“My name is Orion Gideon. I was born in Juneau, Alaska. My parents were Dinah and Samuel Gideon. My mother used to work as a physicist who got transferred to Ashwater’s nuclear facility, but I spent the most of the time traveling the Pacific Northwest with my father. I was thirteen during the first Allobion Epidemic, which killed my father within hours. For my mother, it took years after she contracted the cerebral degeneration and kryo strain, causing her to lose her mind while her insides slowly turned to ice. I did my best to help her, but two years later she doused herself in a can of gasoline and flipped a lighter. I watched her burn. Then the Cataclysm happened. I escaped through the underground tunnels under our house. I ran to Seattle where I stole to survive, until I was taken in by the Durantes from the La Sabueso cartel. Now, what else is there...? Oh! If you also must know, my favorite color is mauve and in my spare time I play harmonica, watch old spaghetti westerns, cheap action flicks, and cartoons. Is there anything else you’d like to know about me?”
After a long walk, Orion found himself standing at the front doors of the permutation clinic. Porcelain faces pointed upwards in prayer. When he looked at them, he couldn’t help but feel as though something up there had been watching him for a long time. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the faces, or something higher in the sky.
True to its name, the entire city was reminiscent of the same angelic style of buildings, with cherubic sculptures and winged patterns etched into the pavement before important-looking buildings. Somewhere down the line, Engelus’ architects must have been trying to make a profound statement.
A couple patrol officers took notice of Orion at the entrance of the facility. Seconds later, one approached him.
“May I help you, sir?” a patrol officer asked; his hand close to the nightstick clipped at his belt. He was one of the few officers Orion saw that didn’t wear those creepy faceless masks.
“I hear Engelus has been under martial law for three years. Is that true?” Orion asked, hoping to give as little reason to set this guy off as he could.
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s right. There’s a curfew as well. People should be heading home now... Also, loitering is a finable offense.”
“I wasn’t aware of that. Thanks for letting me know.” Orion shrugged the backpack over his shoulder, his lip upturned into a grin. “I’m actually just here to see the chancellor. I wasn’t sure whether to wait for him or go on in, but I get the feeling you won’t like some guy walking in without official access. Do you mind if I stay put until he calls me? I won’t be any trouble, promise.”
“What business do you have with Chancellor Tremond?”
Orion lifted his hand. “Just that. Business.”
The officer didn’t say anything, but he also wasn’t going anywhere. His eyes shifted from Orion to his guitar case. “So what, you gonna play Tremond a song or something?”
“With this?” Orion snorted. “Actually, I don’t even play.”
“What?”
“You know how some guys like to carry briefcases for their work?” Orion wiggled the guitar case. “I use this instead... for my work. I think it’s neater.”
“And what kind of work do you have in there, sir?”
“That’s a private matter.” He smiled. “And if you must know, I’m not much a guitar player, but I do play a mean harmonica.”
“You don’t make any sense.”
Orion shuffled his foot over a feathery shape carved into the pedestrian walkway. “I’ve been told that a lot.”
He woke up at twilight to the sound of an engine. Orion peeked over the cliff side where he camped, his fire a pile of ash now. The precipice overlooked a dirt road where the same truck drove to and from for the past two days, but Orion kept missing it. The dry terrain was different from the icy tundra of British Columbia or Alaska he was so used to. It also lacked much plants and cover, though provided a thirty-foot high ground to survey the low country road. He watched the orange heat waves rise from the dust, wrapping the passing truck in puffs of sand when it came by early that morning.
When the truck had come and gone, Orion grabbed his guitar case and climbed down to the dirt road where he bid his time. He could have read a book, but he didn’t have one. He could whittle, but he was short on a stick and just had one knife, and a cactus needle was just too messy.
An hour later, engine sounds roused Orion’s attention. He swayed, sick after running out of his last bottled water last night. This truck driving by would be his last hope before he would die of dehydration. As the truck came closer down the dirt road, Orion lifted a tired hand and stuck his thumb out.
The truck did not stop. In fact, a sandy cloud gathered in its wake as it sped by. Orion recoiled, his hands over his face as he hacked and coughed, spitting dust.
