The Tides That Bind Us [AfroFuturism]

Cammi

The doors of the 21 train slid open with a hiss, and a wriggling mass of tourists and locals shuffled their way out onto the platform. The stream of bodies flowed towards the main foyer of the train station, while those waiting on the platform moved to fill the space.

Zaharah shuffled at the back of the group, pushed along in this weird locomotive form of osmosis. A blast of air conditioning hit her in the face as she crossed the threshold into the train. Soca filtered through the speakers, filling the cabin with an upbeat energy. She guided everyone to a booth in the back on the right side, opposite a group of European men. They prattled on about plans to go to see this touristy thing and that touristy thing.

She stuffed their luggage under the navy, padded seats, and slipped in next to Jade. Her sister had eyes out the window and Skorpi jumped from her shoulder to the table, his legs making metallic clinks against the surface. Roddi and Pharah sat opposite, the former checking over Shala while the latter good lost in the swirling wood patterns on the table.

They'd been quiet during the wait for the train, fidgety, even. Zaharah leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes briefly. Fatigue caught up with her, settled deep into her bones. The ride to New Andros would take a while; she could rest.

A muted hiss filled the cabin, followed by the low hum of the engines. The 21 pulled away from the platform into the bright sunshine beyond the station. Light cut through the window and lay in a square on the table. Skorpi turned circles in it, the holo finish on his coat casting a rainbow of colours over their booth.

Jade nudged her and angled her phone so Zaharah could see. On the screen was a list of articles with thumbnails. Zaharah scrolled through the list, her chest tightening with each headline she read.

Family Perishes in Boating Accident.

Vigil Held for Zaharah Cyan at the Dawson Pocking Pitch.

Full Military Memorial Held by Makana.

Cylean Cybernetics Celebrates the Life of Zander Cyan.

Zaharah tore her as away and grasped a handful of her shirt right above the ache in her chest. It was all a lie. Everything was a lie. They were all gone, including her and Jade. Seeing the faces of her parents and sisters awakened a deep burning that tore through her gut. It had always been there, she knew, but she'd turned her mind away from it to focus on the here and now. Being back in the 700 meant confronting everything she left behind, and she wasn't ready.

Get it together. She swallowed the lump in her throat and leaned back against the cool seat, burying her face in her backpack and taking deep breaths to quench the flames tearing through her. Markus was right, and she wished he was here with them. Then maybe they'd have some sense of direction instead of stumbling around like lost children.

Zaharah lifted her head and cast her gaze out the window. The train charged into a tunnel, one lit but with gold and aqua lights. Junkanoo Tunnel, as the locals called it, because it was bright and exciting and invigorating, just like the festival. But most of all, because it led to one of the 700's best-kept secrets.

"Hey," Zaharah said to the group. "We're about to get a view." Sunlight streamed into the cabin as the train breached the other end of the tunnel.

Out the widow, the midday sun turned Goombay Plaza into a shimmering spectacle, surrounded by tall poincianas and reclaimed limestone monoliths. At its center, the statue of the conch blower stood five stories high, one leg stretched out behind, the other bent at the knee with a foot braced against a platform. Her body was angled east to the sunrise, her head bent back with a conch horn held to her lips. Dreadlocks flew behind her head, giving the whole piece a sense of motion.