Depth: 3.3 kilometers. Distance from New Alcatraz: 900 meters. Time since loss of contact: 27 hours, 43 minutes. I squeeze the grip on my M4 carbine. The on-board submarine computer sounds deeper than Barry White. I try to ignore it. All I can think about is the safety of my platoon. This is unlike any mission we’ve ever been on. Technically, the place we’re going to doesn’t exist. The US government set it up in international waters, outside of official jurisdiction. It was touted as the world’s first functional underwater prison, designed for the most hardened criminals. Completely off-the-grid with its own nuclear power source and 3D fabricators for food, clothing, weapons, and other supplies. Once you’re there, you never have to leave. And good luck trying to. Distance: 500 meters. New Alcatraz comes up on the monitors. The glass dome covering the facility looks rather beautiful. The wipers used to clean the algae are operating, so the place must still have some electricity. No sunlight penetrates this far down into the ocean. The only lights I see come from inside the prison. “What do you think happened, Commander Park?” Dax asks. He spins around in the pilot’s seat. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead, and he’s not even wearing full body armor like the rest of us. It must take a toll piloting a sub like this one. “Your guess is as good as mine,” I say. Distance: 100 meters. There’s another submarine docked in the moon pool. That must have been the last prisoner transport before contact was lost. Something got in there that shouldn’t have. Docking sequence initiated… When I started out as a private, all I could think about was being the one that yelled out the orders. But now that I’m the one in charge, I wish I could turn the clock back. Because now I’m the one that has to go into New Alcatraz first. I inhale a deep breath and exhale slowly. Docked in Bay 2. “Let’s go,” I say. The bulkhead door opens. We enter the processing center. There’s an enclosed space in the middle of the room with windows where the guards would sit. We’re the only ones here. One of the doorways out of the room is locked. Another has been left ajar. My heart almost jumps out of my chest as we creep across the room… Nothing is waiting for us around the corner. We walk into a wide-open space. The circular tables make me think that this is the mess hall. Most of the chairs are set on top of the tables, but some of them have been knocked to the floor. The place looks like it should on any normal day. Except for the puddle of red on the floor. “Son of a bitch.” The acids in my stomach churn. There was a struggle of some sort, but there aren’t any remains or body parts on the ground. Just the blood. “Stick together,” I say. We cross the room and head to the staircase on the side of the panopticon-shaped prison. I feel like I’m walking on egg shells with each step that I take. The moment that we reach the second floor, an alert from the submarine AI comes through on our com link. Bacteriological agent detected. Exercise caution. My insides sink to the bottom of my chest. That would explain quite a bit. One of the prisoners must have come down with something and infected everybody else. But apart from rabies, I can’t think of any disease that would cause somebody to go berserk and take over the facility. And wouldn’t the officers screen all the prisoners before putting them on the transport sub and bringing them down here? Levels Two through Six house the prison cells. There are streaks of blood scattered on the ground without any remains to speak of. It’s as if the corpses disappeared or something. The further we go inside the facility, the sicker I feel. I’m not even behind bars, and I feel like I’m a prisoner in here. Commander, this is Dax. Do you read? “What is it?” I say into the com. Sir… there are… well… fish in the moon pool. They jumped out of the water and now they’re just sitting on the dock. My mouth falls open. That is not something that I need to know about right now. Dax does not have the best timing. “Is that all?” No, sir. I’ve also been picking up something on the sonar. Something big is circling the outside of the facility. You might want to hurry it up in there. Don’t want to stay any longer than we have to. “Roger that. One more floor to check.” The last place to explore is the confinement level at the top of the facility. We go up a final flight of stairs, moving at a snail’s pace. I can hear the breathing before we exit the stairwell. It doesn’t sound like a noise that a human is capable of emitting. It sounds guttural. Animalistic. Depraved. The prisoners are all standing in place with their hands at their sides. In this prison, the inmates wear white jumpsuits. Most of them are covered in blood. For some reason, it makes me think of a red and white candy cane. “FREEZE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!” None of the inmates move. Their heads are slumped forward. They stand as still as statues. “PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” One of the prisoners turns around to face me. His black eyes lock on to mine. His mouth droops open. “You! What happened here?” I ask. He points to one of the solitary confinement units. Blood is caked into his hand. “The guards were annoying us… we took over… gave them a taste of their own medicine… now we own the place.” That’s when I notice a thumping noise coming from the unit. Somebody’s pounding on the door, trying to get out. “Put your hands behind your-” I can’t even finish the command before the inmate leaps forward and tackles me to the ground. The impact knocks the breath out of my lungs. My gun clatters away. Boy , he is stronger than he looks. I feel every ounce of his weight on me. He bares his teeth like some wild animal. Red spittle shoots out of his mouth and sticks to my helmet. Instinct takes over. I headbutt him and push him off. The other inmates snap out of their trance. They surge towards us. Guns discharge. The popping sound hammers against my eardrums. Some of the inmates collapse to the ground. The others don’t seem to notice that they’ve been riddled with bullets. They run into us like a football team executing a play. I sidestep one of them and plant a bullet into the face of another. Still, they keep coming like a pack of wolves. A scream rips the air apart. I almost jump out of my combat boots. One of my brothers lies sprawled on the ground. His black helmet rolls across the floor. An inmate has his face planted in his neck. A puddle of blood flows out from his body. “GET OFF HIM!” I barrel across the confinement area. Using the heel of my boot, I kick the inmate onto his back before emptying a mag into him. “SPLINTER! ARE YOU OKAY?” His face is as white as a sheet. A chunk of his neck is missing, body armor and all. He’s not going to make it. My breath catches in my throat. Everything seems to happen on fast-forward. Another scream, more bullets, a horrendous chomping sound. In less than thirty seconds, half of my platoon is dead. Only four of us remain. “FALL BACK!” We scamper back down the stairs. I never leave any of my teammates behind, dead or alive. But this is beyond hope. At this rate, we’ll all get infected. We’re outnumbered ten to one. The only thing we can do now is escape. I almost trip over my feet as we sprint past the cells on Level Six. The inmates pound their fists on the white cell doors as they chase us down the hall. A blanket of sweat covers my body. It’s hotter than hell in the body armor. My lungs scream in protest. “HERE! TAKE THIS!” K-9 throws a grenade at the inmates. I shoot forward and cover my head with my hands. Seconds later, an explosion rocks the entire facility. I feel myself lifted into the air. Pieces of shrapnel shoot out in all directions. The prison cells sway in front of me. I definitely have a concussion. “Well… fuck that …” I say. “Quick thinking, K-9.” “That was insane,” K-9 says. “What’s wrong with them? Those prisoners went crazy…” “I don’t know. Some kind of sickness or something…” I say. A big chunk of the staircase is missing, cutting us off from the horde of infected. They growl at us from their perch on the floor above. I collapse to the ground in exhaustion. I wrench my helmet off and toss it aside. “You know, the guards are still stuck up there in the confinement cells,” K-9 says. “How do you think we’re supposed to get them out?” Before I can answer, I notice a crack on the glass dome overhead. It looks like a spiderweb. “Oh shit…” A trickle of water breaks through the glass. The trickle turns into a gusher. Water flows down through the opening in the center of the floor and falls straight down to the ground level. Soon, the whole fucking dome is going to be flooded. “RUN!” I shout. It sounds like we’re next to Niagara Falls. Water splashes around with each step we take. I hear a shattering noise above us. The hole in the glass widens. Soon, the whole fucking thing will cave in. I look over the balcony down to the ground level. The water looks taller than me now. There’s no way we’ll make it in time. “Guys! We have to jump! The water should be deep enough now!” I throw my rifle away and step onto the railing in front of the balcony. It seems like I’m on top of Mt. Everest looking down. My head swims. “You sure we can make that?” K-9 says. “Come on!” I force myself to take a step. For a moment, I feel weightless. Then I fall into the abyss. The floors of the facility rush past me. I keep my body as straight as a pencil. The water rises up to greet me. I close my eyes… SHOOM! The moment I hit the water, I kick my feet in front of me so that my body levels out and stays parallel with the floor. Fortunately, our body armor works underwater. I’m still able to breathe. I swim back up to the surface and see the rest of the platoon jump in after me. The water is almost up to the second floor now. “Everybody okay?” I ask. “I think I broke my butt bone,” K-9 says. “Good. Let’s go.” We go back under and swim through the processing center towards the entrance to the facility. The double doors prevent the moon pool from filling up with water. I gasp in relief at the sight of the submarine waiting for us. Commander… do… a… on… when… My com starts to crackle. It must have gotten damaged in the fall. I can barely make out what Dax is saying. “Dax, can you hear me? Come in… do you copy?” That’s when I notice the colony of fish swimming around the sub. At first, I think that they’re barracudas, except for two things. The first is that they have wings at their sides. Some of the fish jump out of the water and soar over the dock before going back in. My jaw detaches from my mouth as I watch them fly through the moon pool. The second thing is that barracudas don’t have razor-sharp teeth. These fish do. “What the hell…” I have no time to react as one of the fish jumps out of the water and shoots toward K-9. It latches right onto his chest and hangs erect off of him. “Holy shit! Get this thing off!” He tries swatting at the fish. It keeps its death-grip on him. I unsheathe my army knife, grab the fish by the tail, and slice it in half. Finally, it comes loose. Then two more fish jump out of the water and take its place. One of them bites into K-9’s neck. A stream of blood shoots through the air. Soon, the fish shoot out of the water at us like bullets. It’s a deluge. K-9 is literally knocked off his feet and sent flying backwards. I slice through as many as I can, but each one I kill is replaced fivefold. COMMANDER! GET OUT OF THERE! WE’VE GOT INCOMING! Now the com decides to work. I ignore Dax and try to find K-9. I can’t even see him under the horde of fish. I make a move towards him only to have the rest of the platoon wrestle me back to the submarine and in through the bulkhead door. “NO! STOP IT! WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING! LET ME GO!” Everybody else knows that it’s too late. I want to scream as loudly as I can but my voice escapes me. Crimson blood covers the dock. The fish continue to enter the moon pool. Some are even stuck to the submarine now. “Strap yourselves in!” Dax says. “We’re leaving!” The nuclear engine hums to life. A blanket of monitors flickers on in front of us, showing feeds from different cameras attached to the ship. All systems operational… proximity alert… switching to stealth mode… The lights dim throughout the submarine and are replaced by a red glow. I hold my breath. Nobody says a word. We’re going to have to be dead silent if we want to slip by whatever’s waiting for us… Suddenly, there’s a pounding noise from outside. It sounds like somebody’s banging on the bulkhead door. I take off my seatbelt, bolt out of my chair, and look through the glass dome on the door. “Oh no… no no no no…” It’s K-9. He’s just like the inmates now. Infected. Blood drips from his mouth. He bangs his head against the door over and over again. My stomach feels like it’s about to expel its contents. He must have contracted the disease from the fish in the moon pool. The sub starts to descend. We leave K-9 and the rest of the infected behind. Darkness covers the camera feeds. Outside of New Alcatraz, there are no other sources of light nearby. “How far away are we from the nearest port?” I whisper. “19 km,” Dax says. “Have them get a medical team ready for when we arrive,” I say. “Because we’re going right back in there and-” The submarine lurches to the right. Something pushes against it from outside. My seatbelt digs into my chest. A siren blares. WARNING! PROXIMITY ALERT! “Dax! What the hell is going on?” I needn’t have asked him. I can see them on the camera next to the radio antenna. The infected fish. Thousands and thousands of them. Acting together as a single predator. The submarine is their prey. “Get us out of this!” I say. “Can’t… there’s too many of them,” Dax says. “I can’t steer this fucking thing!” We’re doing donuts underwater. It’s almost impossible to believe that something so small could have so much power. None of our weapons work against a threat like this. We’ve got to do something. If we crash into the seafloor or a cliff, we won’t make it. One of the cameras shows a plume of smoke erupting from a crevice in the ground. There must be some sort of volcanic activity nearby. There’s no way the fish could survive that heat. An idea takes shape in my mind… “Dax! Head to that subduction zone over there!” “Sir, we’ll be killed! The submarine can’t withstand those temperatures!” “It’s our only shot! We’ve got to get them off! Do it!” Dax shoves the joystick forward. I almost fall backwards as the sub shoots ahead. Fire belches out of the fissure in the seafloor. Time to use our surroundings to our advantage. WARNING! EXCESSIVE HEAT! TEMPERATURE CRITICAL! STRUCTURAL FAILURE IMMINENT! The alert falls on deaf ears. We’re going too fast. It’s impossible to change course. The dot on the sonar follows us right into hell. The fish won’t let us go. It’s as if they know that there are healthy hosts inside of the submarine for them to transmit their disease. We go right over the subduction zone. Fire shoots up around us. I feel the rumble of the Earth below. The submarine rattles like a child playing with a toy. Every single camera feed turns white. It seems like the fire goes on for hours. TEMPERATURE CRITICAL! ABANDON SHIP! There’s nowhere else for us to go. This is a real trial by fire. I send a pray up to whatever God may be there in the sky. “Commander! I think I’m getting control back!” Dax says. “The fish are dying!” The fire diminishes from one of the cameras. Then another. Eventually, we make it out of the subduction zone. The submarine holds up. The fish float in the water behind us. None of them are moving. They’ve been charred to a crisp. I collapse back into my seat. It actually worked. We made it out in one piece. “Holy shit,” I say. “That was insane. I don’t think we’ll be seeing them around again.” “Maybe next time they should stick with an aboveground prison,” Dax says.