Somewhere in that blinding cloud, he heard breaks slam to a halt. Tires whined and metal crunched.
Sprinting through the sandy fog, Orion came to the rickety old truck in the shallow ditch of the road. A road sign had flown; facedown in the dirt where a blood trail disappeared into the scattering dust cloud. Orion sunk to the ground, finding mats of brown fur clotted in a red mess. He exhaled through his nose, and went after the truck. Whoever sat behind the wheel didn’t seem to be moving. From the looks of it, there weren’t any others beside the driver inside.
“Hey!” Orion called out, circling around to the passenger’s side. “Are you okay in there? Can you... Oh. Shit.”
As the dust cleared over the road, pieces of coyote were scattered across the pavement. There was a foot, and other chunks. Where was the rest of it?
At least the truck was in one piece. Only a tire from the passenger’s side was flat; judging by the surface damage on the front, the driver had slammed into that road sign while attempting to avoid a jaywalking coyote. Orion turned, hearing a groan coming from the truck.
Her flaxen hair reflected in the sun glaring through the broken windshield. Gray blue eyes opened, focusing on Orion’s face as he peered through the side door. When he tried to open it, she waved him off with her hand. He yanked the door open, anyway. “Are you hurt bad?” Orion felt stupid for asking.
“N-no, m’fine. What ‘bout...?” Her head drooped over her shoulder, her eyes scanning for whatever she had hit.
“No worries, it was just a coyote.”
“Just a coyote... Fuck.” The woman echoed, and laughed. She didn’t sound as bad as she looked. Orion noted her obvious southern twang. “Thought I’d hit you...”
Was she going to stop for him, or was this just a stroke of bad luck on both their parts? Orion had no room to feel grateful anymore. “Hey, I... should be able to help if you’re badly hurt.”
“Kit’s in the glove box.” She nodded to the compartment right next to Orion. She started tending to her forehead while he opened the glove compartment, pulled out a cobalt box, and opened it over the passenger’s seat. “Gimme one of the red packets.”
The aforementioned red packets labeled a brand of strong pain medication, which Orion wondered if a woman with a potential concussion should be taking. He handed it to her, anyway. She took it, ripped open the top, and popped two white pills dry. Orion started to offer some water, then remembered he had drank it all — then remembered why he was here in the first place.
“Sorry if I made you crash your car,” he said.
“Think that’s on that bastard coyote.” She winced, pushing open the door at her side and slid out. Orion walked around the truck, meeting her at the front to view the damage he noticed earlier. Her hands came over her head. “Shit, they’re gonna kill me for this...”
“Is there somebody you can call?”
She shook her head. “No, I can take care of this.” Then she sent him a bewildered look, her hand still on her forehead. There was no blood that Orion could see, but she might be looking forward to a nasty goose egg soon. “Who the hell are you, anyways? And what’re you doin’ way out here?”
No way could he tell her the truth. “My car broke down a few miles down the road. One minute I was on my way to Vegas, the next...” Orion gestured like he was holding a wheel that spun out of control, before dropping his arms at his sides. “Well, the next I’m staring at a ditch.”
“And you just walked from there?”
Orion started to see the gap in his anecdote. They were nowhere near a city within fifty miles each way. “I did camp out here for a few days. Had some water with me and not much else.”
“Sounds like you’re shit luck. I might just leave you here.” She went to the backseat of her truck and extracted a spare tire. “D’you mind? This’ll probably take a while.”
“It wouldn’t if you had an extra set of hands.” He smiled. “I know my way around cars, too.”
“Aren’t you versatile? A man who destroys cars as he fixes ‘em. Here.” She flashed a grin, handing him the spare tire. “Unless you wanna just play a ditty, you can help. But you’ll probably forgo your hitchhiker’s rights if you decide to be musically inclined instead.”
Orion hesitated, setting his guitar case next to the truck bed before taking the tire from her. The woman then picked up a jack from the back of her truck. He went with her to the flat tire as she dropped to her knees, and began propping the car up with the jack.
