Gray Skies (14 page)

When the sounds of Outsiders approached, he dug a shallow hole in the sands. He wasn’t immune to the fear that gripped his heart, and tensed his muscles. Declan laid flat on his belly, quiet and still, hidden from the footsteps that passed a few hands from him. Salt burned the abrasions atop his fingers, and stung the skin under his torn nails. Coarse sands reached every part of him, but the grainy wet discomfort was a simple annoyance compared to what the Outsiders might do to him.

As sands passed under his feet, and with every kilometer traveled, Declan wondered if he might run into Harold. It wasn’t long after the failed End of Gray Skies that Harold had been found alone in his dwelling, blubbering that what had happened to Sammi was an accident. There weren’t many who’d listen to him. Peter and Richie had abandoned their leader, with Richie pointing his scraggy, crooked finger, and sobbing, telling everyone that Harold had pushed Sammi.

Many in their Commune were devastated by Sammi’s loss. Word quickly spread to other Communes about the death of the fair, red-haired girl. Sammi’s parents received condolences from Communes in their region, and even a few from across their territory. After all, Sammi was an anomaly, as Ms. Gilly had once put it. But, to most, she was more than that: Sammi was a reminder of who they’d used to be, and was a symbol of who they might become again, one day.

Declan stopped walking, and listened to the ocean. His heart filled with a familiar emptiness as he remembered the day of Sammi’s cleaning. He had been invited to stand with Sammi’s mother and father, preparing her for the passing to the farming floor. It was ceremony; it was an honor. While there was no way to get himself ready for what they were going to do, he was familiar with the activities of the rite, having participated in the cleaning and passing of his mother and sister. Ms. Gilly had been invited, as well; she embraced him, and wetted his cheek with her tears as she whispered how sorry she was that such an awful thing had happened. He nodded, but held back his emotion. The anger toward Harold, and the hurt of losing Sammi consumed him, sitting in him like a poison waiting to release toxins that would destroy his soul.

Sammi’s body was brought to them, in front of an ancient cleaning table. Soft, hollow sounds were made as her body was laid down on the metal slab. Her long locks of curly red hair hung over the steel edge, dead, like the ancient fabric from the movie theater chairs, where he’d found her. The morticians emptied her coverall pockets, giving to Sammi’s mother and father the small candle that she’d shared with him in the theater. Declan fixed his eyes on the candle, lips trembling, and swallowed back the temptation to cry.

Ms. Gilly commented that the pinned lock of Sammi’s hair was missing from the front her coveralls. Declan gripped his hand around the lock of her hair, hidden in his palm. The sharp edge of the pin cut into his skin, but he didn’t care; he ignored the pain. Sammi had given him her lock of hair when she’d chosen him, and he’d never part with it. As Ms. Gilly and Sammi’s parents continued the ritual, he put it into his pocket, and pressed it close to him.

Declan picked up the thin material of Sammi’s coverall zipper, and paused. Finding her dead eyes with his, he tried to understand how it could be they’d gotten to where they were. It was the day that they were supposed to be joined; the day they were supposed to make love for the first time. She’d chosen him. Instead, it was the day that he would help prepare her for the farming floor, to feed her to the earthy loam and growth-beds, to freely give away the wealth of her body, and the light of her soul. A sudden stubbornness turned inside him, and selfishness grew. He was angered and resentful at what had happened, and how she had been taken from him.

He pulled the front zipper down, exposing her body from her chin to her navel, while her parents removed the wrapped coverings from her feet. Ms. Gilly brought them the cleaning cloth and bowl, taking great care to not spill the mix of water and decomp salts that would be used. When Sammi’s body was freed from all civil reminders, and it was as it had been on the first day of her life, they were ready to begin.

Sammi’s mother and father looked upon their daughter’s naked body, their eyes moving over her broken leg, and then to what had killed their only child. Gripping one another, overcome by the sight in front of them, Declan decided to take the cleaning cloth in his hand and begin to remove the blood from around the wound that had ended her life. The place where the metal post had entered Sammi’s body was a gnarled rip in her otherwise perfect skin.

