Page 93 of Homebound
“I trust your ability to resolve the situation, uncle,” she collected her plate and utensils, “without involving me. Have a good evening.”
She dumped her plate into the sink for Leena to wash and went to her room, shutting the door firmly. Tomorrow, she’d take a more aggressive approach to finding a new room to rent.
The night turned out to be restless. Gemma fell asleep only to wake up from a distant rumble and faint sounds of a siren. Uneasy, she got up and moved the curtains aside, peering out of the window into the dark street.
Their street was quiet but she heard gunshots in the distance. Orange glow of fire illuminated the night, far away but so unnaturally bright against the dark sky.
She shivered and glanced around her room feeling unprotected by the walls of the old frame house. Even a fortress would offer no protection. She’d witnessed The Islands going under, a millennia worth of carefully erected infrastructure - buildings, bridges, factories, - gone like they never existed.
It was easy to imagine that the world was coming to an end. The clashes between the migrants, the locals, and Perali had so far been the underground tremors heralding an impending volcanic eruption. The conflict had been gathering force. Tonight, the eruption started.
Resigned to a bleak future, Gemma went back to bed wondering what she’d find when she woke up.
When she left the house in the morning, nothing appeared out of sorts until she came even with the docks. The area there teemed with activity. The fire had been extinguished but the smoke and the smell of burning materials lingered leaving a bitter taste in the back of her throat. A heavy militant presence was easy to detect even in the predawn darkness.
“What’s going on?” Gemma asked an onlooker standing on the side of the road, curious, like her, in the comings and goings.
“Perali aliens trashed the docks last night. Not sure how they breached the secure area, but they did a lot of damage.”
“What did they want?”
The guy spread his hands wide. “What do they all want? To take it. Make it theirs. Get control.”
“Of the docks?”
“I heard they wanted to hijack a new freighter.”
“Were they caught?” Gemma asked with a great deal of hope.
“Most were killed. Some were caught. Maybe their ilk will learn their lesson.”
Gemma sincerely doubted it. Avaricious Perali were growing bold. It wasn’t like they were going to stop their opportunistic invasion because this one takeover had ended in failure.
Predictably, the prison felt the consequences of the attempted grand larceny right away. Stony-faced militants brought in ten or so bloody, struggling Perali and passed them into the hands of the equally scowling guards for in-processing. After forcing them to wash under cold showers, shaving their heads, and dressing them in the crude prison scrubs, the guards dragged the newly-minted inmates to the third floor where Gemma and Arlo performed the lock-up and gave each new inmate a brief rundown of the rules. A welcome wagon, of sorts.
Every available cell on the third floor received a tenant.
The mood among the existing population was that of an acute, vibrating agitation. Everyone was banging around and shouting, adding to the floor-wide turbulence. Everyone except for Simon who sat in his cell without moving, seemingly unaffected by the upheaval.
Ruby hadn’t shown up, and Gemma and Arlo felt her absence keenly.
The morning outing was canceled, a great disappointment for the inmates. Gemma was glad, as she wasn’t looking forward to herding the restless third floor inhabitants down the stairs.
Lunch was a haphazard affair.
To Gemma’s surprise, Arlo did well all morning and even brought up the gruel from the kitchens without complaining. Together, the two of them went around and poured the measly rations into the metal bowls.
“Gimme that ladle,” Arlo said when they neared Little Green Man’s cell.
Gemma handed him the ladle. Arlo filled a bowl with gruel and set it on the floor. Staying out of the alien’s direct line of sight, he used the ladle to push the bowl against the floor to within the prisoner’s reach.
The constant babbling ceased.
A hairless swollen hand, nails bitten to bloody nubs, slowly emerged from between the bars. One finger hooked over the bowl rim and tagged it close. Little Green Man had to tilt the bowl to make it fit between the bars, spilling some mush on the floor.
“Spoon?” Gemma mouthed.
Arlo shook his head. “He won’t use one. As intended, I mean. And removing it from his anus isn’t something I am paid high enough to do.”
