Blaze

26. No

Sorry. I moved—from downtown to the suburbs. We still haven't unpacked the computers, and our Internet connection (including wifi) is pretty spotty. I'm not sure when that'll be completely squared away, so I'm making one giant post while I have the chance.

I blink, and in the next moment the Captain is bent over the earth, lifting dirt with his shovel. We're somewhere else, I can see that, but I don't bother wondering why. Mother walking. Austin crying. Jackie coming. That's what matters.

I blink again, and something yellow-grey and cracked floats beneath my eyes. The Captain holds it up, panting. The trees are wet; he's covered in clumped dirt. Is it raining?

"Where's Dad?" I ask. My voice is surprisingly loud.

He shakes his head and keeps on digging, parting the dirt with his fingers, lifting up grey-yellow things to hold them in front of my face.

"Where's Dad?" I keep asking.

He says nothing. Only digs. Digs and lifts.

I blink, and I'm in my tent, watching a learning video in the cloth—just like the ones in the cubes. But the instructor's voice isn't automated: it's the bald man's, instead.

"He'll feed the earth and turn into a cactus. Or those genetically-modified crops. But he's not dead.

"Tell the boy to stop crying. He's not dead!"

I blink, and the tent cloth darkens, bleeds, melts, falls on my face in liquid strips. It's hot and burns my skin, reddening when it touches me. Clumps of liquids seal my eyes closed, then my mouth, preventing a scream. My skin feels tight. Then furry. My arms end in hooves instead of hands and fingers.

Another voice. A child's. Coming from my throat and my lips though I'm unable to move them, to draw air.

"I like to steal things. The first thing I stole was a boomerang. I found it one of the well kids' homes. He'd died from a heat stroke. Word was that his parents had walked off, headed outside the Region, and were never seen again. I knew the house was empty. It's strange, isn't it? There were so many things to take, but I took the boomerang.

"I suppose, if I'd known, I would have taken the knife as well."

A girl's sing-song voice: "Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones will break your bones. Sticks and stones will break your bones but knives will cut you deepest."

I blink, and Austin's face floats over me. His hair is cut even shorter than what I left him with. His mouth moves, but he's not speaking aloud. He's thinking at me.

Cameron, Cameron, wake up.

---

I open my eyes. Sweat-salts seem to be imbedded in my pores; my skin is rough like fabric. I'm inside my tent. The sun lightens the overhead cloth to a grey hue.

The smell of urine.

I breathe deeply, again and again, hoping to flush out the scent with something clean, but it only grows stronger.

I look down to my legs.

The orange jumpsuit is orange-black.

I breathe deeper, wheezing. I pull my body into a ball as if I need to be warmed. I remember everything, every strange broken image, now. I even remember how I felt.