“What brought’cha out here?” she asked, pulling lug nuts from the front passenger tire with a wrench.
For now, there wasn’t much for Orion to do but stand there with the spare tire. “Like I said, I was on my way to Vegas. Before my car broke down, that is.”
“You don’t say.” The lug nuts fell, one after another. “That’s funny. I just came back from Vegas, and I don’t think I saw any cars on the side of the road today.”
Shit. Orion didn’t think about that. The heat must have made him a little slow. “I... did some off-road sightseeing where I got hit. I walked a good twelve miles just to get here.”
“That can’t be legal. The off-roadin’ part. Most of the detours are closed this time of year for maintenance.”
Or all times of the year, Orion started to say, but kept his mouth shut. He was an Ignorant Tourist. She might be keeping her facts inconsistent for a reason, waiting for him to correct her on things that Ignorant Tourists wouldn’t know about.
Orion cocked his head. “You aren’t really going to throw the book at me while I’m trying to help, are you?”
“Guess not.” If she was suspicious, she masked it well. “Why are you headed this way? Vegas is ‘bout sixty miles in the other direction.”
Orion was beginning to get the gist that his bluff wasn’t going so well. Damn, he got rusty at this. “Are you serious?” He feigned disbelief. “Dammit, I thought that’s where I was going! My navigation skills are subpar at best, and it didn’t help that I lost my nexus when I crashed.” He chuckled nervously.
“Huh. That right?” She seemed to be only half-listening to him, catching the flat tire that fell out. “What’re you in town for?”
“Business.”
“Sounds borin’.”
“Business can be boring. Sorry I can’t spin you a more interesting yarn.”
“I’m sure you could come up with somethin’ more imaginative.”
Assuming she suspected that that wasn’t the truth. Orion held the tire closer to his chest, looking out at the heat waves dancing over the cliff he had climbed from. “I always thought it was supposed to be warmer out here.”
“Oh yeah? Where were you before?”
“Arrowroot, British Columbia.” That much was the truth.
“You’re a long ways from home.”
“I’m visiting. Like I said, business,” Orion said. “Nice countryside in Arrowroot. Friendly locals.”
“Probably makes you wonder why you ever left for this pisspit, huh?” She took out the tire before he could answer. She turned to him with her hands out. “Give it.” It was an order, not a request.
Orion surrendered the spare part over to her. She put it back in place, secured it with a few lug nuts, and then got up to walk around the car. Orion followed her to the driver’s seat.
While nothing seemed out of the ordinary, her mannerisms suggested otherwise. Orion knew that she wasn’t going to turn her back to him anytime soon. That must have been why she leaned into her car. When he tried to get a better look, he saw that she had pulled out her keys from the ignition.
Orion stepped back when she turned to him, wrench in hand. He nearly reflexed.
She stared, deadpan. “What’s wrong? You seem a little jumpy.”
“You can’t blame me for being startled at a woman armed with a wrench.”
“Oh, this thing?” She laughed, flipping the wrench in her hand. Orion’s eyes were transfixed on it, as if expecting it to turn into something else. “Calm your tits; I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that with this ‘cause—”
When she laughed, Orion did as well. His breath cut short when he felt a high electric punch in the gut. He dropped his knees. He then caught a glimpse of a small keychain that she had as well.
Those were Orion’s words, not Rey’s, though she did agree with him.
“Nice hair, by the way,” Orion said, slightly slanting his head. A bag of groceries dangled in one hand; he brought the other up under his chin. “Well, what’s left of it.”
Rey, sheathing the pistol back into her shoulder holster, then grazed her fingers over the bare surface of her scalp. She had taken a razor to it not long after Faye fell asleep, and she hadn’t looked into a mirror since. “Thanks,” she finally told him.
For a man who just had a gun on him, Orion recovered quickly. “Anyway, I was going to go for a walk. Wanted to know if you’d join me.” He waved the bag he was holding. “Swung some sweet rolls, bourbon, and beer. Your favorite.”
