Page 23 of Invasive Species
Once I’m breathless and shivering, I pull to the edge of the grassy bank, keeping my torso and legs submerged. I love how crisp the ice-rimmed grass and dead leaves feel in my wetsuit gloves, stiff until snapped when they crumble to pieces. Playing with them through my gloves, I wonder how I’dcapture the sparkle of ice against the black, like stars strewn across space.
Two boots come into view. “Arra-bellah, I need to talk to you.”
I tip my head back and my chest feels like those crushed leaves, suddenly vulnerable with Gara towering over me.
“Okay, what’s up?” I push my gloved hands against the bank and heave up and out to sit on the side.
Gara stares at me, gaze scanning down my throat to my chest and then along my back, his face unreadable.
Grabbing the towel I brought out here, I start rubbing myself down vigorously. “I kinda want to talk to you too, but you first. What is it?”
He paces. “It’s ah, uh, um…”
I watch, fascinated. Gara’s never been tongue-tied before. “Is something wrong?”
He drops to his knees in the hard, frozen mud, crushing the grass flat, and presses his forehead to the ground. He mumbles something.
I stop drying. “I can’t hear you.”
He raises his face, eyes tormented. “One of El-len’s chickens strayed into the replicator beam.”
Oh no, the shiny laser thing, which Gara told me to avert my eyes from. “Shit, is she okay?”
“I… Uh… I don’t know.” He points up at the brow of the hill.
I shade my eyes to see. A silhouette of a chicken stalks the crest, but… it’s three times the size. “Oh, fuck, that’s Old Mae. She’s huge!”
“The replicator beam must have accelerated her metabolism and exaggerated her structure.”
“You can make things taller? Cool, I want to use it on me next,” I joke, still staring at the oversized bird.
“No,” he snaps, back to being harsh Gara. “The implicationsare unknown, there are too many variables, anything could go wrong?—”
“Relax, I’m joking. It’s my way, kind of how I say hello.” I tilt my head at the prancing chicken, outlined by the sun. “Is she purple now, too?”
“Underneath her brown feathers, yes.” Gara sounds so miserable.
“Look, we’ll fix it somehow.”
He gives me such a look of hope it cracks my heart, but he quickly lowers his head. “Prepare yourself for the eventuality that we might not be able to.”
“Well, yeah, with that attitude, you’re heading straight for fail city. You need a cup of optimism in your life, Gara.”
He looks puzzled by that.
“Not an actual city. Or a cup. I mean, you're being pessimistic.”
“I’m… We’re bred to be pessimistic, to always take the worst case.”
Bred? “Doesn’t mean you still can’t use that cup. Here.” I mime pouring out a cup of tea and hand it up to him.
He stares at the empty space, then at me.
Feeling stupid, I'm about to drop my hands when he lifts his at last, wrapping them around mine. They blaze with heat, especially after the lake, and I can't help but sigh with relief.
“You're cold and shaking,” he accuses.
“Guilty as charged.” My fingers fumble with my thick mohair socks, and his gaze roves up my leg as I roll them up my calf. He looks like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out of his mouth. He just catalogues every move I make pulling each sock to my knees over my drysuit.
