic. That’s good. It means he’s not in any sort of immediate danger. Perhaps he’s hidden himself in some sort of small, confined space.
I step through the small airlock and into a wide loading dock area and look around. I’m dreading the bodies. Because in this sort of situation there’s almost inevitably bodies.
At first I see nothing. The place looks normal, except for the complete lack of human activity. That’s good, right? Maybe they all died peacefully in their rooms where I won’t have to see them. Of course Felipe will probably want to look for valuables in there, but that’s his deal.
I take the small human sized door to the left of the big cargo bay doors and take the few turns into the living spaces at a jog. “Am I heading in the right direction?” I ask Phil.
“As far as I can tell. You should be able to sense him better than me though.”
“And you’ve had more practice.”
He makes a humming sound, which I take to mean that I should keep following the gut-wrenching fear vibes. Lovely.
“You know,” he adds, always chatty on the com, “there is another story about why you’d be able to suddenly feel another person’s emotions.”
I don’t get it for a moment. And then I laugh. “Yeah right, my soulmate has called me across a million miles of space to rescue him from a plague ghost ship.”
“You are supposed to be able to sense if the other is in distress.”
“Where the hell was he last year when I got stabbed, then?”
Phil chuckles.
It’s the odd squelching underfoot that is the first sign something is off. I look down, and I can’t quite make out what’s spilled all over the floor. And spattered on the walls, now that I look more closely.
“Oh God.”
“What?” Phil demands.
I choke back bile— the only thing saving me from splattering the inside of my helmet with puke is the pure, clean air I’m breathing. I can only imagine what this place smells like.
“They didn’t get sick— they were slaughtered. There’s… Oh damn, brother. There’s blood and… other stuff…”
“Get out.”
I turn to run. To get out of this abattoir. But I can still feel him. Feel his rising terror.
“Someone slaughtered people here and he’s terrified. They must be after him. I can’t— I can’t…”
Phil gasps. “I changed my mind. Get out of there! Leave him. Please, sister. I can’t lose you. You’re not invincible.”
I turn off my com. I know I’m being stupid, but I’ve spent too much of my life being trained to follow my instincts. And my instincts are screaming that something, someone, vital to me is here and in danger. I cannot leave. If I’m doing this crazy thing I have to focus, and I have be calm. If there’s a killer, or most likely a group of killers, roaming these halls, then I have to be silent. Hopefully our little ship docking has gone unnoticed. Hopefully I can be in and out without anyone the wiser. And I say Phil it the idealistic one.
I start moving at a ground-eating run, my soft soled boots striking almost soundlessly on the spongy floor. I only stop to peer around corners.
I’ve been moving steadily closer to him for a few minutes when it strikes me. Where are the bodies? There’s an almost unbearable amount of carnage around me, but it’s all mostly... ugh... fluids. Has this ship been overrun by cannibals? You hear stories about how deep space effects some people. But surely…
I get my answer as I peer around the next corner.
They’re all gathered in a single, writhing mass, maybe a hundred or so of them. On first look they appear to be human, but as I watch it’s obvious that they’ve become something not human. Something horrifyingly wrong. They’re battering themselves against walls. There’s a door, a simple cabin door that seems to be the focus of their attention, and they are determined to get inside it.
I turn my com back on. “Phil,” I whisper. “It’s like they’ve all ran mad. There’s like a hundred people trying to get to him.”
“What?”
He’s in there. The guy is obviously on the other side of that wall, and he’s gathered every— creature— every— zombie on the ship. Because against all reason that’s what they look like. Zombies. I’ve seen it in movies often enough.
I freeze for a moment, stunned by the sheer injustice of all of this. Because I’m suddenly convinced that Phil is right. That the man trapped in there is my soulmate. I’ve heard all the old stories about what it’s like to find your soulmate. It’s something of a dream for my kind. We live our lives so marginalized by society. The possibility of a soulmate has always felt like a balancing of that. That we get to have this one person who is almost magically compatible. I’m pragmatic. I know the realities. Despite the the stories about how you’ll be led to that one true person, it had always sounded more like a dream than something that could really happen.
But I have been led to him. And I can’t reach him, I can’t save him without dying myself. I’m fast. More than fast. But even I can’t fight my way through a hundred zombies, get through that door, retrieve a man who is no doubt traumatized, and then fight my way back out and get us both safely back to my ship.
It’s impossible.
I let out a pained sound.
And then three things happen.
As one the zombies all turn and look at me.
“Big sister, you okay?” Phil asks on the com. And I am not okay at all. Because then they don’t just look. Some sort of thrill runs through the pack of them and whatever hive mind they have decides I’m a far better target. They start coming for me.
And then the third and most important thing, happens. As the zombie pack holding down the door breaks apart and starts moving toward me the door swings open. And an animal comes shooting out from between them. It races past me and then circles back, nudging and nipping at me. Like it’s trying to herd me.
And that— even more than facing down for real zombies— shocks me. Because as soon as it— he— touches me I know. This dog is my soulmate.
My soulmate is an animal.
He whines, and I snap out of my freeze. A hundred zombies are bearing down on me.
I start to run opening up to my full speed, and the dog keeps pace with me.
Okay. Well I guess I’ll survive now and figure out the dog soulmate later.
“Not okay,” I say into my com. “We’re coming in hot. Make sure you have double containment set up and be ready to detach immediately.”
“So you’ve got him?”
I look over at my companion. “It’s me and a dog,” I gasp out. “Let us both through and then shut the hatch.”
I’m not as frightened as I should be. I mean, I’m tearing down a narrow corridor with no safe exits, being pursued by a pack of zombies. If there’s a second pack coming from the other direction we’re screwed. But I can’t help feeling a ridiculous sense of euphoria.
He’s here. Running alongside me. Keeping up with me! Him being an animal seems like a minor detail. I know logically that some of this is just the emotions he’s sharing with me. His stupid doggy joy from running alongside me.
Damn. I thought finding my soulmate would mean I’d get laid. Instead I get a pet.
But we’re fast enough to draw a safe distance ahead of the mob in the few minutes it takes us to run back to the latch point, and I see Phil on the far side of the airlock. I feel his surprise when he sees there’s an actual dog running alongside me, and then we’re through and into the airlock and the doors are closing behind us.
“Detach, Detach!” I gasp out.
I raise my head from where I’ve collapsed on the floor, double-checking that Phil has done what I asked. Not that I doubt him. I just need to see us breaking that connection. The faces of the zombies are visible on the other side. They start tearing at the vent doors on their side. Maybe they’ll vent themselves to space and save us all some trouble.
“You weren’t kidding about coming in hot,” Phil chokes out. He’s on the other side of the airlock, watching through the porthole.
I’ve always tried to shield him from the monsters of this universe. I can’t imagine what his empathic abilities are delivering up from those creatures. But the look of sheer horror on his face gives a hint of it. “Zombies?” he whispers.
After a few moments he looks back at me. “Okay, so about this dog… Oh hell no.”
I flop over to see what my stupid soulmate dog is doing and flinch back in shock.
Because it’s not a dog. It’s a filthy, shivering naked man curled into a fetal ball.
