The Flight of the Silvers

“Hannah? You okay?”

 

 

Amanda could see her silhouette through the gauzy white curtain, the buxom shape that Derek had ogled fourteen hours ago. Hannah leaned against the tile in somber repose. The mood-lifters were wearing off, turning her thoughts to stucco.

 

“I’ll be out soon,” she said in a dismal voice.

 

“There’s no hurry, Hannah. I just wanted to check on you.”

 

“What’s her name?”

 

“Who?”

 

“The quiet girl in the lobby.”

 

“Mia.”

 

“Yeah. Mia. She didn’t look very happy.”

 

“She just lost her whole family.”

 

“That’s what I figured,” Hannah said. “It’s got to hurt a little. I mean to see that we didn’t.”

 

Amanda sat on the edge of the sink and closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”

 

“You know Mom’s dead, right?”

 

The spider-leg tingles came back to Amanda’s right arm. Her fingers twitched uncontrollably. “Hannah . . .”

 

“This wasn’t just San Diego. It was everywhere. A kid with a radio said so. The whole goddamn world.”

 

Amanda could hear her sister’s choking sobs over the water. “Hannah, you’re coming down off a very strong drug . . .”

 

“No, I’m coming down off everything! I’m crying about our mother! How come you’re not?”

 

A powerful chill seized Amanda’s hand. She pulled back her sleeve and gasped at the mad new blight on her arm. Her skin was covered in tiny white dots from her fingertips to her bracelet. The beads looked as hard and shiny as plastic, but they moved with a life all their own. Amanda watched with frozen horror as three flea-size spots shimmied up her thumb.

 

Oblivious to the crisis, Hannah rested her head against the wall. “I didn’t . . . Look, I don’t know what I’m saying right now, okay? Don’t listen to me.”

 

Amanda shook her hand with hummingbird zeal until the dots disappeared. She searched every inch of her skin for remnants.

 

“Amanda?”

 

She threw her saucer gaze at the shower curtain. “W-what?”

 

“I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s all right. I’m not . . .” She flashed back to her alley encounter with Esis, the strange white tendril that had burst from her hand. What did she do? What did she do to me?

 

Amanda jumped to her feet. “I should . . . I should check on the kids.”

 

“Let me know if you find out anything about Theo.”

 

“Yeah. I’ll ask.”

 

“He said he was a blight.”

 

Amanda stopped at the door. “What?”

 

“Theo. He made himself out to be some god-awful person, but he didn’t seem so bad.”

 

Hannah smeared hot water against her eyes. “I don’t want him to die.”

 

Amanda kept staring at her flushed pink arm, lost in dark imaginings. God only knew what the scientists would do if they found out about her white affliction. They’d probably have her vivisected by sundown.

 

“He’ll be okay,” the widow said, without remotely meaning it. “We’re all going to be okay.”

 

 

Amanda returned to the game parlor, her arm still tingling from her outbreak. She noticed David and Mia keeping a curious vigil at the window.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Mia turned to her. “Erin’s back. She found another one of us.”

 

“Looks healthier than the last guy,” David added. “Though he doesn’t seem pleased.”

 

Before Amanda could peek for herself, the procession moved inside. Loud voices echoed from the lobby.

 

“—not until you tell me what the hell’s going on! I mean, why so cryptic? Are they paying you to generate suspense? Because trust me, I’m all stocked up.”

 

David smirked at his companions. “He’s certainly spirited.”

 

Mia noticed Amanda’s tense expression. “Are you okay?”

 

She forced a thin and shaky smile, even as her thoughts churned with hot new worries. She’d held Mia’s hand earlier. What if she infected her? What if they both had the alien blight now?

 

Amanda studied Mia’s fingers as casually as she could. “I’m okay. How . . . how are you feeling?”

 

“Numb,” the girl replied. “Tired. I’m happy for you, though.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Your sister.”

 

“Oh.” Amanda blinked in confusion, then reeled with guilt. “Yeah. I still can’t believe she’s alive.”

 

“Are you two close?”

 

“Uh, well—”

 

The argument in the lobby got louder, closer. Now they could hear Beatrice’s chipmunk voice.

 

“Sir, if you would just give me your name . . .”

 

“My name is Up Yours until I get some answers. What is this place? Who are you working for? What the hell do you want with me?”

 

“Sterling Quint will answer everything—”

 

“Sterling Quint? Sounds like a Bond villain. I’m not appeased. But if you can get him here and talking in five minutes, I’ll become a lot nicer.”

 

Daniel Price's books