The Least of These

edited by Winston Crutchfield

http://criticalpressmedia.com

Matthew 25 (NIV)

34 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

40 “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’

41”Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42 For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

44 “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

45 “He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

46 “Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

Foreword

by David Crutchfield

The adoption process in the United States of America is a long and tedious one. It requires an in-depth background check, a financial capability check and a social stability check long before the legal process of transferring the child to the new family ever begins. The exact process for adopting a child in the United States varies from state to state, but all consume a great deal of time and money.

In Honduras, things are not quite so complicated. Not having the resources to help the natural parents find a good home for their child, the government often leaves them to fend for themselves. Orphans are often left to wander the streets; from time to time a baby can be found abandoned on the side of the road because his parents had to choose which of their children they would feed – and which would starve. A few mothers are lucky, finding someone who can take in their child and care for it like their own. Children are informally adopted in this way by taking the child, who has not yet been registered, and registering him as one’s own. This is the preferred method of adoption, since doing it legally can cost from six to eight thousand dollars.

According to the U.S. State Department, the average annual income per capita is $1,845 dollars, or about five dollars a day. La Instituto Hondureno de la Ninez y la Familia is similar to Social Services in the U.S., but there is nothing even close to the U.S. Welfare System in Honduras. When the average citizen earns roughly twenty-five to thirty dollars per week, the decision to support a new baby often puts a strain on the entire family.

The “old market” is a place where merchants without enough money for their own store can rent a place out of the sun to sell their goods. It is a circular building with two floors that is open to the outside. The inside walkways are lined with various merchant booths, leaving barely enough room to walk. Nine years ago, a woman was sitting in the old market selling mercaderia (small, general merchandise akin to beauty products and under garments) when she was approached by another woman. In the second woman's arms was a newborn baby, so young that he had not yet been named. She expressed to the merchant how there was not enough food to feed her family and the new baby as well, and asked if she would take this baby and raise it as her own. There were two other children with the woman, and after a short conversation the merchant discovered that a third child had already been given away. The merchant, whose children were already much older, longed to have a baby in the house again, and when she laid eyes on this child she fell instantly in love. Gratefully, the woman handed the babe to the merchant and left.

From that moment on, the child had a new family. There was no concern about how to feed this new child; there was only love. The whole family came together to help raise him, and sacrificed to ensure he received everything he needed. He is a part of the family, and if asked, they would all claim him as their own. They will never tell him he was adopted. Now a strong and healthy boy of nine, he is going to school and learning the skills he needs to survive.

This is one of the lucky children. Many others grow up on the streets, becoming victims of gangs, violent crimes or human trafficking. Others don't get to grow up at all. The few organizations (e.g. Children International, Compassion International, Angel House) that can help are over-tasked and need as much help as they can get. James 1:27 (NIV) “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” Scripture makes it clear that we are called to help in places like this; but I never understood the greatness of the need until I visited my wife's family in their Honduran home, and was told the story you just read. Looking across the street, I saw another home whose corrugated tin roof was held down by a large rock and an old tire. It was in this house that my wife's friend lived with four kids. I wondered, how long before she would have to give one of them away?

Though the expense is greater than we can bear alone, when we come together the strength we share is greater than the need. In a few short hours of work, I earn a full week’s wage in Honduras. God has blessed my life by satisfying my needs; it seems reasonable to me to spare a few hours and satisfy theirs.

David Crutchfield is a U.S. Army soldier who has seen deployment in South Korea, Honduras, and Afghanistan. He specializes in air-traffic control, and is trying to convince the Army to teach him to fly a helicopter. His wife is a native Honduran, and is trying to teach him to speak Spanish without an accent.

…I was hungry and you gave me food…

Birthday Meal

by Justin Lowmaster

Karl looked at the spare change in his palm. According to the menu, he could just afford the apple smoked cheddar cheese burger. A perfect snack. In front of him a mother ordered a kid’s meal for her son.

Karl sat, wrapped burger in front of him. The kid dug into his kid’s meal.

“Where’s your food Mommy?”

“I’m okay, Jason. Happy birthday!”

“But I heard your tummy rumble.”

Karl saw the mother’s sad smile and somehow knew she couldn’t get herself anything to eat. He gave the unopened burger to the mother and wished them both a happy birthday.

Justin Lowmaster is a writer who uses a full-time job to support his habit. He's addicted to writing and would have tangible withdrawal symptoms such as depression and hair loss if he stopped writing.

Adventures on the Atomic Earth

The world ended when the moon shattered. Irradiated atomic elements cascaded across the face of the globe, bathing man and beast alike in primal, uncontrollable energies. The largest rock struck the base of the Grand Canyon in North America, splitting open a passage to the earth’s core, and releasing ancient monsters from millennia of imprisonment. The world is overgrown by atomically charged wilderness; the survival of mankind depends on those brave and hardy pioneers willing to make their home in the savage atomic earth.

Deedee’s Tale

by Winston Crutchfield

Darla slid down the embankment on her rump to land with a splash in the muddy waters of Kisatchie Creek. The girl stood up in the waist deep murk and listened quietly. She had been following a low keening sound for a while now, staying along the banks of the creek for as long as she could. She had slipped away from her brothers when the sound began, leaving them to harvest the family field. Now, on the edge of Kisatchie Swamp, she had traced the source of the sound and could stay out of the water no longer.

The lowing began again, a low moan that spoke of fear and desperation. “I’m coming,” she said softly.

Wading around a bend in the creek, she pulled herself out of the mud onto the roots of a cypress tree, finally spying the source of the noise. Struggling against the opposite embankment, a baby brontosaur rammed its shoulder against the mud slope, failing to climb the slick wall. It slumped down into the water and lifted its head in a long, low keen that rumbled Darla’s bones with its bass. After a moment, the brontosaur struggled to its feet and reached its long neck up for greenery just out of reach.

“Poor baby,” Darla cooed. “Are you hungry? Are you stuck? I couldn’t climb out that way, and I’m not much shorter than you are.”

The brontosaur made another run at the sloped wall of mud and slid back in evident frustration. A deep gouge in the mud of the embankment marked many such attempts.

Darla scampered up the side of the cypress and onto the shore. She hunted for a bush with berries on it, finally finding a wild strawberry bush not too far away. In a moment, she had it uprooted and was sliding back down the mud into the waters of the creek.

She waded into the middle of the creek, the water never coming up above her waist, and held the bush out to the dinosaur. “Look what I’ve got. Strawberries.” She shook the bush to catch the brontosaur’s attention. It paid no heed to the girl, continuing to struggle against the wall of mud.

Darla waded closer, holding the bush over her head with both hands. The dinosaur turned then and started at the waving red berries. It let out a bleat of fear and shied away from the girl, backing toward the broad swamp. From the middle of the marsh, great bubbles rose through the reeds and lily pads. Something like a wide piece of driftwood bobbed to the surface, rough, brown, and slick with pond scum. Two great, yellow eyes flicked open.

“Don’t go that way, that’s the swamp,” Darla said. “There’s great big maws out there that would eat you up in one bite.” She looked out at the waters, shaded by the great trees overhead, and back at the dinosaur. “Maybe two bites. I don’t want you to get eaten. I want you to come home with me.” Slowly, she moved closer, still holding the bush overhead.

The brontosaur stopped backing away and bleated again, a low sound that was equal parts hunger and mistrust. It stretched its neck out for the enticing, red berries.

Darla backed up, trying to lead the dinosaur away from the swamp. “Come on, baby, come on. I’ll take you to some real nice strawberry patches,” Darla said.

The brontosaur took a step in her direction and reached for the berry bush again. Darla moved back out of reach and slowly waved the red temptations. Suddenly, the dinosaur took three quick steps toward her; its powerful neck snaked out and seized the whole berry bush in its jaws. It worried the bush, shaking Darla fiercely and without effort, the little girl clinging excitedly to the remainder of the bush. The great jaws crunched once, twice, and Darla fell back into the water with the severed remains of the strawberry bush.

She stood up with a broad grin, waved the remaining berries at the brontosaur, turned and ran up the creek bed as fast as she could. The eyes in the swamp blinked once and sank into the marsh.

The dinosaur followed at a ponderous, unhurried pace that soon caught up to the girl. Darla turned and offered the brontosaur the remaining strawberries. It lowed once and then snatched the bush from the girl’s hands. She let go this time.

“Come on, baby. Follow me. We’ve got to get up the creek before you can get out.” Deprived of her bribe, Darla spoke softly and waved her hands invitingly. She played in the water and cooed softly at the dinosaur. Bit by bit, the girl led the brontosaur up the creek until the mud walls sloped away into a shallow shore.

When they both stood clear of the muddy creek, Darla scampered away into the undergrowth, followed by an earnest bleating. She reemerged with another strawberry bush, and coaxed the dinosaur away from the water. Leading it to the edge of the woods, Darla yielded the berries to the great jaws and plopped down on the ground.

“Did you lose your mommy? I’ll bet you’re sad. Don’t worry, you can come home with me.” Darla scrambled to her feet and looked around for more berries. A loud crunch drew her attention; the brontosaur had already found a loaded bush. “I lost my mommy, too. But I have a daddy and two big brothers; I’ll share them with you.”

The dinosaur looked up from its meal, and bleated through a mouthful of berries. It reached out and nudged the girl with its great, broad head, knocking her off her feet. Darla giggled and jumped up, running to throw her arms around the base of the massive neck. The brontosaur curled its neck around the girl, its shoulder only a little bit taller than Darla.

“I think I’ll name you Deedee,” Darla said.

Deedee lowed, a satisfied sound.

William stood watch on the town wall with the other Civil Defender volunteers. Behind them, the town of New Provencal spread out beyond the safety of the charged barricade, homes and public buildings protected from incursion by the atomically charged monsters that roamed the wilderness. In front of them, townsfolk tended the fields of produce that provided much of their food, working while it was still daylight.

At one time, the fields had been behind the walls as well, during the early days of the settlement. As the town had grown and slowly cleared the wilderness nearby, farmland had been relocated outside the walls to make room for town growth within. Large predators tended to avoid the cultivated areas, and a wireless fence network discouraged smaller grazing animals from feeding on the fields.

William noted with surprise the emergence from the treeline of a baby brontosaur. It balked briefly at the electric perimeter, and then pushed quickly through. Grazing on the edge of the nearest field, it slowly made its way toward the town. Field hands quickly gathered around the dinosaur, waving tools and trying to shoo it away from the crops.

William reached over and flipped on the power to the tower’s beam weaponry, a low-yield deterrent used to discourage large grazing animals like this one. “Check it out, Mack.”

The tower’s other occupant put down his reader and joined William at the window. He picked up a pair of binoculars and trained them on the dinosaur. “I see it,” he said. “Don’t get many brontosaur this far away from the marsh.”

“Eat us out of house and home if we did,” William replied. “If they’ll clear out from around him, one or two good zaps ought to change his mind about going back south.” He checked the status on the beam weapon and played with the targeting controls on the panel. “Oh no.”

“Yep, I see her too,” Mack grinned. “Her mother’s daughter, she is.”

At the front of the crowd of farmers, Darla protectively shooed people away from her dinosaur. A small number of field hands had followed them from the edge of the woods, arguing with the girl and two teenaged boys. William shut down the beam weapon and stood up from the control panel. “I guess I better go find out what this is all about.” Lifting his cane from where it rested against the instruments, William leaned heavily on it to get to the tower lift.

“Good luck, Bill,” Mack said.

“Thanks,” came the muttered reply. William let the lift drop him to the ground and limped out to meet the small crowd of people. He leaned against the wall of the tower, waiting.

Before long, Darla broke away from the rest of the field hands and charged across the remaining space. Mud plastered her shirt and pants to her small body, mostly dried now along her arms and legs.

“Daddy, Daddy,” she cried. “You tell them she’s my dinosaur! She’s not ugly, and she doesn’t stink!”

William sighed. “Now, Darla,” he said, “where do you suppose you’re going to keep a brontosaur? She’s a might big for you to be taking care of all by yourself.”

“Daddy, you have to let me keep her. She’s all alone; she would have gotten eaten by a maw if I hadn’t rescued her from the swamp.” At that, Darla’s eyes went wide and she clamped her hands over her mouth.

William’s eyes narrowed in anger. He scowled at the girl and leaned over her with both hands on his cane. “Is that why you’re covered in mud? Did you stop to think that a maw big enough to hunt dinosaur wouldn’t make a mouthful of a little girl?” He looked up sharply. “And you,” he said, pointing at one of the teenaged boys approaching with the dinosaur, “you were supposed to keep her out of trouble and in the field.”

“Come on, Dad,” the boy replied, “you know how she is. That thing started crying down at the bottom of the creek and she just took off.” He turned to his brother for support. “Chaz and I left the field to look for her as soon as we noticed.” The teenager reached down to slap the dinosaur on her shoulder, “She was crying something fierce.”

As if on cue, the brontosaur lowered her head and let out a soft low. The brontosaur knelt in the dirt and stretched her head out toward Darla.

William growled deep in his chest, a severe rumble of displeasure.

The dinosaur curled her tail around her legs and bleated at Darla.

Darla dropped her hands to her side, desperately blinking back tears.

“I must be fried,” William muttered. “Fine,” he said aloud, “get Doc Harris to vaccinate her and give her the once over and she can stay in the barn with the livestock until we find her herd.”

Darla squealed and tackled her father in a muddy hug, knocking him off balance and pushing them both against the wall of the tower. He pried her off with his cane and slapped ineffectually at the mud now coating the front of his clothes.

“It’s only a couple of days,” William sternly informed his daughter’s beaming face. “I’m going to get the S.E.N.T.R.I. satellites on the lookout for nearby herds right now, so don’t get any ideas.” He nodded at the older of his sons, “I’ll get this sorted with the others while you run and get Doc Harris, Brad. After he’s done, turn the hose on both of these girls and get them cleaned up. You can fill me in at dinner.”

Brad nodded and headed into town through the small gate at an easy lope.

William turned back to the dinosaur, still the center of attention for a number of field hands. Chaz was running his hands across the rough, leathery back of the animal. The tip of her tail twitched absently. Darla ran up and threw her whole body across the creature’s thick neck.

“She really does stink, Darla.” William said.

Darla stuck her tongue out at her father. “Her name’s Deedee,” she said.

“Deedee?”

Chaz grinned and slapped the animal on her ribs. She sighed, her whole body heaving, and looked directly at William. “Darla’s dinosaur,” Chaz said.

William sat at the kitchen table while Darla and Chaz served the family dinner. When all the plates had been passed around and food piled high on them, William said grace and they ate. “Well,” he finally said, “what did Doc Harris have to say?”

Brad spoke around mouthfuls of food. “Deedee’s still pretty young, can’t be more than a couple of months old. Seems pretty healthy. Doc gave her a broad spectrum vaccination, but he says she’ll be okay to keep with the other animals.”

“She eats a lot,” Darla added. “She likes strawberries.”

Brad nodded. “’Bout as much as full grown steer, Doc says. Also says she’s not real picky about what she eats, either.”

William looked at the plates of food in front of his boys, already more than half empty. “I know some others like that,” he said.

Chaz reached for another roll. “How big is she going to get? I bet we could train her to do stuff around town, maybe help in the fields.”

“We’re not keeping her,” William said.

“As big as the house!” Darla chimed in, eyes shining.

“We’d have to feed her a whole lot,” Chaz added.

“We’re not keeping her,” William insisted.

“What if she gets too big to fit in the barn?” Darla sat up, food forgotten. “We’d have to build a house just for her.”

“I bet she’d eat a whole harvest worth of crops,” Chaz pointed out. “She can have the cabbages. I don’t like cabbages.”

“We’re not keeping her!” William thundered.

Silence reigned around the table for a brief moment.

“We use inside voices at the table, Daddy,” Darla spoke softly.

Brad held his napkin over his face, struggling to contain a grin. He covered with a sip of water. “I don’t think she’ll get that big, Darla,” he said. “Doc says the adults top out at 12 foot at the shoulder, unless they get into a Hot Zone and feed on something atomic.”

William put his napkin down next to his plate. “Soon as S.E.N.T.R.I. locates a nearby herd we’re taking her out there and that’s final. If you pulled her out of Kisatchie Swamp, I figure the maws already got to the rest of her herd.” William stopped short at his daughter’s stricken look. “Or could be Deedee’s family escaped to the south,” he said hastily. Darla sat back, blinking away the beginnings of tears. “Eats like a full grown steer,” William muttered. “We can’t keep her forever, Darla,” he said aloud. “Best get used to that.”

“I know, Daddy,” she said quietly.

The family finished dinner and stood to clear away the plates. William leaned heavily on his cane and looked out the window at a dark shape emerging from the barn. “What the blazes?”

A long, low keen split the air, cutting through the evening.

Darla dropped the plates she had just picked up back to the table with a clatter. “Deedee!” She cried.

Darla ran for the door, the boys right behind. William followed more slowly, limping to the front porch and settling into a chair. The dinosaur wailed for several minutes before the children managed to calm her down. Darla ran into the barn and emerged with great handfuls of sweet alfalfa, which she used to bribe Deedee back inside. Several minutes later the boys emerged and joined their father on the front porch.

“Your sister?” William asked.

“Says she’s going to stay with her dinosaur for a bit,” Brad waved absently at the barn. “Deedee’s put a big dent in the feed stores, though. I’ll top it off in the morning. None of the animals seemed bothered by her, though.”

William nodded. “What set her off?”

The boys shrugged uncertainly.

William looked up at the night sky, the shattered moon hanging in first quarter phase against a clear sky.

From beyond the walls of the town, a bass rumble answered Deedee’s call with a full throated lowing.

William left the house at first light. He leaned on his cane, waiting for Mack to arrive in one of the small carts used by Civil Defense. He looked toward the barn and limped that direction.

Pushing open the door only a little, William poked his head inside for a brief glimpse. The boys had cleared the area at the back of the barn and piled hay in bales to either side. A few bales had been cut and scattered around the floor, and William noted with amusement the large bites out of several of the standing bales. Kneeling in the middle of the hay, Deedee lay with her tail and neck curled into a ball. Covered with hay and nestled in the crook of Deedee’s neck, Darla lay snuggled with her dinosaur, head thrown back, mouth slightly open, eyes blissfully closed.

William sighed. Deedee stirred and opened her eyes. She bleated softly, as if she too was reluctant to wake up Darla. “Don’t push it.” William said. He gently shut the barn door as the Civil Defense cart whirred to a stop behind him.

William piled into the cart beside Mack, resting his cane against his knee. “Not a word, Mack,” he muttered.

“That’s some set of lungs your little girl’s dinosaur has. Heard her all over town last night. Everybody did.” Mack steered the cart away from the farm and into the town proper, heading through the center towards the wall.

“I’ll take care of it,” William said. The brontosaur had risen three times during the night to keen mournfully to the night sky. Towards early morning, the call had been answered again by that deep, far off bass.

“Better do it soon. A lot of people got real nervous last night.”

Mack pulled the cart up to guard tower and the two men signed in to relieve the men already at the duty station.

Once they were settled in, William pulled the S.E.N.T.R.I. tracking data off of the records and started sifting through it for brontosaur herds.

Mack pulled a fresh report from the satellite feed and laid out the data over a topographical map of the region. “Uh oh,” he said.

“I know, there’s nothing around for miles.” William leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. He tapped the floor with his cane. “That thing eats like a full grown steer, you know that? Who knows how much it’ll put away when it’s full grown.”

“Leave it. We’ve got other problems.” Mack gestured at the map. “Is anyone in the field yet?”

“A few people,” William answered.

“Call them in and charge the gate. We’ve got a S.E.N.T.R.I. alert; Kisatchie Swamp is stirring.” Mack sounded grim. “I guess Darla’s little adventure got the swampmaws riled up, they’re swarming this direction.”

“That’s bad.” William flipped on the exterior klaxon. Those field hands already outside the gate gathered their equipment and fled swiftly back to the perimeter of the town.

“We’ve also got a Hot Zone reading from the middle of the swamp. Something’s kicking up the elemental atomic signature of the area.” Mack’s fingers flew across the panel, coloring the map in shades of green and blue.

“That’s very bad.” William sealed the gates behind the last of the field hands and keyed up the interior capacitor, charging the wall with concentrated atomic energy. A low hum vibrated the floor of the room and rattled both men’s teeth before subsiding.

“And it’s moving this way.” The holographic map flashed and drew a large figure in the center of Kisatchie Swamp. The number three burned inside an oversized outline with large teeth and skin like tree bark. Mack picked up the comm unit on the wall.

“That’s worse.” William slid his chair over to the holomap. He looked down at the small creatures bounding, crawling, and scooting across the terrain. The man-sized holograms skittered up the creek and spilled into the woods, flowing over the muddy banks and through trees and bushes. “I hate swampmaws.” He massaged his left leg, kneading the extensively scarred muscle and badly set bones.

Mack looked up from the comm briefly, “Be glad you still have the leg.” He turned back to face the screen, “Get me the captain, Tasha. We’ve got Atomic Monster activity.”

William turned away from the map and slid his chair over to the window. He gazed out at the treeline while Mack filled in the Civil Defense commander.

Before long, two uniformed Civil Defense officers had joined William and Mack in the guard tower. The four men reviewed the data dump from the S.E.N.T.R.I. satellites and sat back to watch the holographic monsters march across the map.

William pulled Mack aside, “I’m going home to check on the kids, Mack,” he said. “Be back before you know it.” The other man nodded, and William took the lift down to the garage. In moments, he was driving through town on the cart.

Approaching his home, William muttered imprecations under his breath. A small crowd had gathered around the front of the barn. In the doorway, he could see Brad and Chaz trying to keep people outside. A deep lowing from within the barn told him Deedee was already agitated by the excitement.

William pulled his Civil Defense cart right up to the barn doors, laying on the horn well before he got too close. He parked right between the small mob and the mouth of the barn, setting the cart sideways between the people and the doors. He turned to the crowd, shifting sideways in the seat; behind him, Darla cooed reassurances to an upset Deedee.

“I don’t suppose someone wants to tell me what the blazes you folks are doing on my property agitating my livestock?” William said.

Several people spoke at once, a babble of confused explanations and excited demands. William waited a moment and then pointed his cane at one of the men. “Mr. Carter, you think you can shout down the rest of this lot?”

Carter stepped to the front of the mob, raising his arms and gesturing for quiet. Once he got it, he said, “It’s like this, Bill. The whole town could hear that dinosaur of yours bawling something fierce last night.” He turned to the mob for support, “What’s worse, something out there answered it. Now we got a Hot Zone stirred up in the swamp and a passel of swampmaws headed for town. All ‘cause your kids didn’t have sense enough to let the maws eat this thing yesterday.” The mob swelled with shouts of agreement and vague demands.

From the barn, Darla’s ragged voice choked on a scream, “Don’t let them hurt Deedee, Daddy!”

“Might have something there, Carter.” William said.

“Dad!” Both boys protested at once.

“Get your sister and her pet in the barn and for Pete’s sake get that dinosaur to quiet down.” William spoke without turning around. Casting dark looks at each other, Brad and Chaz obeyed. William rested his cane against the steering column of the cart. “Can’t say I’d be too upset to not have a brontosaur eating me out of house and home.” He pulled at the trouser cuff on his left pant leg, raising it to the knee and revealing a twisted ruin of scar tissue along the shin. William scratched absently at his leg before pulling his cuff down over his boot. The mob quieted down. “On the other hand, I’ve got no love for swampmaws of any size. I figure any day I get to cheat ‘em of a meal or two is a good day.”

Carter turned uncertainly between William and the mob, unsure what to do. “They tracked that dinosaur here,” he said. “I say we give it to them.”

William nodded. “Could be that would do it. I counted about three dozen maws on the S.E.N.T.R.I. map before I headed out here. Plus one Class Three monster where the swamp went hot.”

The mob surged toward the cart with a sudden shout; Carter’s voice was lost in the rest, drowned out in incoherent shouting.

William leaned back on the horn, holding it until the shouting stopped. He picked up the cane and stood up on the runner of the cart. “I figure it’s far more likely that little dinosaur wouldn’t make a mouthful for any three of them things, much less the big one. But if you lot are dead set, well, I’ll open the gates for you. Now,” he paused and smacked the side of the cart loudly with his cane, “who’s going to lead our Judas goat outside where the maws can find her?”

No one spoke.

“Mr. Carter?” William pointed the stick at Carter, who shied away from it as if it were alive. “No? How about you, Mr. Cooper? No?” He waited, but no one volunteered. “Well, that’s probably best anyhow. Tell you folks what, I know it’s been a while since we had any Atomic Monster activity larger than a Class Two come our way. You go on home and let me and the Civil Defense boys sort this out. This time tomorrow we’ll be back outside and have a peck of work to do getting the fields back in order.”

William sat down on the cart and waited.

From the back, the crowd began to disperse. A few people started toward the cart, but William lifted the comm unit from the cart’s dash with studied intent, rapping his cane sharply against the side of the cart at the same time. No one spoke, and the mob drifted away.

When the last person had shown his heels, William stepped heavily from the cart and limped to the barn door, pushing them aside. Darla and Deedee lay in the hay at the back of the barn, the boys perched on bales to either side. William noted the depleted stock of hay and rapped his cane against the metal side of a feed dispenser. It rang hollowly. “Brad, Chaz, get this filled up again and see to the animals. I’ve got to get back to the tower.”

Darla jumped up from her nest and flew to William’s arms, “Daddy, you weren’t really going to let them take Deedee,” she asked tearfully.

William comforted his daughter. “She’s your dinosaur until we find her a proper home. Now, daddy’s got to go back to work.” He held her until she stopped sniffing back tears.

At the back of the barn, Deedee lifted her head and lowed anxiously.

