Three Days in April by Edward Ashton Page B

the stairs. One eye turns to focus on me. The other is vibrating back and forth so quickly that I wonder if he’s shorted out.
    â€œGood morning, princess,” he says. “Anders says he’ll ping you when he gets out of class. Your sister says she’s going with Tariq, and she’ll let you know where they decide to hole up. Tariq says he thinks we’re all idiots who will believe that he outwitted NatSec on a three-­wheeled golf cart. Can I get you anything?”
    â€œNo, thanks,” I say. “I was just leaving.”
    â€œExcellent.” He closes his eyes. I can see them both twitching together under his eyelids now. “It was great meeting you. I’m glad your sister turned out to be not dead. Have a blessed day.”
    I ’ve gone maybe ten steps when I realize that I should have asked Gary for a gallon jug of water before I left. Between what I sweated out into Anders’ sheets and what’s coming out of me now, I’m gonna wind up shriveled up like a slug in salt before I make it home.
    Of all the things that my brainless gene cutter gifted me with, I think the ice-­age metabolism is the one I like least. I guess for some ­people there might be an advantage to being comfortable wearing a bikini in a snowstorm, but I live in Baltimore. It hasn’t snowed here since Obama was in the White House, and being outside in the summer for me is like being one of the guests of honor at a crab feast.
    Fortunately, there’s a Jolly Pirate right there at the end of the block. While I wouldn’t eat one of their doughnuts on a bet, I’m guessing their bottled water is probably okay. The door dings as I enter. The air inside is at least twenty degrees cooler than outside, and I’m thinking maybe I’ll hang around until my core temperature drops back into the nineties when the kid at the cash register slaps his palm on the counter and says “Hey! No!”
    I look around. We’re the only ones in the store. He’s looking right at me, and pointing at the door. He’s a scrawny little thing, with a shaved head and a wispy brown goatee. The Jolly Pirate uniform makes him look like he’s dressed up in his father’s clothes for Halloween.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say. “You’re not talking to me, are you?”
    â€œYeah,” he says. “I’m talking to you.” His voice cracks, and his lower lip is trembling. “No Altered. You need to go.”
    I stare at him. He grits his teeth and stares back. I walk slowly to the drink cooler by the counter. I have no idea what’s happening right now, but I am thirsty, and I am going to get a bottle of water. I open the case, and take my time making a selection as the cold air flows across my legs. I choose a liter bottle of Appalachian Sweet, let the door swing closed, and set the bottle on the counter.
    It sits there between us for a solid thirty seconds.
    Finally, I pick up the bottle and tap it against the reader, then tap my phone for payment. A receipt pops up on my screen. I discard it.
    And then he hits me.
    I duck my chin, and his fist smacks into the top of my head. The snap of his hand breaking rattles all the way down my spine. I stagger a half step back from the counter and look up. He’s holding his right hand up in front of his face. The index and middle fingers have an extra bend between the knuckles and the wrist. His eyes are anime-­wide, and a high-­pitched whistle is coming from his nose.
    As God is my witness, I will never understand how ­people like this drove ­people like me to extinction.
    â€œThank you,” I say. “You’ve been incredibly helpful.” I turn to the door.
    â€œWe won’t forget Hagerstown,” he croaks, as my hand touches the crash bar.
    â€œNeither will I,” I say without pausing. “My sister was there.”
    I stand on the corner outside for a few minutes, drinking my