Sun hits off the metal roof, creating a glare to flash across my eyes. Sweat drips along my skin like fresh rain water, which we haven't seen in almost two months. The crops are weeds now, black and misshapen patches in the dried earth. I press my dirt covered forearm over my eyes, blocking the light so I can see.
An uncomfortable breeze pushes my plaid shirt away from me, while my white tank top is stuck to the flat surface of my stomach. The tan cargo pants are loose, coming down to my knees, the large pockets filled with tools for assistance with my metal work. My flat, rubber-soled sneaker, only on my left foot, curves just below my bare ankle.
Mother is bent at the waist, leaning over the steel barrel where our clothes are being washed in the month old laundry water. Her brown-gray hair is streaked back into a bun that rests at the base of her sun burnt neck. She wipes her hands on the stained, torn apron that I had given to her for Mother's Day almost ten years ago.
"Eli." I turn my head.. My grandfather, sitting in the partial shade of the front porch to our home, is watching me from the cracked Red Visions. His pair is one of the originals, designed by the members our tribe, the Kinzo. The goggles are metal, gears constantly whirling and creaking, with wide, red lenses. My grandfather's version, almost sixty years old now, barely help him in the dry dessert. They don't have a GPS tracker either, but he wasn't going anywhere soon. "Go back to work, kiddo, we've got to beat out the night."
"Sorry," I reply, dropping my head back down to my work. My version of the Red Vision is much more advanced, recently updated by myself. I only have to wear one lens though, unlike most in the tribe, due to an accident years ago. Now, the world is a half vision between reality and the virtual.
In front of my work place are several pipes that lead down into the earth, sucking up the water that might have pocketed between the layers. My right hand reaches out to it, feeling the pulsation that the metal created. I shut my normal eye, allowing only the Red Vision to take place. The beating creates rings of light, traveling down through each pipe, taking rights and lefts through the complicated maze.
Twang.
My eye shoot open, "I got it. There's a kink in the metal, bout fifty feet down, Gramps. I can handle this, easy stuff."
"Careful kiddo," my grandfather warns, his fingers lacing together as he presses his lips together. The gray hairs of his moustache rustle as he twitches his nose. The lenses of his Red Visions spark for a moment, reflecting off the sun.
Closing my eye once more, I breathe in slowly through my nose. I feel the warmth of my lungs as they expand, and when I release, heat spreads through my fingertips and out to the metal. Left, right, down two feet, another right, before hitting the three pipe-way, take the center, two more lefts, and thirty feet straight down. The heat finally hits the kink, surrounding the stripped metal and forcing it to liquefy. Molding it, like heavy mud, I stretch it out until the hole is covered over by the metal from the very pipe. I inhale once more, sucking the heat back.
Releasing my hand and stepping back, I smile.
"Got it," I curl my fingers in success. "That wasn't too bad."
"Good," my grandfather smiles, "Good." Then, he turns his head, the corners of his lips dropping. "Martha," he calls out to my mother. "Do you see it?"
I hear my mother gasp. A shirt falls from her hands, plopping back into the water. My Red Vision takes everything in; a Sparrow jumping off the roof of our schoolhouse and flapping its wings as it escapes, Nurse Molly rolling one of the older patients back into the hospital, and a patch of dust right along the wavering horizon where the heat is its hottest.
"Eli, get your mother inside," my grandfather orders. Without hesitation, I break out into a run. The Red Vision is frantically pulling in details. It's 104 degrees out, the percentage of rain is only 4%, the dust cloud would approach this settling in only three minutes. My hands wrap around my mother's frail, boney wrists, and tug her towards the house.
The stairs, bent with age and sand, creak as we forced ourselves up them. My grandfather rolls his wheelchair towards the edge, chin high while his eyes fixate on the approaching enemy. I push my mother into the house, holding the screen door wide open. "Get inside, Gramps." I stand aside, waiting for him.
"Nope, I'll handle this one. Go wait it out with your mother."
"But," I step forward.
"Eli, listen to me, right now. I don't want any god damn nonsense. Get in the house." Without even looking at me, my grandfather reaches into the side pocket of his wheelchair. Sunlight hits off the whistle while he holds it in his fingers.
"Franny's too old Gramps, she can't fight this off." I protest. My hands curl into protest, letting the screen door slam shut behind me. "Let me handle this myself."
