The Lost Ones
{A story about breaking into tiny little pieces}
The train is on time, as usual. It brings the smell of motor oil and musk, heat rising from its surface and sparks under its wheels. It screams past her body and takes her breath out of her chest.
She throws a rock at it as hard as she can.
=={Run, run}==
Sammy is getting his hair cut to regulation length again. The hairdresser is a kind old lady with black eyes and messy style. He likes her. She fights against her age with a pair of scissors and denial. Recently she'd left a gaping wound behind his ear when her fingers had slipped, but that hadn't been so bad. Sammy had liked the pain of it.
He remembers that moment. Her tiny eyes got so big. She dropped the razor and froze, her eyes wide. Please don't tell, she'd begged. Please, Sammy. Please. I don't want to be Found. Please. Anything but that. Everyone in the room had stopped moving.
Sammy shook his head and told her she was fine, it wasn't even that big of a deal. She'd handed the job over to someone else.
He had bled and bled and bled and bled. It was kind of nice.
=={just}==
"Think about it, Rence," Deeter saying, chewing on a stalk of grass and trying to look cool. "Everyone says that's what we gotta do."
"It's nothing more 'n kitten tales, Deeter," she sighs, "Don't get taken in by 'em crumbly smacks. You know they don't want nothing but your food."
Deeter shakes his head. "Rence, I saw it. Like, in front of me. Like, real as the Father." He flips the grass to the other side of his mouth. He's dressed in worn regulation clothes like she is, except he's not cheating. Hers should have Departed four trains ago. She can't afford new ones.
"I'm telling you, Deets, they're tryna getcha. Aint you know a crumbly story when you hear one? They probably prettied up some poor old pillow and gotcha to believe." She frowns and glances at the smog-covered sky. The sun was barely perceptible beyond the grey, but she could still calculate the time. "I gotta get going. Ma's gonna cook me for dinner."
She turns, but he catches her arm. His eyes are dark. "Think about it, Rence. Think. Even if this is all just a kitten tale, it's something. I aint had something in a real long time."
Rence just runs away.
=={as}==
"I'm sorry about last time, Sammy, honey," the hairdresser says now, staring at the large mark she'd left on him. "You know how… how these hands of mine shake." She should have been in a Departure group six wheels ago. The wrinkles are starting to show.
"It not a big deal," Sammy tells her again. He snaps open the newspaper. The title doesn't come into focus. The wording doesn't make sense. Why can he never read these things?
He's not certain what happens, because one second he's reading what he thinks might be an article on the stars and the next, the screaming starts. Someone is shouting why Sammy why but he doesn't know what they're talking about.
"I didn't do anything," he tells no one in particular, "Just my duty."
Glass breaks.
He needs a new hairdresser.
=={fast}==
Rence can hear her mother from down the block, so she runs.
"Florence?" the shout comes, "Florence Louise, if you don't get down here right this minute, I will feed you to the Father before you know what's coming. Don't you think I won't."
"Nice going, Florence," some kid shouts. She throws a pebble in his direction and keeps running, her dirty sneakers hitting the ground in easy time. Her house is the same squat brown building everyone has, but she finds it easy because her grass is a little more dead then everyone else's.
"Ma!" she calls back, sprinting up the drive, "I'm home. Quit jibbling to all the smacks what my full name is. Father Almighty." She closes the door and pads into their cramped kitchen.
"You watch your tone with me, young lady," her mother warns, but then Rence kisses her mom's cheek and all is well. "You're too old to be running around those streets."
Rence knows this. It's starting to get dangerous. They're starting to offer her things, and it's getting harder and harder to refuse.
She opens their tiny refrigerator and groans at its emptiness. She doesn't know why she's surprised. The food had stopped a while ago. Rence closes her eyes and thinks about the things Deeter's promised her.
"I'm making dinner, Florence," her mother states, "Stop getting your crumbly fingers all over my kitchen. Go make yourself useful and check on your sister."
Rence gets real quiet at that.
"How is she?" the teen asks, sitting at the counter and staring at her hands, "Did it get worse?"
Her mother cuts up tubers into tiny slices. "The Hamilton doctor gave her twenty trains, max. Granted, Emily Hamilton is the most conniving, sadistic woman I've ever met, so I don't know if you should take that with a grain of salt."
The last time Rence had tasted salt, she was six. She steals a raw piece of whatever her mother is cooking and plops it in her mouth, flinching at the bitterness. "Doctors aint nothing but smacks," Rence decides, "To the Father with them."
"Hey," her mother calls after her, "You watch that mouth, young lady."
Rence doesn't say anything because Rence is walking all nineteen feet to Harper's room.
Her heart starts feeling like she's the one that's dying.
=={as}==
Every day they put up a list of the Found and the Departed. It gets placed in the center of the square and they sound a whistle to let everyone know that the count is up.
Sammy stops by it, biting into a bitter root. He puts his fingers up to the letters and scans down the line.
