and when you get up in the morning. When the sky turns green, it will be time.”
“Make it soon.” The pleading in Monica’s eyes and voice was almost more than Laura could bear. She gripped Monica’s fingers, hoping the frail, imprisoned woman could take strength, or hope, or anything from the contact. Only when her trembling limbs threatened to fail did she let go. She stretched as best she could, and prepared her aching muscles for the descent. Her final glimpse of Monica was of the skinny, pale face nearly lost in shadows. Then Laura was on the ground, over the fence, and running into the darkness before the fish-men could respond.
She spent the next day collecting food, and set off North, across the river, and away from the Dominion of Manhattan.
At first, the country looked much the same, with ruined concrete, steel, and stone towers, but they got shorter as she walked away from Manhattan. After days of walking, the buildings became houses, and twisted, malevolent-looking trees crowded in on her. She touched one and found it wept a goo which burned like a knife cut. Other bloated and quaking plants squished underfoot.
Laura had never been outside the Dominion of Manhattan. Her hunting and escaping skills served her well in this savage green place. Often, she killed only to discover her prey had some sort of rot or grotesque growing out of it. These she abandoned. Only once was she desperate enough to eat a healthy-looking part of a deer whose putrid, blackened skin was peeling away from its ribs. The days of vomiting and chills in the middle of summer were enough to teach her that it was better to go hungry.
In the wilderness, she found small enclaves of humanity that resisted the Masters’ grip. Or at least, were too small to be noticed. Most drove her off with gunfire, but a few welcomed her. To these, she taught the spell, always pointing to the sky, waiting for it to turn green. She would stay for a few days, and always leave alone.
Seasons passed. She grew lean and hard, her skin darkened with sun and travel.
After three summers, at the hottest peak of the year, Laura saw a Master. A bloated, flabby, man-like body with a cancerous, tentacled head waded through the trees like a man in a pond. She was paralyzed with horror by the impossible size, and cringed on the ground, driving her teeth into the stubs of her missing fingers to keep from screaming. The ground shook as the colossal aberration shattered trees with its passing, and Laura wept with sick fear hours after it was gone. How could she ever stand against something so mighty? When Dornier spoke of dealing with the Masters, it had seemed like a pretty dream. Confronted with their enormous reality, despair clawed at her. She repeated the spell over and over, letting each hot spark fly up to the sky, each one a wish that the Masters would be destroyed.
The next morning, weak after a night without sleep, she decided to return to Dominion of Manhattan. She wanted to see if the children remembered, and teach them again, if necessary. How large had Dornier’s rebellion grown? How many people whispered the spell to themselves at night and the first thing in the morning? She didn’t know how many times she had repeated it. The hot spark of success no longer surprised her, and she could taste nothing but hot tin.
The return to Manhattan was long, and every night, Laura looked to the sky, hoping for some hint of green. Monica would be dead, she knew. Even now, the thought saddened her. There would be fewer women left, but she would have to visit the tower again.
On a warm and clear morning, she saw again the familiar broken skyline of the Dominion of Manhattan across the great river. Conflicting emotions roiled in her. She was relieved to be home, even though the memory of Monica and the women in the tower lurked in the back of her mind.
The Lord of Manhattan had changed his ways in her absence, and Laura
“Make it soon.” The pleading in Monica’s eyes and voice was almost more than Laura could bear. She gripped Monica’s fingers, hoping the frail, imprisoned woman could take strength, or hope, or anything from the contact. Only when her trembling limbs threatened to fail did she let go. She stretched as best she could, and prepared her aching muscles for the descent. Her final glimpse of Monica was of the skinny, pale face nearly lost in shadows. Then Laura was on the ground, over the fence, and running into the darkness before the fish-men could respond.
She spent the next day collecting food, and set off North, across the river, and away from the Dominion of Manhattan.
At first, the country looked much the same, with ruined concrete, steel, and stone towers, but they got shorter as she walked away from Manhattan. After days of walking, the buildings became houses, and twisted, malevolent-looking trees crowded in on her. She touched one and found it wept a goo which burned like a knife cut. Other bloated and quaking plants squished underfoot.
Laura had never been outside the Dominion of Manhattan. Her hunting and escaping skills served her well in this savage green place. Often, she killed only to discover her prey had some sort of rot or grotesque growing out of it. These she abandoned. Only once was she desperate enough to eat a healthy-looking part of a deer whose putrid, blackened skin was peeling away from its ribs. The days of vomiting and chills in the middle of summer were enough to teach her that it was better to go hungry.
In the wilderness, she found small enclaves of humanity that resisted the Masters’ grip. Or at least, were too small to be noticed. Most drove her off with gunfire, but a few welcomed her. To these, she taught the spell, always pointing to the sky, waiting for it to turn green. She would stay for a few days, and always leave alone.
Seasons passed. She grew lean and hard, her skin darkened with sun and travel.
After three summers, at the hottest peak of the year, Laura saw a Master. A bloated, flabby, man-like body with a cancerous, tentacled head waded through the trees like a man in a pond. She was paralyzed with horror by the impossible size, and cringed on the ground, driving her teeth into the stubs of her missing fingers to keep from screaming. The ground shook as the colossal aberration shattered trees with its passing, and Laura wept with sick fear hours after it was gone. How could she ever stand against something so mighty? When Dornier spoke of dealing with the Masters, it had seemed like a pretty dream. Confronted with their enormous reality, despair clawed at her. She repeated the spell over and over, letting each hot spark fly up to the sky, each one a wish that the Masters would be destroyed.
The next morning, weak after a night without sleep, she decided to return to Dominion of Manhattan. She wanted to see if the children remembered, and teach them again, if necessary. How large had Dornier’s rebellion grown? How many people whispered the spell to themselves at night and the first thing in the morning? She didn’t know how many times she had repeated it. The hot spark of success no longer surprised her, and she could taste nothing but hot tin.
The return to Manhattan was long, and every night, Laura looked to the sky, hoping for some hint of green. Monica would be dead, she knew. Even now, the thought saddened her. There would be fewer women left, but she would have to visit the tower again.
On a warm and clear morning, she saw again the familiar broken skyline of the Dominion of Manhattan across the great river. Conflicting emotions roiled in her. She was relieved to be home, even though the memory of Monica and the women in the tower lurked in the back of her mind.
The Lord of Manhattan had changed his ways in her absence, and Laura
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