Thinking about it for a moment, Rey rose from the porch swing. If anyone knew her vices, it was Orion. He even pulled out a little box from the bag and tossed them over at her. Rey caught them. “Morley?”
“Your brand, right?”
“Not really.” She popped open the carton and took one out anyway. “Got a light?”
Orion took out a fire starter from his back pocket, also tossing it to her. They stepped down the porch stairs together, as Rey handed him his light back. She could easily have used her Brísingamen to ignite the end herself, but after her overcharge in Chicago there was no sense in risking it.
It had been a long time since she last had a smoke. She picked up the habit a year ago when some memories of her life as a soldier named Sergeant Schuyler emerged during her regressive therapy with Lucas Coffey. Schuyler, a Dutchwoman with a heavy accent, is witness to her mother shooting her father in a drunken rage before turning the gun on herself. Orphaned, Schuyler runs away from home where she grows up on the streets until she joins the Korps Mariniers of the Royal Netherlands Navy. Of all her previous lives which had met with gruesome ends, Sergeant Schuyler is the only one she can’t seem to recall ever dying. It’s like the Dutchwoman simply ceases to exist.
“Why?” Rey asked aloud, ripping herself from what now seems like an ancient memory.
Orion snapped his head to her. He had been talking, though about what she couldn’t say. She was halfway through her cigarette and out in the middle of nowhere when she settled on the smell of trees and pines and life. The cool summer breeze blew in her face, now chillier than usual with her hair gone.
Stopping at a meadow clearing, her brother seized her upper arm. “Is everything okay?”
Rey slowly blinked. “Don’t know.” She leaned her head closer to him, as if to utter a secret: “You know, you were always the better half. Daddy’s golden son. That’s why he called you Frey, though you probably don’t remember that.”
“Called me what?” Orion gaped. The links must have clicked in his memory. He let go of her, dropping his face in his hand and sighed. “Rey, I didn’t—”
Her tight lips stretched. “Don’t. Not upset. You were built like-human, to understand things better. To keep the faith, be your own person. It’s clear why he chose you.” She sat down, immersing herself into the tall grass. She reached into Orion’s bag he carried and pulled out one of the bottles of beer he had bought, breaking open the seal. “It’s hard, dying. And it’s hard living. It should be the other way around, but it’s like growing up, over and over. Perhaps there was some truth to what Gregory had said. Hell is repetition.”
Another swig of bourbon later, the big question finally popped:
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
Orion turned to Rey, staring at her also staring back at him. In spite of her words, he could tell that it wasn’t entirely a question; her tone had finality to it, like she knew. “How did you—?”
Rey tossed her empty bottle of dark lager with the five others they had stockpiled. “Saw you in Chicago, when that Bishop type nearly wiped us off the road. Decided not to tell Faye; didn’t think she needed to know.” She raised a curious brow. “Wondered when you would catch up with us, or if you were planning to show yourself at all. You’re fast. A lot faster than you used to be. And strong, if you took that Bishop on your own.”
“You’ve done the same,” Orion said after a swallow of bourbon. “Done more, actually.”
“You saw that?”
He thwacked the back of Rey’s hairless head, and nodded. She didn’t seem to react in pain, only surprise. “Is Elms still with you, or did she high tail it?”
Rey’s complexion flushed. “Got a room at the bed and breakfast.”
That was good news. Orion wouldn’t have to sleep outside tonight. “I thought she hated you. Elms, I mean.”
She glanced at him, a flash of uncertainty in her forest green eyes. She took out another cigarette, which Orion lit for her. She offered him one, but he shook his head. He was trying to quit.
“When given the chance, Faye Elms didn’t kill me in Old Wayfair,” Rey said, almost repentant.
“She’s a good person. She has standards,” Orion said. “Old Wayfair doesn’t mean shit.”
“Means a lot.” She exhaled a puff of smoke.
Orion gave her a look, remembering all the talks they had in Chicago over food and cigarettes. Before that, Rey regarded food and drink as more of a chore. Now, she drank beer and picked at bread with all the voraciousness of a hungry beast. Until recently, she sure as hell never got drunk before.