Found: Gretchen Silvia White, thirty-five wheels and forty six trains.
"Huh," he says. "Wonder how they got her."
=={you}==
The door at the end of the short hall is like this big black brick in Rence's brain. It shows up all the time. She knows what's behind it, but every day it's getting worse.
She cracks it open. "Harp?" she whispers, "Are you awake?"
The fog of the day lets in a little light. Something in the shadows stirs, but Rence doesn't jump, just slips in and closes the door behind her. Her mother doesn't need to see Harper, not like this.
"Flo-ro?" a tiny voice asks, voice so thin it cracks. "Whatcha doing in here? Mama said it t'aint safety."
Rence peers into the darkness where her skinny sister is curled in blankets, big eyes wide. She looks so hungry. So lost. So wild. Rence crawls on her hands and knees to the mattress that is Harp's bed. It's worn out and stained, but it's the best they can do.
"Miss Harper Constantine," Rence says, wrapping her little sister against her chest, "Do you think I give two shakes of the Father's tail what Ma says is safety?"
Harper laughs and wraps those bone-showing limbs around Rence's willow frame. "You shouldn't say his name," Harper warns, "When I was in school, Lawrence Malcolm said that it could Find you if you said it too much."
"Well, he can come Find me then," Rence declares, "Betcha I could out run him. How old do you think he is, anyway? He's gotta be, like, sixty."
"Sixty?" Harper laughs, "T'aint no smack that lives to sixty."
"Hey," Rence grins, "You watch your mouth. Ma hears that word outta you and you gon' be Found real fast. She'll hand you over in handcuffs."
Harper giggles at first but then the coughing starts and she has to pull away because she can't breathe and her big eyes close and her entire body shakes with the force of it. Rence can't do anything but sit there and pat Harper's back and try not to get in the way.
When Harper's eyes open again, her irises are bright crimson. "I can hear the Father and all the Father's words," she whispers, her voice strong and empty and hurting, one million screams in just one instant, "I can feel the Father's breath and his great wide arms."
"You stop that," Rence chokes out, "You stop that right now, Harper." She starts backing away. The sanguine eyes of her sister stare out into space.
The voice that is ripping out of the twelve-year-old doesn't stop. "I know the fate the Departed take and I know the fate of the Found. I can smell his blood as it boils."
"Harp? Harper? Har…Harper?" Rence, to her anger, finds tears in her eyes. "Harper, please stop, please." She's shrill, panicked. A part of her is disgusted that she's scared of her own sister.
"Stop what?" Harper wants to know, eyes back to blue, dark circles and pale skin, same as usual.
Rence stares at her. "Harper? Is that you?"
Harper's eyebrows shoot up her forehead. "You been eatin' too much of Ma's cooking. You gone all crumbly in the head."
Rence scoops her up and buries her head in her sister's hair, breathing in the smoke-flavored scent of her. Harp groans and swats her off.
"You are the crumbliest smack that ever set foot in the Father's kingdom," Harper states, "I swear the streets have got you mixed up."
It's not the streets. It's Harper that's mixing Rence up. It's Harper and the way her hair is changing colors slowly, it's Harper and the way she's losing weight and maybe her humanity.
"Supper's almost fixed," Rence says instead, standing, "You best run away while you still can."
=={can}==
Sammy makes his way home, his head blaring at him. The pain's been pretty bad lately, but he can't remember why.
His house is Row Six, House Four. His mother is Departed but his dad is one hundred percent there. Sammy is reminded of this by how broken one of his windows is. It lets the smog in but he kind of likes how the air tastes. Rotten, like his mind is.
"How is this a haircut?" the man wants to know, looking at how uneven it is. "What sort of establishment are they running down there?"
"It's the Heights, dad," Sammy says, shaking his head, "You know what it's like. Would you prefer I went out onto the Cliffs? You know it's one or another."
Sammy's dad just shakes his head. "The Father's certainly slacking if he's letting this kind of work go on in the Heights."
"Keep talking like that," Sammy states blandly, "See if he won't Find you."
=={you can't}==
Rence pretends she left something back on the streets. Her ma complains, but Rence promises to make it quick. She's out like a shot and finds Deeter where she thought she would: holed up in a corner, making a blanket to sell.
"Deeter," she pants, "When and where."
"You're in?" he wants to know. He's not that surprised. Rence is starting to age out. Things start getting desperate at sixteen.
"Nah, I just wanted a pleasure run, 'cause I just have so much extra energy to burn," she grins.
"No need for sass," he sulks, "I'd tell ya either way. I trust you, Rence."
She scowls. "It's best not to throw that word around, Deets. Might somebody think you mean it."
He shakes his head and says, "Are you sure about this, Rence? You got a lot of people counting on you. If you get Found…" he trails off.
Rence holds up her hands. "Does it look like I've been Found yet? T'aint nobody gonna Find me. I'm the lick-split fastest in the neighborhood. Or at least the block. Maybe just on my lane. But still. I made my choice, Deets. I appreciate the concern, but I'm a big girl. I can handle this."