William leaned on his cane and watched her thoughtfully.

Back in the guard tower, William limped to his station and gratefully resumed his seat. The messaging system blinked with new content, but William ignored it for the moment. The Civil Defense captain had joined them in the tower, and dispatched a pair of troops to William’s farm after being briefed on the events of the morning. Now, the five men had left the instrument panels behind to look out of the window facing the field and woods.

The swampmaw swarm had broken the treeline and were tearing up the fields outside the wall. Several of the creatures had ventured close enough to touch the wall and been repelled violently by the atomic charge. Two smoking corpses at the base of the wall testified to the lethal effectiveness of the deterrent.

William charged the beam weaponry controls to lethal levels and targeted a group of the man-sized creatures. “I really hate swampmaws, Captain.”

“Hold off there, Bill,” Captain Archer replied. “I want to see what the Class Three is doing before we start scattering the small fry.”

William held the targeting reticle on the maws. Twisted by the atomic radiation that bathed the planet since the Shattering, many species had grown violent and ravenous. The swampmaws of Kisatchie were stumpy, leather-backed animals that might have once been alligators. Now, generations of mutation had left them with thickly armored hides, rows of jagged teeth, vicious tempers, and insatiable appetites. Periodically, they swarmed out of the marsh in a gluttonous feeding frenzy and had to be driven off or killed en masse.

They waited.

The treeline shuddered and swayed, shaken at the base from something large moving through the brush. A massive snout emerged from the undergrowth, rough, pitted, and hoary armor leading down a dark brown body covered in swamp scum and marsh slime. Great yellow eyes blinked in the unfiltered sunlight and the thing opened its jaws in a grunting cough that rattled the windows of the guard tower.

Mack’s hands flew over the sensor controls. “Estimated length is 35 feet. Estimated weight is four tons. It’s hot, Captain. I’m getting strong radiation readings along two quantum bands.”

Another grunt shook the tower windows and the massive swampmaw lumbered toward the city wall.

“Forget the small ones,” Archer ordered, “hit that thing with a full intensity beam.”

William drew the targeting reticle back and dropped it over the giant maw. He keyed the firing sequence and a searing lance of invisible death burned the air between the town and the monster. Capacitors whined as they discharged, vibrating in harmonic resonance with the destructive energy.

The giant maw’s armor blackened, cracked, and peeled away in a smoldering blister of flesh and welling blood. The monster opened its great jaws and bellowed in pain and rage at the ragged wound along its back. The smaller swampmaws stopped dead and wheeled in one motion, fleeing the walls of the town and converging on the wounded giant.

William smiled grimly and checked the charge status of the beam weapon’s capacitor. It slowly crept back towards full.

Captain Archer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and crossed his arms over his chest. “With any luck, the little ones will finish it off. These things eat their wounded.”

The giant monster bellowed again and thrashed in testament to the pain of its wounds. The armored tail sheered several trees from their roots; clawed feet carved deep furrows in the earth of the field.

The first of the swampmaws reached its giant cousin, smelling or sensing the blood. It rushed and nipped at the hide of the larger creature but fell back in frustration unable to pierce the armor or reach the exposed meat.

The larger maw had no such problem. Faster than the Civil Defenders could follow, that massive head snapped around and the rows of teeth crunched on the nearest swampmaw. The beast crushed its prey mercilessly between its jaws and lifting its head to the sky, swallowed its meal whole in two gulps. Charged by the taste of fresh blood, the monster forgot its wounds and lunged into the middle of the swarm of swampmaws, shredding another two of the predators into gory meals.

Archer recoiled from the window.

Mack’s holographic display chimed a warning. Smaller icons flickered out as the Atomic Monster consumed them without hesitation. It never seemed to occur to the maddened swampmaws to flee; they died on the bloody jaws of the massive beast, snapping defiance and their own insatiable hunger.

Archer pointed to the raw wound along the beast’s back. “Is that closing?”

The number in the center of Mack’s hologram flickered from three to four. Mack looked at the readout in alarm. “The threat’s been upgraded.”

“Beam weapon charge is replenished,” William reported.

“Fire!” Archer ordered.

William cut loose with the full intensity of the beam weaponry, draining the charge dry. Capacitors whined as they began to replenish themselves.

The monstrous maw gulped the last of the swampmaws and turned toward the town wall. The gaping wound burned into its hide was all but gone, new armor grown over the ruins of the old. This time, when it bellowed, the whole tower shook.

Archer was visibly pale. He stepped back from the window. “Reinforce the atomic charge along the wall. Divert all power if you have to.”

The giant maw’s snout waved back and forth, head lifted as if looking for more prey. Without warning, it charged the town wall, covering the remaining distance with lightning speed and slamming into the barricade. Energy hissed and sparks flew as the atomic charge grounded through the body of the maw. Smoking, armor blackened, it shuddered away from the wall and righted itself, bellowing defiance.

Resolutely, the maw paced the perimeter of the wall, testing the atomic charge with a brush of its claw or swipe of its armored tail. Yellow eyes glinted evilly in the morning sun. It placed one clawed foot on the wall and sank its talons deep into the structure. Energy crackled along the maw’s frame and even in the guard tower, the CD officers could smell the stench of seared flesh.

Pulling itself up against the wall, oblivious to or maddened by the pain of raw atomic energy, the monstrous maw sank the barbed talons of another claw into the wall and began to climb. The whole structure shook.

“God help us,” Archer said quietly. No one else spoke.

Faintly, carried on the wind from William’s farm, the plaintive lowing of a baby brontosaur sounded mournful and scared.

“Prey,” William muttered.

“I am,” Mack returned.

“No. It still wants prey.” William turned to his console, and keyed up the new messages he had been ignoring. “We just need to find something to take that thing’s attention off of the town. I had S.E.N.T.R.I. looking for large grazing herds in the area…” He called the readout onto Mack’s map. A herd of large, unidentified animals moved slowly through the marshlands to the south and east.

The other officers followed the readout. “How are you going to get their attention?” Mack asked. “Grazers won’t come anywhere near large predators like this.”

The wall and tower shook again as the giant maw sank its hind legs into the structure.

“Captain, have the guys at my place put their comm unit up against Deedee.” William said.

“Deedee?”

“Darla’s dinosaur.” William’s hands flew over the console, tying the comm unit into the loudspeakers that sounded the emergency klaxon.

Archer relayed the orders over his comm unit, and seconds later a low keening filled the room. The deep bass rumbled the entire tower, magnified by the loudspeaker system.

William entered the final command and Deedee’s cry sounded over the town walls and into the marshlands.

With a surprised grunt, the giant maw lost its grip on the wall and tumbled to the earth. Wisps of smoke rose from its charred feet and underbelly. It coughed a full throated reply to the wail sounding from the wall and then bellowed in frustration.

In the distance, a deeper bass answered with a rumbling cry of its own.

Mack’s board lit up again, this time to the west. He spun around and grabbed the blinking hologram, an indistinct shape with the number four flickering in its center. “We’ve got another Atomic Monster in the vicinity!”

“No! No!” William pounded his cane on the floor in helpless anger. “I just wanted to draw the attention of something more attractive than us.”

“It’s moving fast,” Mack reported. “We ought to see the new contact any… shards and blazes…”

Towering over the cypress trees that made up the woods leading to Kisatchie Swamp, a massive flat head and powerful neck broke the horizon. Deedee’s call sounded again through the emergency klaxons and the new contact lifted its own voice in a reply that rattled the guard tower. A massive torso brushed aside trees as if they were kindling; legs as large as tree trunks pounded pools of swamp water in the marsh. A powerful tail whipped violently above the ground as the atomically charged brontosaur answered the smaller one’s call.

Turning from the wall, the monstrous maw opened its mouth to roar threats and defiance in the face of the new arrival. It snapped and bellowed, charging across the open field to meet its opponent.

The giant brontosaur lumbered out of the marsh and into the fields outside the town, leaving enormous craters in the soft earth. It lowed angrily in that deep bass, lowered its head toward the maw and braced to receive the charge.

The titans met on the edge of the marsh, the maw’s claws digging deep furrows into the ground as it lunged at the brontosaur’s legs and neck. The dinosaur checked the first charge with a swipe of its tail, nearly as long and massive in itself as the maw’s whole body. The monster’s frame shuddered at the impact and the creature rolled in the dirt of the field, scrambling to avoid the brontosaur’s lethal forelegs as the dinosaur pounded the earth where the monster had been moments before.

Deedee keened again, this time with a note of recognition. The giant brontosaur turned to answer her call, lifting its head in response.

The maw lunged again, clawing at the dinosaur’s front legs, drawing blood in gushing furrows. The deadly jaws clamped shut on the brontosaur’s neck and the maw hung on with a death grip.

The titan staggered toward the town wall, shaking the maw from its neck in pain and anger, desperate to dislodge the vicious predator. The great beast staggered and fell, lunging for the town wall and Deedee’s pleading voice. The maw’s jaws clamped shut; its whole body writhed as it attempted to worry its prey to the ground.

The brontosaur stumbled forward, lurching against the wall and pinning the giant maw between its own body and the town’s defense system. Atomic energy discharged through the predator and it released its hold on the brontosaur’s neck to bellow in pain. The monster rolled to the ground at the titan’s feet. The dinosaur reared back, lifting its great bulk entirely on its back legs, and brought both forelimbs crashing down on the skull of the monstrous maw. The brontosaur’s bass lowing didn’t stop until it had pounded the corpse laying before the wall into red mud.

William snapped off the external loudspeakers. “Get Deedee out to the gates now!”

The baby brontosaur arrived within minutes, riding in the bed of an open topped Civil Defense troop carrier. Outside the walls, the giant brontosaur continued to call. From inside the gates, Deedee answered.

William mashed the gate controls, and Deedee lumbered through the opening to stand in front of her titanic cousin. The massive head sank slowly down to the smaller creature’s level and it lowed once, softly.

Deedee answered in her small voice.

Watching from the tower window, William saw Darla break away from her brothers and dash through the gates to throw her arms around Deedee’s neck. He muttered something under his breath and stood up to limp toward the lift. The giant brontosaur’s deep voice continued to shake the tower.

Stepping out of the lift, William made his way through the gate in time to see the giant dinosaur lift its head to survey the town over the wall and turn away toward the western swamps. It started across the field and looked back, calling to its smaller cousin.

Darla clung to her dinosaur, weeping.

Deedee knelt in the earth and wrapped Darla in the trunk of her neck and tail, bleating softly.

William stood with his sons, leaning on his cane. “Brad, I think you better double-up on our feed order this month.”

Winston Crutchfield lives on the banks of the Ohio River with his wife, two children, and one black-and-white cat of undetermined breed but obvious noble birth. The cat has a pet kitten of her own.

…I was thirsty and you gave me drink…

The Golem’s Blessing

by Justin Lowmaster

“I don’t see why we have to come up here and dump out precious water.” Jack crested the top of a dune.

“It’s tradition, but there’s more than that. You’ll see when we get there.” Keanan pointed a distant cliff.

In the cave, Jack found himself staring at a stone simulacrum of a large man.

“Wait, you want me to pour out water into a cup held by a statue of a man?”

“Statue?”

Reluctantly, Jack poured water into the cup.

The golem rumbled as stone lips drank. “God bless you.”

Jack grimaced. “That’s it?”

Keanan shrugged. “Isn’t that enough?”

Justin Lowmaster is still afraid of the dark, or more accurately, the things you can't see because it's dark. There's probably one of those things behind you right now.

Lemonade Stand

by Winston Crutchfield

Jimmy and Jerry dropped onto the edge of the plank board porch and hung their legs over the side. Their nut brown skin, tanned from the hot Texas sun, stood out darkly against the whitewashed lumber of the porch. As one, they leaned back into the shade of the covering and laid their heads on arms folded beneath them. Legs sticking out in the sunlight, the boys drummed irregular beats against the wall of the porch with their bare feet.

“What are we doing today, Jerry?” Jimmy watched a dragonfly chase dust motes through the rafters and dart out into the yard.

“I dunno. Wanna go catch horned toads?”

“It’s too hot.” Jimmy rolled over to peer through the slats of the porch, looking for bugs and snakes that might be hiding under the porch.

“We could go fishing at the pond.”

“You’re still in trouble for swamping Dad’s boat last time,” Jimmy said.

“Nah, he’s not upset about that. He’s mad cause I sank his best tackle box.”

“Oh yeah.” Jimmy rolled back over and sat up. “We gotta do something.”

The screen door creaked open, spring straining against the wood frame with a faint metallic sound. “You boys could go clean your room.”

“Mom… ” The boys chorused.

The woman in the doorway dried her hands on a towel and draped it over her shoulder. “If you want to earn some spending money, you could help me with the chores. Won’t be too long and your father’ll be making you help him ‘round the place anyhow. You could stand to learn how things are done.” She folded her arms across her blouse, neatly tucked into a white apron.

“But we wanna do something fun,” Jimmy explained patiently. “Chores are boring.”

Jerry sat up thoughtfully. “How much spending money?”

“Well let’s see. Eggs go for seventy-five cents a dozen at the market; I’ll pay three cents for every egg that makes it to the cooler unbroken. Plus, the chickens need penned up and the scratch yard raked before you scatter fresh feed. You want to do the barn, too?” Mom leaned against the frame of the door and waited.

“It’s too hot to chase chickens,” Jimmy grumbled. “I never catch ‘em anyways.”

Jerry pulled his legs out of the sun and turned around. “I’ll make a you deal.”

Mom waited, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“How about you throw in the old lemons that are going soft in the fruit basket, and enough sugar to make ‘em sweet.” Jerry leaned back, propping himself up on his arms.

“You drive a hard bargain, mister. You going into business?” Mom asked seriously.

“Figure we can set up a lemonade stand and double our money,” Jerry nodded gravely. “I been meaning to save up for a new pellet rifle.”

“See to the chickens before ten and you can use my good cooler, the one with the spout.”

Jerry jumped up and pulled his younger brother to his feet. “Get up, Jimmy. You got to build us a stand while I see to the chickens. Dad’s got some old boards and nails piled against the side of the barn; you can use that.”

Jimmy jumped off the porch and grabbed the handle of a red Radio Flyer that had been left in the yard from its last adventure. Tugging the wagon behind him, he headed for the pole barn. Jerry put his hand out, and Mom shook it with due ceremony.

Watching her sons take off around the corner of the house at a full tilt run, Mom shook her head and went back inside.

Mom made the boys wash up before letting them squeeze lemons, parcel out the sugar, and fill her large Igloo cooler from the garden hose. Jimmy held the water on the open cooler while Jerry stirred with the longest handled wooden spoon he could find. When they were done, Mom screwed the lid on tight, and Jerry loaded the orange dispenser into the Radio Flyer. Together the boys hauled the wagon to Jimmy’s hastily constructed stand at the end of the drive, right up against the road.

Jerry eyed the nailed boards warily. “You sure this’ll hold?”

Jimmy looked offended. “Course I am.”

Jerry stood in front of the stand and pushed tentatively against the side of the structure. The whole thing creaked ominously but stayed upright. Several boards formed the front of the stand, nailed hastily to two legs on either end. Spanning the length of the front, more planks had been nailed across the top of the legs to form a counter surface. The whole thing bowed threateningly in the middle. Across the front of the stand, the words “LEMONDATE 10¢” stood out in dripping whitewash.

“See.” Jimmy said proudly.

Jerry nodded in approval. “Go get us some cups. Can’t sell lemonade without cups.” He parked the wagon next to the stand, turning it so the handle faced away from the road. He lifted the handle through its full extension and propped it against the cooler.

Jimmy took off at a run for the house.

Jerry put his hands on his hips in satisfaction. The sun, already hot and high in the sky, beat down mercilessly on the Texas prairie. Looking down the dirt road that ran past the farm, Jerry could see waves of heat distortion rising from the ground and making the trees and grassland dance. No traffic that direction. He looked the other way; the same waves of heat rose against the fields across the street and distant treeline. No traffic there either.

Jimmy returned with a half dozen plastic cups, each one bearing the scratched and faded mascot of a ball team on a white background. Jimmy set them in the wagon next to the cooler, and after a moment, thoughtfully turned them upside down. “Keeps the dust out,” he explained.

Jerry nodded in approval.

“Did I miss any customers?” Jimmy asked anxiously.

“Not yet. But I expect some’ll be along any minute now,” Jerry said confidently. “It’s getting on to noon, and people’ll be wanting a drink of lemonade to beat the heat.”

“You really think they’ll come to our lemonade stand?”

“Where else they gonna go?” Jerry scoffed. “Ain’t nothing else around for miles.” He rested a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, “You gotta listen when Dad talks, Jimmy. This here is what you call a monopoly; it means we got the only business in town. People’ll buy our lemonade cause they don’t got nowhere else to get it.”

Jimmy nodded sagely. “Like the Western Auto store in town where Dad gets all his tractor parts. He’s always cussin about them raising prices on him.” Jimmy thought about that for a minute, “Do you think we should raise our lemonade prices?”

Jerry shook his head in disappointment. “Do you want people cussin us too? Nope. Fair value, fair product. Just like Dad says.”

“Jerry, I’m thirsty. Do we gotta pay for lemonade too?”

The older boy had to think that through. “I figure that’s only fair.”

“But I don’t have any money,” Jimmy groused, “and I’m really thirsty.”

Jerry hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his cut off jeans, “Ease up there, hoss.” He rocked back on his heels in his best imitation of his father. “Mom done paid me for the eggs and chickens. I got near a dollar right in my pocket. Why don’t I buy me a cup of lemonade first. Then you’ll have enough money to buy one for you.”

Jimmy jumped up from the patch of grass he had been sitting on. “One lemonade, coming right up.” He picked the top cup from the stack and hooked the lip under the spigot of the cooler. Pushing hard against the button dispenser, Jimmy splashed lemonade into the cup until it was mostly full, and a good deal more on the ground besides. He handed the cup to Jerry, who solemnly traded him a dime for it.

Jerry took a long pull from the plastic cup. “I needed a good stiff one.”

Jimmy poked him on the arm and held out the dime.

Jerry set his half emptied cup on the counter of the stand; it creaked ominously but didn’t move. Plucking the next cup from the stack, he filled it for Jimmy and accepted the dime in return.

The two boys flopped onto patches of dry grass and drank their lemonade, looking patiently one way down the road, and then the other.

Jimmy sat up and picked a rock from the drive, tossing it across the road into the ditch on the other side. “Maybe someone else set up a lemonade stand and is taking all our customers. Maybe they’re selling it for a nickel, too.”

Jerry shook his head, “No way. Do you see any other lemonade stands? And if they’re selling it for a nickel, they’re using rotten lemons and no sugar at all. We got the best stuff around for miles. They’ll be right along, you’ll see.”

“Okay.”

The boys lay back on the ground, squinting into the sky and tracing shapes in the thin wisps of cloud that refused to burn off in the sun.

“Do you hear thunder?” Jimmy asked.

Jerry listened, “Ain’t no rain clouds nearby. Look there.” He pointed.

Barely outlined against the bright blue sky, a dark speck rode into view over the treeline. Ripping through the air, it banked and turned, presenting the clear profile of a fighter jet to the two boys. As they watched, the aircraft rolled and banked again, turning nose on towards them. The dark outline grew rapidly as the jet chewed up the distance between them, suddenly vanishing in a bright flash of light.

“Wow! What was that?” Jimmy was on his feet, hands attempting to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun.

Jerry stood up as well. “Dad’s been saying the Army was testing some new fighter jets at the base. I bet that was one of them.”

“What happened to it?”

Jerry just shook his head and kept his eyes skyward. After a moment, white canvas bloomed against the harsh blue; a small black dot dangled from the billowing material. The parachute drifted on the wind, carried clear of the treeline and into the fields across the road from the boys’ home. The pilot hung limp in the harness, hit the ground at an angle, and crumpled like a rag doll. The white silk of the parachute billowed out in front of him, dragging the pilot across the ground a short way before crumpling into the tall grass of the prairie.

Both boys stared hard across the road and into the waist high grass of the field beyond. Jimmy started and squirmed in excitement, “Did you see that? What was it? Do you think it was a spaceman?”

Jerry stood on his tiptoes, but couldn’t see above the grass. White parachute silk fluttered lazily into view and sagged back to the ground. “Nah, had to be an Army man. Got hisself shot down, I figure.”

“By spacemen?”

Jerry looked at his younger brother askance, “Did you see any spacemen? Nope,” he added wisely, “it’s the Russians; they got satellites and stuff spying on us and shooting down our jets.”

Jimmy looked worriedly at the sky, “I don’t see any satellites, neither.”

“Too far away. Don’t you listen to Dad at all? He says the President’s got his own secret satellites up there fighting the Russian satellites out in space.” Jerry patted his brother on the shoulder, “It’s all part of a cold war.”

“Why’s it cold?”

Jerry shook his head, “’Cuz it’s in space, doofus.” He looked back to the field. “I don’t think that guy’s getting up.”

Jimmy stood in the wagon to get a better view of the field, lifting his hand to shield his eyes. “You think he’s dead?”

“Dunno. Run, go tell Mom we’re going to help the Army man.”

Jimmy bounced out of the Radio Flyer and took off for the house at a dead run. Flinging the screen door open with a slam, he yelled, “Mom, we’re going to check out something in Mr. Mitchell’s field! Don’t worry, it’s not snakes!” He turned hard on his heel and was about to bolt off when Mom called back from the other room.

“Don’t you boys leave the yard without your shoes. And don’t go bothering Mr. Mitchell’s cows again.”

Jimmy ducked back in the house and grabbed two pair of shoes from the mud room. “We won’t!”

The screen door slammed behind him as he took off down the drive.

Jerry waited impatiently at the end of the drive, skipping rocks down the dirt road. “Come on.”

Jimmy skidded to a stop and panted, “Mom said we had to take our shoes.”

“Good thinking.” Jerry took both pair of shoes and tossed them in the wagon next to the orange cooler. “We should probably take Mom’s good cooler too.” He looked down the road again, “What if someone came by and there wasn’t nobody here?”

Jimmy’s eyes went wide, “They’d drink all the lemonade!”

“And I bet they wouldn’t pay for it neither.”

The boys tugged the wagon across the dirt road, and lowered it into the dry ditch. Climbing up the other side, Jerry pulled the full cooler up and handed it to his brother, pushing the wagon up after it. They reassembled the wagon’s contents on the other side of the ditch – cooler, cups, and shoes – and tugged it three feet to the barbed-wire fence that marked the boundary of Mr. Mitchell’s field.

Carefully climbing through the second and third strands of wire, the boys emptied the wagon, pulled it after them, and refilled it safely on the other side. Moments later, they were forcing the Radio Flyer through tall grass, over clods of dirt, and around thick clumps of weeds.

Rough Texas prairie grass brushed against the boys’ bare legs and feet. The thick stalks crushed underfoot into a spiked footpath, but the brothers didn’t seem to mind. The wagon pulled unsteadily through the tall grass, forced onward by the sheer energy of their adventure. Periodically, one of them would stand on tiptoe or climb up into the wagon for a better view of the field, point excitedly towards their goal, and make a general course correction. With one boy pulling the wagon and the other steadying the cooler, they reached the fallen pilot without spilling a drop of lemonade.

The fighter pilot lay unmoving, face down in the field. The white silk of the parachute pulled at the cords still bound to his harness, but the breeze never filled the canvas, and the chute periodically billowed and sagged to earth. The khaki pack that had contained the chute was strapped firmly to the olive drab flight suit by an elaborate harness rig, stenciled with the letters “DYESS AFB”. Black piping ran down the legs of the jumpsuit; polished black boots vanished into the cuffs of the pants. Brown leather gloves covered his hands.

Jerry tugged the wagon to a stop in front of the pilot, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun reflected from the man’s glossy black helmet. Jimmy let go of the lemonade cooler and rushed to Jerry’s side, dropping into the grass beside the fallen pilot. Jimmy reached out and poked the man in the arm. Nothing happened.

“Come on, let’s roll him over.” Jimmy gabbed a double handful of flight suit above the pilot’s arm and scrambled over top of the man, pulling at the uniform. Jerry got underneath the pilot’s chest and pushed; together, they rolled the man onto his back. “I told you he was a spaceman,” Jimmy asserted proudly, pointing at the helmet.

Jerry looked at the great visor covering the entire front of the helmet plate. It fitted snugly atop a mask covering the man’s mouth and nose. One side of the mask led to a filter; a hose and coupling dangled from the other side. Jerry leaned close over the filter, putting his ear right up against the mask. A hollow rasp was barely audible. “Well spaceman or not, he ain’t dead.”

“What do you think we should do with him?”

Jerry scratched his head, “I figure we ought to get him home. Don’t suppose we can carry him, though.”

“What’s a spaceman look like?” Jimmy prodded the catch on the helmet, tugged at the strap that fixed the oxygen mask to the man’s face.

“He ain’t a spaceman,” Jerry pointed to the patches on the uniformed chest. “I told you, he’s an Army man. See,” he pointed to the stenciling on the flight suit and pack, “this here is Mr. Dyess. He’s an Army Flying Boy.”

Jimmy nodded and continued pulling and squeezing at the latches over the mask. After a minute, it came loose in his hands, flopping to one side. Sweat ringed the pilot’s lips and ranged up his cheeks; his breath came in ragged, uneven lengths. Peering under the overhang of the visor, Jimmy could see the man’s eyes were closed, fluttering against the lids.

“I bet he’s thirsty,” Jimmy observed. “I’m thirsty.”

“See if he’s got a canteen,” Jerry suggested. “Army men drink out of canteens.” The boys explored the pilot’s harness and pockets, coming up empty.

“We didn’t bring any water,” Jimmy despaired. “Want I should run back and get a pitcher?”

