Norman bowed his head and nodded. “When I was a boy,” he said. “Just after I lost my parents. At least, that’s the first I remember of it.” He picked at a stray blade of grass. “They tell me that my parents put me up for it when I was born, but…the accident that killed them… I got hurt too. I don’t remember anything before it all that well.”
Allie’s voice was hushed, “What do you remember?”
He squinted skywards, recalling the flashes that sometimes invaded his dreams. He didn’t mean to say a word—had a mind to tell her to mind her own goddamn business—but then his lips moved of their own accord. “A storm.” His voice had grown cold, distant. Words formed without thought, as though somebody else were speaking through him. “I think it was just after the accident. I’m lying on my back…the rain is cold. My head hurts.” Norman frowned as a twinge of genuine pain flashed just above his right ear—behind the twisted scar that lay just above his hairline—before that strange, detached voice continued, “Alex is standing over me. He’s saying that it’ll be all right, that he’ll take care of me. And then he says something else. He has a secret. He says it’s my destiny…my destiny to save it.”
Allie’s voice, a mere whisper, “Save what?”
“The world.”
A brief silence rang in his ears before she answered.
“Just like that?” Allie said. “Right there and then?”
Norman nodded.
She hesitated before uttering, “Do you think you’ll ever remember…what happened before?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. It’s been almost years…” He felt an ugly smile blossom on his lips and glanced up at her. “I’m not holding out for it.”
Lucian was quiet, readying his latest swing, but Norman knew that he’d followed their every word.
Allison was still staring. “How do you tell somebody something like that?” she said. “That they’re going to have to take care of everybody?”
Norman sat up and brushed his hair from his eyes. He looked away, towards a distant rise, where the wind turbines that powered New Canterbury revolved in the listless midday wind. Watching them made the words come easier, but he still spoke haltingly. “That’s not what bothers me. I get that we need somebody to keep carrying the torch. I really do. It’s that he used that word…told me it was my destiny .”
Allie’s eyes met his. “Why does that bother you?”
He laughed, but his wan smile slid from his face as he said, “Because there’s no such thing as destiny.”
VI
Don woke late in the afternoon. He rubbed his cheek, numb from being pressed against the lip of the prow, and groaned as the boat was buffeted by an errant wave, holding still until a spell of nausea had passed.
The day had been warm and muggy. Land was by now a long way off. A distant shadow that loomed where water met sky was all that remained of the heath-capped cliffs. He tried to judge how far away it was. It couldn’t have been very far compared to what still lay ahead, but it certainly looked as though they had crossed an impossible distance.
The old man was snoring under the awning in the stern. With each honking breath he drew, the hull resonated. Only his feet protruded from the awning’s shadow, but by their inclination it was clear that he was flat on his back.
Don sat up, groggy, and blinked sleep dust from his eyes. His skin felt leathery and his mouth was dry. He took one of their canteens and half-emptied it, but his thirst was unquenched.
He would need more soon if he was to retain his senses, but for now he returned the canteen to the awning’s shade. Even as he did so, he felt the fresh moisture upon his chapped lips begin to drain away.
All of their planning, all of the time they had spent preparing for the trip, and they hadn’t given a moment’s thought to the fact that they’d need so much water. They’d used over half of their reserves already.
He cleared
Allie’s voice was hushed, “What do you remember?”
He squinted skywards, recalling the flashes that sometimes invaded his dreams. He didn’t mean to say a word—had a mind to tell her to mind her own goddamn business—but then his lips moved of their own accord. “A storm.” His voice had grown cold, distant. Words formed without thought, as though somebody else were speaking through him. “I think it was just after the accident. I’m lying on my back…the rain is cold. My head hurts.” Norman frowned as a twinge of genuine pain flashed just above his right ear—behind the twisted scar that lay just above his hairline—before that strange, detached voice continued, “Alex is standing over me. He’s saying that it’ll be all right, that he’ll take care of me. And then he says something else. He has a secret. He says it’s my destiny…my destiny to save it.”
Allie’s voice, a mere whisper, “Save what?”
“The world.”
A brief silence rang in his ears before she answered.
“Just like that?” Allie said. “Right there and then?”
Norman nodded.
She hesitated before uttering, “Do you think you’ll ever remember…what happened before?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. It’s been almost years…” He felt an ugly smile blossom on his lips and glanced up at her. “I’m not holding out for it.”
Lucian was quiet, readying his latest swing, but Norman knew that he’d followed their every word.
Allison was still staring. “How do you tell somebody something like that?” she said. “That they’re going to have to take care of everybody?”
Norman sat up and brushed his hair from his eyes. He looked away, towards a distant rise, where the wind turbines that powered New Canterbury revolved in the listless midday wind. Watching them made the words come easier, but he still spoke haltingly. “That’s not what bothers me. I get that we need somebody to keep carrying the torch. I really do. It’s that he used that word…told me it was my destiny .”
Allie’s eyes met his. “Why does that bother you?”
He laughed, but his wan smile slid from his face as he said, “Because there’s no such thing as destiny.”
VI
Don woke late in the afternoon. He rubbed his cheek, numb from being pressed against the lip of the prow, and groaned as the boat was buffeted by an errant wave, holding still until a spell of nausea had passed.
The day had been warm and muggy. Land was by now a long way off. A distant shadow that loomed where water met sky was all that remained of the heath-capped cliffs. He tried to judge how far away it was. It couldn’t have been very far compared to what still lay ahead, but it certainly looked as though they had crossed an impossible distance.
The old man was snoring under the awning in the stern. With each honking breath he drew, the hull resonated. Only his feet protruded from the awning’s shadow, but by their inclination it was clear that he was flat on his back.
Don sat up, groggy, and blinked sleep dust from his eyes. His skin felt leathery and his mouth was dry. He took one of their canteens and half-emptied it, but his thirst was unquenched.
He would need more soon if he was to retain his senses, but for now he returned the canteen to the awning’s shade. Even as he did so, he felt the fresh moisture upon his chapped lips begin to drain away.
All of their planning, all of the time they had spent preparing for the trip, and they hadn’t given a moment’s thought to the fact that they’d need so much water. They’d used over half of their reserves already.
He cleared
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