"Get inside, girl, I won't say it again." My grandfather's voice cracks like lightening striking metal. His chin tilts over to me, the dust cloud even closer than before, with his Red Vision fixated directly into my eyes. "Do you want to die?"
Hooves are calling out loudly now, breaking the silence of our peaceful town. The sun keeps hitting off the metal roofs, blinding those unequipped with Red Visions. Yet somehow, they had managed to find us. Fire whips back and forth while the Rapidashes run forward. Figures are riding along the backs, dressed in clean, bright clothing.
A hand, wrinkled from water yet swollen from arthritis, wraps around my right wrist, pulling me back into the darkness of our home. The metal hinges of the door creak as my mother shut it behind us. "What about Gramps?" I aske, looking at the dark wood that blocked my view.
"He'll call Franny if he has too."
The hoof beats stop, the Rapidashes snorting and neighing as their masters' feet thump onto the dirt pathways. "Excuse me sir, we are wandering professors of the Johto region, collecting research on the after effects of the Great Divide." The voice is tense, a bit high pitched, and the man sounds like he thought himself higher than my grandfather. "And," he pauses, "who might you be?"
"Seymore Stone, head councilman to the Kinko Tribe of the Orre Region. This is my village you have trampled over with your Rapidashes. Now why the fuck are you here?" My lips press together, knowing things were pretty bad if my grandfather lost his temper. I could hear his voice is ready to burn and slice metal if he had to.
"Rumors from travelers have spread of this tribe. Unique children, per say, or…child now."
"I can't take this," I murmur. My mother's hand dug into my shoulder, as if to remind me to stay put.
I lift my hand up, pressing into the side of my Red Vision. A small button clicks, switching the lens to a faded black. Then, placing my index finger and thumb on a small knob to the left of the button, I begin to turn it. The focus of the lens starts to shift, slowly pulling the sight of the door away. My grandfather's back is turned to us, and standing in front of him on the earth, is a tall, lanky man.
"I have no god damn clue as to what you're talking about," my grandfather replies stiffly. I can see the glint of the whistle, ready to call Franny if he had to.
"But I believe you do, the child was of a Stone relation as well, or so the rumors say." The man has thick, black hair that is greased back. His white lab coat hangs straight down his body. His nose ss like the beak of a Sparrow, and his smile curles into a sour, dried weed. My grandfather laughs.
"My family died years ago, a fire. You'd know that if you did the research. How I got in this wheel chair, see?" My grandfather taps the wheel to prove his point.
The man's eyes flicker, straight towards the door as if he could see through it as well. The men behind him are still, hats cascading shadows over their faces, as they hold the reigns to their Rapidashes. "Oh, we've done the research."
"Have you now," my grandfather snorts, his shoulders shaking in disbelief.
"Sir, you know, it is required by law that any child of special powers must be turned into the Johto Region by their tenth birthday to participate in their training to become a Pokémon master," the man takes a step onto the deck. The wood moans as if the man's feet were setting it on fire. He has his hands behind his back, pacing slowly back and forth around my grandfather.
"Since the Great Divide, there is no more honor in being such a master." As he spoke, my grandfather's fingers twist and turn the whistle in his hand. The silver surface has been rusted from over fifty years of use, but it hadn't been used since the fire many years ago. "As you can see, there are no kept Pokémon in this tribe. We don't live that way anymore, so I will ask you kindly to leave."
"Unfortunately, we cannot." The man's head lightly nods, which sends his men into a frenzy of rushing towards the door. My mother yanks me back, so forceful that she manages to knock me to the ground. My Red Vision stutters, blurring into darkness, as my momentum hurls me under the table. A blanket shifts in front of me, blocking me from the world. "Search for the child," the man orders just before the door is kicked off its hinges with a loud, echoing crack. I tap my Red Vision, placing it back into focus.
One of the men grabs my mother's wrists, another pushing my grandfather into the room. "I told you, there is no child living here! Leave this home immediately," my grandfather screams.
"Seymore Stone, head of the Kinko tribe of the Orre Region. Father to a Westfield Stone, deceased. Grandfather to a Kyle Stone, deceased. Grandfather to an Elizabeth Stone, unknown. Did you think you could hide her death in the fire with the others?" My lips part, eyes widening as I watch my grandfather's stern look soften. His Red Vision almost darkens with the frown of his lips. "She's an extraordinary girl, that granddaughter of yours. Travelers who have found shelter in your tribe couldn't keep their promise to you. Rumors spread Mr. Stone."
