Epoch Earth; the Great Glitch Read online

  Then three sets of hands carried me a few steps away. And... laid me back down? I tried to open my eyes, but dirt and tears glued them shut.

  “Comfy?” Cade asked as I felt the button on my pants pop. A stick jabbed into my back near the place where his rock had caught me. The ground under me felt lumpy and unstable, but softer.

  My pants snatched down my body, getting caught on my new tennis shoes. They jerked wildly back and forth for a moment, then my legs fell to the ground, sticks and leaves stabbing all over. I felt my shoes slide off, one then the other, and my pants disappear.

  Two moans rang out, each conveying polar opposite emotions. The first, whether from me or the tall one I couldn’t tell, was pure anguish. A wounded animal staring down a pack of wolves.

  The other was the alpha wolf ready to tear into his prey.

  Which he did. Small hands I attributed to Alpha pushed my underwear aside and played with his supper. Instinctively I curled up in a ball, knees catching one of them in what felt like a chin. The unintelligible muffled curses that followed told me I was right. Whichever one I’d hit tumbled backward beyond my feet.

  A heavy blow thudded into my chest and the world went white. Again I found myself gasping for air, but this time wondering if I truly wanted it. Wouldn’t it be better to just sleep?

  Against my wishes, the white light turned to twinkling blue stars and I was thrown back into consciousness. Only to find a larger, gruffer set of hands tearing my underwear away. Cold night air hit my delicate skin, except the places that were covered by groping paws.

  I swung fiercely where I expected his head to be, but caught nothing. Then again and again, wildly flinging my hands and throwing whatever leaves and dirt I could get ahold of.

  “Dammit! Jawa hold her still or you’re next!” Cade spat out the words and filth.

  Gently, a hand rested on my hair, stroking the patch that Alpha had torn at. He went right to it. I wondered if some was missing, showing him right where to pet. He murmured softly to me and I felt tears fall on my forehead. “Please stop fighting. Please.” He begged.

  Cade grabbed my shoulder and pulled me toward him, hard. Something shoved inside me and I screamed. My eyes flew open in time to make out his snarling face, heading toward mine as he pumped faster. I aimed for his long beaklike nose and headbutted him with everything I had.

  The stars twinkled again but it was worth it to hear his cry. A fist barreled into my jaw, then another found my ripped cheek. A foot pummeled into my stomach, causing me to lurch forward, catching another fist in my own nose. Another blow to my stomach forced the air from my lungs yet again.

  This time the world did turn black, fading out slowly. Their words turned to garbled mumbles through the fog. Their blows hit their marks, but I didn’t care. Nor did I care when one of them found his way back to his prize, pushing and tearing his way in again.

  I stopped struggling, only from lack of oxygen. Anger still seethed inside me as Brooks and Howie’s faces flashed before my eyes. I wondered if I was dying. If I was, I wanted to spend that time only one way.

  I apologized to Brooks. I told him that I had failed him and hoped he would forgive me.

  And before the darkness took me, I saw Howie. Not as he was the night before, crying and rocking for his lost family. Instead, I saw his face, bright and joyous as it had been the day I presented him with his birthday present. When he’d hugged me, nervous, excited. Gentle.

  In my final moment of consciousness, one word escaped me. //Howie//

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  January 20, 5AG

  Synta looked up, loosened her grip on the table, and glared at the guards in front of her. They both sat limp in their chairs. Neither met her gaze.

  Water pooled along the edges of Synta’s eyes, but didn’t dare fall. She sniffed loudly, forcing their attention to her face.

  Guard One stammered. “I’m... I’m so so—”

  “Don’t you dare!” Synta wiped the offending wetness away. “Your pity means nothing!”

  Guard One reached out a hand toward Synta then pulled it back when she flinched. “It’s not pity. It... It shouldn’t have happened. I’m... Things were... different then.”

  Synta’s glare sharpened. “Then? Six months ago is then?” A twitch of her eye sent one fat blob streaking a path through the dust on her cheek.