  There was silence before the birds began to sing in fear. Above them, storm clouds rolled in the sky, causing the forest to undergo a dark tone. Lightning bolts striked and thunder screamed accros the forest, threatening to set trees aflame. Squirrels, birds and other animals quickly ran off for shelter once thunder began to echo throughout the valley. It was only a matter of time before the wind would pick up and destroy anything on its path. None of this mattered, however, to Jack, who continued to run below nothing but a couple of leaves. Jack knew this forest. He had spent more than half of his life exploring it in his free time. It should’ve been a maze to him—the trees all looked exactly alike and there were barely any landmarks. But, he could tell exactly where he was and what way he needed to go to get to his rustic cabin called home.

The leaves began to sog underneath the pouring rain, no longer providing comfort for Jack. Heavy raindrops soaked through his sweatshirt and jeans, making it more than uncomfortable to continue running. He ducked underneath branches and jumpedd over logs. For once in his life, he was thankful that his father had made him run track when he was a kid. Dim lights shone through the huge fog. There were only a few hundred yards between Jack and the small cabin when a lightning struck. It didn’t land near him, but it released a bright glow, showing Jack that he wasn’t alone running.

Within the trees was a man watching Jack run. The rain blurred a lot of his vision so he couldn't catch the man’s face. Once the lightning faded, the man’s silhouette was still visible. But he did not move.

Jack swerved around a tree and looked back at where the man had been. No one stood there anymore. The boy shrugged, assuming he had imagined the whole thing in his head. Finally, he reached his ratchet fence and jumped right over it, landing with a thud on the ground below. He ran straight into his front door, but came to a stop before he could slip. The door creaked as it opened, light enveloping the boy’s figure. He smiled at the sight of his mother, curled into herself on their living room couch. It was a flimsy old thing that they had found on the side of the road the day that they were leaving the city. His mother said it was some kind of sign that they had to take it. It was more of a purple lump rather than a couch, but the two of them loved it.

Jack shut the door quietly behind him, locking it and then proceeding to bolt it shut. Carefully, he slid off his muddy sneakers, dropping them on the floor. His brown hair fell all over his face, invading his line of sight. Drops fell from it, leaving a small trail behind him as he wobbled into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed an apple from the fruit drawer. He threw the apple into the air, watching it spin a few times before it softly landed back into his palm. Jack grabbed a knife from a drawer and hummed with happiness as he placed the apple on the counter. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and the storm he endured made him ravenous for food. He continued to cut the apple into small pieces popping each one into his mouth. A few minutes passed as Jack ate his apple in bits. He was putting the knife in the sink when a loud bang from behind him startled him. He turned around quickly and scanned the room. His heart rate had skyrocketed and his hands were shaking. His eyes fell on the door. It was still closed, making him less worried. “That hallucination must’ve really gotten to me,” he laughed to himself. He looked down at his bare feet, only to look right back up when he heard a groan. “What the—” Jack took slow steps. He creeped over to where his mother was laying on the couch. She was huddled in a ball on the rug that sat beneath the coffee table, holding her head.

“You alright?” Joey asked, with a humorous tone. “Fine,” his mother spoke from where she lied. Jack bent down and, helped his mother get up “Did you shower?” Joey looked at his mother, confused. “You’re all wet.” He laughed, “There’s a storm outside. Can’t you hear it?” At that exact moment, thunder struck from above, shaking the small cabin. Fear spread through the houes. “Someone’s at the door,” his mother muttered, staring straight ahead.

Jack only sighed, lifting her from underneath her arms and placing her back on the couch.