“Lucas helped me realize something.” Rey rested an arm behind her, her body tilting back and her chin lifting at the sky. “Got much easier once there was a reason to keep living.”
“Oh yeah, and what reason is that?”
Rey’s nostalgic smile and thoughtful silence made him wonder if she was going to tell him. “Takeout,” she said.
Orion screwed his face. “Excuse me?”
“Chinese food.” Anyone could tell that it was serious when Rey actually smiled. “Will miss Peking Palace. They plucked their own ducks. Got to watch them once.”
“I didn’t know they’d let you do that,” Orion said.
“They don’t. They did left their meat room open.”
Of course they did. Orion slapped his hand over his face and sighed. “Know what? Good for you.” He even laughed a little. It had been awhile since he felt safe to laugh like that. Rey did the same. “Even after fighting, you still feel this way? Nothing out of the ordinary?”
Rey bit her lower lip. “Feels good.”
He didn’t know what to say, or how to think. Then Orion reminded himself that Lucas was a different man. He was not Gregory Tremond, who savored seeing Rey stunted, incapable of enjoying life or take pleasure in the sights among the stars. She enjoyed nothing, but now she could enjoy anything.
For once, he felt safe to be with her. She was, after all, supposed to be his sister. Weird to think about, when Orion had memories of a mother and father who he watched live and then buried and burned. He had carried his father’s casket, dusted the man’s body with the soil of his grave before they lowered him into the ground. He had said Shalom and spoke his peace.
His body shall not remain all night — you shall bury him on that day.
The eyes and mouth of the deceased should remain shut and a sheet be drawn over his face. His feet should be positioned facing the doorway. The deceased should never be left alone until the time of burial.
It is said to be disrespectful to leave the surviving alone during his moments of mourning.
Even after the death of his family, none thought well of the young boy, but he learned not to care. He remembered the funeral, and the words as each of his family’s friends stepped out of the Gideon house.
“May God comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.”
Why was he thinking of these things now?
Orion took a long swallow of bourbon, determined to finish it. He coughed and laughed despite himself. “Not exactly kosher, is it?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” He set the emptied liquor bottle down a minute later. “I was always treated like the black sheep, too.”
“That why you hate our father?”
“How can you just call him that?” Orion snapped, a little stunned at his own self. Then the reasons were clear. “He may have restored you, but you don’t owe him shit.”
“You misunderstand.” She took another drag from the cigarette. “Didn’t answer why it is you hate Lucas so much.”
She didn’t call that man father this time. He didn’t know what to think anymore, how serious she’d been about this whole kinship situation. Did she really believe in any of it? Was it all just a game of House to her?
“I already have a family,” Orion said. “Or... the people who were like family to me. They cared for me like I was their own.”
“Certainly—”
“No, not certainly.” Orion shook his head at her. She understood so much, but he saw blankness in her eyes. He was supposed to be able to relate to this woman, the only one who had gone through what he had. Yet she was miles away from where he came from. “Christ, Rey... you don’t fucking know anything! You may have been hard-coded with shit memories, but it’s different for me because I actually lived my own life. I didn’t just feel like I let my parents down, I actually did let them down.” He gritted his teeth, grabbing at his hair. “I was there when my father was left to rot in his deathbed and when my mother burned herself alive. I listened to her laugh while she died and all I did was watch. You can accept your ‘blood ties’ with Lucas and that’s great, but my parents... they’re the ones who taught me everything I should know about life. Not Tremond, not Lucas, but two great people named Samuel and Dinah, and they were well-liked and respected, and I’m not.” He laughed. When he laughed, it hurt, like nails being driven through his chest when the worst reality of it all came piercing his heart. “And you know the fucked up part...? Sometimes I actually feel glad that they’re dead! At least now they don’t have to see the kind of screwed up person their fake-son is. They don’t have to see me make a mess of myself or watch the world turn to shit. Lucky for them!”
For a while, Rey said nothing. Orion said nothing. She stared at him, studying or thinking nothing at all.
“If you are unable to accept your family ties with Lucas, why is it you were so quick to call me your sister?”