"Please," my grandfather's eyes are on his lap now. "You are bringing up a sensitive subject. The information you have is false. My granddaughter died six years ago, when she was ten. Just like her older brother. Just like her father, my son. I am an old man now, trying to run my tribe. Please, leave us in peace."
"We will burn this house," the man bends at the waist so that he can speak into my grandfather's ear. His lips part like a Ekans about to eat its prey. "Rip open every door in this entire village. By mistake, the pipes to your waterlines might…get dented…which I hear are hard to repair for those of…normal stature."
"My granddaughter is dead. Do not make me repeat this again," my grandfather lifts his eyes. I can see his eyebrows furrow, trying to look tough, but his lips are shaking.
"Alright," the man stands up straight, "I'm sorry." My hands unclench the edge of my tank top. I watch as he turns his back, sauntering towards the door. He places a hand on the ragged door frame. "Burn it."
"No!" Scrambling from underneath the table, I fumble to rise to my feet. "I'm her. Elizabeth Stone." My breath is rigid, my lungs trying to reconfigure how to work. The man turns around, his eyes widening at the sight of me. I know I am not what he expected.
"Well, it seems a few parts of you died in the fire alright, so your grandfather wasn't completely lying." The man walks towards me, his dark cold eyes staring me up and down. I know what he was seeing, but I press my lips together and drop my eyes to the ground. "For that, he will be forgiven. Now come along dear, we have to make it back to Johto for your debut."
I turn to look at my mother and grandfather, watching me to the side. The men still hold them, as if they could be some big threats, despite how frail they really are. My shoulders drop in time with a tear escaping my mother's eye. "Can I-"
"No time to pack or goodbyes. You'll go exactly as you are. Provisions will be given to you when we arrive in town. Come along now." His large, boney fingers curl around my bare skin shoulder, pushing me forward. I shrug off his touch.
"Fine," I mumble, glancing over once more at my family. "Bye Gramps. Bye Mum." My entire body is shaking, but I fight the urge to resist. There are seven of these men, and I know I can't handle them on my own. My grandfather had taught me years ago to know my capabilities, especially when I had to relearn everything after the fire. I dig my teeth together, trying to stop my trembling jaw. The strands of brown bangs fall in front of my narrowed gaze. I look forward, walking straight ahead.
The man walks beside me, a hand between my shoulder blades. The others followed behind. My mother begins to scream once we step out into the light. The sobs are echoing in my ribcage, slicing at my heart and lungs. I sniff once, twice, and feel tears striving to break down along my cheeks. I swallow and cough, hoping to keep them back.
People from the town begin to step out of their houses. Some of the parents hold their children back with their hands. A few kids my age are standing by the edge of the town's entrance, hands intertwined as if to acknowledge the fact that it isn't them going. One of the men pulls out a Pokéball, which he then opens.
Light beating out the setting sun flashes for a quick moment. Another Rapidash snorts and shakes its head, wiping its hooves onto the dirt. Then, a rope is brought out, tying the new Rapidash to another. "Go on," the man orders. I place my left hand, which glints in the sun, onto the small of the Rapidash's back and lift myself easily into the air. I swing my heavy, right leg over as quickly as possible and seat myself. The Pokémon shakes and stumbles a bit, adjusting to my weight.
I glance once more back to my house, the sagging metal roof and broken front door. My grandfather's sad eyes are watching me. He has pulled his wheelchair to the very edge of the sagging porch. The whistle lays in his hands. Very slowly, he pulls it up to his lips and blows a noiseless sound. His cheeks puff red, and tears drop past the barriers of his Red Visions, tracing along his tanned, wrinkled skin.
Nothing happens, not like the last time the whistle had been blown. My heart shreds into pieces as I realize that we had just lost any hope there might have been. The Rapidashes snort, acknowledging the sound of the whistle, but the Pokémon we called out to is no longer around to hear us. The seven men collect themselves and get on each of their Rapidashes.
A hand smacks into the hind of the leading Rapidash, sending all of them to rush forward towards the town's entrance. My mother screams again, and one of the children waves goodbye. I dip my head, feeling the sun beating warmly against the back of my neck, wondering if the heat will feel the same in the new world I am riding towards.