“No, mom. That’s the storm.” “It doesn’t rain out here in Hawaii, sweetheart.” “We don’t live in Hawaii, mom.” “Let your mother go back to sleep,” was the last thing she said, her voice dropping a few octaves too low. Jack gave up and stood, leaving his mother to sleep her day away on the couch as she usually did. He made his way back to the counter, where his unfinished apple sat. Biting into it quickly. So fast, he bit his lip Jack walked toward the bathroom at the edge of his cabin. Stepping on the cold tiles, sending shivers down his spine. Rust chipped off the faucet as he twisted the handle. Getting in under the water turned his back numb. CRASH. “What was that ?” Jack thought. He stopped showering abruptly, slamming the faucet shut. He tiptoed into the kitchen, bending beneath the counter. He jumped up to see the living room. Glass had shattered all over his gray rug. In the middle lay a red brick. Jack carefully observed the object in his room. He slowly picked the brick up. Flipping it over to the side where in small letters one wrote, “I'm watching you.”


“Gina Fortier? Here’s your new New York State license, ma’am” the lady sitting behind the glass at the DMV slides Gina’s new license under the partition. Gina lets out her breath, not realizing she was holding it. She picks up the shiny new driver’s license. New York State. Gina Fortier. Sex: F. Eyes: BL. HT: 6-02. Gina wipes tears away from her eyes and rereads. Gina Fortier. Sex: F. For the last 14 years her ID said something different. SHE was someone different. When she came into this very same DMV at the age of sixteen, she was a young, confused boy, yearning to get his license so he could get out of Buffalo and go to the city. But here she is. Still in Buffalo. But grown. Matured. A woman. “Thank you,” Gina says as she takes the treasure and places it in her Michael Kohrs wallet. She’s not sure if the woman gives her a judgmental look or not before Gina gets up to leave. But it doesn’t matter now. These people can look all they want; Gina is, by the State of New York, a woman. She has a new name and license to prove it. As she walks towards the exit, she feels her phone buzz from her clutch. As she picks it up, she sighs remembering it’s her dad’s 60 th birthday dinner tonight and her mom is obviously calling to remind her. “Brian?” her mom asks before she can say hello. Gina grimaces hearing this name. She hasn’t been called Brian by her friends for at least 10 years. Why can’t her mom understand that? “Gina, mom. It’s Gina,” Gina says into the phone sternly. She is not going to be treated this way by her mom today. Not today. “Brian, Gina, whatever you call yourself these days. Are you meeting us at Applebee’s for dad’s birthday? You can’t be late you know. You’re always late,” her mom scolds her. Gina can hear her mom’s yapping yorkie in the background. “Yes, mom. You reminded me yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. I will be there soon,” Gina replies, feeling frustrated. She sees that Virginia is calling on her call waiting. “Listen, I have an important call coming in. I will see you soon. Love you.” Gina hangs up the phone and clicks over to Virginia. “This is Gina,” she says formally as if she’s answering a business call. “Is that my strong queen?” a voice booms on the other line. “You like that I went with Fortier? Not too much?” Gina asks as she presses unlock on her key fob and steps into her silver Lincoln Nautilus. “No, I love that you went with a last name with a meaning. And you are the strongest woman I know so why wouldn’t you go with Fortier? And really, what kind of last name was Whitehead anyways? When I first met you and you told me your last name was Whitehead, all I thought about was a big pimple.” Gina laughs aloud and turns her car onto Swan Street. “Can we celebrate tonight? Ladies’ night out somewhere nice?” “I can’t,” Gina says feeling disappointed. “It’s my dad’s 60 th birthday and I’m headed to Applebee’s right now. There aren’t enough skinny margaritas in that place to get me through this dinner.” “Oh girl,” Virginia consoles her, “You’re going right now? The only people in there are gonna be you and some geriatric customers. It’s still daylight out.” “I know, my parents won’t drive past dark,” Gina responds as she stops at a red light and checks her lipstick in the rear-view mirror. “Then let’s go out for drinks after?” Virginia offers. “Nine O’clock? Boxwood?” Boxwood was their go-to spot for a guaranteed good time. Gina smiles into the mirror, making sure she doesn’t have any lipstick on her teeth. “I’ll see you then,” she says with a grin. Knowing she’s meeting Virginia later will help her get through this dinner with her family. “See you then Miss Queen,” Virginia says and hangs up the phone. As Gina pulls into the Applebee’s, she sees that her parents are already standing in the parking lot with her younger sister, Rosemary. Rosemary still lives with her parents even though she’s 23 years old and is more than capable of living on her own. Gina can’t imagine living with her parents one minute more than necessary; she moved out when she turned eighteen although her dad tells people he kicked her out. She knows the truth. She left on her own free will. “Happy birthday, dad,” Gina says as she crosses the parking lot and hands her dad a present. Her dad, a heavyset man with a permanent growl on his face, looks at Gina as if she’s intruding on their evening. “Hello, Brian,” her dad says as he hesitantly takes the present from Gina’s hands and looks her up and down. “You look…interesting as always. Hope we don’t see anyone we know here tonight.” He turns and hands the present to Gina’s mom as he heads towards the entrance. Gina’s mom smiles politely at Gina and then turns to follow her dad’s lead. “New highlights?” Rosemary asks as she walks next to Gina into the restaurant. Gina reaches her hands up to touch her hair, almost forgetting she dyed her once brown hair to a more summer blonde. “Yea, felt like going with something a little lighter,” Gina says as she holds the door open for Rosemary. “Looks nice,” Rosemary says politely as she steps inside. Gina can feel eyes turn to her as she follows her family to the table. She senses people whispering, looking her up and down. Or maybe they aren’t looking at her at all. Maybe it’s in her imagination. It usually is her imagination. She sits down next to Rosemary, facing her dad. “So, dad. Did you do anything nice for your birthday yet?” Gina asks as she opens the menu and scans the drinks. Maybe she’ll get a vodka soda instead of a margarita. Or maybe a red wine. “Fixed the lawn mower. That thing has been acting up,” her dad responds as he opens up his napkin and places it on his lap. “Oh, that’s great,” Gina says, trying to be respectful. She sees a young waitress approach their table. She looks to be younger than Rosemary. “Hello, and welcome to Applebee’s. My name is Amanda, and I will be serving you today. Can I get you all some drinks while you look over the menu?” the waitress asks as she pulls a pad of paper and pen from her apron. “Budweiser for the birthday boy,” Gina’s dad says right away before anyone can speak. “Happy birthday, sir,” Amanda says and scribbles his order down. “I’ll have a strawberry daquiri; extra whipped cream,” her mom orders with a sneer. “It’s a special occasion so I’ll indulge myself!” “I’ll have a rum and coke,” Rosemary orders. “Vodka soda,” Gina blurts out. She needs some alcohol and quick. “Okay so that’s a Budweiser, strawberry daquiri, rum and coke, and vodka soda?” Amanda asks. “And sorry to ask this, but I have to ask anyone who looks under the age of 30 for IDs.” She turns and looks at Gina and Rosemary. Gina can’t tell if this is the truth, or if Amanda is snooping and wants to investigate her more. As she takes out her ID, she feels pride and shame all mixed into one. Amanda takes Rosemary’s ID first from the table, eyes it quickly, and hands it back to her. She then grabs Gina’s ID, inspects it, looks up at Gina, inspects it more, looks up at Gina, and inspects it more. Gina now knows Amanda isn’t just looking at it for her age. “Is there a problem?” Gina asks, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “I’m clearly older than she is, and you just handed her ID back right away,” she gestures towards Rosemary sitting next to her. “No problem,” Amanda says handing the ID back to her. “Sorry about that Ms. Fortier.” Amanda turns and heads to the computer station to punch in their drinks. Flushed with anger, Gina takes the ID back and places it in her wallet wishing she had said no to the invitation for this dinner. She sees her parents on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and birthdays and that’s it. Why does she do this to herself? Why does she bother spending time with them when she’s never felt one ounce of confidence or happiness in their presence? “Did she say Fortier?” her mother asks, looking at Gina with a confused appearance on her face. Gina fumbles putting her wallet back into her purse. How can she feel so empowered and strong one minute and the next minute feel two feet tall? “She did say Fortier,” Gina responds, sitting up a little taller in her seat. “Why would she say that, Brian?” her dad asks, sliding a toothpick from his pocket and putting it in his mouth. “Because that’s my last name,” Gina replies. “And my first name is Gina. Not Brian. I had it changed legally. So, I would appreciate it if you would all remember to call me by my correct name.” “You changed it legally? But what if you decide to go back to Brian Whitehead” her mom asks as Amanda comes back with a tray of drinks. “Mom, I’ve never been Brian Whitehead,” Gina says as she begins to scoot out of the booth and look for the bathroom. She needs a break. “I need to use the restroom,” she murmurs before she’s embarrassed anymore in front of the waitress. Gina spies the bathroom across the bar and walks past a couple tables of men eyeing her up. She wonders if they are eyeing her up in a good way or bad way. Why does she care either way? She would never date a man who chose to eat in Applebee’s in the first place. She heads towards the lady’s room and opens the door right as a woman with short blonde hair is leaving. “Excuse me,” Gina says as she holds the door open for the woman. The woman, who seems to be in her mid-fifties and is about a foot shorter than Gina, looks up at her in surprise. “Excuse me,” she says, eyeing Gina up and down before scurrying away. Did Gina scare her? For the most part, Gina looks like a woman. The breasts, the clothes, the hair. Even the hormones make her voice more feminine. But her height. Her feet. No money in the world can change those things. So, it’s harder for her to blend in. All she wants is to blend in. As Gina finishes up in the bathroom, she inspects her face in the mirror and applies more mascara to her faux eyelashes. She makes sure not to buy lashes that are too long. She isn’t trying to look like a drag queen. She isn’t a drag queen. She’s a woman. A woman whose name means strong queen. Gina zippers up her purse and as she begins to walk out of the bathroom, the door opens and a large man in a Harley leather jacket walks in, eyes wild. “I think you have the wrong bathroom, sir,” Gina says in astonishment. “This is the ladies room.” The man looks directly at Gina, and she sees rage burning behind his eyes. Her knees begin to buckle. “No, I think YOU have the wrong bathroom SIR,” he says as he walks closer to her. “You nearly scared the life out of my wife walking in here you circus freak!” he begins to grab at Gina, reaching for her. She screams and fumbles in her purse for her ID. “What do you got under there, huh?” the man says as he begins to grab at her dress and lift it up. “You like to pretend to be a woman just so you can peek on them in the bathroom you sick pervert?” Before Gina’s hand grabs her license, the man slaps her hard against the cheek and she feels blood trickle down her cheek. “Stop it!” she screams, scrambling around in her purse. “I’m a woman! My name is Gina Fortier and I’m a woman! I have a license here to prove it” she realizes her voice has deepened in her panic. It sounds like a man’s voice now. Sounding this way is almost worse than feeling the pain running through her cheek. She gives up on the ID and knees the man as hard as she can in the groin, making him drop to the floor. She pushes the door open and runs into the restaurant realizing all eyes are on her. Why do all eyes always have to be on her all of the time? What must she look like to them? Her dress is hiked up. She has tears streaming down her face. She has blood running down her cheek. She sees her parents look at her from across the restaurant. They look embarrassed. She turns towards the exit and hurries to her car as fast as she can before anyone else comes after her. Why did she come here? She pulls out of the parking lot hastily and speeds down 190 to a rest stop, wiping mascara filled tears from her face. Pulling a tissue from her glove compartment, she dabs lightly at the blood on her lip. She opens her clutch and takes out her wallet. She takes out her license and reads. New York State. Gina Fortier. Sex: F. “I’m a woman. My name is Gina Fortier and I’m a woman. I have a license here to prove it,” she whispers to herself as she stares at her treasure. She starts the car back up and heads towards Virginia’s house, holding the ID tightly in her fist.