  Guard Two patted himself down as if searching for a tissue. Finding none, he untucked his uniform. He tore a strip of fabric from his white undershirt and slid it across the table.

  Only after he drew back his hand did Synta accept it. She dabbed at her eyes and nose with the fabric, her fingers lightly running the length of the fading scar. When finished, she straightened her back and dropped the cloth onto the table. Nobody made a move for it.

  After a moment, she continued. “Obviously I didn’t die.”

  Guard One coughed quietly.

  “I woke up sometime later. It was still pitch black. They were gone. I limped home. Brooks was crying in his room. I think he’d been up all night waiting for me.” Synta’s stone face cracked at the memory of Brooks huddled between his bed and the wall, silently shaking.

  Guard One looked at the torn undershirt as if offering it again. Synta sighed and continued. “I hugged him and told him I was sorry. That I was fine.” She paused. “He could obviously tell I was lying.” She touched her cheek again.

  Guard Two looked at his shoes. He reminded her of the tall one, unable to make eye contact.

  Synta raised her voice, forcing him. “I vowed in that moment never to leave him alone again. And he knew I was telling the truth.”

  They sat silently for a long stretch of time. Synta let the rising whir of the engine behind her wall lull her away from the memories of that night.

  Finally, Guard One stood up, paced the floor with his hands behind his back, then spoke up. “I’m very sorry.” He said the words quickly, giving Synta no time to stop him. “And I hate to be the one to say it, but... you were alone when we found you.”

  Synta bit her lip. “Haven’t you heard enough?”

  Part X: 5 Years AG

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Weeks. Dust had been creeping in for weeks. Power went out one week ago. There was nothing I could do. Going outside in a dust tornado to clean the solar panel was certain death. Huddling up in Mom and Dad’s room wasn’t much better.

  Brooks, rail thin wide-eyed Brooks, didn’t even bother to cry. It was like he knew.

  Then the rain started. Glorious life-saving rain.

  It didn’t stop.

  It had been eight months since the last good rain. By day four it felt like it would eight more before it ended. Huddling in Mom and Dad’s room was the only option.

  Every night I bundled up in Mom’s winter jacket and wrapped her Apollo Astros scarf around my mouth and nose to creep downstairs in search of food. By the time it happened, we were down to stale crackers and spam. Oh, I hated Spam so much before the Glitch. But those days it tasted like pure joy.

  That night, the rain beat against the house, pelting the roof and siding with fat drops of revenge. When the lightning lit up the sky, I could see sideways sheets of rain spraying in every direction. And mud.

  A slow churning wall of orange mud inched its way closer to our door. The sight stopped me mid-step halfway down the stairs. Another flash of lightning glinted off metal objects sucked into the muck, bicycles and barbeque grills clawed at everything in their path. The next time the sky lit up – I still hadn’t moved – I watched the thick ooze mow down the Kwicke’s tree, dragging it along toward us. Just two houses away.

  I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the first thing I could feel. I thought it might be an old bag of bread, but I couldn’t see. Didn’t wait for the next flash. Snatching the last jug of clean water off the counter, I bolted up the stairs. I jumped the last two steps as a crack of lightning hit something outside the window. An electric pop and sizzle chased me into my parents’ room whe
re I slammed the door.

  Brooks was sitting on their bed – our bed I suppose, because we never left that room anymore – with the covers over his head, trembling.

  I peeled off the heavy coat and scarf, suffocating in the heat and recycled air. “Here, eat this. It’s OK. Just rain,” I lied. If I let myself, I’d start shaking as bad as he was. Then where would we be?

  The covers slowly fell to his shoulders. His eyes wanted to well up with tears. I could see them twitching. But he blinked them away. “Rotten potatoes? I thought we threw those away?” Brooks scrunched his nose. As soon as he did so, the stench found me, too.

  I dropped the bag and covered my face. “Ugh, sorry. Thought it was bread. Here, drink this at least.” I held out the water.

  Just as Brooks dared to tear his tiny arm from the safety of his covers, another bright white flash filled the room. An ominous crack of splintering wood followed. The tiny hand jerked back under the blankets and we both screamed.