“We got lemonade.” Jerry pointed out.

Jimmy thought about that for a minute, then nodded. “Lemonade’s got water in it.” Jerry grabbed a cup from the wagon and put it under the spout of the cooler. Jimmy stopped him sternly, “Fair’s fair. He’s got to pay for it same as us.”

Jerry stopped in surprise. “I hadn’t thought about that. I guess we could run him a line of credit, the way Dad does for the Stantons down the road.”

Jimmy shook his head, “Now who don’t listen? Mom’s always telling him that’s as good as giving away the crops, and it ain’t no way to make a living.”

The two boys flopped on the ground next to the pilot and sat in silence for a minute, then Jerry jumped up. “Tell you what, boys,” he hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his cut off jeans and rocked back on his heels, “I got paid today. Drinks are on me.” He fished for a dime and handed it solemnly to Jimmy.

Jimmy dropped the coin in his pocket and quickly filled Jerry’s cup from the cooler.

Jerry took the cup and knelt next to the pilot’s helmet. Lemonade sloshed over the rim and splashed down the pilot’s cheek. Jerry poured a little on the man’s lips experimentally; most of it ran down the side of his jaw. “We got to get his mouth open. Find me something to prop him open with.”

“Why don’t you just use your fingers,” Jimmy suggested helpfully.

Jerry looked at him scornfully. “Didn’t Mom teach you not to got sticking your fingers into other people’s mouths? Besides, how would that make the lemonade taste?”

“Oh yeah.” Jimmy looked around the field and took off at a dead run. He came back shortly with a dry branch, broke off a length, and held it out to Jerry.

Jerry took the stick and inspected it carefully. “That ought to do the trick right nice.” Holding the lemonade in one hand, Jerry slipped the end of the stick between the pilot’s parted lips. Feeling around the man’s teeth, he un-gently forced the stick between them and levered the jaw open. Satisfied, Jerry poured another swallow of lemonade down the man’s throat, splashing more liquid over the stick and down the side of his face.

The pilot swallowed, gagged, and sputtered. He coughed roughly, and moved one hand reluctantly, dropping it back into place when the effort seemed to prove too much.

“You’re right,” Jimmy said, “he’s alive all right. I think he’s hurt.”

Jerry had pulled the stick out of the man’s mouth when the coughing began. Now, he forced it back in place and pried the jaws open again. Carefully, he poured the last of the lemonade into the man’s mouth and moved the stick. The pilot swallowed and coughed again, but didn’t gag. His head lolled to the side out of Jerry’s grasp.

Jerry handed the cup back to his brother, reaching into his pocket for another dime. “Fill ‘er up and be quick about it.”

Jimmy filled the cup.

When the pilot stopped coughing, Jerry shoved the stick back in his mouth again and braced the man’s head with his knee against the helmet. This time when he poured the lemonade in his mouth, the pilot swallowed without difficulty, and tried to move his head. Jerry held him firmly in place, and slowly gave him the entire cup of lemonade.

Handing the empty cup back to Jimmy, along with another dime, Jerry gave the pilot another drink. By the time he had emptied the cup, the man was sipping voluntarily at the drink. The collar of his flight suit was soaked with lemonade.

The pilot moved his arms weakly and croaked something unintelligible. He struggled to raise his head against the weight of the helmet.

Jerry leaned back, “You’re in good hands, soldier. Don’t worry.” He handed the empty cup back to Jimmy, who refilled it and exchanged it for the dime Jerry was holding out. Jerry carefully held the cup while the pilot sipped at the drink.

“… dizzy…” The man whispered, and stopped trying to speak.

Jerry stood up, fished more money from his pocket and ordered another cup of lemonade. He placed this one in the pilot’s slight grasp and patted the man on the shoulder. “We’re going to get you home. Come on, Jimmy, we got to gather up that parachute.” The two boys ran for the fluttering white silk canvas.

The pilot moved his head and grasped the cup unsteadily. Attempting to lift it to his mouth, he spilled the contents over the front of his flight suit. He dropped his hand back to his side, cup rolling into the grass.

Jerry and Jimmy ran to each side of the parachute and gathered great folds of cloth in their arms. Jimmy started to run back to the pilot, but Jerry called for him to stop. “You got to fold it all up so it fits in his backpack,” he explained.

Arm after arm, the boys gathered great folds of chute and brought them to the center of the canvas. When the entire parachute had been piled in one spot, they stretched the fabric out in a straight line, straining to pull the weight of the cloth against the lines that led to the pack. When the canvas was straight, they tucked the end under itself and started rolling.

The boys rolled the silk into the most compact ball they could manage, and then started rolling the ball up the lines toward the pilot. By the time they reached the fallen man, they had a massive crumple of white silk and cord as big as both of them put together.

“I don’t think we did something right,” Jimmy said.

“It’ll be okay,” Jerry assured him. “He’ll pack it in the right way before it gets used again.” He looked at the prone man, moving his arms weakly. “I think he’s still thirsty. Set us up another round,” Jerry ordered, handing Jimmy another dime.

Jimmy drew the lemonade from the cooler, and Jerry offered it to the pilot, who took it weakly in one hand.

“… sit up… ” He whispered.

Jerry gestured for help, and the two of them pulled the man to a sitting position. Jimmy ran around behind the pilot to prop him up from the back. With Jerry’s assistance, the man raised the cup of lemonade to his lips, spilling only a little. He drained the cup and sagged back against Jimmy, who yelped in surprise at the sudden weight.

“Come on, Jimmy, don’t just lay there. Help me get him up.” Jerry pulled ineffectually at the pilot’s arms.

The two boys struggled against the pilot’s weight, finally giving up after failing to raise the man from a sitting position. The pilot’s eyes fluttered open and he slowly sat up under his own power. He slumped forward, cup in hand. “More,” he croaked softly.

Jerry bought him another cup of lemonade.

“Thank you, boys.” The pilot struggled to his feet, fumbling ineffectually with the clasp of his parachute harness. The weight of the canvas and cord pulled him back to his knees.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Dyess,” Jerry said. “We’ll get your parachute.” He and Jimmy rolled the bundle of silk and cord right up next to the wagon. With effort, they pushed the bundle into the wagon, crushing cups and shoes underneath and knocking Mom’s cooler to the ground.

The pilot stood up unsteadily and looked around the field. After a moment he stumbled in the general direction of the road.

Jerry and Jimmy got the Radio Flyer in motion, one boy pushing and the other pulling. Leading the pilot towards the fence, they forced the overburdened wagon over the rough terrain. The pilot stopped to rest frequently, and Jerry sent Jimmy back to the fallen cooler for several more cups of lemonade.

Finally making the edge of the field, the pilot slumped against a rough post, unable or unwilling to climb through the barbed-wire.

Jerry parked the wagon next to the pilot. “Jimmy, go tell Mom we got a hurt Army man.”

Jimmy slid through the fence barbs and scrambled across the ditch. Soon he was running down the drive at full tilt yelling, “Mom, our Army man’s hurt! You gotta come see him! It’s okay, he’s not a spaceman!”

Jerry climbed the fence and ditch to stand in the road, looking first one way and then the other. “I hope we didn’t miss any customers.” Black specks in front of a dust cloud emerged from the rippling heat waves that rose from the dirt road. Jerry strained his eyes until he could make out several large trucks. “All right!”

Mom and Jimmy arrived moments before the military convoy pulled up in a cloud of dust. Mom wasted no time getting across the ditch and pressing a wet hand towel up under the pilot’s helmet.

Jerry pulled Jimmy aside as the first truck ground to a halt in the middle of the road. “We left our lemonade!” The boys scrambled through the fence and took off across the prairie.

By the time they returned, lugging the orange cooler between them, several soldiers in fatigues were tending to the fallen pilot. They had released the parachute harness and removed the man’s helmet; he was sipping from a canteen.

Jerry elbowed his brother in the ribs and pointed to the canteen, “See, I told you he was an Army man.”

Mom rushed over, gathering both boys in her arms. “Are you two okay? That was a very brave thing, helping that man.”

“Mom…,” they chorused.

One of the soldiers speaking to the pilot stood up and approached the boys. He dropped to one knee to address them, “Captain Matthews has to go back to base, but he wanted me to be sure and thank you fellows for him. You did a real good thing helping us find him this fast; we could have been searching for quite a while.”

Jimmy and Jerry looked crushed. “You mean you just came looking for your Army pilot?” Jerry asked.

“Air Force, son,” the soldier corrected him. “What’s wrong?”

“We thought you heard about our lemonade,” Jerry said.

“Best in town,” Jimmy added.

“Sorry, boys,” the soldier said. “I guess word hadn’t gotten around to the base yet.” He stood up and eyed the orange Igloo cooler now perched back in place in the bed of the wagon. “Looks like you got a good thing going, though. Tell you what,” he looked around, spying the front of the lemonade stand through the gap between the parked trucks. “I imagine some of the boys are thirsty, and I figure I could use something to drink myself.”

Mom started to protest, “You don’t have to…”

“Ten cents a cup, sir,” Jimmy said eagerly. “Made with real lemons.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” the soldier said.

Jerry stepped forward, putting one hand protectively on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Let’s hear it,” he said.

“I’ll give you a quarter for each canteen you fill up.”

“You drive a hard bargain, mister.” Jerry said, “You’ve got a deal.”

The soldier turned around and called instructions to the other men. In a few minutes, the two boys were filling several canteens from the orange cooler. They poured lemonade until the cooler ran dry.

Jerry handed the man the last canteen, half-full of lemonade. “Thanks for all your business, mister. This one’s on the house.”

The soldier handed Jerry a five dollar bill, “A little something extra for you, son.” He took the half filled canteen. “You boys keep your eyes on the sky; the Air Force needs enterprising young men like you.”

“Yes, sir,” the boys chorused.

The convoy loaded up and before long had vanished into the Texas heat, still kicking up a cloud of dust along the dirt road.

Mom helped the boys load the cooler and their shoes back into the wagon and pulled it back to the house. The five dollar bill went into a mason jar already lined with coins. Jimmy fished the change from his own pockets and it went into the jar as well. Before long, Mom was washing out the cooler, and Jerry and Jimmy were back on the front porch, sipping water from plastic cups and kicking their legs in the sunlight.

Jimmy leaned back and watched dragonflies dart through the rafters of the porch. “So what else are we doing today, Jerry?”

Winston Crutchfield lives on the banks of the Ohio River with his wife, two children, and one black-and-white cat of undetermined breed but obvious noble birth. The cat has a pet kitten of her own.

…I was a stranger and you invited me in…

Unclean

by Justin Lowmaster

Tom winced as the gates slammed in his face, the rad-blasted wastelands at his back.

The tattered prophet shuffled beside Tom. “No money?”

Tom shook his head. “Untouched,” Tom extended his dirty, but normal, hand. “You?”

The prophet took it in his own gnarled, blotched hand. “Unbeliever.” He waved dismissively at the sealed gates, “Their minds are as closed as their city.”

“You don’t believe in Ultimate Entropy?”

“I believe in a grand design, and a God behind it all. A God that restores.”

Tom examined his hand. “I need restoring?”

“Yes, He restores your soul.”

Justin Lowmaster lives in Oregon with his wife and a daughter who is really good at touching things she could not reach a week ago.

Waking Up With A Bump

by Philip Carroll

“Can you tell me anything about our mission, Commander?” Assault Gunner 1st Class Steven Xander asked as they stepped into the crowded passage. “This is my first mission, and I’m...”

“Don’t worry about it, Gunner,” the older man said. His salt and pepper hair hinted at his age, though his shoulders and chest were still as broad as in his youth. His voice was deep, powerful and confident as he reassured the younger man, “It’s all routine, but it’s best to hold the details until we are under way.”

A hunched man stepped into their path, his standard issue coveralls were tattered and hung on his skeletal frame like moth-eaten draperies. The whites of his eyes were stained brown and the skin of his face was drawn tight between jaw and cheek bones, like the cover of a drum. Classic signs of addiction to “Dust”, the Battle Base’s most popular illicit drug.

“Spare some cred, Commander?” he hissed through rotted teeth, just loud enough for the other two to hear. He smeared his hands on his greasy coveralls and pulled the small gray data sink from the self-seal pocket at his right thigh. He held it no higher than his waist, mostly concealed in his hand, and waved it a bit at the pilot. He glanced warily about as flight crews and support staff of the massive star ship flowed past.

Commander Pierce ignored the man and pushed past him to the door of the vertical transport and said to Xander, “Key in for the ready deck.”

The younger man punched some codes on the data pad set at shoulder level on the wall and waited for the light plastisteel door to slide open. He checked his name and rank identifiers, insured they were properly centered and pinched the corners of his pockets to make them lay flat again.

“I told you not to worry, Gunner,” The Commander said and frowned at the enlisted man.

“Oh. Yes, sir,” Xander spluttered as the door slid open and they entered the small spherical compartment.

“Where’s your girlfriend, Gunner?” He said it like an accusation once the door closed and they were seated.

“With all due respect, sir,” AG1 Xander said, “WS3 Phillips trained me on the 200 mm auto cannon and the 180mm rail gun we use in our assault ship. She’s a good gunner, and experienced, too.” Xander mumbled, “I’ll bet she’s not nervous.”

When the commander looked at him expectantly, he continued, louder, “No, Commander, there’s nothing between us. We just work together.”

“Well,” Commander Pierce said, “that’s probably better. We’re out here to do a job. Romantic attachments just get in the way of performing your duty. If it was up to me all the families would stay home. We would have half the population were carrying if there were no spouses and children along for the ride.”

“But, Commander,” Xander said, and shook his head. “An enlistment of twenty years is a long time to be in deep space away from family. A guy would go crazy before he got back home.

The commander’s eyes were black narrow slits as he said through pursed lips, “it seems to have worked for me.”

“Oh. No, sir,” Xander stammered. “I mean, yes, sir, What I meant to say was, well, I didn’t mean to imply that...”

Xander sighed, wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, noticed the discoloration the wetness caused and brushed at the wet patch with his hand. He said, “Commander, I know there must be over a million people on the Battle Base, when you consider military personnel, support staff, and add in the families. These bases are designed to support that many and more. What I don’t understand is how many ‘Crazies’ there are walking the passages these days. What are they, homeless?”

“Crazies, Gunner?” the Commander asked.

“Yes, sir,” the young man said. “Like that man that hit you up for spare cred. They’re everywhere on the base. I don’t know why they don’t gather them all up and ship them down to a planet.”

“I’m not clear on who you are referring to,” Pierce said. “But if you’re talking about getting undesirables off the battle base it isn’t easy, nor inexpensive. Consider. First, they take up mass on the shuttle. Mass costs cred to move it, and if its not paying for itself, its costing what could be sent in its place. Have you ever seen an empty shuttle shoot out to a jump station?

“You’re right there, sir,” Xander agreed. “They pack those pretty tight.”

“Every gram costs,” the commander continued. “Once you get it to the jump station you would need to put it on a ship and flash it through to a planetary system. If it’s excess mass, you want to send it to the closest system, that would be cheapest.”

“Sir,” Xander risked interrupting the commander, “we’re still talking about people, right? They’re homeless, but they’re human.”

“Humans. Yes, Gunner, but excess humans. They aren’t generating any cred, they’re not fulfilling the terms of enlistment or commission. They’re a drain. Yet, as I was showing, getting them off the ship is more costly. Why, do you think we have a prison on board the ship? Even if we could shuttle them to a jump station, no ship would accept them without a fare, and no planet would accept them without a guarantor of support.” Commander Pierce blinked several times, then said, “I think the simplest solution would be to jettison them. That would take them off our hands, and open their duty slots for replacements. If they’re running around the passages, crazy or on drugs, they need to go through sickbay and get fixed, or eliminated.”

Assault Gunner 1st class, Steven Xander sat wide eyed and chose not to speak.

They arrived in the squadron ready room and found WS3 Phillips already there. She lay back in one of the recliners, staring out the transparent ceiling. The commander looked up reflexively to see the inside of the tubular battle base as it spun slowly around countless docking platforms.

The Small Assault Ship was a segmented construction with the ship’s commander seated in a central, self-contained compartment. The gunners, Xander and Phillips were in similar compartments to the left and right of the commander, designed so that each compartment would jettison independent of the others in the event of a catastrophe.

Commander Pierce flipped on his vid-screen intercom to see his two gunners checking ammunition levels and power status. He said, “WS3 Phillips, AG1 Xander, commence undocking protocol.”

The docking platforms floated eerily in the luminescent half light of the Battle Base’s inner tube, and quickly disappeared from sight as the Small Assault Ship accelerated down the base’s length, and out into the dazzling sphere of stars.

With a diameter of five kilometers across it’s fore and aft openings the Battle Base had a circumference of more than fifteen kilometers. Those who spent their entire enlistment inside the base perceived the ship as a great flat expanse. Even on the soccer fields or in the auditoriums the curve of the ship’s deck was imperceptible. To flight crews, the Base, equal in length to its circumference, appeared as a enormous polar white tube.

The squadron took advantage of the magnetic field generated inside the tube to slingshot their ship out the front of the base and ahead to the jump gate. The commander smiled with satisfaction as he viewed the ships through the rear video screen. Six ships identical to his fanned out behind his, three to a side, in a perfect “V”.

“Autopilot engaged,” the commander said as he flipped a small toggle switch. “We’ll clear the jump gate in little more than forty-two hours.”

Commander Pierce removed his helmet, scanned through camera views on the video screen until he had the images of Phillips and Xander looking back at him, and said, “Alright, Gunner, Phillips, you may remove your helmets and get comfortable. Here’s the breakdown on our mission. The gate we are approaching is fairly new, just completed about ten years ago. Only one other team has jumped through, two years ago. It was an unarmed exploration/diplomatic party. We never received communications back from them. Standard procedure in such a case is to send a multiple ship assault squadron, such as ours, for investigation.”

He let the import of this hang in the recycled air for a few moments, then said, “a vital part of our mission is to log the reentry point coordinates and zap them back out to the base, as well as to central command. It will be a year before central gets it, but it is feedback in case of mission failure.”

“Do we know anything about the system we will jump to, Commander,” Phillips asked.

“The system,” the commander replied, “has two planets where life is suspected. Spectrometry indicates life has been on one planet for several million years, and the other is more recently inhabited. Our assumptions are, therefore, the life forms are advanced and have space travel.”

“Are we going to land or make contact?” Xander asked.

“We are strictly reconnaissance. We are to get close enough to inspect the planets, take readings of atmospheres and geology, etc. And then get back to the ship. We have no more than seven days in the system before the battle base will be out of range.”

“But, sir,” Xander asked, “can’t we just jump to the next gate in the circuit and wait for the base to catch up to us there?”

“No. The system is too new, and there is no return gate. To exit this system we have to hit the same coordinates as when we entered. We can only jump back in to the same gate we will use to go out. If our GBS has passed beyond our reach at re-entry, we will have to wait for the next base to come along. That could mean up to three years stuck at a jump station, waiting for a ride. That is not only boring, but extremely expensive for Battle Base Command.”

The commander said, “If there are no more questions, we will break the watch into eight hour shifts. Phillips, you take first watch. Gunner, you’re on second.”

“Yes, sir,” the two enlisted replied in chorus.

The Commander woke. His ears rang and his head spun. From a distance he heard the automated voice of the control pod repeating a phrase, though incomprehensible through the loud, irritating whine within the capsule. He shakily reached above and behind himself and disengaged the emergency alert.

Slowly, his head cleared and his senses returned. The commander evaluated his situation. “This is not good,” he murmured.

The automated voice came again, “Emergency support module approaching atmosphere. Prepare for saturation in thirty seconds ... twenty nine ...” The voice continued its count down.

Pierce accessed the flight log and found his ship had broken up on entry into the solar system. All three escape pods had jettisoned, though that was not a guarantee either of the gunners had survived. Each pod was powered by an atomic ion drive with auxiliary solar sail, and programmed to identify the nearest potentially habitable planet.

He punched the coordinate recorder and sent the data, along with a copy of the ship’s flight record, back to the base as the count down finished, “three ... two ... one. Commence cryogenic sleep.”

The compartment filled with an anesthetizing gas. As his consciousness faded he heard the ship’s computer say, “Commencing foam stabilization.” Small ports opened throughout the compartment, nozzles within each port sprayed a gas-permeable foam that expanded to fill the escape pod.

Pierce climbed from the bottom of a small gully where his escape capsule lay. His feet dragged, and slipped often on the thin layer of loose sand over the hard packed sand beneath. The air tasted salty and smelled ionized, like in a room with overheated electrical equipment. Strings of the denaturing protective foam dripped from his elbows and hands. He cradled an emergency pack in his arms. Five more remained in the escape pod’s storage locker. Each pack contained enough food and water to sustain a grown man for five days.

At the lip of the depression he checked his lapel com and spoke into it, “Gunner, Phillips, do you read me?”

He expected to see a barren plane spread endlessly before him. Instead he found himself surrounded by alien structures. Most had the domed pyramid appearance of giant gum drops. Some were short and squat, while others were tall and slender. Their foundations met and blended with neighboring structures and all appeared to be manufactured from the same soil as that upon which he now stood. Pierce regarded the long broad depression where his escape pod lay many meters below him and hoped it would be adequate concealment for the space capsule.

A cold sun glared down upon the commander. There were no life forms in sight.

He slung the emergency pack over his shoulders and walked toward the closest of the structures. Pierce soon realized the structures were massive, the shortest not less than ten stories tall.

The cold wind dried the sweat on Pierce’s brow as he struggled across the barren sandy expanse. He was soon winded. He sat cross legged on the ground and removed his compact environmental analyzer from his breast pocket. The sensor showed yellow; the air was breathable but not ideal. Gravity read 100% greater than Battle Base standard.

“No wonder,” he muttered. Between the low oxygen and the high gravity he would expect to tire rapidly. He couldn’t afford to become exhausted in an alien environment and vowed to pace himself.

The sun moved rapidly across the sky. His chronometer showed only two hours between mid afternoon when he climbed from his escape pod, to nearly sunset, when he reached the first of the domed structures. Pierce steeled himself with a deep breath as he stood at the feet of the giant structure towering above him. He admired the structure’s flawless, finished texture, like baked ceramic, yet rough like sandpaper. Its perfect parabolic curve sloped up and out of his view as it reached to the sky. The commander knew well that architectural skill, or even scientific advancement didn’t guarantee inter-species tolerance. Yet, his responsibility was clear, he must make contact, regardless of the risk to his own life.

Shining, black, semi-circular panels the height of Pierce’s shoulders were spaced at a broad but regular distance along the base of the structure. The commander placed one hand on a panel and found it warm, though the day was cool. The sun had long ago moved from this side of the dome and left it in shadow. At his touch, the panel split from top to bottom; the two halves rotated out and dropped into the ground, creating a low, wide opening.

He bent slightly and looked through the door.

He jumped back with a shout, lost his footing on the loose sand and fell to his back. He crab walked backwards then rolled to his knees. Inside the structure he saw a large, low, semi-circular chamber with passages branching off in many directions. Packed from wall to wall, illuminated in the orange half-light of the structure’s internal glow pulsed a mass of bloated, heaving creatures. Their bodies were no taller than Pierce’s waist; a sea of countless tentacles swayed and writhed back and forth in the air above them.

Pierce jumped up and ran back toward the escape capsule. Quickly winded he looked back over his shoulder and found he wasn’t being pursued. He fell to the ground and gasped alien atmosphere as tiny spots of light danced in and out of his vision.

He lay in the sand and watched for pursuit from the creatures.

The sky darkened toward twilight and a resonant ululation pierced the acrid air. It came faintly at first from one of the structure, and increased in volume as each of the structures joined. The mounds, which had faded to dim silhouettes in the semi-darkness, suddenly lit as if from within. In their glow, creatures began to issue from the structures. Some used their multiple tentacles to climb the structures while others spread out across the open area where Pierce tried to conceal himself in a small depression. Many retracted their appendages within round, turgid bodies, and rolled off along tracks and byways.

He didn’t hear the creature approach from behind. They were on him before he knew it and two of the creatures lifted him into the air between them with multiple writhing, groping, tentacles. The appendages were soft and warm, and like their bodies, covered with short fur like the fuzz of a peach. Pierce shuddered as they caressed him with their tentacles. He fought the urge to flee as their arm-tips probed gently across his head, and into his jump-suit examining his arms, legs and torso. Just as suddenly as the creatures had lifted him, they placed him lightly on the soil and left to join the milling throng of aliens in the vast open area in front of the structures.

No more of the aliens confronted the commander and very few even reacted as he wandered among them. He approached the occasional stationary creature and caressed the pliable yet resilient furred hide. They responded to his touch by smoothing their tentacles over his face and head momentarily, and then oozing away.

Try as he might, he was unable to communicate with any of the creatures. Nor was he able to ascertain their activities. By his chronometer hours had passed since sunset and their numbers outside the structures was slowly decreasing.

Dawn approached. Pierce followed several of the creatures into the closest of the dome structures. A cool, dry breeze from within tousled his hair as he passed through the aperture.

“They must have an air circulation system,” he said to himself as he checked the level of the ceiling and found he could stand upright, though his head was within centimeters of the ceiling.

Commander Pierce followed the creatures up a circular passage that decreased in width as it climbed higher in the structure. Open archways of the passage gave him views of aliens grouped in small round rooms. He paused at the entrance to one small chamber. Three large aliens glided smoothly between circular rows of small creatures. The smallest were not more than 10 cm in diameter and appeared to be primarily balls of fur. Larger creatures, the height of the commander’s knees, looked mangy and missing large patches of the long fur that piled around them on the ground. Short adult fuzz showed through the patches of fur. All the smaller creatures waved their tentacles in the air as the large aliens glided past.