Things had a tendency to show up in Twinlake. From a teenage boy who’d last been spotted at a roller skating rink three years ago, to celebrities everyone had forgotten, to relics of the past found in unruly bushes and beneath the floorboards of the town hall. That was probably where the town got its motto. “If it’s not here, it’s nowhere!” It was probably referring to the many artisans that sat on the streets on Sundays to sell porcelain trees and paintings of dreams you’d forgotten, and wine glasses made from the sands of beaches that had broken your heart. But for those who lived there, there was a hidden meaning.

Twinlake was perfect for people who wanted to hide. The town was positioned deep in the forests of Vermont, the heart of which was a lake that was more of a pond, and streets that were more like paths, and buildings that were more like old dollhouses, teetering and ornate, filled with dust and memories.

The people who lived there kept to themselves. Everyone had the same deep, melancholic core, like a rock in their chest, never able to get rid of it. Maybe it was more like a magnet, the way it drew everyone to Cheshire Lake and Twenty-Second St, and the inn with soft quilts and fine china. *** Trap shuffled his way around Cheshire Lake, clutching an old rake. He probably once had a different name, one lovingly handed to him, wrapped in silk and good intentions, but he hadn’t kept it. Maybe he had pawned it on a whim, in exchange for the map to a town where everyone had a deep melancholic core rooting them to pine trees and sallow rocks. It didn’t matter, because once he had arrived, this name had been given to him, tucked in a box that looked like a coffin, alongside rusty house keys and a book of poetry leafed with advice and a crow’s feather. Trap lived off of milky tea and paint on soft shirts. He raked around the lake because it got him out and about, and when he finished, he would take a trip to the bakery, where it smelled like memories, and the scones tasted like the old wood and rockwork of places you had never been. As he walked, metal leg scraping the ground, arthritis stricken fingers holding the rake like a lifeline, he felt his good foot hit something. He looked down. Light wash denim overalls and a black button down. This was the first new arrival in months. Covered in moss and a film of misery that would take days of hot showers to clean off, and it often stuck around, in the crevices of ears, clinging to eyelashes and between fingers. Trap waited, sitting down with a squeak, as the metal that took the place of the leg he had given up for just one more year to live, which had stretched into decades, because time was strange here. He watched the new arrival, probably in their early twenties, watched their hair drift like a being of its own. It would do that, now, and before his hair had been taken by something that had no name in exchange for a sketchbook that would never fill and a palette that would never empty, his had done that, too. The new arrival whispered a name they would forget upon waking, and fluttered their eyelids.

“You wake.” Trap whispered with a voice that was not his. “Do not try to speak. Marian!” He stood with a creak, and watched the treeline, as a lithe figure that moved like dancing reeds on the shores of Cheshire lake danced over.

Marian appraised the new arrival, and took their hand. “Come with me.” She said, pulling them up. *** Marian had picked the cabin on the hill, with the large porcelain bath, and the ornate copper telescope, and the woodstove near the bed.

The new arrival was confused, but seemed to understand some of what was going on. The moss had fallen in a sheet when they walked through the door, a woven green blanket in its place.

“Welcome home.” Marian had said, handing them a box that looked like a coffin, and walking back into the treeline. They opened it. Minthe. A book of poetry. A crow’s feather. Inside of the book was a leaflet.

Welcome home This is where you belong It is normal to be disoriented, you are in the process of forgetting Please speak to Marian if the confusion gets worse Sundays are market days, where our citizens may sell their wares We don’t use money here, so no need to worry Your clothes are in the closet of your new house Uttering the name of a citizen will alert them that you need them The library is always open, and the librarian knows what you need Jade will be by with a meal, your first days here might be difficult You are safe here There was a knock at the door, and Minthe opened it to reveal someone that smelled like freight trains and red sand.

“I’m Jade.” the person said, extending a black gloved hand. “Don’t speak yet.” She handed them a tray that contained a bowl of tomato soup with two halves of a grilled cheese sandwich, and a handmade mug filled with a warm brown drink that smelled like board games by a fire. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m your neighbor. Please, get me if you need anything.” *** The food was lush and filling, the drink softening Minthe’s vocal cords and easing their stiff muscles. Looking around their home, they noticed a map on their countertop. It showed the town, hand drawn by someone who knew what they were doing. It listed places. The Bakery, The Library, Cheshire Lake. They ran a hot bath, noticing spiderwebs clinging in their hair and vines pressing into their arms that didn’t wither or die in the steaming water.

The closet had soft blue clothes that fit Minthe well, the vines and spiderwebs holding tight. When they tested their voice, whispering, “Jade?” there had been a knock on the door barely a minute later.

“You can speak.” Jade had smiled. “Walk with me.” Arms intertwined, Jade led Minthe to the library. “This is where Aurora works. She knows almost everything. Would you like to ask her a question?”

“Yes please.” Minthe whispered in a voice that was not theirs. The pair walked into the library, and were greeted by Aurora, who’s name fit perfectly.

“Welcome.” she smiled. “Do you need anything?” “Minthe has a question.” Jade nudged the new arrival, who cleared their throat. “Why am I here?” they asked. Aurora smiled. “You belong here. You’re home now.”


