Damage Control - ARC (8 page)

Brooks shook his head. “Naproxen sodium,” he
said.

“Yeah,” Guin agreed. “I didn’t even think of
that. I mean, when I said ‘take stuff for the pain’ I didn’t mean
drugs.”

“Naproxen sodium is a drug. I take
drugs.”

“Yeah, and so is ibuprofen. But…” For once,
she seemed to struggle to express her thoughts.

“But they’re not addictive,” he said. “A lot
of times when you say ‘something for the pain,’ people assume you
mean narcotics—especially since sometimes I’m ‘not really there,’
as you say.”

“Right?” she half-squealed. “Duhhhh… But it’s
not from drugs. I can just imagine the shape you’d be in, if you
did do drugs.”

“Yeah,” said Brooks drily. “My head would be
attached to my kneecaps, maybe.”

“Dad! You know what I mean. Oh, but I did
straighten her out. I mean, I told her you get these headaches,
like migraines or something, and your back is messed up. And I told
her you should be taller than you are but your neck-bone is like
out of joint or something, so you’re not.”

“That’s right, I’m not taller than I am. It’s
not really out of joint, though. I guess if it were, I’d be dead. I
don’t think anyone could survive that. Maybe…maybe I’d just be
paralyzed, though.”

“Oh, what is it, then?”

“I guess they call it ‘out of
alignment.’”

“Oh. That sounds like a car.”

“Yeah. That’s what’s wrong with me." Brooks
ran a hand over his balding head. "My tread is wearing thin, and I
need to get re-tired.”

“Or retard.” Guin refilled her plastic cup
from the bottle of store-brand cola they'd brought with them. “Oh,
did I tell you Shannon joined the Army? Or the Air Force, I guess.
Yeah, the Air Force.”

“You did tell me. She was going to be a cook,
but there was a bonus for some kind of weapons job, so she took
that instead.”

“Oh, guess I did. She goes to Basic next
week. She’s excited.”

“I bet she is. Wow, did you see that?” asked
Brooks in amazement. He was staring, literally, into space. “No,”
he said, after a pause, “you didn’t see it: you’re facing north.
Move your chair,” he suggested, “it might happen again.”

“What might happen?” Guin asked, looking for
a good place to put her plate down so she could turn her chair
around. She didn’t notice her dad, sitting there holding his hand
out for it.

“Let me hold your plate,” he said, “before
you put it on the floor and walk in it.”

“Oh, so I have to put on the floor and walk
on it after you hold it, then?” She grinned. Usually he was the one
to make cracks like that: she was giving him a taste of his own
medicine. She handed it to him and moved her chair, slowly so the
cola wouldn’t slosh. “What am I looking for, again?”

“They used to call them shooting stars,”
Brooks responded bitterly, carefully holding both plates level and
wishing he had a hand free to take a swig of his water. The fries
were deliciously salty.

“Oh, cool,” she said, oblivious to his tone.
“I like shooting stars. You should have made a wish.”

“I did.”

“Really?” she asked, settling back into her
chair and taking her plate back. “Brooks Massilon actually wished
upon a star? I can’t believe it!”

“You shouldn’t believe it. I didn’t wish upon
a star. I was just wishing, and then it happened.” He took a long
draught of the cold water.

“What were you wishing for?” she asked him,
“Or was it private?”

“I was thinking about health insurance,
actually.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment, then she
said, “No wonder you sounded sad.” Maybe she hadn’t been so
oblivious, after all, even if she still didn’t get it. “Didn't you
get on Medicaid?”

“They turned me down because I'm ineligible.
I have a job.”

"But you can get insurance from your job,
right?"

"No, I haven't been there long enough.
There's a ninety-day waiting period before you can get
benefits."

"That's a long time to wait."

Brooks shrugged. "And it's doubtful they'll
keep me that long, either. I've missed two days this week. I may be
unemployed already."

"Think of the good side," said Guin. "At
least if you are, you can get Medicaid. And then you can go to the
doctor and get better, and get a job you can keep."

"Tried that," Brooks replied with a bitter
chuckle. "Got booted from the program for noncompliance. Not
attending all their pointless meetings, and missing job
interviews."