"Not here," he says finally, "Behind the old fisher wharf, twenty tracks after curfew. There's something I wanna show you first."
She knows what she's signing over, but she shakes on it anyway.
=={escape}==
Sammy wonders what his mama looks like. Maybe she's a monster, just like him.
=={the Father man.}==
Rence is usually out past curfew, but she hates it anyway. Everything gets so dark and you start thinking every sound is actually the Father's wings, coming for you.
Deet is hidden behind some barrels, holding a bundle and looking pale.
"M'ere," he hisses, and she obliges. They slink under an awning and stack boxes so no one can see them, just to be sure. "I got this one for me, but they say there's a few more you can choose from, I guess. You just gotta meet with 'em and prove you aint crumbly."
"Well I aint proved that a day yet," Rence grins, "But show me."
He pulls back the blanket. It's a tiny, helpless creature, breathing in sick rasps.
"What in the name of the Father is that?" Rence gasps, holding out one hand to touch it. Its white fur glimmers. When she runs her fingers over it, she can feel its bones close to its skin.
"They called it some fancy name, but as best as I can figure it, it's a squirrel," Deeter says, rocking it back and forth carefully.
"Can you eat it?" Rence wants to know. It looks like it's too skinny for dinner, and this disappoints her.
"Eat it? Aint you know what they're for, Rence?" He grins. "Watch this." He nudges the small thing's chin and it wakes up, focusing those dull eyes on its master. "Uh…" Deeter bites his lip. "I dunno how to get you to do anything, but, I guess, show off your spark-thing?"
"Wow," Rence is unimpressed, "You really commanded the Father outta that thing."
But it seems to get the message well enough. Slowly, painfully, its tiny pink cheeks start glowing. It makes a small, strained sound, and suddenly blue lightning skitters around them, lighting up their hiding place and making Rence's hair stand on end.
"Sweet Father Almighty," she breathes, "It does magic tricks." She pauses and bites her lip. "But can you eat it?"
Deet groans. "Like Father am I gonna eat her. She's what's gonna save me, Rence." He gingerly scoops the little thing into his palm, tickling its stomach. "I think I'm gonna name her Whitey."
"For the love of…" she rolls her eyes. "Try something original, Deet."
"…Sparky?" he says after a while. They're both staring at the creature, watching it shyly explore the cage of Deeter's hand. Its wet nose sniffs around Deet's fingers.
"Actually," she replies, "That's great. You know what else is a good one? Squirrel."
"Aint no need for sass," he frowns, sad as always. There's a long pause and the creature starts crawling up his arm, using its tiny claws to find purchase in his skin. He flinches but doesn't do anything about it. "Well… My mom says that a long time ago, before the fog and the Father, there was this thing… It fell from the skies, I guess. Little white flakes. I dunno if it was the fog falling apart or something, but they called it snow. And… I guess she's a little white flake, isn't she? So how about Snow?"
Rence tilts her head. "Never heard of it," she admits, "Sounds crumbly."
"Yeah, well, Snow's gotta be the least crumbly thing to happen to me outside of you, Rence."
She ignores that and watches as it gets under his sleeve and over his shoulders. She sees a flash of white as it climbs past his collarbone, and then it disappears under the thick cloth again. "Whatcha mean she can save you? Do you just figure out how to use her 'n' then when the Father comes, you fight him?"
Deet snorts at that. "What kind of stupid is you, Rence? You can't fight the Father. If you're gonna be Found, you're gonna be Found. No stopping that."
Rence gets real still and Deeter remembers Harper and he pales. "Aw, fog, I'm sorry, Rence. I just meant there's another way to use Snow. You know? I'm sure if you got one strong enough, you could hold your own against the Father."
She doesn't say anything, just stares at her feet.
"Because, you know, there's this … I guess it's an organization. They call themselves Havoc. And they'd let me put Snow up to fight. If I win, I get food. How sky would that be, Rence?"
Rence frowns deeply. "Sounds awfully crumbly to make Snow fight for your food, Deets," she tells him.
"You know I got Sandra and Kate and the boys to think about," he snaps, but then his face gets soft. "There's medicine, too, Rence," he says quietly. "The people around Havoc, they know things too. But you won't get to them unless you participate."
Snow appears in his other hand. She rubs under the small animal's warm chin, and it starts to purr.
"Alright," she regrets it already, "I'm in."
XXXXXXX
A.N: Hello! Some of you might recognize this as the reposting of a story that suddenly disappeared. This was because I was reported for "audience participation," which is strange because I have never received note that I was breaking the law before. As such, I am officially considering this an original piece with original characters.
It just so happens that these original characters are based off the ideas of my friends. If you want to be my friend and submit an idea for a character, just message me.
If you're one of the ones who is sticking with me and putting up with these two chapters, the next one will be posted this Friday, hopefully. Thanks so much, darlings.
Take Care.