As I walked into the office, it looked spick and span and modern. I didn't know what to expect. I had searched the net for many days to get the address of this place. The receptionist, a brunette looking all of her thirty-odd years, greeted me. "Welcome to SFD office Madam, can I help you?"                                                            "Thank you, I am Mrs Silverking. I had called earlier you gave me an appointment to see Mr Salvatore." I said.                                                            "Please take a seat, Madam. I will confirm your appointment and send you to him." I sat down thankfully. Feeling tired, frequently was a symptom I was suffering from. My doctor had told me that there is not much they can do to cure my cancer as of today.                                                  The receptionist called on the intercom and spoke. "Mr Salvatore, one Mrs Silverking wants to see you. You will see her now? I will send her to you. Thank you." She disengaged her intercom and called me. "Madam, Mr Salvatore will see you in his cabin. Please proceed to the seventh floor. You will see his office right in front of you."                                                            The elevator was a modern soundless model with touch-enabled switches. I got in and pressed the number seven. Soft classical music was wafting into my ears as I stood in the chill atmosphere of the cage. There was no one in the elevator at that moment. I reached the floor and walked out. Right in front of me was an office marked Mr Salvatore, Executive Director, SFD.                                                As I walked in, I saw another brunette manning a desk. “Mrs Silverking, I presume,” she said and asked me to step right into the inner office.                                                It was a plush office. The Director was an expansive man in his fifties. He had black hair, probably dyed, and a receding hairline. He was plump as the comfortable chair he was sitting in. He gestured me to take a seat, and I did. The door closed itself softly.                                                "Yes, Mrs Silverking. I am so happy that you have subscribed to our deluxe package. You said on the phone you needed some counsel about preparing to go down. I am here to help you. I will ask Rina to get you our literature for going under. He gave a crisp order to his secretary, who scurried in immediately with a sheaf of papers neatly packaged. Salvatore inquired, ‘Coffee for you, Madam?’, noting my acceptance, he told Rina, “two freshly brewed cups of Americano please.”                                                "Have a look at the kit, Madam. Most of the information you need and some FAQs are in the kit, there. You can have a glimpse at it and then ask me any further doubts or questions you may have."                                                Skimming at the literature, I got a rough idea of how I need to prepare for my going under. The intro pamphlet mentioned the purpose of SFD: To prepare clients and put them to sleep using the latest Hypothermic techniques. It seems that they had begun this about 12 years ago. Apart from the front office and administration, they had medical, legal and Rehab departments. The legal department dealt with making legal documents like wills. Vetting and preparing the clients was the responsibility of the medical department. Their Rehabilitation section dealt with the reinstalling of clients back to mainstream. Their promise was, ‘all client services in one place’.                                                "We will schedule you to meet our legal and medical experts tomorrow. We scheduled your flight down to be next Monday if all the checks are fine. Any further questions, Madam?" Salvatore asked.                                                "Will I be down for ten years as I have contracted to? Then when I come back, will they restore all my rights?" I asked. I knew the answers but wanted some reassurance. "Surely you will be reinstated fully, Madam. You need to have no fear. We have already restored over twenty-five clients in the past two years. We will be continually doing this as clients complete their tenure. We will resuscitate you, on October 15th 2020, for instance. It clearly mentions all this in our contract, which you are going to sign. We are also taking the signature of your next of kin so that there will be no problem. Your son Frank Silverking is signing, I am told, on your papers. Everything is legitimate and clear, Madam. We are a client-friendly organisation. We are here for your sake."                                                We were sipping our coffee as we talked. I put the cup down. "What are the things I need to do before I come here to stay down for ten years, Mr Salvatore?"                                                "Well, Madam," he continued as he slowly sipped his coffee, "you need to make sure you provide for your pets and your property. As your son stays in your house, he will look after the essentials. Please inform all your friends and loved ones that you will not be available for them for the next ten years. You can tell them you are off to South America if the truth would seem strange to some of them”                                                “Will I be able to come back to my life? Will medical science advance by 2030 to get a cure for my cancer?” I ventured to ask feebly.                                                “We are in touch with your doctors and also with the scientists at the cutting edge of research too, Madam. They assure us that the treatment may be ready in 6 to 7 years. They would have done a few trials also by the time you come back, I am sure.” Salvatore seemed confident. It was his job to be so, I thought. He continued, “I will ask our doctors to have a session with you about the research that is being done on therapeutics in Cervical cancer research in the top universities of the United States today. They will be able to convince you better than me. Will there be anything else Madam?”                                    “What about the costs involved Mr Salvatore? I have paid up the entire costs. I suppose that also accounts for any escalation that may take place in the ensuing decade.”                                    “Yes, Madam. Our accounts section is clear about this. Thank you, Madam, for trusting us with your most precious life.”                                    Indeed, I am trusting this corporation with my life. I began to have some qualms about it. “Am I doing the right thing?” I asked myself for the umpteenth time.                                    Going home, I started to settle my accounts at every front. “Should I be writing an obituary for myself too?” I wondered as I did this. It felt as if I am preparing to die. “Maybe I will be able to come back. If not, then how? Then it is almost like I am going to die.” I thought as I pondered my future.


What an easy dare, Cole couldn’t help but think. The dare was to kiss the town’s graveyard cat. It was Halloween Night, and Cole was hanging out with his friends. They were seated in the living room under his older sister, Ciara watchful eye. They had felt too old to go treat-or-tricking even though they were only 13 years-old. Yet, they still need a babysitter which happened to be his sister who was 18 years-old. “So are you going to accept the dare, Cole” His friend Tyler smiled. He was a tall, Asian guy with red dyed hair. He always had a great smile and every girl in school liked him. He was kind and playful guy who could sing and dance. He want to be a famous singer one day. And he was Cole best friend. While Tyler ruled everything performing arts wise, Cole ruled over everything sport wise. He was a great football player, soccer player and swimmer. Cole wants to be a Olympic swimmer. They both enjoyed watching horror and thriller movies. And They both enjoy celebrating Halloween. “Of course he is,” Daniel scoffed closing his book. He was short, pale guy with curly brown hair and freckles. He was a bookworm and movie buff. Daniel also was smart and funny guy of the group. He wants to be a movie star. “Yeah, Ciara can you take us to the town graveyard?” Cole asked. He was average height and had light brown skin. He had black straight hair in pulled into a man bun. Ciara looked up from her bowl of caramel popcorn and her phone. She narrowed her green eyes at them. She sighed. “Fine, I’m bored anyway,” Ciara pulled her black hair into a high bun, her skin was light brown like her brother Cole but unlike him, she was short. Even for a women. They arrived at the town’s graveyard at the top of the hill in the middle of the town. It was always strange to them and everyone in town why there was a graveyard in middle of their town. It was well kept graveyard and one of the town main attractions. But the graveyard cat was not the most graceful cat in the world. It was gray shorthair cat with one white eye and the other piercing blue. Everyone in town did their part to take care of the cat, some even tried to have it washed and netured but to no success. This was very free cat who only sometimes liked the humans around it. Cole and her sister would hang out the graveyard sometimes when they were young. They would visit their grandfather’s grave and talk to him about their day and the gray shorthair cat who come sit in their laps and purr as they pet him. No one knew why Cole and his sister Ciara who hang out with cat and sometimes fall asleep on their grandfather’s grave. Especially, since they never meet their grandfather Harry and their mother did not know much about him. Harry had died when their mother was young. Bethany, their mother had told them he had saved the town but no one know what he did to save it. They just know that after he died, the town was the safest and lavish town in the South. And his sister Ciara and her friends named the cat, Thunder. It really stuck for everyone in the grades below them. Even some of the adults would call the cat Thunder even if they do their best to avoid the cat at all. The adults even some of the elderly people were freaked out by the cat. One day, maybe they’ll figure out why that is. But for now they just write it off as adults being weird. They weren’t the only ones at the graveyard tonight some of their schoolmates were. Ciara shrugged, “Well, I’m going to say hey to Pa. Have fun with your dare and don’t get into trouble, 30 minutes here and we go home” “Got it,” The boys agreed and nodded watching her walk off. The graveyard cat was not hard to find. He was sitting on the bench on a tree. “Well, go on kiss Thunder over there,” Tyler chuckled. Daniel shook his head. “I heard the last person who tried to grab him got their face clawed up,” Cole shrugged and grinned as he walked over to Thunder, the cat. “I’m not scared of a little danger,” He took a sit on the bench and the cat tilted its’ head then narrowed its’ eyes. I’ve been waiting for you. Cole jumped up off the bench and back away from the cat. “Did you say that?” Cole couldn’t help whisper. His friends and a couple of his schoolmate looked at him strangely. Yes, don’t make a scene. Cole blinked at the cat who was staring at him intensely. He laughed looking around his friends seem to relax and his schoolmate started ignored  him and going back to their conversations. “So, Cole are you punking out?” Tyler asked with a grin on his face. Cole shook his head. “You wish,” He took a few brave strive forward and grab the cat. Cole apologized to the cat before kissing it on his dirt covered fur head. “Why, can I hear you in my head?” Because, it’s time for you to decide. You and your sister are descendants of mine. And you must choose, just like your sister did, your mother and your grandfather. Power or Time? Cole couldn’t help but be confused by the question. “What do you mean?” Cole asked, his friends were started laughing as he talked to Thunder, the cat. You are 12 years old. At this age in our family line, you are granted 3 advantages in this lifetime. Do not ask why because I can not say, you must learn. these 3 advantage come only come 10 years, with only one question and a single answer from you. It stops when you answer your finale question at 32 years old. Now, your answer. Would you like power or time? Cole nodded. Looking over at his friends just as his sister came up behind them and gave a sly smile and winked him. “Power,” Cole answered. Thunder, the cat blind left white eye glowed at bright blue even brighter than his other right blue eye. Cole could feel something within him spark to life, as sense he didn’t have before. The energy around him and this cat who happened to be his ancestor had flared. It had changed, this was his ancestor and he could feel it in his bones. He could feel his power. And he could sense his sister power, Cole glanced at his sister Ciara. Her eyes were glowing blue and a smile on her face. Ciara put a finger to her lips in a silent gesture and tilted her head to his friends. Cole nodded and thanked Thunder, the cat who is one of his ancestors. He and his sister both promise to visit Thunder tomorrow. His friends didn’t notice anything different about him, other then somehow he stood taller and had different layer. They couldn’t put their finger on it. But Cole and Ciara both knew that different layer, that his friends couldn’t seem to name. It was power. And it all started on Halloween night with a grave dare.