Occasionally, one of the adults would take one of its tentacles and form a small cup with its pliable tip. It would then regurgitate a small, round, shiny ball from an orifice along the upper curve of its body, and scoop the ball into a similar orifice of one of the smaller aliens.

Pierce continued his climb to the apex of the passage where it opened into a broad open chamber that he assumed filled the remaining height of the structure. Here, many of the aliens milled about randomly, their tentacles waved in the air or reached out and caressed those of their fellow creatures. At times the creatures rotated around one another, their tentacles intertwined with one or more of its fellows and appeared to be in a soundless choreographed display, while others along the walls waved their tentacles above their bodies in silent applause.

The commander fatigued quickly in the high gravity of the alien world. Even as he descended the passage to the base of the structure he stopped often to rest, to eat and drink from his emergency pack. His supplies had been consumed rapidly and he already needed to return to the escape pod to resupply with water.

As the passage reached bottom and opened into the entrance lobby the commander was blocked from the exit by the bodies of immobile aliens. The creatures were packed so tightly in the antechamber, Commander Pierce would only reach the exit if he crawled across the tops of the aliens. Rather than do so, and possibly insult the passive creatures, he settled down against an open space along the wall of the passage where it met the antechamber. He could wait the few hours until the alien planet’s next evening.

The commander stood on the edge of the ravine where his escape pod had lain the day before. He turned around several times as he realigned himself with memorable structures he had used as landmarks previously. He was certain he stood in the same place as he had when he climbed from the ravine. The escape pod was gone, and with it, the remainder of his provisions.

In hopes of finding water, Pierce tried different entrances and passages in the structure. He passed many more small circular rooms, some empty, others with one of more of the aliens. Still, none of the creatures regarded him, there was no food or water to be found, and with each passage he eventually ended in the large room at the apex of the structure.

With the last of his food and water depleted, Pierce wandered back to the entrance chamber he had first used. He sat with his back against the wall and slept.

He dreamed of food. He walked through the officer’s mess on the Battle Base and plucked food from each silver tray he passed, an exotic piece of fruit here, a savory bit of meat there. He ate breads and cakes by the handful until his stomach stretched and his chest felt tight.

He awoke to find the creatures had refilled the chamber, with him against the wall, a creature pressed hard against his chest. Too weak to protest or wrestle the creature from his lap, he remained captive where he sat and waited for the aliens to move again.

When the creatures rose for their next evening’s activities, the commander followed them through the opening of the structure and sat in the dust outside the exit. He remained where he sat the entire night, too exhausted to explore or even to search for food or water. At times, as an alien shifted past it would reach out a tentacle, caress the commander’s face, and move on.

Days passed in the heavy, taxing gravity of the alien world. The commander was eventually too weak to leave the wall just inside the domes. His glassy eyes no longer recognized the alien creatures as they glided past his dehydrated body.

A creature oozed up to Pierce and hovered beside his extended legs. A tentacle caressed his fevered head and smoothed shut the weary, unfocused eyes. Another tentacle stretched and formed a small cup in its pliable tip. From an orifice near the top of the creature it produced a small, round shiny lump which it scooped into the spoon-like tentacle and forced between the commander’s cracked lips. The creature paused and allowed the lump to melt and trickle down the commander’s parched and swollen throat. Pierce coughed, swallowed and wheezed.

The creature stayed by Pierce the remainder of that night and the next day, as it monitored his healing body and fed him more of the round pellets. Still too weak to move, the commander finally lapsed into a deep and restful sleep.

Pierce awoke to the incessant beeping of an alarm, the first sound he had heard beyond his own voice, since arriving on the planet. He was wedged between the wall and several of the recumbent aliens. Groggy from sleep, it took him a few moments to recognize the proximity alarm on his flight suit com. Suddenly wide awake and alert, he slapped the response button on the suit.

“This is Pierce,” he croaked into the com unit. His voice was rough and faint from lack of use. “Do you read me?”

“Commander Pierce,” a voice spoke from the unit, “this is Advance Tech 3 Borick, of the Galactic Battle Base 317. We’re standing in a ravine at the coordinates we received from your escape capsule. Yet we don’t see the capsule anywhere near.”

“It’s gone,” Pierce said with indescribable relief. “Stay where you are and I’ll be out to meet you in a moment.”

Without reservation he crawled across several creatures to get to the exit. Their warm bodies seemed to support his scrambling flailing arms and legs and aid him in reaching the exit. Tentacles caressed his face, neck and arms as he passed.

“Welcome to GBB 317, Commander Pierce,” a uniformed man said to Piece as he entered the flight ready-room. “I’m Lieutenant Carls. I’ll show you to your compartment. You can rest there until they need you for your debriefing.”

Pierce followed the Lieutenant to the lift and then out into a vertical transport lobby, identical to the one on his home GBB.

“You’ll be lodged in the VIP compartments until we get within range of the Inter Base Jump Gate,” Carls said as they rode in the VT, to Pierce’s temporary lodging. “Shouldn’t be much more than a week.”

They stepped out of the transport. Carls held the door from closing and said, “if you’ll excuse me, commander, I need to get back to Flight Command. Your compartment is down the passage on the right, number 14. The lock is already keyed to your DNA. An escort will come around 0900 tomorrow to take you to the debrief. If you need anything before then, punch 150 on your com and I’ll take care of it.”

He snapped a crisp salute, stepped back into the VT and was gone.

Pierce turned toward the passage on the right and pushed past a man in a shabby jumpsuit.

“Commander,” the man said in a hoarse whisper. “Slip me a few creds for a meal and some coffee?”

Pierce reached the passage to compartment 14 before he stopped, and paused. He looked at the man who had solicited him. His jump suit hung on him like draperies in a window. His cheeks were hollow and eyes sunken. The man was either a drug addict, or mental, or both. Pierce considered the hungry man.

Pierce punched some numbers on his data sink and sent the man enough creds for a dinner and a cup. Without a word, he turned down the passage to his compartment.

Philip Carroll is a Certified Orthotist and family man in Central California with a wife, three children, son-in-law and one-and-a-half grand children. He has recently fallen in with Flying Island Press as an editor for their bi-monthly electronic Science Fiction/Fantasy magazine “Flagship”.

The Bitter Drink

by Nathan James Norman

I’ve always hated coffee.

Yet, just like every other morning, I found myself waiting on the impossibly long Starbucks coffee line, waiting to order something new off the menu in the hopes that I could find something I liked.

I’ve never liked the smell of coffee. It tastes horrible. And once consumed, it leaves me feeling jittery and high-strung. The woman in front of me casually texted on her phone. She was a little older than me, maybe in her early thirties, and she was gorgeous. Well, Hollywood’s version of gorgeous anyway: rail-thin, curvaceous, but not overly so, layered blonde hair, and form-fitted designer clothes.

Behind me, an attractive middle-aged woman stood in loose workout clothes and calmly checked her watch. I didn’t know which to go for. Whenever I talked to pretty women I tended to get tongue-tied. It is also easier starting a conversation with the person behind you than the person in front of you, because all you have to do is turn around and you have their attention.

I turned around.

“Whew. It sure is cold out there this morning.” I said.

“Not really for this time of year.” She simply said, then added, “And it feels good after the gym.”

I smiled. “I wouldn’t really know.” I paused. This was always the awkward part. How did so many of my co-workers successfully move the conversation from ordinary to an invitation? I started coming to Starbucks three months ago for this exact purpose. And whereas everyone else seemed to have almost daily success, I could never get anyone to say ‘yes’. So I gulped, drew in a quick breath and asked, “So, ah do you have a church you go to?”

She shrugged, “Not really.”

This was good. It meant she wasn’t already committed to one, but was open to the idea. “Would you be interested in coming to mine? I mean it’s got a great worship band, relevant messages and you can come in whatever clothes you want.” I smiled. “You can even come dressed like that.”

Her brow furrowed a little. “What’s the name of your church?”

“Orchard City Church. We meet right up the road at the elementary school we’re still working on getting the building up.”

She smiled, politely, then shook her head. “No thanks. I like sleeping in on Sundays.”

“We have a later service on Sunday mornings that starts at eleven, and a Saturday night one at seven.” I offered.

She put up her hand. “No thanks.”

“Umm. Okay. It was nice talking to you anyway. And if you change your mind, you’re always welcome to come.” I turned back around. The gorgeous woman in front of me was finishing her order. I glanced up at the menu and put in a simple order for an orange-mango smoothie and sighed. It was my default drink; it was gritty and flavorless, but it was the only thing I’d come across so far that was half-way decent.

I sat at the only open table, a round two-person one, around the corner from the main counter. Senior Pastor Ken had started the church doing things like this. And when the church hired Sam on as an additional pastor, his daily Starbucks runs raked-in even more people into the church. By the time they hired me, we had fifteen hundred people at the church. In the course of my two years there I had brought in exactly two visitors to date both of whom I have not seen since their initial visit.

“Mind if I sit here?” A man in his early fifties stood over me.

I gestured to the empty chair across from me, “Please do.”

He sat and extended his hand, “I’m Danny.”

I took it. “David. Pleased to meet you.”

“Pretty packed in here today, huh?” He stated.

“Yes it is.”

Danny held a large (or whatever size they call it) coffee-drink in his hand. “You weren’t waiting for someone were you?”

“No, not at I all.” I said. “Actually I’m a pastor at a local church and I come here every day or so to see if there’s anyone interested in visiting us.”

“Is that so?” He took a drink of his coffee.

I nodded. “So what about you Danny? Do you have a church you attend?”

He smiled. “Oh I can’t go to church.”

“Are you a different religion?”

“No. I really don’t have any religion, I just don’t go to churches. I think I’d explode if I ever went into one.” He winked at me.

“Well our church isn’t like the more traditional churches you’re used to. We have a worship band with guitars and drums, and you can come dressed however you’d like.”

He smiled at me. “No, I’m sorry, Son. I don’t have to step foot into your church to know that it’s just like all the others.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Every church I went to as a kid was filled with the same sort of families no matter where I went.”

“What sort of people?” I asked. “Hypocrites?”

He shook his head, took another swig of coffee and said, “Your words, not mine.” He looked down at his watch and stood up. “I best be going. Nice meeting you Dave.”

I came into the office that morning to find thirty-seven e-mails and eight voicemails waiting for me. After responding to the majority of them, I walked over to Sam’s office. While we were both associate pastors, I considered him to be my mentor. Whereas he was in charge of overseeing facilities, counseling, worship, weddings and funerals; I ran the children’s, youth, small group and young adults ministries.

Pastor Ken only preached once a week.

“Hey, Sam. I’m having a problem with this one parent. You got some time?”

Sam turned around. About twenty years my elder he still managed to look fitter and hipper than I could ever hope. “What’s up?” asked Sam.

“This one dad keeps calling me every week, cursing up a storm on my voicemail because he says he’s not getting our weekly e-mail updates about the youth events. I checked the send-mail and verified that it went out to him, but he’s saying that I’m lying about it and I’m not sending anything to him because I don’t like his kid.”

“That’s Zach Robinson isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Well, if it were me I’d tell him that his son’s a brat and he learned it from him.” He smiled.

“That’s helpful.” I said.

“What’s probably happening is the e-mail is going directly to his spam folder. Just tell him to add the church as a contact and he’ll start getting them.”

I put my head into my hand. “I should have thought of that.”

“It’s always the simple things that get us, Dave.”

Pastor Ken walked in carrying a large stack of papers. “Sam, I need you to file this contact information for me.” He dropped the four-inch stack on Sam’s desk and walked out.

I looked at the stack, smiled and saluted Sam, “Have fun.”

I saw Danny sitting by himself at the coffee shop the next morning. I sat down across from him, “Good to see you again Danny.”

“You too, Dave.” He said.

“So you know my job already, what do you do?” I asked.

“I just work the nightshift in a warehouse, loading and unloading, stocking and cleaning, that sort of thing.”

“Why are you drinking coffee at eight in the morning then? Shouldn’t you be going home to bed?” I asked.

“No,” he shook his head, “Coffee doesn’t affect me much anymore, and I really don’t have much of a life outside of work. I tend to come here and people-watch.”

“You can people-watch at church.” I smiled.

“No I can’t.”

I put up my hands. “I’m just joking. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to; I’m unable.”

“Do you work on Sundays?” I asked, ready to go into my ‘Saturday night option’ pitch.

He looked at me square in the face. “It’s just personal, okay?”

Sam came into my office the next morning carrying an envelope. I barely glanced up at him until he closed my door. “Hey Sam. What’s going on?”

He sat down. “This needs to be kept absolutely confidential.”

“Okay.” I leaned forward.

He opened up the envelope and handed it to me, “I found this in that pile of papers Ken put on my desk yesterday. It looks like he’s trying to sell the church property to an out-of-state real estate company.”

Looking over the letter I got the impression that this wasn’t just an inquiry letter, but a formal statement indicating that this plan was in its final stages. I looked back to Sam, “He needs our approval to do something like this.”

“I know,” he said.

“And the congregation has to vote on this.” I argued.

“That’s true too.”

I looked over the letter again.

“We just had a capital campaign to raise money for this land but it looks like he’s been planning this for almost ten months.”

Sam reached out his hand and I gave the letter back to him.

“Again. Please keep this confidential. I’m going to talk to the church administrator, and we’ll give Ken a week to come clean about this. If he doesn’t, we’ll go confront him about it.”

A few days passed without incident. Bad coffee and tedious paper-work brought me to the end of the week. It wasn’t until Monday morning that I saw Danny again at the coffee shop. He sat down across from me, “Morning, Dave. Please don’t ask me to come to church this morning.” He chuckled.

“Fair enough.” I said.

“So what’s life been throwing you lately?” He asked.

I shook my head. “Same old. Same old. Teens making poor choices and getting arrested. Parents unhappy with the way things are done at the church but unwilling to help, or even offer suggestions as to what could be done differently.”

“Sounds frustrating.” He said.

“You bet.” I took a drink from the frappachino and made a face.

“Not good?” Danny asked.

“Truth be told, Danny, I don’t even like coffee. I just come here because there’s lots of people here.”

“Getting people into your church means that much to you does it?” He asked.

“Not really.” I said. “I really want people to know about Christ, about what’s He’s done for them and how He can save them from their sins.”

“Is that why you’re a pastor?” He asked.

“That’s why I became a pastor.” I took another sip.

“Well, I guess being in a church is the best place to do that.” He said.

I frowned. “You know? I used to think so, but lately all I find myself doing is preparing lessons, making phone calls and filling out paperwork. There’s been very little gospel-sharing going on.”

“Then why don’t you quit?”

I sighed. “I wouldn’t know what else to do and I need the money.”

“Seems to me like a God who has the power to save people from their horrible sins, has the power to put a roof over your head.” He said.

“Are you a Christian?” I asked.

“No.”

I grinned, “Because you’re talking like someone who could be.”

“I don’t think I could live up to those standards.” He said.

I drew in a breath of air. “Danny, has anyone ever told you about the gospel before?”

Almost bounding into the office I couldn’t wait to find Sam. Perhaps I hadn’t been able to get Danny into a church service, but he had come to faith in Christ. He even cried as we prayed together in a corner at Starbucks.

Sam’s office was dark.

A hand firmly grasped my shoulder, “We need to talk.” I whirled around and saw Ken standing behind me.

“Okay, when?”

“Now.”

Ken’s office was rather large. The brown leather couches would have been comfortable except Pastor Ken kept the air conditioning on almost all the time, even in winter. I sat down and crossed my arms trying to keep myself warm.

He sat across from me. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Not a clue.” I shrugged.

“I let Sam go last night.” He said.

“What?” I almost stood up. “Why?”

Ken picked up an envelope off his desk and handed it over to me, “Have you seen this before?”

I opened it up and saw the letter from the real estate company. “Yes.” Ken frowned. “Did you know that Sam came into my office and took this letter out from my personal files and showed it around the office?”

“No.” I protested. “You had left this letter in the pile of papers you put on Sam’s desk. He showed me and the church administrator, and was giving you until this week to talk to us about it before confronting you.”

“That’s not what happened.” He replied. “Sam took this letter over a month ago, spread it around the church office and to several of the small group leaders.”

“I don’t think he did that.”

“You were the last person he told.”

I shook my head. “Even so, you didn’t tell us, or the congregation about selling the land.”

“I don’t need to tell anyone about things that haven’t happened yet. The land is still ours.”

“Then why did you fire Sam?” I asked.

“Because Sam was creating dissension in the church, Dave.”

“No he wasn’t.” I defended.

He frowned. “And judging from your anger, he’s created dissension in you too.”

“Even if he did, isn’t there room for forgiveness?” I asked, almost begging.

Pastor Ken shook his head. “I can forgive Sam for his actions, but what he did was the worst thing anyone can do to a church.”

I went through the next two weeks in misery. I had to sit in church and listen to Ken lie to the congregation about Sam resigning to pursue another career. I fielded phone calls and e-mails from gossiping church members. Worst of all, I had to watch Sam and his family almost everyday as they switched from sorrow to anger like a light switch.

I didn’t go back to Starbucks for two weeks.

My first time back in the coffee shop I expected to see Danny, but didn’t. It was a full week of gulping down the dark liquid before I saw him walk in. When he saw me, he forewent the line and sat across from me.

“Sorry I haven’t been here in so long,” I apologized, “things at the office are rather horrible right now.”

He stared at me for a moment then shrugged, “I assumed you were too busy to come in.”

“I have good news, though.” I said.

“What’s that?” Danny asked.

“I’m not going to bug you to come to my church anymore.” I smiled.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t think my church is a very healthy place right now.” A sigh escaped my lips.

He slouched in the chair. “Sorry to hear that.”

“But I still think you should go to a church. As a believer in Christ ”

“I can’t go to church!” He cut me off. “I can’t go to your church. I can’t go to the church down the street. I can’t go to any church!” Danny put his head into his hands.

“What’s your problem?” I lowered my voice, but the anger still came out. “There’s nothing keeping you from going to a church service. You don’t work on Sundays, you don’t have Jewish parents. Anyone can walk into the doors of a church!”

Danny looked up at me. His dull-green eyes piercing into mine. “Not anyone can go to church. Sex offenders can’t go to church.”

The buzzing of chatter filled the room around me. People texted, cashiers took orders, and coffee machines whirred a dull hum. Looking around the room, I stood up to walk out, then sat back down, “I don’t know how to respond to that, Danny.”

He frowned. “Most people don’t,” he shook his head, “actually most people just walk out on you.”

I caught myself grinding my teeth, “I can’t say that this doesn’t change anything. My whole perspective of you has changed.”

“No doubt.” He shifted in his chair, leaning back, “So where does that leave us?”

Exhaling I looked away from him, “I suppose it means coffee here tomorrow.” I consciously forced myself to make eye-contact, “If I can’t put aside my own feelings for a coffee meeting I’d really have no business calling myself a pastor.”

I tried the best I could to quell the rumor-mill. Sam had an affair. Sam embezzled money from the church. Sam impregnated a teenager. And in my tiny sphere of influence I had no real effect on anything.

So I stopped everything. I stopped talking to Ken. I stopped trying to please everyone. I stopped answering e-mails. I even stopped meeting with Sam. I ignored everything and did the minimum amount of work that was expected of me at Orchard City Church, then went home to my apartment and spend every waking hour watching TV, and rented movies.

Danny, however, would not leave my mind. Once the initial shock and disgust had passed, I started to wonder about how a pervert could change and what sort of people helped recovering perverts.

I sat with him nearly every day at Starbucks. Sometimes we avoided his status as a sex offender. Others we went a little too far into his past crimes and time in prison than I was comfortable discussing.

Nearly one month after Danny revealed his sex-offender status to me I ventured to ask him, “How are you doing these days? I mean that year with that violent cellmate seemed to scare you straight, but how are you doing now that you’re not faced with constant abuse and only minor monitoring from your parole officer?”

“Not well.” He sipped his coffee. “I’m not abusing anyone or anything.” He gestured his hand toward me. “But I’d be lying if I said I don’t have these urges and spend hours on end thinking about my past.”

“What about therapy?” I offered.

He frowned. “When I got out I was required to do some amount of therapy, but now I can’t really afford something that’s ongoing.” He leaned forward. “And the few therapists I have tried have all said that I don’t really require therapy.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

He smirked. “I think it’s because I’m not entirely honest about my feelings, that and I‘m not actively hurting anyone, nor do I seem like a threat to people when they first meet me.”

“Well I’m sure at this point God can help you through those urges.” I offered.

“David, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but Jesus hasn’t been helping me very much with this.” He said.

I looked into my cup of coffee. How do you argue with a person’s feelings? As I watched the liquid swirl around the cup I glanced at my watch. “Hey. I really don’t have any answers for you now, but I really need to be getting into the office. Same time tomorrow?”

“Why are you still working there, Dave?” He asked.

“Because it’s what I’m called to do.” I replied.

Danny placed his coffee on the table between us and crossed his arms, “Not from what you’ve described to me. You’re miserable there, something’s going on with the leadership of the church that you don’t agree with, and your people treat you more like a cruise-ship director than a pastor.”

I cleared my throat. “You’re completely wrong, Danny. Sure there’s issues in every church, and there’s always aspects – like paperwork – that I don’t enjoy, but I do all of this to do God’s work.”

He grabbed his coffee, “Okay, okay. If you feel like you’re doing God’s work there, fine. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nodded and headed off to the office.

Once there I scrolled through my e-mail’s inbox. Pastor Dave , I need the permission forms for camp ; Pastor Dave, Tim has been swearing recently. He didn’t do this before the youth-retreat ; Dave, we’ve run out of goldfish for the Sunday morning snacks ; David, I’m writing to you because I heard that you’re still friends with Sam. The Bible says to have nothing to do with the ungodly believer and I saw you having lunch with him last month. Are you aware of what he did? He was embezzling money from the church and sleeping around .

Deleting each and every message, I neither replied nor fully read any of them. I turned to my blinking phone and picking it up to listen to the voice messages: “Pastor Dave, we need to talk about the church’s dress-code policy for baptism--” I punched the delete key. “Pastor, I know you said we could only spend four-thousand on the community pot-luck, but we’ve almost spent that and haven’t bought the meat yet--” Delete. “Pastor, I have a bit of a spiritual problem I was wondering if you could help. No where in scripture are we told to celebrate Christmas, and yet all of us do. Even worse it’s like we’re teaching our children to worship Santa Claus. And did you know that if you rearrange the letters of Santa it spells Satan?” Delete.

I returned the receiver back to the phone. “Danny’s right,” I whispered to myself, “I’m nothing more than a cruise-ship director.”

“Knock-knock.” Pastor Ken poked his head into my office. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I gestured to the seat across from my desk.

He sat. “Hey I know the church is going through a rough patch right now and I wanted to talk with you about how to help our congregation through this time.”

I sat up in the chair. “Yeah. Absolutely. I’m glad you’re addressing this, Ken, I know this must be hard for you.”

He nodded. “That’s why I’ve decided to bring in the ‘Action Athletes’ to give our church a new vision.”

“I’ve never heard of them.” I said.

“They’re great,” he flourished with his hands, “and they’ll come in for two weeks and draw in huge crowds, and make our congregation even tighter as they work on the daily programs these guys put on.”

I still didn’t know who these people were or what they were all about. “That’s great, Ken.”

“Isn’t it, though?” He stated. “And I’m going to put you in charge of overseeing this whole program – the t-shirt sales, the materials gathering, the volunteer recruitment, the transportation for the athletes, the advertisement, and the stage crew.”

I thought about shaking my head and declining the offer, but I just sat there. I opened my mouth to object, but instead of speaking the words I wanted to, I heard myself asking, “When is this going to happen?”

“Two months.” He stood up and walked to the doorframe. “I know you’re going to do great.” He walked out and spoke to either me or himself as he walked away, “This is exactly what our church needs to heal right now.”

“It’s impossible, Danny! Just impossible what he wants me to do. I mean, where am I even going to buy forty-two curling stones? What are they going to do with forty-two curling stones?” I think I raised my voice a little too loudly for the Starbuck’s patrons judging from the dirty stares I was receiving as I ranted to Danny.

“And what’s the purpose of this again?” He asked.

I smirked. “Oh, he says it’s to reach out to the community, but it’s really just his way of keeping the congregation so busy that they forget about Sam.”

He shook his head. “And how much is this costing?”

“Thirty-five thousand dollars.”

“That’s more than I make in a year.” Danny said.

I glanced away, “Yeah, it’s almost what I make.”

“So what are you going to do?” He asked.

“What do you mean? I’m going to suck it up, work a hundred hours a week for the next two months and get the job done. What other option do I have?” I asked.

“You could quit.” Danny offered.

“No I can’t. I need a job.” I said.

“Come work at the warehouse. They’re always hiring.”

Again, I shook my head. “I’m not knocking what you do, but I’m called to ministry.”

He snorted. “It doesn’t sound like you’re doing all that much ministry at that church these days.”

“Then maybe I need to find a new church to serve in.” I said.

Danny leaned forward. “You mean another church that I can’t attend?”

“Look,” I leaned forward to meet him, “I’m sorry for your situation, but other than having coffee with you almost every day, I don’t know what I else I could do.”

“There’s people that work at the warehouse.” He said.

I open my eyes wide, “Yeah. I figured that.”

“There’s people there a lot like me,” he looked down, “With pasts. They don’t go to church, they aren’t welcomed anywhere and that’s why they work the night-shift. You could come and work alongside us.” He brought his head back up.

“And what?” I asked. “Hold a church service in the middle of work? Evangelize the guys while riding around on a forklift? What could I possibly do there that could make a difference?”

Danny leaned back in his chair and I saw him glance at the wall-clock. He picked at the cup with his fingernail before looking back at me, “You could sit and have a cup of coffee.” He pushed his chair back, grabbed his coffee cup and walked out.

