The Freedom Race, page 33
“’Bout what?”
“Oh nothing. I swear, she’s the angriest female I ever met. You noticed. Doesn’t like me much. Feeling’s mutual. Says some crap ’bout Uncle Dreg too. Accuses him of being an idealized.”
“An idealist?”
“Yeah, that too.”
“She told me she’s his sister.”
“Yeah, she is.” Tiro checked to make sure Musa was their only witness. “Uncle Dreg didn’t like her very much.… Well, maybe he didn’t hate her or nothing, but they weren’t real close. Thinks she knows everything. So you feel okay then? You look good.”
“I feel great. Just tired is all. Oh Tiro, we made it!”
“Course we did. Ben—he’s one of the Friends—Ben says the Dreamfleet’ll likely snap me up. Folks in the city, they already heard o’ me! Can you believe it, Ji? Heard of Uncle Dreg too. They got copies of that speech he gave at the Circle. Those scouts—the ones from the Dreamfleet who visited the planting way back when, remember?—seems like they spread the word after they saw me fly. Got the fleet owners excited. They want to see Bad Luck Billy’s protégé—that’s what Ben says. I was born for this. So were you, Ji. It’s destiny.”
He veered back to Dimmers. Told her how the elders there saw themselves as guardians of the wood, how they hung purple tears on the trees for every seed who’d been killed or tortured. “Man Cryday is an arborist like Coach B. Prefers trees to people. No surprise there. Favors mutants too.” He looked over at Musa, who hadn’t left his guard post. “Go figure. Germaine says Man Cryday’s an ant whisperer. S’how she domesticated the mutants. Only don’t call ’em mutants. An’ don’t say she trained or domesticated ’em either. They’re stripers or Friends, not mutants. An’ they’re ‘companioned,’ not trained. She’s my grandmother’s sister. Not that I ever knew Grammy. That makes her my great-aunt. But she’s none too fond of me. You see how she gives me the stink eye when she looks at me? Seems like she blames me for what happened to Uncle Dreg. Like I don’t feel bad enough about it already. Jesus! She bitches nonstop ’bout everything. You noticed?”
Ji-ji felt uneasy talking that way about their host, so she asked Tiro if the place really was a Viral Colony. He said it was originally, but that now it was an ideal hideout cos most people avoided it like the Janglarian plague—which was what the first so-called Virals, or Janglers, as they were also commonly known, suffered from. “Germaine says steaders freak out if they see a Jangler heading toward ’em. An’ don’t call ’em Janglers or Virals or Ebolans, for god’s sake. They’re Hoods here, cos of their hooded cloaks. Or sometimes they’re called Bells cos of the string of warning bells they wear round their necks. I tell you, Ji. They got a name for everything and everyone. Folks here say if you got your own name for something it can’t be snatched like it can be if you don’t—or something like that.”
Tiro had barely paused to take a breath. His jitteriness began to make her nervous. He looked and sounded like her mam. She confronted him outright. “You taken something, Tiro?”
“Me? No! Don’t look at me like that. Okay, yeah. But don’t go all freaky on me. It’s not like that crap your mam used to snort with Lotter. There are these ’shrooms in Dimmers. You gotta try one. Ben showed me. They’re harmless. They pull everything close up—like you don’t just see color, you can step inside it. You gotta try it.”
“So that’s why you’re acting so wound up?”
“I’m acting wound up cos I’m so damn happy to see you! We get to race together, just like we dreaminated it with Uncle Dreg. We’ll be Wild Seeds. You can watch me fly to glory in the coop, an’ I can watch you take the runner prize. Day after tomorrow, we’ll be hopping a train to Monticello. They call it the Liberty, but it’s nothing fancy. Just a string o’ freight cars. Still … it’s a train. You know how fast a train goes? Me neither. But it’s fast. I was scared you wouldn’t make it, but you’re out of the woods at last. Guess we know where that saying came from.” He chuckled, became serious. “You were real sick when you got here. Delirious. Didn’t recognize me. You kept saying Man Cryday was a damn tree! She’s nothing like Uncle Dreg. Wouldn’t believe they were brother an’ sister if Uncle hadn’t told me himself.… She hasn’t exactly taken a shine to me,” he repeated, “but she’s cured you with her witchery herbs so I can put up with her bad-mouthing.”