This genuinely took Orion aback. He looked at her as though she had just said the most offensive joke to him. “That’s different. I’ve never said a sister before. It always sounded nice.”
“How is that different?”
“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe because the people who raised me deserved to be remembered?”
“You want to join them,” Rey told him. “Because of the way you were born, you’re afraid that you don’t have that luxury.”
“Rey, I’m Jewish. We don’t spend much time thinking about the afterlife.”
“‘By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return,’” Rey quoted, word-for-word from Genesis...
Of course, he had forgotten how she had expressed interest in the religion Orion grew up with, explaining that she wished to better understand her brother.
Orion stared at her, but couldn’t think of what to tell her anymore. He almost felt impressed.
“Perhaps it’s because you are not born of dust but of man-made efforts,” she resumed. “There is nothing godly about either of us, whether or not we have souls. So when we die, there will be nothing left of us. Certainly, we can both understand.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that? How do you of all people possibly know what I feel?”
The moment he said it, he wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t her fault for being so goddamned emotionally stunted, and the last four years had proven that she’d at least been trying.
If Rey had taken offense, she didn’t express it.
“Because, perhaps we fear the same thing,” she said, looking up at the stars. “Always wondered what it must be like, to believe in something. Like God or life after death. There may be one for good people. Am not good people. So, there’s no reason to believe in a life after life. Does that make sense?”
Orion rubbed his forehead, then forced himself to look back at her.
There was no mistaking that the Salamander was gone. Something else remained, and that was just a name and some dogtags she wore around her neck.
“I guess it does...” Orion snorted. “You know what? I might be either too drunk right now to be having this talk, or not drunk enough. But I’m tired.”
“Same.” Rey sighed. “Should go back to the bed and breakfast. Didn’t sleep well.”
They may be man-made, but they were fit to feel like-human. That’s how Rey would’ve put it, anyway. Orion had been running on insomnia for a month, and he had a feeling Rey did, too.
Now they were insomniacs full on beer, liquor, and bread. Orion fought a losing battle back onto his feet, then held his hand out for Rey.
Even after the alcohol she consumed, Rey hardly seemed daunted until she attempted to stand. Had Orion been any slower than he already was, and any drunker, he would have missed.
“Whoa!” Orion grabbed her, pulling her arm over his shoulder before keeping them both off the ground. Their weights combined didn’t make it easier to balance. If it were anybody else, Rey’s mass would have completely floored them. But Orion was not anybody else, and he maintained Rey’s equilibrium as well as his own. She had never been this drunk like he had. They may have the fortitude of several guys at a fraternity mixer, but they weren’t invulnerable.
Unlike Rey, Orion was at least experienced in the art of coordinating while drunk off his ass. It also wouldn’t have been the first time he had to haul a drinking partner back to their place after a long session of unleashing their feelings.
Overall, it was a marginally productive rendezvous.
The two-mile walk back from the outskirts to the bed and breakfast seemed significantly longer than the trip to the Wisconsin meadow. Maybe it was because Orion hauled the extra weight on over four pints of liquid courage. Twenty minutes later, his bladder was killing him. It took another ten minutes before Rey directed him to the room Faye paid for.
Sliding off Orion’s shoulder, Rey fished into the pocket of her jacket. “I got this,” she slurred. The keys clattered to the ground. “Dammit.”
“Don’t worry,” Orion assured her. “I can—”
And then she fell. Face-first, into the ground.
“Um.” He knelt down and nudged her. She wasn’t moving, though she did snore. Tight-jawed, his muscles tensed, before taking the cardkey she had dropped. “Looks like it’s way passed your bed—” The door in front of him opened on its own. “—time.”
Orion’s eyes lifted to the barrel of a shotgun, this time aimed at his head. He almost whimpered when he saw that Faye Elms was the one carrying it.
Key in hand, Orion waved at her. Beneath him, Rey made an unpleasant sleep-sound.
“Gideon?” Faye took a moment, then dropped the barrel of the gun from Orion’s face. Which he was eternally grateful for. “Jesus, what the hell are you doing here?”
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