Dried blood, scaly and brown, stained Sammi’s fair skin like an affront to something pure. As he touched the cleaning cloth to her belly, the blood thinned until the stains were gone. He heard the trickling sound of water, and watched as wispy trails of sallow red flowed along her pale legs to the end of the table. The water and blood would be carried to the Commune’s waste-recycler, where it would join the thousands of words he’d written during his short life, trapped forever in the gravely ash and sandy filters. From his coverall pocket, he felt the outline of the writing stone she’d given him, and in that moment, he decided that he would never write another word.

When her wound was cleaned, Declan moved to brush Sammi’s hair, while her parents cleaned her fingers and nails. He pulled the hairbrush though her long red curls, watching as Ms. Gilly wiped away any remains of that awful day from Sammi’s face. At times he had to stop. At times he thought he couldn’t continue. But Ms. Gilly consoled him, and helped to keep him going. For the next hour, they cleaned every part of Sammi’s body until all the filth from their gray world was gone.

When the rite of cleaning concluded, those attending said their final goodbyes, leaving Declan to be alone with Sammi. She’d shared with her family that she’d chosen Declan, and, as her chosen, he was to see her through the passing, what would be Sammi’s final moments in their shared form. At once, the emotion he’d held back welled beyond what he could keep inside. He took Sammi’s naked body into his arms. Her skin was cold and lifeless, but he held her firmly, as sorrow tumbled from his lips, and spilled from his eyes onto her bare skin. He’d cried until his body ached, and only when he felt the warm touch of the mortician’s hand upon his shoulder, did he finally lay Sammi back onto the table. He kissed her, then: first her eyes, after gently closing them, and then her lips, for a final time. He told her that he loved her, and thanked her for choosing him, and then he reminded her that choosing meant forever.

The sound of a wave crashed against the shoreline, and pulled his thoughts back to the present moment, back to Harold. He had been thrown out of the Commune, exiled for having killed Sammi. Declan decided that he would end Harold, if the chance of meeting him was presented. For the first time since setting foot on the sandy beaches, Declan wondered if he’d really left his Commune to find the VAC-Machine. He wondered if, instead, he’d left his home to find Harold. He sighed, afraid of this last thought, and then decided to leave alone what was impossible to answer.

On his coverall, Declan wore the lock of Sammi’s hair. He touched it from time to time, as a reminder of why he’d decided to make this journey. It was a reminder to find the answers that he hoped would honor her memory.

******

Gripping the lock of red hair pinned to his chest, he spoke to her, “I’ve found it, Sammi. I’m here,” he said aloud in a voice he didn’t recognize. The giant VAC-Machine was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. His breath was lost to him with wonderment, while he tried to comprehend the size of it. There were no electronic photographs, no descriptions, and no classroom history lessons that could have prepared him for what his eyes fell upon. The veil of fog that covered the world lifted and separated, and all but disappeared from around the monstrous machine before him. He could see a thousand hands, and maybe more, in every direction.

To his left, the silvery beast of metal stretched farther than his eyes could see, interrupting the lands, and cutting deeply into them, spewing vented steel-gray and white smoke. To his right, the machine reached deep into the expansive ocean waters, where waves rolled around it, ignoring it as it disappeared beneath the surface. Above him, the machine seemed to stretch endlessly, and, for a moment, he thought that he glimpsed blue skies. The fog, from which he emerged, stayed just behind him, as though a barrier were preventing it from touching the VAC-Machine.

The skin of the machine reflected the black sands in front of him, and mirrored the skies and the ocean waves that swelled around it. It was magnificent. But when he saw the reflection of himself in the silvery skin, he stopped, and then shuffled back a step, shocked and suspicious.

How long has it been
? He wondered, reaching for the image, as disbelief weighed down his hand. The man staring back at him rubbed the scruffy growth on his face, and ran fingers through an unkempt tangle of brown hair. He’d grown pale, almost ash-colored, blending in with the fog. His eyes were empty, and his cheeks were sunken. He was thin—too thin. He was just a gaunt memory of who he once was before he’d set out on this journey.