Ryan peered over his newspaper as Jesse entered the coffee shop and walked to the counter. Hating surprises, Ryan always sat where he could see the door. ‘What’s he doing here? Does he never stop?’ Ryan knew his nemesis always appeared without warning. Though it sometimes felt there was no escape, he prided himself on always finding an out. ‘Look at him. He can go anywhere, any time, and savor a rich, extra foam cappuccino, while I pinch pennies on the go. So unfair.’ In no hurry, Jesse stood as if modeling his tailored suit, awaiting his turn. He could afford the few minutes spent to get his coffee made to order. When his creditor addressed the barista, Ryan took his chance to slip out the door. Hood up, he huddled against the wind and sipped his black coffee as he jaywalked to the park. ‘He won’t be there. Who would go there in this cold?’ Ryan found a tree and leaned against the downwind side. He kept his eye on the coffee shop so no one could sneak up on him. ‘This sucks. How can I enjoy a simple coffee in the morning?’ Ryan chuckled. ‘Of course, I could pay my debt. Or fly to the moon? Just as easy... No guarantee he wouldn’t follow… or be there waiting.’ He shivered against a blast of wind. ‘…Bet the moon is warmer, though. No wind. ’ He thought about his missteps leading to his current quandary. He’d never been a gambler, but a juicy opportunity came along. He’d have made a killing if... That sure thing would have set him for life. Too good to pass up, he’d borrowed what he needed from Jesse, his best friend, to be repaid within the year. They’d once been closer than brothers. That was two years ago. But it all went south. Everything. The economy dived. Ryan lost everything, job, girlfriend, respect. Now he scraped by on unemployment and odd jobs. Who could see that coming? ‘Damn! ’ He couldn’t pay. Humiliated, Ryan broke from Jesse and his whole circle of friends. It was too much. ‘ How they must laugh together while living the high life. ’ He spent his days here and there, looking for work. Trying to survive. Once a highflyer, like his friends, he had no references. Any job he sought, he risked meeting someone from his past, a friend of Jesse’s. He felt his life drawn into the eddy of a slowly draining sink. Lately, it seemed he spent more time hiding than anything. Getting creative, Ryan became a master of avoidance. He dressed differently. Changed his car. Delisted his phone. Moved to a different, cheaper, neighborhood. After months, there was no relief in sight. He couldn’t sit at a bar for a simple drink. If someone sat next to him, he had to leave. Might be a friend of Jesse’s. ‘ Make new friends? You’ve gotta be kidding. ’ It’s a big city, but a small town. Yet, it was never enough. It felt like Jesse always found him. Yet, he never confronted. Not Jesse’s style. He didn’t even acknowledge him, like at the coffee shop. But he was always there. Present. ‘ Is he toying with me? Rubbing my nose in my failures? ’ Ryan stamped his feet against the cold. ‘ What’s he doing in there? ’ He thought about what he’ll do when finally confronted. ‘ He gonna shake me down? Break my kneecaps? No. He’ll look sad, play the ‘guilt’ card. I’ll tell him what I really think. And to stop harassing me.’ A late model limo pulled up and idled outside the coffee shop. It was Jesse’s. One night, outside a club, he saw that whale of a limo. Though tempted to kick out a taillight, he stopped himself. That rich pleasure would’ve been fleeting. Not Ryan’s way. ‘ There could have been witnesses. But the memory is sweet. That would’ve felt good. Boy, he’d have been pissed… ’ Setting his coffee down, Ryan ran in place to warm himself. ‘It’s his fault for trusting me. What did he expect, the fool, lending a fortune to a friend? Who does that? Calls himself a businessman. Didn’t even ask questions.’ Ryan ducked behind the tree as Jesse exited the coffee shop and got into the limo. It pulled away. ‘ Not only a limo, but a new one?’  He scoffed at the license plate: GR8CRDT. He downed his tepid coffee and tossed the cup. ‘ Screw him. Doesn’t need my money anyway.’ Feeling liberated, he walked toward his apartment block. ‘ Not watched. Not tracked. A few minutes peace from that bastard’s relentless pursuit.’ Ryan looked over his shoulder. ‘ Unless he drove around the block for a ‘gotcha!’’ He dismissed the paranoid fantasy. ‘ Don’t get crazy, Ry. Jesse doesn’t obsess over this.’ He waited at a light and watched the cloud of his breath shred and vanish. A delivery truck idled across the street. ‘ Get work with them? No. Might have to make a delivery to Jesse. Can’t do that.’ He weighed Jesse’s losses against his. ‘ The money, his time chasing me, the respect of his pals… What a dope… ’ It would feel good to get home, away from prying eyes, into the warmth of his modest apartment. Safe. ‘Feeling pursued isn’t paranoid when one is actually hunted.’ Ryan knew how a rabbit feels when pursued by a pack of coyotes sniffing at its trail. ‘ Can only do what it can do. Be ever vigilant. ’ As Ryan walked, the nagging fear crept back into his mind. ‘ Is this who I’m becoming? Or am I realizing I’ve always been a loser?’ He never expected to pay it back. It was just too much. He didn’t like it, but could admit the facts, at least to himself. These days, he only talked to himself. ‘When the principle’s added to the accrued interest… no way I can pay it. But indentured servitude was outlawed a century ago.’ Ryan knew bankruptcy remained an option. That would free him on a legal basis. Debtor’s prison was his idea of a joke. The issue wasn’t legal, though, but his betrayal of friendship. He would be admitting failure and dishonor. ‘ Where does one go for relief from that?’ He got to his building and entered the lobby. The warm air felt good. He summoned the elevator. Hunger gnawed at him. ‘What can be done? Must I resign myself to this miserable destiny? I’m tapped out. No money. No ideas. Can’t do it alone. It’s simply beyond my ability.’ The elevator door opened and Ryan stepped inside. He moved to press the button for his floor. Jesse stood before him. The doors closed. ‘ No escape. ’ Jesse blocked the buttons. Ryan backed into the rear wall. Eyes locked. Jesse said, “Ryan, we need to talk.” “Jess, I’m sorry. I don’t know how… But I’m gonna…” “Listen, Ryan. Forget the debt. Consider it paid.” Ryan stopped. He felt dizzy. ‘ Am I hallucinating? ’ “Jess? What are you talking about? I owe you so much. I have to pay you, but…” “Didn’t you hear me? It’s paid. You’re out of debt. Don’t owe me a cent.” Ryan fell silent. ‘Is this a joke? Are there cameras? ’ “But how? Why, Jess?” “That debt was crushing your life. I can’t do that to you.” “Yeah, but…” “Ryan…” “I want to make good… have to…” “It’s done, Ry. Nothing to do.” “What if…” “Doesn’t matter. You’re good. Relax.” The debt had distanced them. But also bound them together. ‘ What now? ’ “I hear you, Jess. Thank you. How can I thank you?” “Live your life.” “But… Is that it? Can we ever be friends again?” “Of course, Ryan. Always have been. That’s the point.” Tears streamed down Ryan’s face. He couldn’t speak. They embraced. Jesse held Ryan at arm’s length. They smiled. “Welcome back, Ry. I’ve missed you.” Ryan looked at him in awe, trying to comprehend. Jesse opened the elevator door to the lobby. Ryan walked out and into the sunlight. He stood, face up, feeling the rays, the warmth. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair. Alive, he felt every quivering molecule. A leaf danced and spun to the ground. A bird chirped. Children played in the distance. All was well. He felt free.


The man stepped onto the plane. He was sweating, not profusely, but small beads of sweat were noticeable on his upper lip and forehead. The flight attendant took his flight ticket, inspected it, looked up, and smiled at him in an artificially saccharine way. Just like she was trained to do. “Welcome on board Flight 305,” she said, gesturing to the back of the plane. He nodded a terse thank you and moved to his seat. The flight attendant was already busy greeting the next passenger in the same rehearsed way.

He had asked for a window seat, at the very back of the cabin. Thankfully the seat next to him was vacant.