  I ran back downstairs to find the source of the noise, but I already knew. Mud and rain poured through the front door, swallowing up everything on the floor. The bottom half of the house smelled like death, months of decayed foliage grinding away at Mom’s plush white carpet.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it saw me; because just as I reached the bottom of the stairs, so did the undulating mass. Rain poured in behind it, soaking anything high enough to be safe from the mud below. Within seconds a pool of water formed on top of the mud, and grew higher.

  I ran back to Brooks and slammed the bedroom door for a second time. He had to see the fear on my face because he burst out crying, but I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t mask the terror. We were trapped.

  My brilliant plan was to wait it out. It had to stop sometime; my other pearl of wisdom. So we did. We hugged each other on our parents’ bed all night, and all the next day. Neither of us slept. Hunger gnawed at our bellies and the rare moments when we weren’t thinking about that, rain and debris smacked into the windows.

  Sometime the next evening; I only think it was evening because I couldn’t see the dull rays of sunlight trying to peek through the haze anymore, sometime the next evening we heard a strange slurping noise at the door.

  “What was that?” Brooks had stopped crying, from dehydration more than will, but his voice was deep and hoarse.

  Not much better, I managed to whisper, “I’ll go check,” before coughing.

  Brooks clung to me. I pried his fingers off.

  “I’m sure it was nothing.” I tried to comfort him, but a loud explosion of thunder mocked me.

  The smell hit me before I opened the door. Moldy toxic fumes hung in the air as I turned the knob. Just outside, crawling up the stairs, was high tide. Thick orangy-brown muck covered the entire staircase, still moving ever closer. On top was lapping waves of rain, spilling through the crack under the door.

  Brooks sprang to action, running to help me hold the door closed, then shoving whatever he could reach into the opening. Discarded dirty clothes stuck out from underneath the door, mud fingering its way around the edges.

  I ran to the window on Dad’s side of the bed. The large oak tree by the Stepp’s house was too far to jump. Even if I could barely make it, Brooks stood no chance. Looking down, I watched the same wall of ruddy orange water inch up the side of our house. The living room window below us had disappeared.

  As I calculated our chances of survival if we jumped, glass shattered in the master bathroom. Brooks stopped pushing more clothes under the door and ran to look. When he came back out seconds later, his feet were wet. “It got in,” he yelled.

  I motioned toward the bed. I didn’t have to tell him twice. “We need to jump,” I screamed over the howling wind. “Do we have anything that will float?”

  I circled the room, frantic. Water from the broken window inched across the carpet, tickling my toes if I got too close to the bathroom door. Nothing. I couldn’t think of one thing we had left that would cushion his fall, much less float.

  Brooks leapt up off the bed and threw open the door. Mud rushed in around him. I cried for him to come back, but he disappeared. “Brooks! Brooks!... Bit...” I felt hysteria creeping into my voice.

  Moments later he appeared, covered in mud to his knees and holding up an inflatable mattress. “My closet...,” he panted, “when Marcus spent the night.”

  I snatched it from him and spent one precious second we didn’t have giving him the biggest hug I could. Then I got to work sucking in lungfuls of air and blowing them into the mattress. Behind Brooks I could see water spilling into the room from both sides. The mud was too high to close the bedroom door. There was only one way out. Down.

  White blinking stars appeared before my eyes and my head swirled. I stopped to take a couple breaths, starving for oxygen. A blinding pain shot across my eyes. I felt Brooks take the mattress and pick up where I left off.

  When I opened my eyes again the water had reached the drawer on Mom’s night stand. Without thinking, I nabbed the PodMate and dropped it in my pocket with our stones; mine, Dad’s, and Mom’s.

  “Here, give it back. I’m alright now.” I took the mattress from Brooks.

  It was full-sized by then, but still too flat. It wouldn’t hold him yet. I inhaled and blew into the mouthpiece. Brooks sat on the bed to catch his breath, and get out of the rising water. Between breaths I barked orders.