He’d lost time; or the sense of it, anyway. Traveling with only the sight of the fog, and the sounds of the ocean, he’d lost his count of days. How long had he been traveling? How long had it been since he’d last eaten or slept? With the security of a Commune, and a family, and classroom, days were tracked; a calendar was commonplace. But, on his own, there was no such thing. At once, fear and relief became overwhelming, and he dropped to his knees. If not for the seawater leaching through his coveralls and touching his skin, he thought that all of this might be a dream, or that he just might be dead.

But it wasn’t a dream; the VAC-Machine suddenly heaved, swelling outward, and then groaned. The sound was deafening, and shook the sands beneath his legs. There was an eerie silence then, followed by the distant sound of a metallic tremor. A dark, perfectly square, form cut into the machine’s belly, revealing a door. Declan moved back, expecting another violent sound to crush his ears. From the center of the black opening, he saw the figure of a beautiful woman emerge: tall and willowy, and dressed in a white gown. She wore a shimmering material with a smooth sheen that revealed iridescent waves of color as her body moved beneath the fabric. With nothing to protect her feet, she seemed to enjoy the touch of the wet sand, pausing once or twice to playfully flick grainy remains from her toes as she stepped toward him.

As the distance closed between them, Declan realized that he knew this woman. His heart leaped, and his breath stopped in his throat. He knew her eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. Her hair was free of gray though, and differed from the style in his memories, but the rest of her was the same, just younger, and fresher. He knew her voice, too.

“Hi, Declan. We’ve been waiting for you,” she said, as she knelt down on the beach with him. The soft push of the black sands against his legs assured him that this was, indeed, real. Taking his hand into hers, Declan looked into his mother’s eyes. A million questions danced in his head. Some perched on his tongue, ready to spill with his next breath. But, instead, he bit his lower lip, and let out the air that ached in his chest. He wanted to throw his arms around her, to take in her scent, and feel her warmth, but this had to be a dream: his mother was dead.

“Who?” Was all he could think to ask her. “Who’s been waiting?”

His mother turned back to the opening in the machine’s belly, and motioned with her long, slender arm.

“All of us,” she answered, and then cupped the side of his face in her other hand.

His mother’s smell was intimate, and the touch of her fingers on his face was warm. But at once, Declan felt a tingling sensation on his cheek. Soon, numbness blossomed, and grew from where his mother had touched him. He looked in the direction she had motioned, and found his sister standing at the opening of the machine. As he brought his arm up to offer a hesitant wave, the world around him started to grow dim. More of his body disappeared from consciousness. He was no longer aware of his hands or his feet, and, within moments, he’d also lost his legs. The sound of the ocean became distant, and the image of his mother and sister began to go gray.

Before the darkness took all of him, like the fog had taken his world, Declan saw another figure come through the opening. It was a woman whose skin was as white as the garment she wore. Her hair was fiery red, with long tresses dressing her shoulders in errant sweeps. The sight of her stole his breath. As Declan stared at this woman, he unknowingly reached to touch Sammi’s lock of hair pinned to his chest.

Then heard his mother say, “He’s ready now.”
 

Blinded by Sight

Gray Skies Book 2
 

** Chapter 1 — Sneak Peek **

James Sundref peered up at the executive guards. Their faces were fixed and void of expression, like ancient statues staring into a distant unknown. How many times since his promotion to four bands had he offered a reverential nod? How many times had his gestures been ignored? After all, with four bands there was a certain level of respect expected, wasn’t there? James shrugged his meaty shoulders, and supposed the guards didn’t care how senior anyone was, as long as they had three or more bands, allowing them on the executive floor.

A reserve came unto him as he considered his final exit from the executive offices. While he’d spent his career rising up through the higher ranks of the Commune, today his final career advance would take him to the top of the balcony ledge, where he’d leap to his death. He gave a glum look to the ledge, and imagined himself perched atop it. He imagined his round frame balancing the moment before jumping. He had to go through with it; there were no more options.