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ChapterOne
Raven
“Imiss baths.”
“Metoo.” My best friend Chloe’s voice hisses through my air pods as I downshift my Yamaha into first. “But I miss pedicures more. Oh, andStarbucks. Caramel Frappuccino with three espresso shots.”
The‘I miss’game we play is not so much a lamenting of what’s been lost, but more a way to remember the pleasures of the before while dealing with the truths of the now.
The sun is dipping down below the peaked roofs of the houses as I ease into the subdivision. It’s that perfect temperature you get in June, where it feels almost like you are disappearing somehow. Not too warm, not too cool. Like diving into a warm pool that feels like the perfect summer hug.
This weather almost makes me forget in a few months, the days will be shorter. There will be fewer festivals, more isolation, and hunkering down when the snow starts to fly isn’t as romantic as it sounds. Especially when home is a 1999 converted yellow school bus.
But, as they say, home is what you make it.
A bug smacks my cheek then glances off as my mouth waters imagining a good Mocha latte. “Well, you’ll be in the south soon,” I say. “Starbucks is still alive and well across the border,”
“Traitors. It’s dumb, if they gave it enough time, imagine how much coffee orcs would drink.”
“Well, you’ll be enjoying your Frappuccinos soon. Andbaths.” A jolt of envy spikes through me. “T-minus what? Thirty-six days?”
Chloe sighs as the knot in my stomach tightens. She’s as close to family as I have since my parents fled south two years ago.
“Raven…” Her voice sounds apologetic. “I—I just…can’t see having my baby in the north in the back of my camper, wondering when we’ll be raided next. Or worse. When you have a family, everything looks different. It’s not safe in the occupied areas, it’s not a life for a child. Always moving around, always wondering what’s around the corner.”
“That’s exactly how I grew up and I loved it,” I bite back, instantly sorry for the accusation in my voice. “I loved living on the road with my parents.”
“Well, that didn’t stop them from abandoning the bus and heading to Texas. It’s a different world now.”
“They abandoned something more than just the bus. That’s home to me. Always will be.”
“It won’t though, will it? Not if they do as they said and take it away from you. Then what will you do? I hate to say it, but maybe it’s time you considered their offer to go live with them.”
“Never. This is my life, it’s—” I stutter, veering around some scattered bones next to a burned-out BMW.
“You’d be safe. No more scavenging. Just a normal human life. Well, as close to normal as things get these days. Have you even spoken to them since they threatened to take the bus back?”
“Once. Yesterday for a few minutes. They’ve changed so much. They joined theNeo-Human Coalition. These are the same people that named the bus LIVE AND LET LIVE. I remember helping them paint it on both sides. How can they go from that to fascist segregationists? They said they’re gathering signatures for some new amendment outlawing humans and orcs cohabiting or marrying.”
“Orcs hate the heat.”
“It’s just… I never thought when they gave me the bus it would end up being their bargaining chip. I didn’t know I needed a legal contract signed with my own parents to say it’s mine. I don’t know, I just don’t want to give in to more hate. The bus is all I have left of the life I loved. It’s my home.”
I shift my Yamaha into second gear, the sun is setting, and I need to get to my target. I look along the dark, burned-out houses, looking for movement. If I have to scavenge and sell my paintings out of the back of the bus to survive for the next fifty years, I’ll do that before I settle for some homogenized life of cookie cutter houses and prejudice. That’s a prison for me.
“Never know.” I say, forcing humor into my voice, the wind making my eyes tear. The high whine of my motorcycle penetrates the earbuds and vibrates against my calves. “Decade or two from now, things could be different. Sure, Starbucks couldn’t make peace bartering a skinned squirrel for an iced mocha, but they might change up their business plan. Orcs aren’t going anywhere, and everyone needs coffee. Venti will be served in gallon sized buckets.”
Chloe chuckles. “Yeah. ‘I’ll have the raw ox-blood and boiled spleen iced coffee with two pumps of sour mead’.”
I laugh against the breeze, but deep down in the pit of my stomach I know the hatred is real. And growing. There was even a movement for building a wall from northern California across to Chicago segregating the orcs to the northwest.
It failed because humans can’t agree on the color of shit let alone how to build the great wall of the not-so-United States. The strangest part is the orcs became a part ofmyworld with relative ease. While other people were screamingapocalypse,I saw them as displaced beings trying to come back home.
Sure, they forged swords and axes and burned out a few subdivisions, killed their share of humans and took over cities, but they werepissed. I heard of a few mass murders, which is horrible, but mostly they were just reacting to what came their way and Iget it. Being plucked from your planet and zipped across the galaxy to be enslaved and genetically mutated is hard core.
Their rebellion on Iriaza left even more dead but they got their freedom finally. The stories told us there was a small group of Moban that hated the enslavement. They assisted the orcs, there was a coup and they set them on a three-year journey back to earth. When they got here after something like two hundred and seventy years, they no longer recognized the world they left, with humans running the show and calling them monsters.
They are a grouchy bunch and who can blame them. But, apocalypse?