He slid his briefcase under the seat in front of him and settled into his seat. He removed his sunglasses and placed them inside his jacket pocket.

“Can I place your briefcase in the overhead bin?” asked a new attendant. More artificial cheer. “No, thank you,” he answered, without smiling. He was nervous. He didn’t like flying at the best of times.

“Sir, it really is more secure in the overhead bin,” she said, still smiling. “I would prefer it near me, please,” he said, getting rather agitated.

“I understand. If you would prefer, the captain has special storage for…”

“I said no. Thank you,” he said, firmer this time, but not too loud. He didn’t want to cause a scene. The attendant’s smile slipped momentarily, but she regained her composure quickly.

“Alright,” she answered, straightening her back and walking down the aisle toward the galley at the front of the plane.

The man in the seat across the aisle glanced at him from the corner of his eye, raising his eyebrow at this stranger’s perceived rudeness. Certainly the flight attendant did not deserve his ire. After all, she was just doing her job.

Well, he didn’t care. After this flight is over, he will never see any of these people again- not his fellow passengers, not the captain, not the flight attendant. They could think of him what they wanted. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the loudspeaker clicked into life, “this is your captain speaking. We will be departing shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts. Cabin crew, prepare for take-off.” He could hear the engine pick up speed outside the window. His sweating was becoming worse.

Taking his handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he mopped his brow and upper lip, before returning the kerchief to his pocket again. He could see the ground crew working quickly to seal the doors from the outside. The cabin crew was positioned at various spots throughout the cabin, demonstrating the safety equipment as the public address system droned on about floatation devices and emergency exits. He wasn’t paying attention. He could feel sick anticipation rise up in his throat. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. Soon they would be airborne and the feeling would have dissipated.

A flight attendant walked by, towards the aft of the aircraft. He raised his hand to gain her attention. It worked.

“Yes, sir?” she said, beaming a smile at him.

“May I please have a scotch and soda before we take off?” She frowned slightly. The airplane had started moving towards the runway, ready for take-off. “Sir, we’re just about to take off. I would gladly serve you after we are airborne and the captain had turned off the seatbelt signs,” she said. “Please. I’m a nervous flyer. It would help settle my nerves,” he pleaded. This solicited another raised eyebrow from the man on the opposite side of the aisle. She hurried off without a word. She returned a few moments later with the drink. She placed the drink on the tray table in front of him. “I will return in a few minutes to collect the glass. Tray tables must be stored for takeoff.”

True to her word, she returned for his empty glass. As she took the glass, he handed her a note, folded closed to hide the message.

The air hostess folded it again and moved to place the note in her pocket. “Miss, I think you’d better read that,” he said to her.

She unfolded the note and read it silently. Her eyes grew wide with fright. “I think you’d better sit next to me, don’t you?” he said. She sat down, still clutching the empty glass in her hand.

“Buckle up,” he said, smiling. She fastened her seatbelt without a word. Her colleagues frowned as they saw her seated in a passenger seat, rather than the jumpseats reserved for cabin crew. As another flight attendant slowed to inevitably ask why she was seated here, she just shook her head. Her colleague moved on without a word. The airplane hurtled down the runway. He closed his eyes, not daring to look out of the window or at the flight attendant next to him.

The friction of the wheels of tarmac disappeared as the airplane left the runway. The eerie quiet that always followed take-off was especially oppressive today.

Once the airplane had leveled off, the captain turned the public address system back on. The ping made the flight attendant jump. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain William Scott…” he introduced himself.

He wasn’t very interested in who the captain was. “What’s your name?” he asked, turning toward the flight attendant.

“Florence,” she replied breathlessly. Her eyes were welling up with tears. “Please, don’t cry, Florence. This will soon be over,” he said. She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Poor girl.

“Can I see it?” she asked, once she was more composed. He reached forward for his briefcase. He opened it a crack- just large enough for Florence to peer inside. He slammed the briefcase shut again.

A ping announced that it was now safe to remove seatbelts. “Better go tell the captain,” he said. Florence removed her seatbelt and hurried to the cockpit. She returned moments later. He had removed the sunglasses from his pocket and was wearing them again. “Sir, he said they will make arrangements,” she said, before hurrying to the back of the aircraft. Twenty minutes later, the public address system pinged back into life. “Folks, this is your captain speaking again. Due to technical difficulties, our arrival at our destination may be delayed,” he said.

“Miss,” he said, as a flight attendant passed. She paused and gave a nervous smile. “Yes, sir?” “May I please have another scotch and soda?” he asked. She returned moments later with the drink. He had placed the money for this drink as well as the previous drink on the tray table next to him. The flight attendant picked up the money. “Thank you,” he said, smiling. “You may keep the change.” Two hours later, the plane still hadn’t landed. “What in the damned hell is going on?” demanded the man across the aisle to no one in particular, looking toward the front of the plane. The cockpit doors remained firmly shut. The rest of the passengers were looking both nervous and agitated at the same time.

He looked at his watch. 17:20.

Florence approached his seat. “Sir, everything is in order,” she whispered. “Thank you. Please tell the captain we can land. Ask him to taxi to the northeast corner of the airport and to have a bus waiting for the passengers,” he said. She turned to leave. “One last thing, Florence,” he said. She turned to look at him. “Please ask all passengers to close the window blinds before landing.” The captain announced that they were ready to land as the flight attendants walked through the cabin, ensuring the window blinds were shut.

The plane landed. The disgruntled passengers collected their belongings and filed off the plane.

Everyone was kept seated. “I have never been on a worse flight in my life,” complained one passenger.

“How can a 30-minute flight take two hours?” complained another. The flight attendants apologised profusely to each complainant, never once dropping their trained smiles.

After a couple of minutes, the flight attendant who served him his drink earlier approached his seat with two canvas sacks. She opened the sacks to reveal their contents. “Thank you. All seems in order. The passengers may disembark,” he said. Once the last passenger had left, he turned to the crew, who had assembled near the cockpit door. “Thank you for all your help. Don’t worry. Your ordeal ends now,” he said.

“Everyone except the captain, co-pilot, flight engineer, and one flight attendant may leave.” Not waiting to be told twice, the cabin crew gathered their belongings and left the plane.

He turned to the captain.

“Once re-fueling has taken place, head south towards Mexico City. Keep the speed steady enough to avoid stalling- round about 100 knots. Fly at an altitude of 3000 metres. Nothing more, nothing less. Keep the cabin unpressurised. Do not retract the landing gear after takeoff and keep the wing flaps at 15 degrees.” A tense nod from the captain.

“We will be flying about 1000 miles below our specified flight configuration. At that altitude, we will need to refuel again before we reach Mexico City,” said the copilot. He hadn’t considered that.

“Where do you suggest we refuel?” he asked.

“Maybe somewhere in Arizona? Or Nevada?” “I always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Let’s refuel in Nevada.” The plans were communicated to the ground crew. The copilot, pilot, and flight engineer took their positions in the cockpit again, ready for take-off.

He returned to the seat he was sitting in earlier. “I think you’d better join the captain in the cockpit,” he said to the flight attendant, shortly after takeoff. She complied. He looked at his watch. 20:15. He walked to the back and lowered the aft staircase. He removed one parachute from the sack that was delivered earlier and strapped himself in. He secured the other sack firmly to the front of his chest, under his shirt, to prevent the contents from flying out of the sack. He took the briefcase in his hand. He gave a final salute and jumped from the plane into an uncertain fate. Except his fate wasn’t that uncertain. D.B. Cooper, as the press dubbed him, survived the jump. I know because “D.B Cooper” was my grandfather. This is a secret only my family knows.


The plains of Kansas stretched out before Julio.

He looked at his speed, he looked at the time, he looked at the road.

He unfocused his eyes, and then refocused them.

Fuck I hate this place, he thought.

The drive from the east coast of the United States was criminally boring, but the mountains of Colorado loomed in the distance.

He ached for the natural beauty, the refined air, the beautiful stream and mountain passes.

Not that he’d explore anything beyond his car, he wasn’t insane.

The scenery tempted him more every year, and for a decade he had spent his summers basking in that desire.

One day, when I’m near death, maybe I’ll really step Outside there .

He dreamed of it, the smells and sounds, the lack of walls surrounding him, but it was a pipe dream.

No one in his generation left their vehicles anymore; well no one that didn’t have to.

Of course, the poor had jobs on the Outside, and some of them didn’t even have money for climate suits.

He’d heard stories that the very poor wandered the countryside like bandits, drinking unfiltered water from streams and growing vegetables, or made permanent Outdoor homes.

No one expected that they lived very long. A road sign breezed by advertising power refills, water refills, and black tank emptying.

His levels would be fine until the border, and he hated the idea of staying longer on these roads than he had to.

He kept moving. – Three centuries ago, a small Russian border conflict had attracted the attention of the world’s most powerful nations.