"But you were medically unable," she
objected. "Can't they make an exception for that?"

"Only if my doctor fills out all the
paperwork based on a complete medical workup."

"And I suppose your doctor won't do that
until you get health insurance."

"What doctor?" said Brooks. "I don't even get
to have a doctor without health insurance."

“Is that Venus?” she asked, pointing.

“Guess again," he said, "Not Venus."

“Then what planet is it, then? It’s a planet,
right, and not a star?”

“It’s not a planet or a star,” he answered
soberly.

“Oh, it’s—that’s a satellite, isn’t it?” Even
Guin looked chagrined now.

“Yeah.”

“Can you appeal?” she asked.

“Appeal...the decision that I'm ineligible
for Medicaid?” he replied, trying to keep up with her zigzagging
train of thought.

“Yeah."

“Yes, but I have to prepare it first, and I
have to make sure it’s all right according to procedure and cites
all the right laws and such. Jade knows about that stuff, or at
least she’s really good at looking it up. I’m going to send her an
email tonight. She practically begged me to let her help, so I’m
going to let her.”

“Awesome.” She sounded like she meant it. “So
maybe you can do the request tomorrow.”

Brooks shook his head. “She’s in bed already,
for one thing.”

“Oh, right,” Guin teased. “It’s after six
o’clock.”

Brooks smirked. She was exaggerating, but not
that much. “And tomorrow she’s going to drive Mrs. McGillicuddy to
her doctor’s appointment—podiatrist or something—“

“You’re kidding me,” Guin interrupted. “Her
name is really Mrs. McGillicuddy?”

“No,” Brooks admitted, his lips threatening
to break into a sheepish smile, “but I can never remember her name.
Jade must have told me half a dozen times, but I always forget, so
now I just call her Mrs. McGillicuddy, or Mrs.
What’s-Her-Face.”

“Ohh...” Guin breathed, screwing up her face
and looking nostalgic at the same time. As though anyone that young
could be nostalgic, but she was a natural actress. “Is it Griffin
something? Griffin-Wendell?”

“I have no idea,” said her father. “It could
be.”

“You don’t recognize it?”

“I don’t remember her name,” he said. “I just
don’t remember it. I wouldn’t know it if I heard it, and maybe I
just did.”

“Okay,” she conceded. “So she has to take the
old lady to the foot doctor tomorrow. And then what?”

“Then she’s going to drop off a birthday
present for Wade at Becky’s house, and after that she can go home
and start working for the day. She’ll probably see my email when
she gets home from Becky’s, but when she can start—” Brooks cut
himself off suddenly and just gasped and then forgot to
breathe.

“Oh my god!” Guin half-screamed. “That was a
big one. You said shooting stars, but I didn’t expect shooting
stars like that.”

“Yeah,” Brooks exhaled sadly. “It was a big
one.”

“If I was superstitious,” said Guin
energetically, “I’d say it was a sign.”

“It was a sign,” said Brooks.

“Okay, now you’re weirding me out,” she
objected. “Since when did you get so hocus-pocusy?”

More streaks of white light, smaller ones,
sparkled in the black sky. Brooks said nothing, and just stared at
them. He wondered if it was a good sign or a bad one. It didn’t
feel good.

“Ooh,” said Guin in a subdued voice, “those
aren’t meteors, are they?”

Brooks shook his head.

“Are those our bombs, or theirs?” Guin
asked.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. Does it? If it’s us bombing
their ships, then maybe that means we’re winning.”

“Well, first of all, they’re probably
missiles, or even debris from damaged ships that’s burning up in
the atmosphere. Second, even if we are winning this battle, it
doesn’t mean we’re winning the war. And third, sometimes it’s both.
One side launches a missile, and the other side launches its own
missile to blow up the first one before it hits anything.”

“Do you think we have a chance?”

“We always have a chance, Guin. It’s never
over til it’s over.”

Brooks grabbed his half-f cup and climbed
down the stairs and back through the window. Guin followed.

“Either way,” he said, “I don’t think we have
a whole lot to worry about. The war is between the Federal
government and the...whatever their name is.”

“The Chuzekks?”