I quit my job.

Danny got me a job working nights at the warehouse. He and I grew closer, sipping day-old coffee from Styrofoam cups in the break room. And as the weeks and months passed I began to meet, befriend, and minister to ex-cons, former drug-addicts, deadbeat dads, rapists, drunkards and lonely, lonely people.

As I became acquainted with my co-workers I started a small Bible study in my apartment. Then, as we grew larger, we rented out an American Legion Hall for a hundred bucks every Saturday night.

Danny came up with the idea of sending invitations to local sex-offenders.

“We have to be registered online anyways.” He informed me. “And it’s illegal to harass them, but we’re just sending them an invitation to an adults-only church.”

“I’d imagine sex-offenders get very few invitations.” I offered.

So we grew, to about forty adults. Small, poor, and completely volunteer-based. The only thing beyond our meager rent that we could afford was the coffee machine and Styrofoam cups left in a corner at our Saturday meetings.

And it was interesting. I discovered that I had grown accustomed to the taste of coffee. This coffee wasn’t pretentious with cream, froth, flavors and syrups, though. It didn’t come in attractive containers, served by attractive people in an attractive shop. It was raw, self-served, and always too bitter, or too sweet.

A native New Yorker, Nathan James Norman now resides in Southern California with his wife Kristin and shy cat Daisy. He serves as a youth pastor and attends seminary at Biola University. Nathan is the author of the science fiction novel Untold as well as the free audio-drama series Untold: Alliances. (www.nathanjamesnorman.com)

…I was naked and you clothed me…

Turn the World Right-Side Up

by Justin Lowmaster

Stan walked along the beach. Up ahead he saw a rock. It appeared to have little stumps that waved in the air. Looking closer, the rock was a turtle on its back. He stared at it for a while, then flipped the turtle over. The turtle oriented itself, then faced Stan.

“Thank you! I will grant you one wish you turning me over.”

Stan thought a moment.

“I wish you were lying on your back again.”

In a puff, the turtle was.

Stan righted the turtle again. “I’ve saved you twice, so I get two wishes.”

“Doesn’t work like that.”

Justin Lowmaster enjoys science fiction, horror, and steampunk. His hobbies include gaming of all kinds and thinking up horrible puns.

Tide Haven

by Kelsey Felder

“Thanks for helping me carry all this stuff back to my place, Galik. I don’t think I could have managed to carry all of this in one trip.” Aadi said while adjusting her grip on the two stacked boxes overflowing with groceries.

The two of them stepped around a group of gossiping wives standing in front of a bakery, and Galik overheard a snatch of conversation about slavers sighted in the area last night. “What kind of an older brother would I be if I said no?” He made sure that his own armload of bags and wrapped packages stayed safely in their precarious positions. “However, next time you get to carry most of the merchandise.”

“Then maybe next time you shouldn’t offer to help.” Aadi teased.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice. I was dragged into shopping as soon as you got your share of the bounty from escorting those cargo ships. I was lucky to have gotten my share earlier, or the captain might have never given it to me.”

Aadi quickened her pace down the crowded street out of both excitement and the necessity of relieving her arms of their burden. “Sorry about that. This is the first time any assignment has taken me away from Tide Haven for so long and I really missed the kids. Not to mention my own bed. But before I see them I wanted to pick up some treats and stuff for dinner.” She smiled winningly at her brother. “I knew there would be a lot to carry and you were just standing there, so…”

“No, that’s fine. What else are brothers for than to be used as pack mules?” Galik mentally checked their shopping spree inventory. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you afford all of this? And when did you decide to start taking street children under your care?”

She shrugged, “I learned how to shop for a lot of people with a limited amount of money.” Their conversation cut short as they stopped at an intersection where four horse drawn wagons loaded with boxes large enough to carry a person cantered towards the harbor. Townspeople caught in the middle of road scrambled out of the way. Over the clattering of hooves and wagon wheels on the cobble stone street, Aadi heard several shouts of anger and annoyance directed at the drivers.

Galik glared at the retreating wagons. “Watch it!”

“I guess they have some place to be.” Aadi said quietly, confused as to why she felt uneasy at the sight. “Let’s get going.”

Ignoring her gut feeling, Aadi continued, “Anyway, I guess it may have been a month after I first arrived at Tide Haven. After seeing all the kids there were who couldn’t get a single decent meal in a week, I wanted to help. So I started out small and now there are about twenty that come four times a week for a meal.”

“I would have never imagined you as a mother to so many children when you left home. And you are not even married. What would mother and father say?” Galik joked.

Aadi rolled her eyes. “It’s had to have been one of the best decisions I’ve made.” She nodded hello to the owner of the butcher shop. “They’re great kids. A handful sometimes, but I love them all to death. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

“I am sure it will be interesting.” A passerby bumped into Galik, nearly causing him to drop everything. “Hey!”

Aadi stopped to make sure he was alright. “Sorry about all the stuff. Since I would be gone for three months ‘on loan’ to the Swift Equinox and Captain Aldris until the Trade Protection Company sorted out my new contract, I promised them a feast when I returned.”

“You eat clothing and children’s games?” Galik rebalanced the packages at the top of the stack in his arms.

“I picked up some new games to play together. On top of that, I have a stock of extra clothing that I hand out when someone needs it and I wanted to be sure I wasn’t low on anything.”

Galik couldn’t help but smile at his sister. “Wow. I wish that our parents had spoiled us like this each time they had to go away on business.”

Aadi laughed ruefully as she continued walking. “We didn’t have to live on the streets. By all rights you and I were spoiled enough as it was.”

They arrived at Aadi’s house in a neighborhood on the outer limits of the port town. Like most of the other houses, it wasn’t very large, but it was neat and well kept.

From its size Galik guessed that it had only one bedroom. “It looks like you weren’t joking when you said I might have more space to myself in a room at one of the inns.”

Aadi set her boxes down and fished for the keys in her bag. “If you think just the two of us might feel cramped, you should try just five minutes with twenty children crammed in here. Ha, found them!” She triumphantly pulled out her keys and unlocked the door.

After opening the door, she picked up her share of the shopping and walked into the dark house. “Right now I’m saving up to get a bigger place so space won’t be a problem when I have every one over.” She set her load down on the table and Galik followed suit.

“I think you killed my arms.” Galik groaned as he pulled out a chair and sat down heavily.

Aadi raised an eyebrow as she stretched her own arms out. “I haven’t heard you complain this much since we were kids. Besides, if you include the walking around the market it might have only been about two miles.”

She stepped over to the window, drawing back the curtains to let the late evening sunlight brighten the dark interior. Lighting one of the house lamps she said, “Could you begin dinner while I do some cleaning?” She walked out the back door to fill a bucket with water from the pump in the backyard.

Galik stood up with a sigh and began to sort the food from the clothing and games. “Wait. Seeing as how you feed these children shouldn’t a few of them be here to help you prepare dinner?”

“I was wondering the same thing.” Aadi said as she cleaned three months of dust from the shelves with a wet rag. “It’s odd because I should have talked to all of them within an hour of coming ashore. I didn’t see any of them. Did you?”

Galik shook his head. “I saw plenty of children but they were mostly with parents. None of them looked homeless. Maybe they forgot that you transferred to the Equinox.”

Tossing her cleaning rag on the counter Aadi headed for the door to have another look. Outside the street was empty except for a stray cat darting after a rat. Across the street, a neighbor was returning home.

“Hey, Mrs. Tabitha. Have you seen any of the kids lately?” Aadi said with growing concern.

The older lady waved hello. “Oh, Aadi Riel, welcome home. You should come over tomorrow and you can tell me all about your adventures while we bake cookies.”

Aadi made a quick mental count to ten to keep from becoming impatient with the lady who had always been nothing but kind to her. “Thank you for the offer, I’ll be sure to take you up on that. Now, about those children, the ones that come over to my place to eat a few times a week.”

“Well, I believe that two of them, Cooper and Iris stopped by yesterday afternoon to check on the house. I asked him how everyone was doing, and he said fine and that they couldn’t wait for you to get back.”

“Thank you very much Mrs. Tabitha.” Aadi said with a wave goodbye. “Have a good rest of the day.”

She went back inside and closed the door. Galik watched as she crossed her arms and bit her bottom lip. “Stop that.”

“Hm?” she looked up from the spot in the corner she had been staring at.

Galik set the vegetables they had purchased earlier on the cutting board. “She said that she saw Iris and Cooper, two of the older children, yesterday. I’m sure they are just out playing or something and they will come around when they get hungry. ”

He handed her a bucket which she took reluctantly. “Now stop worrying like an old hen and get some water that you haven’t used to clean with yet.”

“You’re right. Wait!” She tossed the bucket back at him. “Since when do you get to tell me what to do in my house?”

“Since all you seem to want to do is mope and worry. If I don’t tell you what to do how will anything get done?” Dodging the punch she threw at him, he laughed and said, “Going to have to work on your punches there, little sister.”

Aadi yanked the bucket from his hands. “Stop talking before I kick you out and you’ll have to eat at one of the taverns.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

He shook his head. “Those children have been a bad influence on you.” While Aadi filled the bucket, Galik found the kitchen knives and began chopping carrots into chunks. “I still can’t believe you have worked for the Company for four years and couldn’t use a cutlass before sailing on the Swift Equinox.” He said when she walked back in with water in one hand and kindling and fire wood under her other arm.

Aadi put the bucket on the table and set about lighting a fire in the fireplace. “Like I said before, I’m used to working with numbers, money, and merchants looking to hire the Company. Crossing blades with pirates wasn’t exactly a weekly occurrence, which is something they forgot to mention when they handed me my last minute assignment to be your ship’s quartermaster.”

Galik scraped aside the last of the carrots before pouring the water into a large pot. “So you didn’t enjoy your time at sea?”

“I loved sailing, but I could do without the fighting.” Aadi shook her head when she spotted the huge chunks of carrot and picked up the knife. “You do know we’re feeding children and not horses, right? Just, go start the biscuits or something.”

Galik threw his hands in the air. “As you wish.”

Two hours later they had finished preparing dinner and were sitting at the table, unwinding.

“Alright. I don’t like this.” Aadi said as she set down her full cup of tea hard enough to slosh the hot liquid onto the table. “I know it’s been sometime since I’ve been back but it’s not like they would forget, or disappear.”

Galik closed his eyes briefly and held back a sigh, knowing that it would only put her on edge. Instead he inched his way to where dinner was set up on the counter.

Aadi wiped the spill up with a rag. “I wouldn’t be worrying so much, but…” she hesitated, not sure if her brother was becoming annoyed at her obsessing. “I don’t know. You remember earlier today when those wagons passed us?”

“Almost ran us over, you mean.” He snatched a biscuit when she turned her back.

She closed the curtains on the darkness outside. Aadi sat back down at the table.

Galik chewed on a mouthful of biscuit, trying to think of an answer. “We could take a look around. Where do you keep your lanterns?” He picked up his coat from the back of the chair.

Before Aadi could get up to find a lantern they heard the door knob on the front door click open. A small, black haired boy stood framed in the doorway.

The boy was soaking wet and his arms and legs were covered in scrapes and cuts. He looked ready to drop from exhaustion. He closed his eyes.

“Fuller!” Aadi jumped up. She retrieved a towel from a cabinet in her bedroom. “You’re soaked, and scratched up! What happened?” Without giving him a chance to answer she set about scrubbing his wet hair dry.

The boy had to wait for a lull in Aadi’s toweled assault on his head to answer. “Kind of a long story, but it involves a lot of swimming and there is a huge pro-.”

The rest was cut off when Aadi threw the towel back over his head for a last few good rubs. Satisfied, she hung the now damp cloth over the back of a chair. “I’ll get you dry clothes and then we’ll take care of those cuts.” She said before going to search though the same cabinet that she had taken the towel from.

Galik laughed at the end result. The boy’s short hair was considerably less wet but it now stuck out wildly.

Glaring at him, Fuller tried to flatten his hair back down with his hands. “Who are you?”

“Aadi’s older brother. My name is Galik.” He said.

Fuller gave up on fixing his hair when he noticed the food spread out on the counter. “So we finally meet. We’ve heard stories about you.” He stared at the food.

“Really? I’ll have to tell you all a few stories about Aadi to return her the favor.” Galik held another pilfered biscuit out to the boy. “Hungry?”

Fuller snatched the offered food and swallowed it down in four bites.

Aadi returned with a dry change of clothes for Fuller. “Here you go. You can change in my room. By the way, where’s the rest of the posse?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you!” Fuller shouted as he threw his hands in the air. “This morning these men came and told everyone that they had some food for all the street kids and we just had to follow them to get it because it wasn’t with them.”

“Don’t tell me you followed them.” Aadi leaned against the counter and covered her face with her hands.

Fuller studied the scrapes on his hand. “Some of the older kids said not to go but most of us were hungry ‘cause it had been a few days since we had really eaten last. I wasn’t sure about it, but then everyone else went.”

“So if everyone jumped off a ... never mind,” Aadi waved him on in exasperation.

The boy looked between the two adults and told them about the kidnapping as fast as he could, to prevent Aadi from accidentally interrupting again. “Most of us followed the men, except for some of the older kids, but then they decided to follow us to make sure we were safe. When we got outside of town, the men turned out to be slavers, but it was too late; they marched us to the cliffs where they were keeping other kids and we all had to sit and shut up or they were going to beat us. They started to put us in boxes so they could sneak everyone back through Tide Haven to their ship.”

After pausing to suck in a huge breath Fuller continued. “But before they got to me, Cooper practically shoves me off the cliff an says to try an get away and find you to help us. One of the men saw me climbing and tried to catch me, but I slipped and fell in the sea.”

Both Riel siblings were silent for a moment.

Galik finally spoke, “Slavers...”

Fuller nodded.

Galik glanced at Aadi. “Those wagons that nearly ran us over earlier…” Her voice shaking with anger, Aadi handed Fuller the dry set of clothes she had retrieved earlier. “Why don’t you change in my room now? I’ll take care of your cuts after that.” With shoulders slumped and dragging feet he took the clothes and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Aadi slammed her hands on the kitchen counter, rattling dishes. “I can’t believe people actually go around making slaves out of children. They’re only children! What kind of low life-“ She stopped herself abruptly with a glance at the bedroom. Instead she furiously paced the room, muttering darkly under her breath.

Galik grabbed his sister’s shoulders, forcing her to halt. “It’s sickening I know, but calm down and breathe. If you keep your head, it will be easier figure out what to do.”

She took a deep breath. Picking up her cup of tea she sipped the now tepid liquid until she felt calm enough to think clearly again.

After a few minutes, Fuller walked out of the bedroom. Retrieving clean water and bandages, Aadi sat him in a chair and began cleaning scrapes and bandaging larger cuts.

Handing a fork and a small plate of food to Fuller, Galik began asking questions. “How long ago was this? Do you have any idea where they are taking the rest of you?”

He shrugged and shoveled a few mouthfuls of food down before answering. “I don’t know how long. Hours? Swimming felt like days.” Yawning, he crossed his arms and rested his head on them. “But the slavers said something about Viridis.” His eyes closed, leaving the dinner unfinished.

Galik unpinned a sea chart of the Northern Trade Isles from the wall and spread it on the table, carefully avoiding Fuller. “Viridis is here, to the south.” Pointing to the tiny inked island he traced a route back to Lantern Island. “I have never been near it but I hear there isn’t much there.”

“Hold on.” Aadi picked Fuller up and took him to her room.

“Aadi, can you get them back? Wish I hadn’t left them alone.” Fuller muttered as Aadi wrapped him in the sheets.

“Don’t worry, Fuller, it’s not your fault.” Aadi tucked him in and blew out the lamp. “I’ll bring them back.” She kissed his cheek before leaving the room.

Galik stopped her as she headed for the front door. “You have to know that is a hard promise to keep. You don’t even have a way to get off the island.”

Aadi brushed past her older brother and grabbed her coat from a hook by the door. “These children have no one else to look out for them.”

She closed the door, leaving the street once again in darkness. She quickly walked the deserted streets to the harbor. Over head clouds lazily blew across the full moon, playing with the shadows of the town.

Half way to her destination she heard running footsteps approaching from behind. She turned around. “I’m serious, Galik.”

“I’m not here to bring you back.” Galik said as he caught up with her. “I would have caught up to you sooner but I had to ask your neighbor, Mrs. Tabitha, to watch the house and Fuller.”

While her brother was still talking, Aadi continued on her way to the harbor. “Thank you.” Galik matched paces with his sister. “You’re welcome. How do you plan on getting of the island?”

“I can’t say I’m sure about that. I thought I would ask Captain Aldris for help.” She turned a corner and caught sight of dark ships moored to the docks at the end of the street.

Her answer stopped Galik in mid-stride. “Aadi, you’re crazy to think he would want to help.” He ran to catch back up with her.

Aadi shot him a look of disbelief. “I realize he’s not the best of people, but he can’t be that bad. His whole livelihood depends on helping people.”

Galik chuckled without humor. “I know you’ve been employed in the fleet for several years, but I’ve served under him on the Swift Equinox for longer than the three months you have. That man has to be one of the greediest captains ever to sail the trade routes. He’s not going to go for it.”

“We’ll see.” She said as they walked into the open harbor area.

Aadi stopped to scan the dark shop fronts and the bright windows of the many taverns and inns that were still open. Locating one of the better taverns that she knew to be a favorite among her fellow crewmembers she dragged Galik after her.

“You are absolutely crazy.” He muttered as they neared the door.

Aadi didn’t stop. “I don’t exactly know anyone else who owns a ship.” Once inside, it didn’t take her long to pick Captain Aldris out of the crowd of sailors and townsfolk.

Galik watched in disbelief as Aadi walked up to Captain Aldris; he was sitting at a table with three men, merchants who looked like they were trying to strike a deal with the captain.

“Excuse me, Captain. May I have a word with you?” She nervously clasped her hand behind her back.

He turned to them with drink still to his lips and held up his hand. Finishing the last drop, he set the mug back down. “Riel, can’t you see I am in the middle of negotiating? Come back later.” He waved her off and turned back to the others.

Aadi stood in her spot, glaring at her brother for help.

One of the merchants, an older man with graying hair, whose girth could be explained by the small stacks of plates on his side of the table, spoke instead. “Go ahead, Miss. We haven’t reached a deal yet, but I need to take a break from all this business talk.”

The other merchants at the table looked unhappy at this but nodded their consent to putting the talk on hold.

“Alright, Riel.” Aldris turned around in his chair with a sigh.

Aadi sucked in a deep breath to steady herself, “Captain. Less than an hour ago I was told that nearly twenty street kids in Tide Haven had been kidnapped by slavers. They were heading to Viridis Island. It isn’t more than five hours away and the ship wouldn’t be gone for more than twenty four hours.”

Galik stepped up beside his sister, “We wanted the use of the Swift Equinox for a short time, just to sail to Viridis and back to check things out. It’s the fastest ship in the trade routes.”

Aadi held her breath as Aldris looked back and forth between the two of them.

The captain burst into laughter. “The two of you cannot be serious.” He managed to say. “Though I might consider it if you had any money to contract my ship and crew out.”

Most of the people in the tavern glanced up at the outburst. A few of the Equinox’s crew members stood up.

Aadi felt her skin burn as her face turned red. “I’m sorry. I don’t have enough money to pay for that. They’re not bad kids. Please, something has to be done.”

Aldris lowered his voice and looked Galik in the eyes. “You’ve been part of my crew for a few years now. Do truly expect me to waste my time and a profitable business venture going after a bunch of street filth?

Aadi stiffened, and Galik gave her hand a warning squeeze.

The captain continued, still ignoring the younger Riel. “And for nothing? Forget about them. The town is better off without those thieving things under foot.”

“Excuse me,” Aadi moved front of her brother, eyes narrowed in anger. “Did you really just call my children ‘filth’ and ‘things’?”

By now a lull had formed as the impending argument caught the attention of sailors and townsfolk across the room.

An amused smirk pulled at the corner of Alrdis’ lips. “Why yes I did. And do you know what else? I glad those ‘things’ are gone. Now I won’t have to be pestered by them, always asking for something or stealing from me. Someone should have thought of it sooner. On top of that you’re a foolish woman for ever wasting time and money on them.”

“Sir.” Galik tried to move Aadi out of the way, but her hand flew of its own accord, slapping the captain sharply across the face and leaving a harsh red mark on his cheek.

Glancing around the nearly silent room, Aadi spoke in a cold but level voice. “You are the greediest, most self-centered, contemptible person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. I pity any soul who thinks they can count on you in troubled times.

“Don’t you ever address those children in that way or call me, or anyone else, foolish for showing compassion.” She placed her shaking hands on her hips. “At least people like me have a heart.”

Aldris stood up and shouted, pointing at Aadi. “You! Get out of my sight! Step foot on my ship again and I’ll have you thrown overboard faster than you can blink! And you,” he turned on Galik. “Get her out of here before I decide you are no longer part of my crew as well.”

“Aadi, come now.” Galik pulled her towards the door by her arm.

Walking over to the low wall surrounding the harbor, they watched the moonlight illuminate the ships and play on the water.

“Well, I don’t see how that could have gone any better.” Aadi chuckled softly in an attempt to hide her sniffling. She swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat.

Galik pulled his sister into a hug. “Aadi. Listen. It didn’t work out, but you tried. You live in Tide Haven. I’m sure you will be able to find someone with a ship that is at least heading in that direction soon. Maybe even tomorrow.”

“By tomorrow it will be too late. I just don’t know what to do.”Aadi allowed herself to relax into her brother’s embrace, while tears of frustration spilled down her cheeks.

They stood in silence, exhaustion from the day creeping upon her.

“Better?” Galik said as she pulled away.

Aadi shook her head and shrugged. “Not really. But thank you for asking with me. I just hope all of the kids are safe.” She rubbed her temples and sat on the wall facing the water. “I wonder if he’ll try and make it so I won’t be able to rejoin the crew of my old ship.”

Finding a place to sit on the wall Galik tried to hold back a snicker. “I can’t believe you did that. Do you have any idea how fortunate you are that your contract with Aldris ended the second you stepped foot in Tide Haven? He could have done a lot worse than ban you from his ship.”

“Personally, Miss, I was very impressed. Not many have the courage to stand up to Aldris.” A voice from behind made them both jump.

Turning around to face the new comer Aadi and Galik saw that it was the same merchant who had given Aadi permission to interrupt the business negotiations with Aldris.

Aadi hesitated before answering with a small curtsy. “Um, thank you. And I’m sorry to have interrupted you for nothing.” She sighed.

Galik protectively stood next to her. “Can we help you with anything, sir?”

“My apologies. My name is Redlef, John Redlef.” The merchant offered his hand.

Galik shook his hand. “As I am sure you figured out I am Galik Riel and this is my sister Aadi.”

Offering a bow to Aadi, Redlef continued. “Yes. Well, I am glad I found you Miss Aadi. I would like to help.”

Hope fluttered inside Aadi. “Really? But I don’t know you. Why would you offer to help?”

“You mentioned that you were watching over the street children and it reminded me of my mother.” Aadi raised an eyebrow, unsure if reminding someone of their mother was a compliment.

Noticing her confusion Redlef explained. “She too used to always give to those who were less fortunate, always so compassionate. My mother had a habit of standing up for those who could not do so for themselves, like what you did back in the tavern. She would be highly upset if I didn’t do everything within my power to help.” The merchant laughed softly to himself.

“But, I didn’t come here to ramble on about the past. Time is important and like I said, I insist on providing assistance.” The merchant turned and walked further down the harbor. “Follow me, if you would.”

Aadi had to keep herself from asking Redlef to hurry as they followed him in the darkness across the harbor to a sloop with a well lit deck moored to one of the docks. Bethany could barely be discerned by moonlight. From the dock, voices could be heard giving the commands of preparation to cast off.

As he ascended the gangplank, Redlef beckoned them to follow. “Here we are. As you can see, I sent the crew out here to get her ready while I found you.” He said as they reached the busy deck.

Redlef scanned the crew milling around the deck. “Now to locate the captain and then I will explain exactly what is happening. Perhaps I should ask a deck hand.”

Before he could do so a woman, who was taller than both of them and wearing a dark red coat and a black hat, briskly strode over to where they were standing. “Mr. Redlef! I assume you found them.”

“Ah, Captain Meer. There you are.” Smiling, the merchant stepped aside to reveal the brother and sister. “Yes I did. Katen Meer this is Aadi and Galik Riel. Aadi and Galik, Captain Meer.”

Meer shook both their hands. “Well from the little I pieced together overhearing your run in with Aldris, it sounds like we needed to have been underway two hours ago. That was a bold move on your part.” She said to Aadi.

Without another word she took off in the direction of her cabin.

Leading the way to the same destination, Redlef spoke over his shoulder with the confidence of familiarity. “Don’t let Katen intimidate you.”

Once inside the cabin, the captain seated herself behind a large desk littered with books and paper. Redlef, Aadi, and Galik took seats across from her.

Aadi admired the map of the Northern Trade Isles ornately painted on the top of the desk.

Captain Meer leaned forward on her desk. “So Mr. Redlef, You have orders for me?”

“Indeed.” He turned in his chair until he faced the siblings. “I am allowing you the use of my ship to go after those children. However, my associates and I will be embarking from this port in three days so you cannot go sailing all over. I would greatly appreciate it if my ship is moored back at this dock in twenty four hours.”

Both of the Riels nodded. “Of course, sir.”

“One other stipulation. I want my crew and ship back in one piece this time. No close calls.” This Redlef directed at Captain Meer.

Meer nodded soberly. “As always, sir.”