Tensions escalated, and soon these nations were wrapped into the conflict.

Two schools of thought exist around what happened next; some think nuclear conflict could have been avoided if a policy had been enacted at the right time, and others think the Sword of Damocles always had to fall.

History doesn’t care, it happened. In the span of half an hour, most of the world’s population was decimated.

In the weeks that followed, radiation poisoning killed more.

A decade of nuclear winter, caused by all the soot released into the atmosphere, wrecked crops globally, and famine was widespread.

Another decade of nuclear summer followed, temperatures intensifying globally from the massive concentrations of carbon dioxide and methane.

Very few survived these years, and living conditions were unforgiving. But underground, in bunkers built years before the first bombs fell, people thrived.

Starting in the early 21st century, governments had begun investing in long-term living solutions in case of climate or nuclear disasters.

These self-contained units grew crops, expelled waste, purified fresh air, and cleaned water from the aquifers they were built near.

They had doctors, and medical supplies.

Hardlined communications were created to other bunkers in case of broad wireless system failures.

As tensions rose globally, governments secreted some of the population down in these centers.

Of course, they primarily picked from those highly educated; minority populations were barely represented, and a large percentage of politicians were chosen. This group of survivors became the new human race.

Several generations were born in the confines of these bunkers, and to them the space didn’t feel as claustrophobic.

Technology development had continued, and engineers from around the globe worked together to create a suite of technologies to allow people to leave their confines.

A century after the first bombs fell, doors swung open on bunkers around the world, and construction started on the first Ecosystem Cars. – Julio pulled into the fill station, it was the first one across the border.

He stopped his vehicle in a stall, and put the lights on to indicate that he needed a full service.

An attendant walked over; every inch of his oversized climate suit was covered in bright brand logos and advertisements.

The suit resembled historical pictures of diving gear, but was more loose fitting than a wet suit.

An air purifier sat on the attendant’s back, with a hose going into a gas mask.

The suit was covered with small, localized air conditioning units to withstand the extreme heat. The attendant hooked his vehicle to the charger, and inserted the bi-directional pump that removed waste and filled fresh water simultaneously.

These facilities usually supplied their energy from a local solar farm, and processed waste into clean drinking water on site.

When the job was complete, the attendant scanned the barcode on the back of his car, and knocked on the rear window before they walked away.

Julio noticed that most of the advertisements on their suit were for a local Love Hotel called Desert Oasis .

People would meet in these sealed bunkers for a night of revelry, but Julio had no idea who was doing that in this wasteland.

Julio steered back onto the highway to continue the drive west.

Mountains loomed in the distance with an unforgiving finality. – The centuries following the opening of the bunkers were known as The Great Migration.

As the infrastructure expanded along the antiquated highway system, people struck out in their self-contained ecosystems.

Some of them left as families, but most chose a nomadic life in solitude.

Wireless communication networks were re-established, and people drifted further from physical interactions.

Still, population numbers slowly climbed as new families formed on the road. In the beginning of the great migration period, there was no formal economy.

People traded locally in skilled labor and bartered crops grown in different bunkers, but all necessities were available to each person.

As the transportation and infrastructure needs of this new society grew however, so did the industry alongside it.

Fifty years after the start of the great migration, an economy and international currency had been established, and the trends of socio-economic stratification started again.

Within the next fifty years, this had forced humanity into a caste system where it was nearly impossible to ascend. – Julio ended the trip in the remnants of an old town, the map called it Crested Butte.

This was the same destination as every year, the road ended in a valley surrounded completely by steep mountain faces.

The terrain was extreme and uninviting, and the closest fill station was far back on the main highway.

Here was complete solitude. On the drive here through Old Denver he’d parked next to one of the city parks while he ate lunch.

It was now completely overgrown, but some of the old charm remained.

Giant elms dominated everything else in the park, and chest high weeds choked the field.

To his astonishment, Julio watched a deer stop and graze for several minutes at the edge of the park; it was seemingly there just for him.

Suddenly, the deer spooked, and he caught something else moving in the park, but it was obscured. Julio drove deeper into the park, and through a gap in the weeds he could see two small homes and a large greenhouse.

There was a man standing in the clearing Outside the greenhouse.  He was tall, and covered in black dirt up to his elbows, and was shirtless.

His skin was ravaged by the sun, but otherwise he looked healthy.

Julio wondered why this scene was so strange, and then in a flash realized the man wasn’t wearing a climate suit.

He’s going to die before he sees anything from that greenhouse, he thought, but to his astonishment his skin showed no signs of radiation poisoning.

Quietly, Julio reversed out of the interior of the park, and without looking back he drove away as fast as he could. Shaking the memory from his mind, Julio kept moving towards his camp. – It was night, and Julio had parked his car in a field at the edge of the old town.

By pressing a few buttons, the interior space of the vehicle had converted to a spacious bedroom, and the screens on all the walls displayed the images behind them.

It gave the appearance of being in a completely translucent dome; there was endless night sky in every direction.

The stars slowly drifted, and Julio made up patterns in his mind between them.

In those patterns, his mind drifted. He dreamt that he was Outside, walking up the hillside with the sun blazing down.

The tall grass felt soft and friendly against his bare legs; he heard bees humming somewhere nearby.

At the top of the hill he saw the deer from earlier, it was drinking from a stream and looked at him as he approached, but it wasn’t scared.

He was transfixed, and he approached the deer with an outstretched hand.

He stroked the deer’s fur, it was coarse like twine.

And then he noticed red welts appearing on the deer where he’d touched it.

The deer cried out in pain as the welts spread across its body in a flash.

Julio looked at his hand and saw the same welts extending up his arm.

Radiation sickness he thought, the panic racing through him.

He swiped at the sores with his other hand but saw them extending up that arm too.

Blood was pounding in his ears; he watched the deer collapse in front of him and then sank to his knees.

The pounding in his head intensified; he covered his face with his hands and wept. Sunlight drenched him; it streamed in through every window and filled the vehicle like a warm blanket.

His eyes darted to check his arms; it was just a dream , he concluded.

But then the pounding continued, and he realized it wasn’t in his head, but on the window. A woman’s tanned face was pressed against the window, the loose curls of her chestnut brown hair splashing across it.

She had one hand cupped against her face to block the sun, and the other raised to knock again.

Her eyes were like chipped jade, and when they locked with Julio’s she smiled radiantly.

He was paralyzed in her gaze. “Hi there, sorry to wake you, but only it’s already midday and I got tired of waiting for you to wake up and I was just so excited to see another human that I just couldn’t wait, you know what I mean?

It really is beautiful out here, and you wouldn’t believe how good it smells .

I mean, who knew the Outside could smell like this ? And there’s so many sounds , the nights are really alive!” She paused and took a deep breath, composing herself. “Sorry, that was a bit too much.

I’ve come here for a long time and never seen anyone else.

Did you know the radiation dissipated years ago?

Some places still have small traces, but not enough to drastically shorten life expectancy.

The data has been there for years, but our generation grew up in the specter of it, and we’re too damn scared to think the world could be safe.

I know I was, it took me a year here before I was brave enough to take my climate suit off.

This zone is completely free of radiation; it’s safe to go Outside, the water is clean, even the soil is fine for growing crops.” To prove this to him, she reached down and held up an old geiger counter and turned it on.

It didn’t register anything.

Julio stared at the indicator dial, waiting for it to move and tell him the climate was poisoned and this girl was going to die.

He kept staring at the gauge as she continued to speak. “I’ve built a small hut back in the trees, right on top of that hill.

If you want to come Outside, there’s a place you could sleep.

I know this is a lot to process, but if you decide to not come out yet can I come back tomorrow to talk?” Julio nodded, barely.

“Till later, then.

My name’s Doe, by the way.”

She waved and then walked away.

Julio stared at her skin, beautiful and clear of sickness.

She disappeared into the trees, and Julio shifted his gaze to her hand print left on the window. He stared at that hand print for the rest of the day, dreaming of possibilities.

When he closed his eyes he saw her clear skin moving away from him through the tall grass.

– In one universe Julio had the courage to leave his car.

He trusted her readings, and went Outside.

It was beautiful, and perfect, and real.

In that universe he fell in love with Doe, and they built a home together.

They were the start of a community that lived Outdoors, and news spread steadily across the world.

It inspired others to go Outside, and other safe places were found.

Like a boulder rolling downhill, civilization gained momentum.

Julio died an old man, surrounded by his family, and was buried in the earth. Julio could taste the sweetness of that, even in this life.

He saw it as he drove back down the highway out of town.

Days later, he could feel it when he’d put his hand over her hand print.

At the next major stop he paid for a car wash.  Tears streamed down his face as he watched the foaming chemicals wipe out the memory.

The next day was new, and he chose a new road.