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s a fight between them
and the US government over who gets to put their name on all the
buildings. They’re not interested in any of us. And besides,
they’re smart enough to know that if they do win, it’ll go a lot
bettter for them if they’ve left us normal people alone.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you
call anyone in this family ‘normal.’”

Brooks smiled. “Okay, I misspoke. Us
regular—.”

A buzzing sound startled Brooks, and he
realized it was just his phone vibrating on the sink counter.

“...people,” he concluded, and picked up the
call. “Hello?”

“Brooks!” said the caller. “Are you sitting
down?” He didn’t recognize the voice.

“Yes,” he lied, and looked at his screen to
see who the caller was. It said “Becky Sagamore.” Maybe someone was
using her phone. He put it back up to his ear.

“...to do, but I just can’t think, you
know?”

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“It’s Becky. Did you hear what I said?”

“No, I think I missed it, sorry.”

“Brooks, they took your sister.”

“Who?”

“Jade. They took Jade. Liesel is fine.”

“Who took Jade? What are you talking
about?”

J
ade's aunt Becky
kissed her on the cheek. “Wade was a little terror today. Wouldn't
listen, wouldn't—” She stopped speaking, looked up and glanced
around. “I thought I saw something.” They stood in Becky’s yard,
between their cars on the gravel space that couldn’t quite be
called a driveway. Locals called it a dooryard.

“We're all on edge now,” Jade answered. She
really didn’t have time for this. She had to drop off a birthday
present for Becky's foster son Wade and go home. She had a phone
call to make, and cell phone service was spotty here.

She'd checked her voicemail back in Concord
where the signal was good. A man by the name of Fletcher had seen
her ad for translation services and wanted to hire her. That by
itself was good enough news, but what he had said next had made her
forget to breathe for a moment. It was an unusual project, he had
explained. He was looking for someone with "a creative, linguistic
mind, good at finding patterns, because we could be dealing with
any number of languages, or possibly an unknown language." She'd
wanted to call him right back, but the message said, "Call after
six." It was 5:45 now and she still had a ten-minute drive
home.

“It was probably just—” Jade stopped and
pointed to the overcast sky. “There!” For an instant, she had seen
it too; then it was gone again.

“Shh.” Becky searched the dull greyness
overhead.

“All I hear is the wind,” whispered Jade,
glancing around anyway to humor her aunt, “and the brook.”

“That's just it,” Becky whispered back, her
eyes wide. “We don't have a brook.”

The sound grew steadily louder. It was like
the rustling swish of a storm-breeze on a summer afternoon, the
buzzing hum of a bumblebee, and the babbling laughter of a shallow,
rocky brook.

“Chuzekks!” Jade yelled, even though Becky
was right next to her. Both women ran across the lawn toward the
house.

But running was futile. The alien craft burst
through the clouds and settled onto the lawn between them and the
house. Jade and Becky could do nothing but stand there on the
grass. Two others touched down in the dooryard beyond the cars.
Together the three ships formed a triangle, and Jade and Becky were
surrounded. They retraced their steps, stood back-to-back in the
center of the triangle, and waited. Several more ships hovered
above the trees in all directions.

All three spaceships opened. Six Chuzekk
soldiers stepped out: scaly-skinned, bigger than Humans and
hideously fierce-looking.

One of them approached the women. “Jade
Massilon?” It sounded like “Jade Bassilod?”

She wanted to say no, she wasn't Jade
Bassilod. She didn't know any Jade Bassilod. But if she did, these
cold-blooded brutes might turn this whole area into one big crater,
just like they had the Pentagon in the first few minutes of the
war—and all those deaths would be her fault. “Yes,” she said. Or at
least she tried to, but her voice wouldn't work.

The soldier got the message. He took her arm
in one clawed hand. With the other he pointed to one of the ships.
“You will enter that pod.”

She walked in without resisting. She tried to
catch a glimpse of Becky's face, but by the time she was allowed to
turn around, the door was closed.

She thought of the time she’d been in Zuke’s
vehicle, just like this one. It was strange to think it had been
less than six months ago. So much had happened since then,
including a new war closer to home, a lot of self-discovery and a
wonderful new boyfriend. And just when things were looking up—with
maybe even a great career boost to top it off, with the Fletcher
job—here she was being forced inside a Chuzekk pod.