Redlef looked doubtful. “I’ll be holding you to that, captain. Now, do we have a deal? I must get back to the tavern to finish my business there.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Aadi jumped up and shook his hand. “Yes! Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Redlef paused with his hand on the door. “No, no. I believe this shall count as my ‘good deed’ for the next few months. Good luck.” He walked out onto the busy deck.

Before the cabin door had even had a chance to shut completely the captain turned her attention to the Aadi and Galik. “Right then, down to business. We’re following some slavers who are going around kidnapping children off the street, correct?”

Galik slouched further in his chair, trying to get comfortable as the need for sleep began to take over. “Yes. We were told they are heading to Viridis.”

“Viridis. I’ve sailed past that island a few times.” Katen crossed the cabin to a locker and pulled out several folded sea charts of varying sizes and looked though them.

Failing to fight back a yawn, Aadi looked over to catch her brother leaning his elbow on the chair’s armrest with his head propped on his hand, eyes closed. She nudged him awake as the captain shut the locker and returned with two charts.

Unfolding the larger of the two, Meer nodded at the mess of books and paper on the desk. “Get those off. Just set them on the floor. Hurry up.”

The two of them scrambled to do as she said before the chart was flattened on the desk top.

Without sitting down the captain pulled a divider from a drawer and measured distance, muttering to herself about wind direction and nautical miles.

Aadi watched blankly,her thoughts once again straying to the children.

Meer dropped the instrument she had been using in its rightful drawer. “Right then. My crew and I will take it from here.” She looked over to catch Aadi covering another huge yawn with her hand. “I’ll have someone take you to the forecastle to get some shut eye.”

Galik blinked in disbelief and glanced between his sister and the captain. “That’s all? Shouldn’t we come up with some kind of plan…you don’t want us to help with anything?”

Ushering the two of them out of her cabin, the captain called a ship’s boy before answering their question. “And risk having one of you drop from the rigging and break your neck because you couldn’t keep your eyes open? No thank you.”

“Captain?” The summoned cabin boy stood at attention.

Sidestepping several deck hands, the captain said, “Samuel, take these two below and find a couple of empty hammocks for them to sleep in. I’m off to locate the sailing master.”

“Aye, Captain.” He turned quickly on his heel and set off across the deck.

“Don’t worry,” Meer called after them, “I’ll have someone wake you in a few hours so we can come up with a plan of attack.”

“Do you think she really means ‘attack’?” Aadi whispered to her brother as they dodged a pair of deck hands.

Galik shrugged.

For the second time that night, Aadi and Galik found themselves following a stranger. This time they had to dodge their way through a scrambling crew.

After half a dozen “excuse me’s” the trio found their way below deck where Samuel showed them to the crew’s quarters.

“I believe this one and the one above aren’t being used.” He said, pointing to the hammocks next to him.

“Thank you.” Aadi said around another yawn and sat on the lower hammock to untie her boots.

Samuel nodded and left to rejoin the rest of the crew.

After pulling off his boots, Galik climbed into the top hammock. “And to think, this morning I got up and assumed it would be like every other day.”

“Hm.” Aadi slipped her feet out and lay back, using her coat for a blanket. Before worry had the chance to set in, she was pulled into dreamless sleep.

The next thing Aadi knew was Samuel’s whispering voice scattering her sleep as he shook her shoulder. “Wake up, the captain wants the both of you.”

He said the same to Galik while Aadi jumped out of her hammock and yanked her coat back on. Galik was less willing to leave sleep behind.

The sleeping forms of most of the Bethany’s crew could be made out in the dim light, causing brother and sister to be as quiet as possible while lacing up boots. Following their escort above deck, a stiff breeze greeted them.

When they got closer to the captain’s cabin, Galik stopped and tried to stretch the sleep from his body. “How far away from the island are we?”

“The captain estimates less than an hour.” Samuel waited until Galik finished stretching before reaching out to knock on the cabin door.

Tapping his knuckles on the wooden door, the cabin boy only had time to knock once before Meer flung it open, blinding them with the sudden light.

She motioned everyone into the lit cabin. “I have been waiting for you. Take a seat. Samuel, you can stay but keep out of my way.”

The books and papers lay on the floor where the Riels had dropped them, untouched except for the rolling of the ship that had spread them out even farther. The previously laid out sea chart had been exchanged for a smaller, detailed island map with Viridis inked in bold letters across the top.

The captain paced behind her desk with her hands clasped behind her back. “With less than an hour before we reach Viridis, I took the liberty of forming our plan.”

“What a surprise.” Aadi whispered to Galik.

He tried to silence her with a disapproving glare but had to cover a snicker with a cough.

Unaware of the exchange, Meer handed the map to Galik and began to explain. “As you can see, the island is elliptical in shape from east to west and not more than two miles long and a mile wide.”

They nodded as they studied the small island.

The captain took a seat behind her desk. “The beaches look to be mostly sand and rock with the center of the island mostly trees and bushes. Even assuming they are trying to hide, our search won’t be difficult.”

Galik let Aadi and Samuel have the map. “Assuming they’re even on Viridis.”

Meer looked irked that Galik had interrupted her. “Correct. Now, we are going to put what remains of the night’s cover to use. Map.” Aadi handed the paper back as if it was on fire.

Meer smoothed the map on the desk top as she revealed her plans. “As the Bethany sails east of the island, we will take sixteen crew, including us, in three of our jolly boats and row out. Once we have landed on the beach we will split up and cross the island from east to west, walking the north and south shores and the center.”

“What’s going to happen when we find the children?” Aadi couldn’t help asking.

Sighing, the captain looked towards the cabin ceiling as if trying to find patience with the sister and brother in the wooden beams. “If the slavers we’re after are there, I want to be off Viridis and rowing out to meet the ship, which by now has sailed out and turned back around to meet us, by the time the sun breaks the horizon. We grab what children we can and that’s it.”

Captain Meer looked pointedly at Aadi. “Understand?”

Aadi wanted to push that point but she knew the captain was trying to look out for her own crew. “Of course, ma’am.”

The captain folded the map in fourths and set it aside on the desk. “Wonderful. Samuel, tell the cook to bring breakfast for myself and the Riels. I shall return after I inform the crew.” Captain Meer exited, followed by Samuel who had to jog to keep up.

Aadi and Galik did not have to wait long before the cook, a sleepy looking older woman, burst in the cabin, grumbling and carrying three plates of hardtack and fruit.

“The next time the captain wants her breakfast this early in the morning… here.” Without ceremony, the cook set the plates and silverware she had been carrying in her pocket on the desk and left.

Pulling his chair up to the desk, Galik hurriedly picked up a piece of hardtack and bit into it.

“I’ve never seen you so eager to down a ship’s biscuit.” Aadi said as she switched the grapes on her plate for her brother’s orange.

Galik took a moment to swallow the dry biscuit. “Only because I can bet you my next pay that Captain Meer will come flying in here within the next minute and say-“

“You two, time to move.” Meer said from the now wide open doorway. “I have some extra weapons stored by the window. Make sure you’re prepared.”

Aadi shook her head while shoving the orange and hardtack in her pockets for later.

Searching through the weapons Aadi loaded a brace of pistols and took a cutlass while her brother chose a cutlass of his own and a boarding ax.

Galik ate his small breakfast as they joined the captain and her handpicked group of crew members by the jolly boats hanging from the davits at the stern. Several lanterns, combined with the moonlight, provided enough light to keep everyone from running into each other.

Off the starboard bow Aadi could make out the faintly illuminated silhouette of the island they were after slowly float towards the Bethany.

The captain watched the crew as they prepared to lower the boats. “Aadi and Galik, you will be with Noah, Janna, and myself.”

Everyone climbed into the boats and after receiving the signal from the sailing master, they lowered themselves into the water and set out over the dark water for Viridis.

The women settled into the bow as Galik and Noah pulled on the oars. Captain Meer settled against the side of the boat and closed her eyes.

Aadi momentarily trailed her fingers through the cool salt water. “Thank you for helping me get these children back.”

Janna finished counting her knives before answering Aadi in a low voice to avoid disturbing the captain. “Well, we get paid extra and a chance to do something other than haul cargo from one port to another. You won’t hear me complain.”

Noah finished a stroke. “You won’t hear many complain about extra money in their pocket.”

Aadi smiled. “Glad we could help each other then.”

“So, why are these street kids so important to the two of you?” Janna asked both siblings.

Aadi watched the island slide closer. “I started watching out for and doing what I could for them a few years ago. Over time, they became like my own children.”

Completing another stroke Galik added, “And I couldn’t just sit back when there was something that I could do to help. Though as her brother I suppose I am mandated to watch out for my crazy younger sister when she pulls these kinds of stunts. Ow! I was joking!”

Janna tried to laugh as quietly as possible as Galik failed to dodge Aadi swinging the bucket they used for bailing water at his head.

The next minutes passed in silence until they were close to the shore and Janna woke the captain.

Meer scanned the beach and directed the three boats to head for the silhouette of a large sea weathered rock sticking straight out of the sand.

As Galik and Noah ran the bow of the boat onto the sand, Aadi and Janna jumped out with the anchor and its line in tow. The two found a good spot up the beach to bury the anchor while the men secured the stern. Once all boats had been anchored to the beach the crew gathered around the captain on the side of the rock facing the sea.

Meer kneeled next to the map of Viridis she had laid out on the sand with a lit lantern providing illumination on all four sides. “The first task is simple. We have to discover if the slavers we are after are even here. This island is roughly two miles long and one wide so we will be dividing into four groups.”

She singled the crew standing on her right. “You six will stay with the boats. Galik, you will be with myself and Geo taking the center. Aadi, go with Janna and Noah along the north side. The last three will take the south. Head from east to west. Time is limited. Meet on the west side of the islands in an hour.”

The captain picked up the map and shook it off. “If anything is found bring the information to the meeting point with you. Do not try to take them on your own.”

Captain Meer left the lanterns with the group staying with the boats and took up the lead. “Dismissed.” Wordlessly the three groups set off to search the island in the dark.

Leading the way for her trio, Aadi was hopeful as they moved up the beach at a fast walk, away from the sand, until they reached clusters of bushes, large leaved bushes no taller than her shoulder that marked the beginning of firm ground and the vegetation that choked the island. The beach continued to run off to the right and a line of tall, thin trunked trees inhabiting the center of Viridis ran the length of the island to their right.

She stopped to take in her surroundings. “I think it would be best if we walked through the bushes and spread out, travelling parallel to each other so we can cover more ground. How does that sound?”

“I agree.” Noah said as he snapped off a particularly tall leaf that had gotten in his face. “About thirty paces from each other. I’ll take the closest in-land, you can stay in the middle, and Janna, you can take the sand’s borderline.”

They traversed their assigned side of the island until their time limit had nearly run out, but all they could find were more bushes.

Noah pushed his way past a thick bush that was trying to trip him with its lowest branches. “That’s it. The only things on this island are plants that hate me.”

By now Aadi felt like yelling, but forced herself to speak in a loud, harsh whisper as she turned on Noah. “Don’t say that! We’re going to find them!”

Noah’s eyes widened in surprise and he took a step back.

Aadi rushed to apologize when she realized what she had done. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get short with you. I just… ugh. She threw her hands up to convey her frustration.

Glaring in the darkness at Noah, Janna placed a comforting arm around Aadi’s shoulders. “Try not to worry too much about it. We may not have found anything but someone else may have.”

Breathing a deep sigh, Aadi said, “You’re right.”

“We should pick up the pace and meet up with the others. Our time is running out.” Noah said as he led the way through the bushes, still keeping his distance from Aadi.

The trio neared the western tip of the island where they easily spotted the faint glow of fire light in the darkness, hidden in the tree line that stretched to the beach’s edge. Wanting to be sure it was their own they had found they ducked low in the bushes and crept towards the light.

Aadi nearly jumped out of her skin when the bushes ahead of her began to rustle as someone pushed through them. She moved to the side to let the person pass. Recognizing her brother, she stood up from her stooped position. “Galik!”

Galik stumbled backward with his hand on the hilt of his cutlass, ready for a fight. “Aadi! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Aadi brushed the dirt off her hands as Noah and Janna also stood up. “No, but please tell me you found them. Wait, what are you doing here?”

“Actually, Meer had sent me to look for you three because the other group found the slavers. They even managed to ‘convince’ one of them to follow along and tell us what we need to know.” Galik lead the way to where the others had gathered in the trees.

A man, whom Aadi assumed to be the slaver her brother had mentioned, was tied to one of the skinny tree trunks in the center of the group. Noah and Janna joined the rest of their crew, talking in low voices and whispers.

Two lanterns provided barely enough light for Aadi to make out the forms of two crew members who had broken off from where they had been talking to a third person and disappeared into the night.

The one who had been left behind walked over to the brother and sister, but the lack of light made it hard for them to tell who it was. “Aadi, I am assuming that your brother told you the good news.”

Captain Meer said.

“Yes he has.” Aadi crossed her arms and tilted her head in the direction of the tied up man. “Has he talked yet?”

The captain nodded her head and leaned back on the nearest tree trunk. “He told us some interesting information. They use islands like these as drop points where several ships bring in what they have and another picks up the slaves and takes them to sell on the main land. He also said that the pickup already happened.”

The energy drained out of Aadi and she dropped her head in defeat. “How is this good news?”

“There is some good news.” Galik said, surprised that his sister’s blood hadn’t boiled over the fact that they were too late. “Fortunately, they had gathered more children than they had cargo space so they had to leave some behind here for the next of their passing ships to pick up.”

Aadi looked up at her brother hopefully. “Can we rescue them?”

Meer pushed off from the tree she had been resting against. “I’ve already sent two of my crew back to bring the boats closer.” She turned to her crew. “Tidus, where did you find the slavers and what else can you tell me?”

The sailor stepped forward. “Captain, we found them around a half mile back along the south, in a clearing away from the beach.” He picked up a stick and began to draw the layout of the slavers camp, starting with a circle. Inside the circle he drew a triangle, three sets of sqiggled lines, and eighteen scattered dots. “In the center of the camp there is a fire. The children have been divided into three groups of five in a triangle around the fire. The slavers are sleeping everywhere, eighteen of them. They are probably still in their same places.”

The captain picked up a stick of her own and waved the lanterns closer. “Good work. Now, I promised to bring everyone back alive and in one piece this time, so I don’t want to risk it in a straight out fight. What we are going to do is…”

The group listened closely over the next few minutes as Captain Meer explained what her plan of action was.

“Is everything clear?”

Galik stopped the captain. “Shouldn’t we confiscate their weapons and tie as many of them together as possible in case this doesn’t go well?”

Meer pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “Do it.”

The group nodded and mumbled their agreement.

“Tidus will lead us to them.” Meer turned to Aadi before giving the order to break camp. “Oh, Aadi. Seeing as how he’s one of the slavers causing you so much trouble, what do you want done with him?” She pointed to the tied up slaver.

The man began to squirm against the rope holding him.

Hesitating, Aadi tried not to entertain the tempting, endless possibilities of what to do with one of the lowlife scum who had made slaves out of her young friends. With a sigh, said, “Just leave him here and make sure he’s tied tight enough so he can’t move, and gagged, too.”

Shrugging, the captain pointed out two sailors. “Alright. You take care of that and then catch up. Tidus, lead the way and don’t forget that time is short.”

After breaking camp once again, they followed the one crew member who knew where to find their quarry.

Aadi traded her pistols for two knives and found Galik in the dark; he had acquired lock picks from Noah. Elbowing her brother to get his attention, she whispered, “You ready for this? It’s too late to back out now.” She took one of the lock picks from him.

“Don’t make me laugh, Aadi. My group of children will be freed and safely on their way by the time you reach yours.” He tried to run her into a passing bush.

The crew members closest to them shushed the siblings, leaving Aadi disappointed that she couldn’t use her comeback.

They traveled the rest of the way in tense silence, with everyone doing their best to avoid rustling every bush they passed. Once Tidus signaled that they were getting close, the group spread out, hands ready to draw weapons at the first sign of trouble.

When they reached the site, the moon provided just enough light to see the sleeping forms of grown men sprawled everywhere across the dirt clearing. The fire had died to the point of white ash-coated embers; the children were divided into groups and fast asleep.

Aadi, Galik, and Noah had been chosen to creep into the camp and each free one of the groups of children; they knelt in the shadows of the leafy bushes. Thinking she recognized Cooper in the cluster closest to her, Aadi pointed to the group and then to herself. The other two nodded their understanding and moved stealthily off to position themselves on the parameter near the other children.

Using her knife, Aadi caught the moonlight and signaled that she was ready, waiting for the all clear from the captain. After catching Meer’s signal she moved into the clearing. Every few paces, she found herself holding her breath and having to step over a leg or arm or having to skirt around an entire body. She looked up to see Galik and Noah reach the other children.

Aadi found the boy from Tide Haven and covered his mouth, jolting him awake. Cooper sat up in shock, tugging on the chain that kept the children together, causing some of the lighter sleepers to stir.

Acting quickly, to keep one of them from waking and saying anything out of surprise, Aadi went around to the other four and woke them up in the same manner, holding a finger to her lips each time she did. As she did, she could feel more than see that they were roped hand and foot to a chain that ran the line of children. She breathed an inward sigh of relief that she didn’t have to deal with picking locks.

Aadi pulled out one of her knives and began to work on slicing through the thick rope. She leaned in close to Cooper’s ear and kept her voice as low as possible. “Once I cut these ropes the five of you are going to walk as carefully as possible in that direction.” She paused to point behind them to the southeast. “There will be people waiting to take you to boats down the beach. Understood?” With one last slice, she cut through the rope binding his wrists and ankles.

Cooper nodded his understanding as he rubbed his wrists. Looking around, his eyes widened and he pointed to her left at a shadow moving through the clearing.

Aadi spun in that direction. With heart racing, thinking one of the slavers had woken up. She realized that it was just one of her own when she saw that they were going around to each of the sleeping men. “Don’t worry. That’s just one of the people I told you about. Here, take my other knife and help me.”

Between the two of them, they finished slicing through the other four’s bonds as the sky to the east lightened to a dark gray. Cooper led the other children in the direction Aadi had shown him while she went to check on Noah and Galik.

Galik waved her on to Noah as he finished freeing the last of his group. As he led them around the sleeping slavers three of the children who were from Tide Haven frantically waved at Aadi.

She smiled pensively and waved back, thankful they hadn’t tried to call her name. She side stepped a few bodies and knelt beside Noah, who was trying to pick his fourth lock. He shot her a quick glance of surprise.

“Only had to cut rope, no locks. Looks like you got lucky,” she said, bringing out her own lock pick to open the irons that held the last child’s wrists to the chain. Taking a quick look at the children down the line, her heart sank a little when she didn’t recognize any of them.

By now the sky was beginning to lose the last of its gray color as the sun threatened to break the horizon. The last two locks opened with soft clicks that sounded five times louder in Aadi’s ears, causing her to jump. Not wanting to risk being stuck in the middle of the camp when any of the slavers woke up, Aadi took two of the children by the hands and led the small group to where the six remaining crew members waited in the bushes to take them to safety.

With the ten other children already on their way to the boats with her brother and Tidus, Aadi had begun to relax when she heard a crash and Noah cursing aloud every plant on the island. Turning, she saw the luckless sailor sprawled to the ground. Slavers woke with shouts of realization, followed by exclamations of surprise when the men tried to jump up.

Meer reacted first. “That idiot.” Throwing the smallest of the children, a young girl, over her shoulder she shouted, “Run! I don’t know how long their confusion will last.”

By this time, the sun had risen enough to let them clearly see their surroundings. The group broke into a dead sprint. Aadi and the other sailors held tightly to the hands of the remaining four children, who were too big to easily carry, as they dragged them through the vegetation. Behind them, they could hear the slavers who had managed to escape charging after them.

As they ran, the children who weren’t being carried tried to keep up with the crew’s pace. Dragging a girl by the hand, Aadi was thankful that they had taken the slavers’ weapons and found a way to slow them down. She couldn’t imagine trying to fight off eighteen men while keeping the children out of the way and safe. Bursting through the line of plants and on to the sandy beach, they nearly collided with Galik, Tidus, and the children they were escorting.

“Run for the boats!” Meer shouted. “They’re following us. Now move!” Before the captain had finished, everyone was halfway to the water. Seconds later they reached the waiting boats and tossed in the children.

Aadi looked back from the boats to see the lead slavers emerging from the bushes, weapons drawn. “Captain, we have a problem!”

“Didn’t want it to come to this. Take her,” Meer said as she thrust the girl she was carrying at Aadi and pulled two pistols from her belt.

Aadi covered the girl’s eyes as both of the guns went off, dropping one of the men and frightening the children.

Seeing one of their own drop dead, the slavers slowed to a walk. The Bethany’s crew pushed the boats into the water and started rowing to their ship.

Keeping a close eye on the men still on Viridis Island, the sailors who weren’t rowing tried to make themselves comfortable in the midst of the talkative children.

Aadi leaned on her brother sitting next to her on the crowded boat and laughed in relief. “And we’re all still alive.”

“You have no idea how badly you owe me.” Galik smirked.

“Hey, Aadi?” Cooper tapped her on her shoulder from his seat behind her. “What about everyone else from Tide Haven?”

Aadi paused for a minute, unsure of how to answer that question. “Maybe we’ll find them someday.” She turned around as best she could and hugged the boy. “I’m sorry we didn’t get there in time. Though I’m thrilled to have you and Liv, Sasha, and Erin back.” Tears formed in her eyes and she took a moment to collect herself. “We’re going home, but we won’t forget them. I promise to get a job in Tide Haven so this doesn’t happen again. How does that sound?”

Cooper managed a heart-sick smile. “Alright. But someday we’re going to find them.”

“You never know.” She gave him one last hug before they boarded the ship for the journey back to Tide Haven.

Kelsey Felder is a junior at Southeastern University majoring in General Biology. Kelsey enjoys zoology, writing, and spending time with her family.

Ole Melindy and Momma

A personal account by Drucella Crutchfield

Looking back now, I remember thinking that all new babies came into this world via old, black women carrying big, black suitcases. Certainly, each time Ole Melindy, carrying her old, black suitcase, visited a home, she left a new baby within. On a bleak and icy first day of December, Ole Melindy delivered me into this world three months early. No running water or electricity graced the old, three-room shack sitting next to a railroad track, down in the rice lands of a little, Cajun-Creole community in south Louisiana.

Coal-oil lamps dimly lighted the room, and a wood-burning, pot-bellied stove kept it warm. Four boys, rag-tag and barefoot despite the unusually cold winter, held solemn conference over which two must share their bed with the newcomer.

Dramatically announcing the birth of their first sister, Ole Melindy described me to the wide-eyed boys, “That chile is ‘bout the ugliest sight as I ever did see in my day.” Making their eyes wide with fear, she dramatized her fight “with that ole devil for the very breath in that bébé’s soul.” She described my cry to them as that of a dying kitten as she massaged my chest with the palm of her hand until she began to feel the life struggle into my heart and lungs.

Later, Melindy had a neighbor record in her ledger of babies’ births that she added two pounds of sugar to my side of the balancing scale to “even up” with the five-pound bag of sugar on the other side.

“Ugly as sin” is the way she described me, with skin black from lack of oxygen and no hair, eyelashes, or eyebrows, no nails on fingers or toes; my pitiful little scrap of humanity brought out the warrior in Melindy. Determined to keep her God-given new born charge alive, she covered me with goose-grease, bound me tightly in flannel, and laid me on a hot-water bottle inside my momma’s size-two shoebox. As Ole Melindy declared later, “That bébé be left to live or die ‘ccordin to what God — what He done decide.”

Psalm 22:10 (NIV) From birth I was cast upon you; from my mother's womb you have been my God.

Just like incubating un-hatched eggs, she placed the box in an over-stuffed chair pulled up to the pot-belly stove, the door opened to the roaring fire, seeking maximum warmth for my tiny body that could not supply warmth on its own. According to local custom, Melindy kept Momma in bed for fourteen days after the birth. She allowed no one to touch me for fear that “being handled would kill that baby for sho.”

Careful not to bump my shoebox cocoon, they sustained my life with “sugar-tits,” white cotton rags soaked in thick, sugar-water. After fourteen days, my little, blind, 4’ 2” momma took my encrusted, emaciated, infant body and soaked it in warm olive oil. Using her fingertips to feel the crusty patches, she very carefully plied them away, weeping as she ministered to the frail life of her first daughter, tiny even in her small, work-hardened hands. Continuing to massage the healing oil into my tender, newly forming skin, my momma anointed me, praying a prayer offered in faith that God would raise me up.

James 5:15 (NIV) And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven.

Today, I thank God for those two women who believed in the sacredness of life, believed enough to battle for fourteen days and nights for the life of one ugly, little baby whom not even her daddy believed was worth saving. Years later, sitting around that pot-bellied stove, I learned of my family’s legacy of poverty, toil and abuse, intermingled with a fierce desire to live and to love. I learned to laugh through the hard times and to cry for the pain of others. Ole Melindy visited Momma many more times; three times she brought her black suitcase and left behind a new baby. Twice, the Lord reclaimed His children while they were still young. My Momma loved us all, and taught us to love the Lord.

Proverbs 31:26-28 (NIV) She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children arise and call her blessed.

Ole Melindy was black Creole, older, tall, bulky of girth and fiercely determined. Momma was pale white, tiny in stature, timid, abused and blind. Both were belittled, abused, uneducated, and impoverished. Both of them loved me because I was God’s creation, God’s property, on loan to them for an unknown number of days.

Psalm 139:13-16 (NIV) For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

What faithfulness that a mother’s love may show the love of God where it cannot possibly be understood or returned!