  “Get some shoes on.”

  “Wrap up in a blanket.”

  “Cover your head.”

  “Tie the sheets together.”

  If we weren’t about to die, I would have laughed at how much I sounded like my mom just then, well except for that last one.

  Water licked my belly button. My toes sank in the mud as I waded to the window and looked down. Three feet. He could make that. I forced the mattress out the narrow opening and finished blowing it up to full capacity.

  When a picture of Mom and Dad on their vacation cruise floated past me, I took it as a sign. Time was up. I tied the rope of sheets around the mattress and lowered it to the water below.

  “Let’s go.” I ordered Brooks to jump.

  He had been totally fine with my plan, until that very moment. He shook his blanket-wrapped head and didn’t budge.

  “Come on, Bit. We have to go now!”

  I like to think the use of his ‘baby’ name sparked some sense of outrage in him. Determined to be a man, he set his shoulders and dipped himself into the water, which came up well past his waist. He gasped, but kept walking. At the window he peered out into the darkness, then back up at me. His face was wet, tears or rain I didn’t know. I kissed his forehead. “I’m right behind you.”

  Brooks climbed out feet first and hung there for a moment, clinging to the window sill, staring up at me. I nodded slowly, and he dropped.

  The mattress shot out from under him, breaking his fall, but trying to get away. I reeled it in and it struggled in the wind, like a fish on a line. Brooks grabbed ahold of it and climbed aboard. I swore I could hear his teeth chattering all the way from the window.

  With the next bright flash of lightning I turned around to bid farewell to our house. I knew we’d never be able to go back. Then, holding my nose as always, I jumped – far away from Brooks and the mattress. I couldn’t risk bouncing him off, back into the cold water. My waves came close enough.

  I sank deep into the muck. It sucked me in, swallowing my feet and legs. I wrestled free and struggled to reach Brooks. He screamed my name.

  Rain pelted me, hard and fast in the face, cold and refreshing against the scar on my cheek which had opened back up. I felt it tear when I was under the murky water. A branch or, hopefully not, something metal caught me as it floated by.

  When I reached Brooks, we held each other, him on the raft and me wedging it firm between the Stepp’s oak tree and the side of their house.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  We had two houses... well, the top halves of two different houses...
so I guess one whole house.

  The Stepp’s house didn’t get eaten by the mud storm like ours did. Or at least, not as much. A sane person might have just moved next door... or far far way. Or left right then for Atlanta to find Howie’s dad.

  But Brooks and I split our time between the two houses, days in the Stepp house and nights in Mom and Dad’s bed.

  I don’t know how long we had been at the Stepp’s house before I risked turning on my PodMate. The first few days and nights passed in a blur of boarding up windows and scrounging for edible scraps in our new kitchen. We often slept where we fell, whether it was dark or darker outside.

  One night, after Brooks and I fought to drag the generator to the side yard between our houses and run cords long enough to reach, I dared to sync the Pod. Holding my breath, I waited for the faint red light on top of the egg-shaped dome to grow stronger, then turn green. The thing took its sweet time, long enough for every emotion between anxiety and hopeless rage to pass through me.

  I’d already beaten myself up for days since the storm, wondering why we were still there to get pounded in the first place. Mom’s words taunted me. Two years I’d wasted, stubbornly trying to put life back the way it was. Two years I’d put between us and Howie’s dad.

  And there it was. My last precious moments with him played on repeat, until I was sure I was about to glitch, too. I knew he was the reason I couldn’t leave. I never knew how much he dominated my life before then. Gone was the faint scent of musk that always swirled around him, unnoticed until its absence.

  In the months since his arrest I hadn’t dared try to chip him. Still, every night I talked to him, out loud, in my room. When Brooks and I started sharing our parents’ room I hid in their bathroom or closet, just to get a moment alone with my thoughts of Howie.

  I told him everything. Rehearsed the talk we’d never get to have about his dad, my mom’s instructions... and on rare nights... even about the electricity that surged through my body the day we embraced. The day he was taken from me.