“Dimmers Wood was real bad for me,” Ji-ji confessed. “Saw all these corpses an’ stuff. You see ’em too?”
“Yeah. I saw ’em. Heard Father-Man Williams laughing in my ear, an’ heard Mother weeping, an’ saw her with Amadee that day … an’ saw Uncle Dreg all strung up too. They said things.…”
“Who?”
“The trees. The Dimmers. Man Cryday. Who the hell knows? Said it shoulda been me got tractor-pulled. Said Amadee was the one could fly. Said he was the one worth saving.”
“You’re a great flyer, Tiro. Best I’ve ever seen.”
“Amadee was tons better. But what’s the point saying all that crap now? What’s done is done. Guess they’ll all have to settle for second best.”
“You’re not second—”
He interrupted her. “You been awake long?”
“A while. Was afraid something bad happened to you. I mean, how long does it take to hunt game in a place like this?”
“She hasn’t told you then?”
“Told me what?”
“What we were hunting for.”
“Food, right?”
“Wait here, Ji. I got a big surprise for you. Should be all cleaned up by now.”
“Don’t leave again, Tiro. You only just—”
“S’okay, Ji. Trust me. Be back in two shakes of Musa’s tail.”
He cupped his hand to the side of his mouth. In a fake whisper he said, “Don’t tell him, but that striper’s butt ugly.” He looked at the striper and shook his head. “Sorry, fella, but it’s true. Butt ugly. You stink too—’less it’s you, Ji.” Musa raised his head and yawned. Tiro took off.
Ji-ji quashed the uneasiness she felt. What did it matter if he’d sampled a ’shroom or two? His jitteriness was nothing like her mam’s. She could relax. The day after tomorrow they would set out for Monticello on the Liberty Train. She was among Friends. She listened to the sounds coming from outside. People bustled around. Someone was humming, someone else was chopping wood. No one had ever found this place. She was safe. She dozed off again.
Ji-ji woke to see Tiro standing in the doorway, flanked by two strangers. The man was a male dusky—a black man. The woman was a female fairskin—a white woman. Or did Tiro say she was Latin?
“Ji, meet Bently Turner and Germaine Judd.”
Bently bowed low and doffed an invisible cap. Germaine curtsied. Ji-ji laughed.
“This is how come the hunt took a while.”
Pheebs stepped out from behind Ben. All four foot six of her.
“Pheebs!” Ji-ji cried in amazement. “You escaped! How?”
It was a huge relief to see that Pheebs had made it out alive. After Lotter decreed Coach B a traitor, Pheebs would be in danger too. But she wasn’t the only surprise. The other one couldn’t wait for her cue. She leapt out from behind Tiro and ran full tilt toward Ji-ji.
“I knew we find you with the Dimmers!” Afarra cried. “I tell it over and over!” She twirled around like a spinning top and flung herself on the bed.
Amid the celebration, Tiro explained how he’d promised Uncle Dreg he would try not to leave Afarra or Pheebs behind if it looked like they were in danger. Pheebs had been working with Afarra in the fields that morning of the Last Supper. She’d seen Casper follow her back to her sleeping shed. “Had a knife,” Pheebs said. “Planned to use it. But Uncle Dreg’s Eyes surprise Casper an’ he backs off. I follow Afarra to the burnt-outs. Then, later, Tiro an’ me snatch her up.”
“Only then we got separated—a long story,” Tiro said. “But Pheebs here saved the day, an’ here they are. We found ’em down near the river. Guided ’em back here.”
The entire time Tiro was speaking, Ji-ji had been too overwhelmed to say anything. Afarra climbed into bed, put her arms around Ji-ji, and refused to let go. Man Cryday returned and ordered Afarra out of Ji-ji’s healing bed. She wouldn’t budge. Evidently, there were some battles even Man Cryday couldn’t win. She told the others to let Jellybean get some rest. Afarra could remain.
The last thing Ji-ji heard before she fell asleep was Afarra prattling on about what they would do in Dream City. Afarra would be entered as a Wild Seed. It would be tough for her to keep up. But whatever happened, Ji-ji wouldn’t abandon her little sister. Even if she had to carry her, they would cross the finish line together.
As she was dozing off, Ji-ji said, sleepily, “Where did you find the necklace?”
“I am not finding him. He is finding me. With his Seeing Eyes. He is leaving them in my sleep shed. It is very thoughtful. When I see him on the next time I will say thank you.”
Ji-ji couldn’t imagine who’d left them there in the shed. Pheebs? Coach B before they arrested him? Tiro? How could so many dreams come true at once? Smiling, she toppled into sleep.
* * *
Ji-ji awoke. Morning. Birds sang outside, and a wide slab of sunlight had slithered under the door. She must’ve slept all afternoon and all night. Man Cryday slept in her rocker while Afarra was curled up like a baby at the foot of the bed. Round her neck she wore Uncle Dreg’s Seeing Eyes. On a chair nearby, Tiro slept as well. The scene was so peaceful Ji-ji didn’t want to wake them, but she desperately wanted a drink of water. She had a strange, musty taste in her mouth, and a revolting smell permeated the cabin—like a skunk had found his way into the crawl space underneath them. The culprit dozed a few feet away, his huge head resting on his paws. He felt her eyes on him and lifted his head expectantly. Ji-ji called out to Man Cryday, who jerked herself awake. Moving with an agility that would have been impressive in someone half her age, she hurried over to the bed.
“How do you feel?” Man Cryday asked. She sounded anxious. “You came down with a fever last night. Afarra alerted us.”
Ji-ji tried to sit up but the pain was too intense. “Feels like Oz kicked me in the back.”
Man Cryday felt her forehead and cheeks. “The fever is broken,” she said.
Afarra woke up. She cheered when she saw Ji-ji. “I am saying you will break! And here it is!”
The commotion woke Tiro. He leapt up from the chair with a wild expression on his face and said, “Does she know?”
“Know what?” Ji-ji asked. She attempted to shift onto her back, but Tiro yelled at her not to move. Something in his voice put the fear of god into her. “Why? What is it?” she asked.
Ji-ji followed Tiro’s eyes and saw something wriggle out from underneath her T-shirt! Musa rushed at the bed, growling. During the night, a transparent worm almost as long as her arm had crawled into bed with her! It nosed itself farther out from beneath her T-shirt! Oh my god! There were two of them!
Hysterical, Ji-ji sat bolt upright and tried to slap them away. Instead of helping her, Tiro grabbed one of her arms and Man Cryday the other. She was having a nightmare. Any second she’d wake up. Like leeches, the giant worms latched on to her shoulders. She could feel them undulating there. She had never felt anything more repulsive in her life.
Tiro was crying. He looked terrified. “Ji, they’re not what you think they are! They’re—”
Man Cryday interrupted. “They are sproutings. With luck, the blossoming will follow.”
She was still feverish, still dreaming. That was it. The aftereffect of Dimmers, that’s all.
“The stink worms are not for harming,” Afarra said. “They are for hope. They are for us.”
Ji-ji looked from one to the other. This wasn’t a dream. This was real!
She steadied her voice, enunciated every syllable: “I … want … to … see … my … back! NOW!”
Man Cryday spoke sternly. “I will let go as long as you promise not to rip them out. If you do, you die, understand?” Ji-ji nodded. She was shaking so hard the bed was trembling.
Satisfied, the old woman hurried over to a cupboard, opened it up, and pulled out two large mirrors. Tiro, his hands shaking, held one mirror in front of Ji-ji while Man Cryday positioned another behind her. On Man Cryday’s signal, Afarra slowly lifted Ji-ji’s shirt.
Ji-ji stared at her reflection in horror. Two protrusions, like an old person’s wrinkled knees, had attached themselves to her shoulder blades. The deformity continued in a bony ridge across her shoulders. Two intestine-like appendages grew out of the knobby protrusions—feelers that hung down past her waist but that could also contract back into her body and disappear, like lizard’s tongues. The stench they gave off made her want to gag. All across her back, from her shoulders to her ass, like the roots of an ancient tree, was a network of what looked like keloid scars.
She was the ugliest creature she’d ever seen.
“What have you done to me? You put a curse on me, witch! A voodoo!”
“Oh child.” Man Cryday put the mirror down and cupped Ji-ji’s face in her hands. “This is no curse. It is a translation. You have survived the first phase.”
“The first phase of what? I can feel them writhing! Get them off me! Cut them out!”
“This is not a curse, child. It could be a miracle.” Ji-ji reached back to rip them off. “No! Do not pull on them!” Man Cryday warned. “Your blood is theirs. You will bleed to death if you damage them. They are a part of you now, like your arms and legs. You are a chrysalis, a metamorphic. If my brother was right, one day these sproutings could translate themselves into wings. Wings, child! Like your ancestors. Like the Bird tribe from the—”
Ji-ji almost spat at her. “Wings! These? Look at them! These aren’t wings! They’re … maggots!”
“The sproutings have not yet evolved,” Man Cryday said. “It will take time but—”
“Shut up, you stupid old witch! This is my body, not yours! I hate you!”
Ji-ji buried her head in her hands. She was a freak, a mutant. Man Cryday had called her Musa’s sister. The witch had known all along about the horror waiting to ambush her. This was why they’d brought her here, to live among the mutants, Virals, and Dimmers. They’d all known she would never be able to leave. Even Tiro. He’d known too. Why hadn’t he warned her?
She was lying on her side with her back to them. Tiro reached out and tried to touch her shoulders. One of the feelers latched on to his wrist. He cried out and yanked his hand away.
“Get out!” Ji-ji cried. “All of you! GO! Please!”
Tiro couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Man Cryday wanted to stay, but when Ji-ji threatened to scream herself hoarse if she did, the old woman agreed to go, instructing Musa to stay behind and keep guard.
Apart from the striper, only Afarra remained. She climbed back onto the bed, wrapped her arms around Ji-ji’s trembling legs, and didn’t let go. Every so often, she rubbed the Seeing Eyes and asked Uncle Dreg to help them. But Ji-ji knew the truth: no one could help her now.
She closed her eyes. One by one, she buried her dreams.
20 STORIES OLD AND NEW
An infestation writhed on her back. Ji-ji felt the maggots convulse and struggled to resist the urge to rip them off. Musa lay a few feet away. She and the mutant were kin. For the third or fourth time, she threw up. Afarra held a bowl under her chin and wiped her mouth with a cloth. The vomit stank, though not as much as her back. Rage coursed like lava inside her. For a brief time, her body had been hers. No seed symbol, no plowing peril. And where the hell was Tiro? Scared off by a pair of feelers! If their roles had been reversed, she would have stayed by his side—smothered the horrible things, if necessary, just to keep them quiet so he could rest.
“Do not be scared, Missy Ji. I am staying with you all the time.”
“I’m not scared.… Okay, I am. And don’t call me Missy Ji. You’re not a Cloth anymore.”
“Okay. I call you Elly, yes? Like Jellybean who was brave on the pyre.”
Accustomed to Afarra knowing things she shouldn’t be able to know, Ji-ji didn’t ask how she’d found out about her namesake.
After a while, Afarra said, “Tiro is saying we ride the Liberty Train.”
“I won’t be riding anything. Not with these.”
“Your wings are being very shy. That is what they are saying.”
“Shy? Are you insane! Look at them!”
Ji-ji had discarded her T-shirt earlier. Confining the feelers made them even more antsy. She turned over so Afarra could see them writhe on her back. “These look shy to you? No. Not to me either. So shut up about it. An’ don’t call these filthy goddam worms wings.”
“Uncle Dreg is saying wings. He is looking inside the window.”
Ji-ji glanced at the cabin window, half expecting Uncle Dreg-Dim to be peering through it. “You mean the Window-of-What’s-to-Come,” she stated, bitterly.
“Yes. That one. The big one. The Eyes are seeing you in the sky. It is very uplifting.”
“No one can fly with these!”
“They will grow. Like a caterpillar-butterfly. It is almost a sure thing.”
Ji-ji wanted to scream. Afarra’s dogged hopefulness felt like an accusation, like she hadn’t tried hard enough to look on the bright side or see the glass half full. How do you do that when your back is a nest of snakes? Ji-ji couldn’t say all these things to Afarra—couldn’t say them to anyone. All she said was “Why are you always so hopeful?” She really wanted to know.