Romans 5:8 (NIV) But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Drucella Crutchfield is a professor of English and director of a student writing center. She has spoken at Joy Fellowship and Women’s Aglow meetings through the southeast United States. Her children and grandchildren rise up and call her blessed.

…I was sick and you looked after me…

Facing the Fear

by Justin Lowmaster

“Not on your life!”

Mary put her hands on her hips. “My life isn’t at stake.” She pointed at the row of pallets. “Theirs are.”

Jamie considered the full infirmary. She cringed, but she’d get the medicine.

Jamie dove into the water. When she saw the school of isopods, she almost turned back, but with fragile stoicism continued.

Carefully she reached for the seaweed. Bubbles exploded when she felt an isopod crawling on her hand. She pulled the seaweed up and shook the tiny crustacean from her hand.

Back on land she handed Mary the seaweed. “Isopods scare me. Forever.”

Justin Lowmaster is a bona-fide space turtle. He may be found online at http://thespaceturtle.com.

A Moment of Crisis

by Andrew Crutchfield

The most meaningful act in a moment of crisis is not one of survival, but of compassion.

Hazel gritted her teeth and pulled herself up from the sofa with a grunt. When did standing up get so painful? Her knees ached, her back ached, and her hip had bothered her for weeks now. She slowly made her way to the kitchen where a pitcher of sweet tea sat on the counter. She thought about the walker that the doctor had given her and decided she would have to start using it. She pushed aside the beaded curtain leading to the kitchen and her foot caught on the single two-inch riser at the threshold. She reached for the counter as the whole world tipped forward. Her hand caught the edge and her body twisted around just before she hit the floor. There was a sickening crack and her left leg became dead weight. At first the pain was just a twinge; the result of gradual neuropathy over the past 80 years. Hazel cried silently and fought to catch her breath, her hands trembling.

Her son would be coming by this evening; she couldn’t let him find her like this. She tried to get up, but she simply couldn’t move her left leg. She rolled over, the pain in her leg changing from a twinge to a terrible throbbing, and began to crawl. Since she had to stop every few minutes to rest, it took her most of an hour to drag herself back to the end table where the phone. When she finally managed to call 911, she could barely talk to the dispatcher.

Hazel heard the sirens and then the knock on the door. There was no way she could stand up, so she prayed they would just come in; they did. The two young men introduced themselves and quickly went to work. One bandaged her head where the end table struck her when she pulled it over to reach the phone; the other was busy prodding her belly, hips, and legs. It didn’t bother her. She was used to medical people and their ways. These two were nice though. She only half listened to the words, but their voices and manner were comforting. The spine board was very uncomfortable until one of the men wedged some small pillows in around her and placed a towel behind her head.

Everything was okay until the ambulance started moving. The sensation of moving head first while strapped down to a spine board was just too much. It was disorienting and disturbing like artificially induced vertigo. She felt like she was falling even though the sharp pain in her head from the hard spine-board reminded her that she was firmly strapped down. She gripped the rails of the stretcher so hard her knuckles went white, and she clenched her eyes shut as hard as she could. This was worse than the fall. She heard the young man say something, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to understand him. She didn’t notice him applying the electrodes to read the EKG and barely even felt the IV. What she did feel was his hand, after he took off his gloves, gripping hers. She held onto it like a lifeline.

David coughed again; sharp pain shot through his chest and into his head. This flu-nonsense is for the birds, he thought. He was never one to complain, but this had been going on for a week now. He picked up his phone and scrolled through the names until he found who he was looking for.

“Jack,” he said when someone picked up on the other end. “Can you drive me to the hospital? Yeah, I feel like… well I feel pretty bad… Sure, I’m not going anywhere.” I couldn’t if I tried. He collapsed back into the easy chair, breathing hard. The short phone call took too much out of him. Another sip of water and another fit of coughing left him panting for several minutes. I’ve got to unlock the door for Jack.

He wrapped the blanket around himself where it had slipped and made his way to the hall. He picked up his keys and passed out.

David woke up to a hand on his shoulder and a flashlight in his eyes.

“Hey buddy,” someone said. “Time to wake up and tell us what happened.”

“I found him just like this when I came to check on him.” David recognized his neighbor’s voice. “He’s been sick since Monday.”

“Do you know what day it is?” the first voice asked. He tried to sit up and felt like he would pass out again. “Don’t move just yet,” a hand restrained him. “My name is Ty, I’m a paramedic. Do you know what day it is?” David tried to remember. “That’s okay, do you know where you are?”

“Home,” he managed, surprised at the weak sound of his own voice. “I was going to the hospital…”

“Yep,” Ty took over. “You still are.”

The next thing David knew, he was being lifted onto an uncomfortable stretcher, and he saw Jack going through his wallet and pulling out his ID and insurance card. He was starting to feel lightheaded again and thought he might pass out.

“Wait…” he started as the stretcher started rolling towards the door. “Hang on… please,” he tried to keep talking but ran out of breath. When he came around again he heard the ambulance doors slam shut. His left arm was cold and there was some sort of mask over his mouth; he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried to take off the mask so he could talk, but he was too weak to fight the strong hands determined to keep the mask in place.

“Have to lock my doors!” His voice was muffled; he could hardly understand it himself. He tried again to remove the offending mask. “Turn around, go back!” his hands batted feebly at the medic’s hands.

“It’s okay, David.” Ty said, reassuringly. “We turned the lights off and locked up everything.” He pointed to David’s keys that were sitting on the stretcher between his feet. “We even let your dog in first.” Ty smiled and pulled the oxygen mask away from David’s face. “You can just hold this up to your face if you want, as long as you keep it there.” David relaxed and weakly clasped the mask over his mouth and nose. Somehow it seemed easier to breathe that way.

Robert and Chrissy laughed and held hands as they made their way through exiting crowds at the movie theater. Robert thought the movie was okay, but Chrissy loved it, and that made it worthwhile. It was day five of their honeymoon and they’d seen most of the little lakeside town they were staying in. The air was crisp and clear, and so was the starlight as they walked hand in hand to the old Pontiac with “Just Married!” still jaunty across the car’s back window. They talked about the movie, about each other, and about nothing. He kissed her lightly and brushed his fingers across her cheek. Over her shoulder, he saw the man walking too quickly toward them. He was wearing jeans and had one hand in the pocket of a long black jacket. Their eyes met, and Robert swung his bride around behind him just as the man spoke.

“You know the drill, kids.” He was unshaven and his jaw twitched when he clenched his teeth. “Hand over your wallet and we all go home.”

Robert’s heart was pounding as he slowly pulled his wallet out, and his hand shook as he extended his arm. His wallet slipped from his hand; the crook was startled and pulled a pistol halfway from his coat pocket; Chrissy saw the gun and screamed; the crook brought his hand up with the muzzle aimed at her; Robert lunged forward and tackled the man. Robert remembered seeing the older man squeeze his eyes shut, and he heard two gunshots. He wondered how the bullets could have missed him, but he felt nothing so threw a hard right hook and laid the other man out on the concrete. Robert saw him reach for the gun where he had dropped it and managed to kick the revolver away before the man could reach it. Robert felt lightheaded and felt warmth in his groin and down one leg. He flushed with embarrassment, thinking he had lost control of his bladder, until the fiery pain of two gunshot wounds cut through the adrenaline. Hands helped him sink to the ground, and he noticed others restraining the would-be mugger.

“Call the police.” Robert grunted.

“Call an ambulance!” Chrissy gasped.

Both services arrived within a few minutes. Police officers and paramedics jockeyed for position in front of the injured young man and his frantic wife. Ty knelt down and quietly introduced himself as his skilled fingers probed and assessed the damage. The officer continued to ask questions becoming irritated when Ty kept distracting the injured man. Finally the officer just gave up and asked Chrissy for a statement.

“Go with her, Phil.” Ty told his partner.

“Where’s the guy?” Robert asked as Ty laid him down flat.

“Any trouble breathing?”

“No,” Robert replied. “Did he get away?”

“Yes.” Ty cut Robert’s shirt and applied pressure dressings to the wounds. “But don’t worry about that right now. Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“Uh… I don’t think so. I just sort of… went down.” Ty’s partner came back with a long back board, and they rolled Robert onto it checking his back when they did.

“No exit wounds.” Ty said.

“I guess that’s good.” Robert said. “Chrissy was right behind me.”

Ty nodded. “Is she hurt?” he asked his partner.

“No, she’s fine.” Phillip said. “But she’s pretty upset. The officer won’t let her come over here until we’re done.”

“We’re done.” Ty said. “Let’s load him and go.”

Chrissy pressed in as the medics loaded him into the ambulance. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked anxiously.

“He’s doing well; we just need to get him to the hospital.” Ty said.

“No, no.” Phillip blocked her way when she tried to climb into the ambulance. “You can’t come back here – front seat.”

“But I…” she started.

“No we can’t let you.” Phillip insisted. “It’s against policy, insurance and all that.” She looked at Ty, her eyes pleading.

“Please,” she almost whispered. “We just got married…”

“Alright.” Ty sighed, relenting after a few long seconds. “Sit there and buckle up.” He indicated the bench seat next to the stretcher. The newlyweds’ hands found each other across the narrow gap between them, and they both visibly relaxed. Ty smiled; sometimes it’s okay to break the rules.

Abigail gasped involuntarily and slammed on the brakes when a slick, silver Audi cut her off, nearly clipping her bumper. She just caught the amused expression of her antagonist in his side mirror before she felt her rear tires lose traction and the world started spinning. For a few frenetic seconds, her entire existence was spinning tires, shattering glass, and twisting metal. The stench of chemicals hung in the air long after the brutal forces of inertia had had their way with her body. Glass coated her hands and face, crusted in the corners of her eyes and mouth, and worked its way into her skin in a dozen places. As her mind began to organize the chaos, she noticed that her left arm looked… wrong. She wasn’t even sure, yet, which way was up.

Abby couldn’t stop coughing, and the pain in her chest really made her wish that she could. She couldn’t find her cell phone to call anyone; she wasn’t even sure where to look for it. All she could see was broken glass, and smoke, and blood. Her heart raced, and she yelped in shock when she saw her left arm twisted at a surreal angle. Tears streamed down her face and she couldn’t seem to make her hand work well enough to release the seatbelt. She abandoned that idea after a few minutes and continued searching for her cell phone. With each passing minute the pain became sharper and more diverse. By the time she heard sirens behind her she could feel the bones in her arm scraping together, and every breath she took felt like a knife in her chest. Now she could hear voices somewhere behind her. She craned her neck around to try and see, but she couldn’t get her eyes to focus. The next thing she knew someone was grabbing her head and talking to her. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying through the pain.

“I’m going to help you. Don’t move. What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” she thought her voice sounded strange. “I slammed on the brakes, and I just remember spinning – hitting something.” There was a shooting pain in her left side, then there was someone else next to her. Hands on her face… chest… belly… a different voice… she didn’t understand what he was saying. Now her neck was being stretched and they were tying something around it. Someone was messing with her good arm now – sharp pain – she tried to jerk away but couldn’t. More people – noise – sirens.

“Ma’am!” the sharp tone cut through the mental fog. She felt like she could barely breathe and she was nauseated from the pain in her arm. “What’s your name?”

“Uh… Abby.” she managed.

“Ok.,” the voice was calming, if distant and muffled. “… name is Ty and… Phil…”

“My chest hurts,” she needed to tell him, “and my arm, I think it’s broken!”

“Abby… listen… get you out of here.”

Someone was pulling at her shirt. Her arms felt heavy trying to push him away.

“… lung is collapsing… need to put a needle…”

“Oh God, no!” Her mind was on fire. “I hate needles!”

“Quit moving… or you’re paralyzed!” A harsh voice was yelling in her ear. Anger flared on top of fear and pain. Then the calm voice was saying something, but it was so quiet she had to concentrate to hear. “… very important… I have to do this to get you out… okay?”

She nodded and slowly lowered her hands. The pain was like fire when the needle went into her chest. It felt like the world’s worst bee sting – all the way through her body. After the shock of it wore off she found that she could breathe much easier. The stabbing pain in her chest was almost gone and her head began to clear. She was aware of several fire fighters moving her onto a hard board and tying her down. I have to call my dad! Her mind was racing now that it was functioning again. He’s expecting me at home… he’ll be worried sick! “My phone! Please get my phone!” she was trying to get someone’s attention.

“Settle down ma’am,” one of the fire fighters said. “Don’t worry about your phone right now.”

“No! I need to call my dad!” She was desperate. They ignored her.

When the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance, Ty was sitting in the captain’s chair.

“Alright Phil,” he called over his shoulder. “Ready when you are!” The ambulance lurched forward and the siren wailed. Traveling at eighty miles per hour in this position was disconcerting for Abby, and it didn’t help her nausea at all. She felt the bile rising in her throat.

“I’m gonna give you something for the nausea, then something for the pain.” Ty said, drawing up a medication into a syringe.

“I need to make a phone… ” another dry heave interrupted her request.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that at the hospital.” Ty said as he administered the first drug. “Right now it’s more important to keep you breathing.”

“No, I really need to let my dad know I’m okay!” Abby persisted. “Please, sir.”

Ty paused. “Alright.”

Abby almost deflated with relief.

“Oh thank you so much.” she sighed. “Can you find my phone?”

Ty remembered seeing it in several pieces on the dash. “Use mine.”

The station captain walked into the day room a few weeks later with a letter in hand.

“Ty, Phillip, front and center!” he called. The requested crew stood, and the rest of the guys turned to watch. “My office, now.”

There were raised eyebrows, mutters and quiet exclamations as the others went back to whatever they had been doing. Phillip was nervous and burst out as soon as the office door closed. “What’d we do, Cap?”

Captain Pierce chuckled.

“Nothing, I was just messin’ with you.” He tossed the letter to Ty, Phillip visibly relaxed. “Actually, you guys got a thank you from a patient; a wreck you guys worked last month. Apparently a pretty bad one – had to dart her chest and all.”

“Yeah, I remember that wreck.” Phillip said. “That’s one life I think we really did save.”

“Looks like it.” the captain said, reviewing the chart. “Tension pneumo, closed radius/ulna fracture, and I believe the hospital said they found a ruptured spleen and lacerated liver.”

“What does she have to say?” Phillip asked, turning back to his partner.

“She says ‘Thanks for letting me use your cell phone, it really meant a lot to me.’” Ty smiled.

“What!” Phillip looked dumbfounded. “Does she understand that she could’ve died? Does she have any idea what we did for her?”

The captain and Ty were both laughing.

“Oh, she knows, rookie.” Captain Pierce said. “She knows that you let her call her dad. There was nothing more important to her just then.”

Andrew Crutchfield is a graduate of Texas Tech and works as a paramedic in Houston, TX. He and his wife have recently transformed their son from an only child into a one of a matched set with the addition of a baby girl.

…I was imprisoned and you visited me…

The Visitation

by Justin Lowmaster

Gordon opened the cell block door and led Marcus down the row of cells. After locking Marcus inside, Gordon leaned on the bars.

“Who is that guy who visits you every week?”

Marcus shrugged. “Just some guy from a church.”

“Church? I thought you hated God?”

Marcus laid down on his cot. “I think I do too.”

Gordon ran his fingers over the lock. “But you’re not sure?”

“No, but I’m sure I don’t like God yet.”

“But you let some random guy from a church visit you? What’s up with that?”

“Why not? No one else ever visits me.”

Justin Lowmaster is tired of writing about himself in the third person.

The Conversation

by Deborah Caligiuri

“It’s just a conversation,” said Grant as he rotated his head side to side like a boxer about to enter the ring. “Just a favor for a sweet, old lady. No big deal. Ten minutes in and out.”

Grant stood just outside of the tall, chain-link fence that enclosed Smithyville State Penitentiary. It was an imposing edifice, but hardly a huge prison. There was a gothic beauty to it. If the imposing fences with razor wire at their tops were removed, the prison could have been put on a postcard and believed to be a centuries old church. The tall turrets and gray stone lent their cool presence to the clear, blue sky.

Grant could visualize himself walking through the gate and approaching the entrance to the prison. He just could not force his feet forward… yet. It would happen. He had given Edith his word, and Grant was nothing if not a man of his word. Yet he would also be the first to say he was just a man, and entering a prison to speak with a murderer was not one of the top ten things he wanted to do before seeing Jesus face to face.

“It’s just a conversation. Just one conversation with him, and I’ll be free of this pledge.” Grant said to himself.

“What pledge is that?”

Grant spun quickly at the sound of a female voice behind him. His feet tangled together, and he tripped over himself, falling into the arms of a tall, well-built brunette.

“Easy there, Handsome. I don’t kiss on the first date.” She gripped him with surprisingly strong arms until he was steady on his feet again.

“Sorry about that.”

“No worries. Happens all the time,” she said with a grin.

Grant chuckled weakly. “I’m sure it does.”

He could easily see men throwing themselves at her. She was a beauty, with a good dose of humor covering something deeper.“Are you arriving or leaving?” he finally asked.

“Oh, I’m arriving. Yeah, I finally decided to cop to that pencil I took from my teacher’s desk in third grade. This is where they told me to come.”

“Uh huh. This is a men’s prison.” He offered her his arm. “Can I walk you inside?”

The brunette tossed her hair to the side with a flirty grin. “Who says chilvary is dead?”

“Oh, I’m not being chivalrous. I just want to hold your hand.”

The woman smiled and took his arm. “I’m Bernadette. What’s your name?”

“I’m Grant. Do you work here?”

“No, I’m visiting an inmate, like you.”

“An inmate like me. Wow. I have been compared to many things in my life, but an inmate was never one of them. Makes me feel like doing something reckless. I think I might swipe a pen from the guard at the front desk.”

“Since I got you into it, I’ll cover for you.”

“Excellent.” Grant opened the heavy door and held it as Bernadette preceded him inside the building.

“Hey, Bernie, how’s it going?” The guard at the front desk spoke with obvious familiarity.

“Good. How bout yourself?”

“Can’t complain. Come on, let’s get you checked out and in to see your brother.” He turned to Grant, “I’ll be with you in just a moment, sir.”

“Take your time,” said Grant.

Grant watched as Bernadette received a thorough pat down by a female guard, emptied her pockets, signed a lot of papers, and was finally led beyond his line of sight. He started wondering what kind of brother this inmate could be to have such a dedicated sister.

“Sir, can I help you?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Grant said, “Yes, I am here to see Justin Crandall. I called a few days ago to arrange it.”

The guard scrolled through a page on his computer. “Grant Marshall?”

“That’s me.”

“Mr.Crandall already has a visitor, but I’ll get you started on the paperwork. You’ll get about fifteen minutes with him once his other visitor is gone. That gives me some time to go over procedures with you.”

“Excellent.”

Grant filled out what seemed like an inordinate amount of paperwork for just a visit, all while listening to the guard give monotone instructions on how to conduct himself as a prison visitor. Then came the pat down which was uncomfortably thorough. Bernadette endured this every week, he thought, just to see her brother.

He shook his head. If this was going to be at all productive, Grant would need to keep his mind on his duty, not on a gorgeous brunette he’d probably never see again. Grant paced the small room where he had been told to wait. It looked like a pass-through connecting two areas of the prison. There were walls on two sides and barred, metal doors on either end.

Finally, one of the doors clanged open with an electronic buzz. Bernadette stepped inside the room, followed by a guard.“So they caught you with the guard’s pen, and this is where they stuck you.” She said.

“That’s exactly what happened,” Grant returned easily. “Did you have a good visit?”

Bernadette shrugged, weariness showing for only a fraction of a second. “It was the same, but it’ll get better one day.”

“I’m sure it will. Have a good day, Bernadette.”

“You too, Grant.”

She passed through the other side of the small room, and the guard gestured Grant through the door on what he assumed was the prison side. He followed the guard through narrow halls to a cafeteria that could have been in any high school.

The room was empty save for one man, dressed in prison orange, sitting at a table and resting balled fists on it as if to contain his rage. For only a moment, Grant wavered. Then the man looked up, and Grant was struck by the lifelessness in Justin’s brown eyes. Automatically, Grant’s heart responded with compassion, and he was glad he had indulged his friend.

He approached the table with his hand outstretched. “Hi, Justin. My name is Grant Marshall. I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

“Yeah, she told me you’d be coming,” said Justin warily. He finally shook Grant’s hand, never letting his eyes leave Grant’s face.

“I’m glad she did. I wasn’t sure if she would or not. She sent me with a message for you, and she asked that I take a picture of you for her.” Grant said.

“How do you expect to do that? You’re not allowed to bring anything in here with you.”

Grant nodded toward the guard. “I got permission for the guard to keep my phone and take a picture, if you’re okay with that. I’m not going to insist, just ask.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed at the smaller man, and he crossed his arms across his chest. “No. I don’t want my picture taken. Tell Mom I said sorry. What message did she send?”

Taking a deep breath, Grant spoke slowly. “She told me to ask you to forgive her for putting you in here.”

Anger blazed hotly in Justin’s eyes. “What made her think it was her fault,” he cursed. “I made my own choices. Did you tell her it was her fault?”

Grant lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Buddy, I don’t even know what you did. Edith has been carrying this guilt for a long time. I finally got her to open up to me when we were at the pool a few weeks ago. She feels completely responsible for your choice, and she really needs your forgiveness.”

“She didn’t do anything,” growled Justin.

The pain was so clear in Justin’s eyes that Grant felt it all the way to his toes. “I’m sure she didn’t. Like you said, you made your own choice. However, at this point, it doesn’t matter what she did or didn’t do. Your mother needs to know you’ve forgiven her and that you love her.”

“I’m telling you she didn’t do anything. I can’t forgive something that didn’t happen.”

“Do you mind if I ask what did happen?”

“I killed the man who put a bullet in my mother’s spine and stuck her in that chair for the rest of her life. And I did it on purpose, all by myself. My mother had nothing to do with it. I deserve to be here.” He barked a short, bitter laugh, “I deserve to be here a lot longer than they’re going to keep me. I took a man’s life. They called it extreme emotional distress and gave me 2nd degree manslaughter and only twelve and a half years. I won’t even see all of that. Any man capable of murder should be kept in a cage like an animal.”

“All men are capable of murder,” said Grant quietly. In that moment, he knew this wouldn’t end with one conversation. He would be back to see Justin Crandall again. “You’re in this prison, and you feel like you belong here. I understand that. Your mother lives inside two prisons, paralysis and guilt. Both have the same effect. They stop a person from living in some way, shape or form. As her physical therapist, I’m helping your mother cope with her prison of paralysis, and she’s doing well. As her son, you can free her from her prison of guilt, and she really needs that.”

“She doesn’t need forgiving, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love her.”

Grant agreed. “I can see that perfectly, sitting across from you. But your mother hasn’t been able to see you since you came in here about six years ago. She can’t see the truth in your eyes the way I can. She needs a message from you. Something I can give her or tell her that will show her what I see.”

Justin moved his balled fists to his lap and glared at Grant. “What do you think you see?”

“I see an inmate, like myself, who knows he’s done wrong and wants to be punished for it. I see a prisoner, like myself, who is hurting for someone he loves and wants to protect her. I see a man who has done wrong but desperately wants to do right. I am that man just as much as you are, Justin.”

“How are you in prison,” sneered Justin.

“Five minutes!” barked the guard from the doorway.

Surprised, Grant glanced at the guard then turned back to Justin. “I am in a prison created by the darkness in my heart. I am black on the inside with the desire to do wrong or to right wrongs that I see everyday.”

“But you haven’t acted on your thoughts. I have. I became a monster. You won’t ever make that choice.”

“You don’t know that, and neither do I. Any given day, circumstances make me want to act on my thoughts. The only difference between you and me is that I have help from Someone much stronger than I am to keep from doing it. You can have that same help, and you can feel forgiven and free from this thing that you did.”

Justin’s whole person shrank in defeat. “I killed a man. There’s no forgiveness for that.”

“Yes there is, and I’m coming back next week to explain it. Do you play chess, Justin?”

“I used to. Haven’t played since I came here. Why?” Justin asked.

“I’m going to see if I can bring a chess set next week so we can play. Is that okay with you?”

“I guess.”

The guard moved forward indicating that time was up. Grant stood and moved toward the door with just a nod of goodbye to Justin.

“Hey!”

Grant turned and caught Justin’s eyes. “What’s up, Justin?”

“Tell my mom I forgive her and I love her.”

“I’ll do that.”

Grant followed the guard back through the halls and the strange, little room and into the reception area where he had first entered. To his surprise, Bernadette was still sitting there, and she was eyeing him with suspicion.

“The guards told me you came to see my brother. Why? What do you want from him?”

Grant stretched a hand to her. “Can I walk you to your car and answer your questions?”

Bernadette relaxed her rigid posture somewhat and took his hand. “Yeah, I guess.”

Grant said goodbye to the guards and held the door for Bernadette. They stepped outside into the sun, and Grant couldn’t help but smile. It was a beautiful day.“Your mother asked me to bring Justin a message, and that’s what I did. It’s strange. I don’t remember her ever mentioning having a second child. She probably told me and I forgot.”

“That woman is not my mother.” Bernadette said bitterly. “Justin and I have the same father and two different mothers. That woman is the reason my brother is in that hole, and as far as I’m concerned any message she has for him should never get to him. Let her sit in her chair and rot.”

“Have you ever met Edith?” asked Grant, a little surprised by her fervor.

“Only once. That was the day I told her exactly how I felt about her and what she did to my brother.”

“What did she do to your brother?”

“She turned him into someone he isn’t. Justin isn’t a killer. He’s a good man. He was a high school math teacher, and now he will never be able to teach anywhere again. What kind of life is he going to have when he gets out?” Bernadette balled her fists unconsciously. “She did this to him. She might as well have pushed my father off the balcony herself! It’s no secret she hated him.”

Grant’s eyes flashed to her face. “Justin killed his father?”

