Slate Gray

Chapter 22.1: Perrin Slate

I'm falling backward through an endless sky. Sun drenched clouds cast dappled shadows and a gentle breeze tugs at my clothes. The fear of impact is nonexistent as I am buoyant, peaceful, happy. Because I'm not falling alone. My family is all around me.

The wind ripples Michael's Dead Kennedy's shirt as he breaststrokes through the air, grinning like he's having the time of his life. Mom is cross-legged beside him, a maelstrom of brown hair spiraling upwards as records orbit her like moons.

Dad reclines as he falls, head in one hand and a book in the other. His jean clad legs are akimbo and there's a hole in the heel of his sock that Ace swore she'd mend.

And speak of the devil, my sister summersaults to my left, giggling and crashing through clouds. She waves like a maniac when she sees me, ecstatic to have been noticed.

Together we float. Happy. Weightless. Safe.

Until a ruby glow rises from below.

The sapphire sky bleeds gray. The puffy clouds darken into plumes of granite smoke. The soft air sears, scorching my clothes, sizzling my skin.

Our peaceful fall becomes a plummet.

Michael catches fire first, blistering and boiling while he screams for help I can't give. Then Mom blooms like a lit wick, her hair a tangle of sparks and smoke while she claws at her arms, at her chest, desperate to put out the blaze.

"Perrin!" they beg. "Perrin!!"

Dad has lost both book and glasses by the time he ignites; his skull a rictus of pain as he burns to a crisp. Until he too is nothing but dust in the wind. Until it's just me and my sister, twin meteors careening through space.

And as the ground hurtles closer, my own name detonates in my ears: "PERRIN!!"

I shoot up and white blasts across my vision when I crack skulls with Ace, the real Ace, leaning over like a fool to shake me awake.

"Ack!" she yelps, reeling back. "Son of a bee sting!"

"My bad." I scrub the images of fire and brimstone from my eyelids until the only thing left is the scent of roasted flesh. "Shitty dream."

Ace massages her forehead, the emerging goose egg stark against her pale skin. "I think you gave me a concussion."

"Get a thicker skull." But propping up on an elbow, I soften when I see the violet crescents beneath her eyes. "How long was I out?"

"Four hours? Five?" Her voice is scratchy from burnout as she hands me a glass of water, as if she too can taste the thick dryness of my tongue. "I wanted to give you till sunrise but I almost fell asleep at the wheel."

I wave aside the unnecessary explanation and chug the offered liquid. I would've been happy with two hours. The fact that I got double is a testament to my sister's tenacity.

"Where are we?" I ask between gulps. "What state?"

Through the window above our couch, I peep a flashing Shell sign and the telltale gas station overhang, outrageously bright against the cobalt, pre-dawn sky. Looks like the RV's hungry. And by the rumbling in my belly, it's not alone.

Ace stifles a yawn. "Welcome to Alabama."

I salute her efforts with my now empty cup. "Mighty fine work, kiddo. I'll take it from here."

"Good, cuz I gotta piss like a pregnant pachyderm."

I grin when she theatrically hops from foot to foot before bolting away. She's always had a titanium bladder; it comes in handy on long car trips.