“Our father, and yes. That woman filled his head full of lies about Dad being abusive, and when someone broke into their apartment and shot her, she convinced Justin it was Dad. He flew into a rage, came to my house to confront Dad. It got very heated; Justin lost it and pushed Dad off the second floor balcony. He died about twelve hours later from a subdural hematoma. My big brother would never have done that if that woman hadn’t lied to him.”

Grant gently touched Bernadette’s face. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to live through this. It’s a hard road to travel.”

“How do you know Justin’s mother?” she asked with a frown.

“I’m her physical therapist.” Grant said. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, or is there someone else who has your attention? I should have asked that first,” finished Grant with a half-hearted smile.

“You can’t convince me to like her, Grant,” said Bernadette pointedly.

“I wasn’t going to try. I was hoping to convince you to like me,” he quipped.

Smiling guiltily, Bernadette flipped her silky hair from her shoulders nervously. “I’m open to that. I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

He took her hand, “So, the next question is: it’s almost three. Shall we start our date now and let it go all the way past dinner?”

“Did you have something in mind?” Bernadette asked.

“I was thinking about bowling. It’s the one thing at which I excel, and I was thinking if I can impress you with my bowling skills, you’ll stick around to find out more about me.”

Bernadette laughed as she came to a stop next to her car. “Lead the way. I’m already intrigued.”

“I’m in the green car right over there. Do you know where Smithyville Lanes is?”

“Yeah. Out on highway 250.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.” Grant squeezed her hand and walked to his car.

He arrived late at the bowling alley; Bernadette stood just outside, worrying her bottom lip. “I thought you had changed your mind for a minute there,” she said.

Grant climbed from the car with one hand behind his back. “No. I just had to make a quick stop. Sorry I worried you.” He pulled a mixed bouquet from behind him. “I make it a rule to give a girl flowers on our first date.”

“I’m suddenly feeling very jealous,” teased Bernadette, burying her face in the flowers. “Thank you, Grant. They’re gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. Are you ready to go in?”

They entered the building hand in hand and enjoyed easy conversation and playful sparring for the next two hours. Grant could feel her relaxing and opening up with him the longer they were together. He found it very easy to do the same with her.

Finally, they exited the bowling alley, both wearing huge smiles. Grant walked Bernadette to her car, reluctant to let her go even for a moment.

“So, I have two options for you.”

“Ooh, options. I like the sound of that,” said Bernadette.

Grant chuckled. “One. We can go straight to dinner at any restaurant you want. Two. We can go home and dress up a little. I’ll come get you and bring you to the country club for dinner.”

Bernadette’s smile lit up the night . “I’ll take door number two, please.”

“Excellent. So, now all I need is your address, and I’ll take your phone number while we’re at it.”

Bernadette gladly gave him both, and they parted ways, Grant promising to be at her apartment in an hour. True to his word, Grant knocked on her door precisely one hour later.

With a whoosh, the door opened, and Bernadette’s eyes grew immediately huge. “More flowers?”

“Hello to you too,” said Grant with a chuckle. “The first ones were a practice run. I saw you eyeing up the roses in it, so now I know what kind to get you from here on out.”

“You sneaky man.”

“Thank you. You look stunning, Bernadette.”

Grant led her to his car, and they conversed companionably to the country club. Smithyville not being such a large place, they were seated immediately. They hardly stopped long enough to breathe, let alone place an order. They talked all through dinner.

The conversation eventually turned to family. “So, after my dad died,” Bernadette said, “my mom sold the house and moved into something much smaller. I found my own place. Our relationship hasn’t been quite right since then, but I can’t really say why.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Eyes glittering, Bernadette put her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the back of her hands. “So, tell me about your family. You know practically every sordid detail about mine. I want to hear about yours now.”

“Well, my father is an alcoholic, and my mother is bipolar and refuses to take medication to control it.” Grant said quietly.

“Not what I was expecting to hear,” said Bernadette softly. “Was it always like that, or did this just happen after you were grown?”

“It was like that from the day I was born. I have an older sister and brother, and the three of us had this special hiding place we would go when Dad came home and got his load on and Mom hit one of her highs or lows. Those two things always seemed to happen simultaneously.”

“Go figure.”

Grant smiled and reached across the table for her hand. “When I was twelve, my dad finally got sick of my mom and had her institutionalized. She’s been there ever since, and it really is the best place for her if she won’t take her meds.”

“Did your parents divorce?”

“No, they didn’t. My dad still takes care of all my mom’s expenses, but that doesn’t mean he’s stayed faithful. Many women have come and gone since that day. He still drinks, and he still barely knows the three of us exist. My brother raised my sister and me after my mom left. They both still live here in Smithyville, and we’re pretty tight. Like you and Justin, I would guess.”

“Yes, we are tight. Grant, why don’t you hate your parents? I can tell just by listening to you that you aren’t angry with them at all!”

Grant hesitated, “I used to hate them. In fact, I was in my twenties before I stopped hating them.”

“Did they apologize or something?”

Grant chuckled softly. “Hardly. I stopped hating them when I realized I was trapped in a world of hate. On the outside, I looked and acted pretty normal. I went to college, had friends, got a good job, dated now and then…”

“But we won’t talk about that,” interrupted Bernadette with a flirty smile.

Laughing lightly, Grant continued his monologue. “You get the picture. The problem was that I knew what was going on inside even when no one else did. I was a prisoner to my thoughts, and it started making me crazy. Then one day when I was at the point of giving up entirely and ending it, two things happened. My brother introduced me to Someone, and I realized I had to make a choice to stop hating.”

“Who did you meet?”

“I met the One who sets all captives free. My brother helped me see how much freedom I would have by having a relationship with Jesus Christ.”

“Ah. Religion,” said Bernadette, disappointed.

“No. Salvation. Religion is a lifeless practice of something that is vibrant and living. I live it. I walk it daily. I don’t settle for religion. I couldn’t survive on religion. The power to choose not to hate can only come from the salvation that God offers us through his son Jesus Christ. I need that power daily, and since I’ve admitted that I’m a big, ugly sinner and deserve punishment, and I’ve accepted God’s forgiveness and mercy, I have that power any time I ask for it, Bernadette.”

Bernadette cleared her throat, emotionally retreating from Grant just a little. “That sounds incredible.”

Grant threaded his fingers with her and spoke softly. “You can have it too. Salvation can happen in a breath. I want you to understand that from the time I met Jesus Christ it was another three and a half years before I could stand firm and say ‘I don’t hate my parents’ and feel the truth of it. It’s a process. It takes time, and no one, least of all God, would expect you to get it perfect. I still struggle with those feelings of hate sometimes, but now, I know I can call on God and find freedom and power.”

Hope flared quietly in Bernadette’s brown eyes. “You live and love like you grew up in happily ever after land. I believe that this can be true for you. I just don’t know if it would work the same way for me. I need to think about it.”

Kissing her hand gently, Grant released it. “I didn’t bring you out tonight to do this. It’s just how the conversation went. I hope you believe that.”

“I do. You’ve spent all day with me because you’re crazy about me,” bragged Bernadette with a grin. “And I agreed because I’m crazy about you.”

Grant knew not to push, and he didn’t want to anyway. It was a process Bernadette would have to walk for herself, but he would be by her side to walk it with her.

Very late that night, Grant walked Bernadette to her door and kissed her goodnight. The next week saw them talking on the phone daily and having dinner two more times. Grant also conveyed Justin’s message of forgiveness to his mother. Edith put more effort into her therapy that day than Grant had ever seen from her.

The week disappeared, and it was Justin’s visitation day at Smithyville State Penitentiary. This time, Grant and Bernadette arrived together. They kept separate visiting times like before, but their whole perspective seemed to have changed.

Bernadette wiggled her fingers at Grant as she was patted down.They had talked on the drive to the prison about how Grant didn’t like the idea of the guards with their hands all over her. Grant gave her a playful scowl in return, which earned him a wide smile.

Once she was out of sight, Grant took a seat and prayed for his own conversation with Justin, then remembered to pray for Bernadette’s conversation with her brother. The fifteen minutes seemed to fly by, and Grant was summoned for his own pat down and pocket emptying ritual.

He followed the guard into the small room where Bernadette was just entering from the other side.

“How did it go?” he asked softly.

Tears filled her eyes. “We can talk when you’re finished.”

Grant hugged her close for just an instant and brushed a kiss across her lips before following the guard into the hall then on to the cafeteria. Justin was sitting alone again, this time with his head in his hands.

“Hey, Justin. I was given permission to bring a chess set. Are you up for it?”

Justin lifted his head and met Grant’s eyes with sharp pain in his own. “Bernie told me you guys are seeing each other.”

“That’s true. Is that okay with you?”

He shrugged. “I’m not going to go nuts and kill you or anything.”

“I didn’t think you would. I know you’re not a killer. I know I want my sister and brother to love her, and I’m sure she feels the same about wanting you to like me.” Grant said.

“I don’t really know you yet, Marshall, but I trust you with my sister. Sit down. We won’t get a full game, but let’s play what we can.”

They set up the board, and Justin surprised Grant by opening up to him as they played. “I had to break my little sister’s heart today. You’ll take care of her?”

“Of course.” Grant said. “Can I ask what happened?”

“I assumed she told you already.”

“We didn’t really get to talk before I came in here. Would you rather I ask her?”

They played silently for several minutes. Grant wasn’t going to push Justin to talk to him. It would happen in its time.

Close to their end of their visitation, Justin sighed deeply. “This is a good game. I hate to have to quit.”

“It is a good game.” Grant turned to the guard. “Would you use my phone and take a picture of the board, please? That way we can set it back up just like this next week and continue playing.”

Justin looked quickly to Grant’s face. “You’re coming back?”

“With your permission,” said Grant, holding his gaze steady on Justin’s.

“That’s fine,” said Justin.

“Five minutes,” announced the guard.

The guard photographed the board, and the men began putting it away. That’s when Justin started talking again.“Bernie has always believed my mom is lying about Dad being abusive. She’s never come out and asked me, so I never said anything. Her father was murdered, and she needed someone to blame, but she couldn’t blame me no matter what. Dad was different with Bernie. He abused Linda too, that’s Bernie’s mom, but Linda won’t say anything about it. Today, my sister asked me, and I had to tell her the truth. I broke her heart.”

Grant reached across the table and put a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “I know it hurts both of you right now, but you did the right thing. She needed to know the truth. Hiding behind denial only makes hate grow and keeps us all in prison. Now, Bernadette will find her way to freedom. It’s your turn, Justin. You can find forgiveness and freedom too.”

Justin raked a hand through his hair. “Bernie said the same thing. I killed my father, man. God isn’t going to forgive that.”

“I have a challenge for you, Justin.”

With suspicion, Justin met Grant’s eyes. “What do you want?”

“I’ll be back next week. Between now and then, I challenge you to ask God to forgive you and see what happens. If He does, you’ll know it. Peace so incredible and unbelievable will fill you to the brim. If nothing happens when you ask, no one but you will know. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. It’s just a thought.”

“Time to go,” said the guard.

Justin stood as Grant stood. “Take care of my sister.”

“That’s a promise, Justin.” Grant began to walk toward the door.

“Hey!”

Like last week, Grant turned back to look at Justin. “What’s up, brother?”

Justin addressed the guard. “Hey, can he take a picture of me for my mother?”

With a nod, the guard pulled the camera from his pocket and handed it to Grant. Justin ran a quick hand through his hair and down his shirt then nodded that he was ready. Grant snapped the picture quickly.

“Thanks, Justin. I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah.”

Grant followed the guard through the prison back into the reception area where Bernadette had a guard sitting next to her with a box of tissues. When Grant stepped into the room, she practically launched herself at him. Grant wrapped his arms around her as her tears started fresh.

“You don’t need to say anything. Justin told me,” said Grant softly.

They made their way out to Grant’s car, and Bernadette started speaking as soon as he was in and buckled. “I did it, Grant. I asked God to forgive me,” she started crying again, “but I’m not done. I need to talk to Edith.”

“Do you want to go see her at home?”

“No, but I think I’ll drop in next time she has therapy with you. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

A week later, Bernadette and Grant returned to the prison to visit Justin.

The moment Grant walked into the cafeteria, he could feel the difference. Justin’s brown eyes were clear and filled with peace. They continued their chess game, becoming better acquainted as they played.

During the weeks that followed, Grant made several phone calls. At visitation, Justin arrived in the cafeteria to find Grant, Bernadette, and Edith waiting for him. Justin went immediately to his mother, wrapped himself around her, and cried like a child.

It was a beautiful visit, made even more beautiful when Grant went on one knee and proposed to Bernadette. Tears filled her eyes and she could only nod her assent. Grant slipped the ring on her finger then pulled her close and kissed her.

Laughing and pushing tears away, Bernadette took Grant’s face in her hands. “It’s just a conversation, you said. Just one conversation” She kissed him gently.

Grant just smiled.

Hebrews 13:3 (NIV) Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.

Deborah Caligiuri is a graduate of Sam Houston State University. She is a mother of one, two, or three boys, depending on which cousins are present and who’s behaving at the time. She lives in Pennsylvania where her husband is teaching her to appreciate football.

Afterword

by Matthew Hurley

Almost every international missionary and aide solicitor has asked me to “go beyond my comfort zone.” To say that I must go beyond my comfort zone is intended to mean that I should ignore those mild predispositions against discomfort and social differences which have thus far been sufficient reason for me to stay home. The phrase originated among evangelical international missions advocates, particularly calling teenagers and young adults to minister to people in ways that are not familiar or easy. It has since been adopted by all manner of motivational speakers, fundraisers, and the like. It has now come to characterize the whole of evangelical and humanitarian missions.

I wonder if there is a more confusing way to characterize charity than this all-too-common phrase. This phrase has been so consistently contradicted in meaning and intent that I cannot help but wonder if anyone knows what it means. I can hardly imagine that those who use it are intending the misdirection that this phrase accomplishes. Whether I am being called to give, travel, or relate, I can apparently do each of those things better “outside my comfort zone.”

Yet, no one who has used this phrase has been able to satisfactorily explain to me why they think that I should seek increasingly uncomfortable ways to give my time and money. I certainly agree that charity should not be miserly, but who is further outside of their comfort zone than a miser who has been charitable? Thus it is the cheerful giver who is not outside of their comfort zone, and to whom this exhortation should still be applied. Not to mention that any man of decency would sooner do without than to accept a begrudged stipend from a cheerless miser. These jabs may seem facetious, but they point to a greater problem with the fundamental implications of the way that we commonly think about that great virtue: compassion.

I do not intend to deny that there is a sincere and meaningful intention in the phrase. What I do intend to deny is that the sincerity with which the phrase is used is more valuable than its meaning. Living in another culture is supposedly “outside my comfort zone” because the differences between our cultures are apparently the most important element. Telling a person that another culture is outside their comfort zone is tantamount to telling them “don't think about your differences.” The first thing you think about is difference.

The subtlety of this idea necessitates that we focus our time and attention on those things that are different between men. I find it difficult to argue that our differences will in any way bring us together or give us any kind of basis for relationship. To emphasize these differences is to speak in pragmatic, short-sighted, and global terms. None of which, I should clarify, is a good thing, particularly when forming relationships.

Without this instruction to think of another man as being uncomfortable, you might reasonably ask any man, regardless of dress or mannerism, “how are you?” Other than the minor obstacle of language, he would reply in terms that would be quite familiar to anyone. “I'm doing well, but we haven't had much rain this year,” “My child is ill,” “I don't trust our local leader.” We have, however, been told that we must understand our differences. Differences drive us apart. This otherwise universal man becomes “outside your comfort zone,” when in reality he wasn't. Differences drive us apart, so if that is the main thing I am concerned with, how can I ever be expected to comfortably form a genuine relationship with anyone from another culture?

This is why I believe that the comfort zone itself is a lie that we have come to believe, particularly as we use it to describe generosity, charity, and relationship. If there can be found anything good about establishing or discovering the boundaries of this comfort zone, the only way to increase its usefulness would be in invert it completely. To be perfectly frank, the differences between Americans and Arabs or Africans or Chinese or Peruvians are rather easily acceptable.

Few people are truly uncomfortable with the cultural differences. They may be nervous about an accidental insult, or unfamiliar with food and drink, or unaware of particular security risks that are different from their hometown. None of these, however, truly constitute cultural difference. Accidental insult, bad cooking, and varying crime rates can all be found in LA. These, if they are discomforts at all, are really quite mild. In fact, what more socially awkward and terribly uncomfortable thing is there than to tell your own neighbor that you've accidentally killed his dog? As well as you may know him and as understanding as he may be about the accident, the discomfort comes from relationship, and his charity in accepting your apology cannot be meaningful without that relationship.

What more rigid code and merciless rejection is there than that pitiless sneer with which one suburbanite criticizes another's unkempt lawn? Ultimately, what better horror has been written and how much more universal than that horror of isolation? Whether it is the cause of Gilgamesh's tyranny, Poe's terrors of “The Pit and the Pendulum,” the tortures of “The Count of Monte Cristo,” or the grief of Will Smith's character in “I Am Legend,” there are few terrors that are as universal as that fear of being absolutely alone. The one person with whom a man is singularly the most uncomfortable is not the most alien tribesman from the other side of the world; it is that one person who knows him better than any other relative; the person with whom he has the closest and most intimate relationship – himself.

It is this truth wherein we can see another truth that the “comfort zone” belies. This is the beauty of revealing lies. Rarely is it only one lie that we believe, but the disposal of one reveals another that is covering a greater portion of the truth. The first truth, that our discomfort can be keenly felt in our own front yard, then begs the question: What holds a neighborhood together? Why does that discomfort not regularly drive us away from congregating together? In the third chapter of his book “Heretics”, G. K. Chesterton answered this question more aptly than I could ever hope.

“The man in the saloon steamer has seen all the races of men, and he is thinking of the things that divide men—diet, dress, decorum, rings in the nose as in Africa, or in the ears as in Europe, blue paint among the ancients, or red paint among the modern Britons. The man in the cabbage field has seen nothing at all; but he is thinking of the things that unite men—hunger and babies, and the beauty of women, and the promise or menace of the sky.”

The things that rightly occupy the mind of healthy men are not the ideas of continents and cultures, because those are the things that divide men. The ideas that rightly occupy the minds of healthy men are ironically those ideas that rightly occupy the minds of all healthy men everywhere, regardless of the language in which they express these ideas. To think in cosmopolitan ideals and global impact is to limit our understanding of the rich cultures to only those things that differentiate them from ours and from one another. It is true that the Middle East can be accurately described as a dry, arid place and that China is unique in its proliferation of rice-paddies. Again, Chesterton deals with this idea, in the same chapter, more eloquently than I can.

“It is inspiriting without doubt to whizz in a motor-car round the earth, to feel Arabia as a whirl of sand or China as a flash of rice-fields. But Arabia is not a whirl of sand and China is not a flash of rice-fields. They are ancient civilizations with strange virtues buried like treasures. If we wish to understand them it must not be as tourists or inquirers, it must be with the loyalty of children and the great patience of poets.”

There just so happens to be a place that God has given us that we already understand with the loyalty of children and the patience of poets. We call it home. Wherever you are, that is where you already understand the natives. That is where you do not need to study cultural differences or focus on the things that divide men. That is where you can fill your mind and your relationships with the things that fill the minds of all sensible men and women. When you understand the natives, that is when you truly begin to impact lives with generosity, relationship, and that great virtue: charity. That neighbor who lives near you is the very sample of humanity that you have been given. As Chesterton puts it, “Precisely because he may be anybody he is everybody.”

Conversely, what is large-minded about thinking in terms of continents and cultures? Chesterton points out that, “There is nothing large about painting the map red; it is an innocent game for children. It is just as easy to think in continents as to think in cobble-stones. The difficulty comes in when we seek to know the substance of either of them.” The ideas that claim to encompass the globe are those ideas that exactly don't. The ideas that claim to be large-minded, that claim to be interested in global impact are those ideas that exactly aren't.

Ironically, when massive organizations shoehorn cultures into unity, no one is loved. The truly global ideas are those ideas that rightly occupy the minds of healthy men and women everywhere, because those are the ideas that unite men. The truly global ideas are the conversations you have with your neighbor about the promise or menace of the sky. This is the way that the world is united. Isn't it interesting that if every person cared for their neighbor, the world would be united? There would be no need for globalized initiatives, massive quasi-governmental organizations, or political maneuvering – just love shared across a backyard fence. The very organizations that seek to cobble the world together must necessarily do so simply, brutishly, and without love. They cannot create relationship, they cannot focus on unity while focusing on diversity. The only way for global ideas to be successful is one person at a time, with the loyalty of children and the patience of poets, as neighbors sharing with neighbors. It might simply be stated, “love your neighbor as you love yourself”.

You might ask “who is my neighbor?” I would poetically point you to the story of the Good Samaritan. I would also correct a common misconception about that story. Jesus, who taught the story, did not say that everyone is your neighbor. Jesus agreed with the Pharisee who said that the neighbor was the “man who had compassion,” and the Pharisee was perhaps more correct than he knew. The Good Samaritan was not neighborly everywhere. The Samaritan was neighborly wherever he was. People misuse this story to say that everyone is their neighbor, and I say misuse because the “everyone” that is in his or her mind often does not include his wife or the family next door or the waiter who got her order wrong… again.

The “everyone” certainly includes those people who are in terrible circumstances, those people who hate Americans, those people who are easy to love. Yes, it is very easy to recognize that I am supposed to love the people who hate me openly. It is easy to love these groups of people because it is easy to imagine that they need it, that they deserve it. Unfortunately, this is not compassion. “It is true that there is a thing crudely called charity,” Chesterton clarifies in chapter 12 of “Heretics”, “which means charity to the deserving poor; but charity to the deserving is not charity at all, but justice. It is the undeserving who require it, and the ideal either does not exist at all, or exists wholly for them.”

In the final estimation, it all comes down to one very simple question that I've been asking myself for the last several weeks. If I'm so comfortable here in my neighborhood, why do I still not know my neighbor's name? What is it about my neighbor that keeps me quiet on my side of the fence? It is certainly not that I am comfortable with him. In fact, it is most likely because I fear him. I fear that when I offer generosity that he will take more than I am prepared to give. I fear that when I offer relationship, I will be disappointed or rejected by him. I fear that when I offer advice and comfort, that he may expose my own foolishness and weakness. I fear that he will become inconvenient or troublesome or awkward.

This fear keeps me busy and noisy and cursory, instead of being purposeful, peaceful and meaningful. This fear necessarily lacks love. “There is no fear in love, but love casts out fear.” I have not been called to love humanity, or to seek its greater good. I have not been called to love the world; in fact, much the opposite. I have been called to love my neighbor. “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friend.” Not for humanity; not for greater good; not for his acquaintance, but for his friend. Compassion without relationship is impossible and useless. The only way for the world to be impacted is for us to individually and sincerely love our neighbors as ourselves. As much as I would like to pass these things along to “professionals” like international missionaries and foreign aid workers, I can no longer justify pretending that I am uncomfortable with foreigners. I cannot any longer pretend that I am comfortable with my next-door-neighbor. Now, I must more carefully consider the necessary calling to speak with my neighbors. In fact, if I'm honest with myself, I can no longer wait for a “good opportunity” to introduce myself. I have to make myself vulnerable to all of those inconvenient things that neighbors present. I must be deliberate, loving, and mindful.

Luke 10:36-37 "Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the robbers' hands?" And he said, "The one who showed compassion toward him." Then Jesus said to him, "Go and do the same."

Matthew Hurley is a hobbyist who writes science fiction, fantasy, and philosophical articles. His numerous unpublished works include short stories and explorational essays as well as a novel in progress. He currently lives with his wife in Texas where he is pursuing a degree in Visualization from Texas A&M.

Copyright Acknowledgements:

The Least of These, Copyright © 2010, by Critical Press Media

Foreword, Copyright © 2010, by David Crutchfield

Birthday Meal, Copyright © 2010, by Justin Lowmaster

Deedee’s Tale, Copyright © 2010, by Winston Crutchfield

The Golem’s Blessing, Copyright © 2010, by Justin Lowmaster

Lemonade Stand, Copyright © 2010, by Winston Crutchfield

Unclean, Copyright © 2010, by Justin Lowmaster

Waking Up With A Bump, Copyright © 2010, by Philip Carrol

The Bitter Drink, Copyright © 2010, by Nathan James Norman

Turn the World Right-side Up, Copyright © 2010, by Justin Lowmaster

Tide Haven, Copyright © 2010, by Kelsey Felder

Ole Melindy and Momma, Copyright © 2010, by Drucella Crutchfield

Facing the Fear, Copyright © 2010, by Justin Lowmaster

A Moment of Crisis, Copyright © 2010, by Andrew Crutchfield

The Visitation, Copyright © 2010, by Justin Lowmaster

The Conversation, Copyright © 2010, by Deborah Caligiuri

Afterword, Copyright © 2010, by Matthew Hurley

All rights reserved.

Published by Critical Press Media.

http://criticalpressmedia.com

Table of Contents

The Least of These

Matthew 25 (NIV)

Foreword

…I was hungry and you gave me food…

Birthday Meal

Adventures on the Atomic Earth

Deedee’s Tale

…I was thirsty and you gave me drink…

The Golem’s Blessing

Lemonade Stand

…I was a stranger and you invited me in…

Unclean

Waking Up With A Bump

The Bitter Drink

…I was naked and you clothed me…

Turn the World Right-Side Up

Tide Haven

Ole Melindy and Momma

…I was sick and you looked after me…

Facing the Fear

A Moment of Crisis

…I was imprisoned and you visited me…

The Visitation

The Conversation

Afterword

Copyright Acknowledgements: