Chapter Fourteen

GABRIELLA

"What did you say?"

I stared at Laz, nervously sticking my thumbs into my fists. I had never seen Laz as shaken as this before. His eyes were darting back and forth. The worry lines on his face were prominent.

How did he know these things about my father? I was bursting with questions, but I wasn't getting any answers.

"Never mind about that," Laz replied curtly. He reached for some water and tilted his head back. He drank it all in one swallow.

"It's going to be hard to get me to drop that topic of conversation. How do you know so much about my Dad? Did you do a background check on me?"

"No." Laz reached into his satchel and took out a small case. He split it open, revealing a secret compartment in the back before handing it to me. "I might have known him. Is this a picture of your father?"

I took his card holder and inspected the faded photograph on the back. There were three figures in the picture, casually posed in mid-laughter in front of a Maztek military shuttle. The handsome alien on the left appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He had wavy brown hair, and tattoos peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his army fatigues. The alien in the middle was considerably older. He had a silver-gray ponytail and an old scar that prevented his left eye from fully opening. Even now it looked like he could make girls swoon.

On the far right of the picture, as clear as water from the lake behind Grandma Molly's house, stood a familiar shape. It was Dad. I recognized his smile immediately. The grin that used to put me to sleep at night stretched from ear to ear.

"That's my father and Upa, next to Marshall."

"Oh my God." I traced the outline of Dad's face with the tip of my finger. A single tear rolled down my face, lingering on my chin. "How is this possible?"

"It's a long story. I might as well fix us something to eat while I think about the best way to tell it."

Laz emptied out a bag and pulled two plain brown packages out of it. He set a tray in front of me. The flimsy tray had two sections. A coin-sized lump of black dough sat on one side. The other was deeper and contained a handful of brown powder. Laz ripped open a smaller packet and poured its contents onto both ends of the tray. Within seconds, the dough fluffed up, swelling into a small loaf of bread. The brown powder started foaming and turning into a thick, questionable gravy.

"Dig in."

With one hand, I took a crunchy bite of bread, which tasted as dry and unappetizing as it looked when it was a powder. The other held the photograph. I couldn't stop looking at it.

"Is it real? If it's fake, it's not a funny joke."

"It is." Laz replied with his mouth full. He was already sopping up the gravy with the last pieces of his bread. "Marshall and my father were especially close."

"I can't believe it. I thought Earth was small, but this feels like a cosmic coincidence. What about you? Did you know my Dad personally?"

"Yes."

"Well?" I demanded, setting the mostly uneaten bread back down on my tray. "Go on, don't just stop there!"

"He was an honorable human, and would have been a fine Maztek," said Laz. He looked at me, but his eyes were unfocused, as if he were replaying memories in his head. "When my father and Upa died in battle, he always made time in his busy schedule to check on me. He helped me keep focused through my adolescent years."

"That sounds like him." I blinked back my tears and reluctantly dipped my bread into the salty gravy. "I'm a Daddy's girl, so maybe I'm biased, but he was the most generous and compassionate man I've ever known. Everyone else came before his needs. Even those who didn't deserve it."

Before now, I had never spoken a word about Dad to another living creature. Not concerned school teachers, not coworkers, and definitely not Jake. I felt my body start to relax. It felt freeing to talk about the man I immortalized and held tightly to my heart.

"There was a homeless man named Skippy that used to panhandle near my house. I don't think any of us knew his real name. I saw him sometimes on the way to school or on my way back. We never talked, but he would wave at me. I would see Dad giving him food, clothes, or money when he could. He did stuff like that all the time. I guess it was part of his character. He did what he could for other people wherever he was. One day, I stopped seeing Skippy on my way to school. Weeks went by, but he stopped showing up. I thought poverty had finally gotten to him until I ran into him at a grocery store about two years ago. He's employed as a lawyer now. I didn't even recognize him. In fact, he was the one who approached me."

"Your father gave him more than you have ever imagined." Laz finished my thought. He nodded to himself as he put the communicator back together. He screwed the sides shut and began toying with the knobs.

"He did. You probably think I cry all the time, but I don't cry much. I hadn't shed a tear for three years, but when I saw Skippy again, I lost control of myself. I got off work early that day and rushed home. Jake still hadn't moved from the couch, of course..."

"Jake? Is that the roommate you mentioned?"

"Oh, right." I tugged on my earlobe and twirled a strand of hair around my finger. "Well, yes, but not exactly. He wasn't just a roommate. We were in a relationship for almost nine years. It's more complicated than it sounds."

"I see." He didn't probe any further.

"Do you think you could tell me a story about my Dad? I would love to hear anything about him."

"No."

My mouth dropped open in protest. "But...why not?"

"You didn't let me finish. What I meant to say was – no, but I could show you, if you like."

"Show me?" I wrinkled my forehead. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's a Maztek practice we call tawarid mana," Laz explained, scratching the back of his neck. "Other people have done it to me a few times, but I was always on the receiving end. This will be the first time I'm sending my memories to another. You'll have to keep your expectations low, but it can't hurt to try."

"Okay." I started to push myself off the floor. "What do I have to do? Is it going to hurt?"

"Sit down. You shouldn't feel anything as long as I do it correctly."

"Okay," I shrugged. I stuck my butt on the floor again and leaned back against the side of the bed. "I trust you."

"This might sound strange, but I'm going to need to hold your hands."

I held out my hands to him obediently, hoping I wouldn't start to sweat. He looked uncomfortable as well, releasing a flustered sigh as he placed my palms flat on his. Once I saw them close together, I realized my hands looked tiny next to his. The tips of my fingers barely reached the bottom fold line of his fingers. The reminder of how easily he could overpower me was both titillating and terrifying at the same time.

"Fold your legs and straighten your back. Relax."

I closed my eyes and flexed my muscles.

"Your shoulders are too high up. You're looking for relaxation, not constipation."

"I'm trying," I grumbled, curling my lip. I shook my shoulders loose and cracked my knuckles before placing my hands on top of his again.

"Take deep, slow breaths from your diaphragm."

I shut my eyes again and tried not to get distracted from by huskiness of Laz's voice. I wasn't sure what tawarid mana required, but I hoped it wasn't much different from meditation. I thought I could do it if I concentrated.

"You're going to have to try to sync to my khwala – my wavelength. Listen to the sound of my voice. Copy my breathing patterns. Pay attention to each beat of my pulse through my palms. Don't say anything. Don't think anything. Let me guide you."

The stitches in his hands were tickling my palms, but I forced that thought to the back of my mind. I held in my breath and exhaled with him. With my eyes closed, I could feel a rhythmic drumming coming from his palms. The more I paid attention to it, the more it seemed as if the noise was getting louder and closer to my ears.

I heard someone else talking.

"Two thousand civilians are believed dead in the Fallgold bloodshed..."

Now it was another voice.

"Private! Get your worthless face off the ground and finish that lap before I rip off your leg and drag you to the finish line!"

A different person now.

"Man down! I repeat, man down! Back off and give him some air. Hang in there, Liam. I'm not going anywhere."

Choppy images and garbled, disembodied voices started invading my mind. They came one after another, but each flashing image lasted for no longer than a second. The worst were scenes of explosions, cities in ruins, and mutilated corpses. My shoulders started shaking, but I didn't notice it until Laz pulled his palms out from under me.

I buckled over, holding my hand against my racing heart.

"Sorry. That's not supposed to happen," said Laz quietly. "I got distracted. Are you okay?"

"I can't believe it. It was like I was in your head," I gasped. My mind was still reeling from the horrifying images. Was that what he lived with every day? I nodded and gave my hands a shake. "Let's try it again."

"Take two."

I placed my palms on his and allowed our breathing to harmonize.

When I closed my eyes, I saw a dusty desert scene in front of me. The difference was that I was no longer looking through my eyes. Judging by the oversized world around me, I was looking out from the eyes of a young Laz who couldn't have been older than five or six.

And I definitely wasn't on Xylox anymore.

YOUNG LAZARUS

Along with the sun's dazzling rays beating down on my face, the air felt fresh and exhilarating. Coral-tinted clouds floated across the rolling blue skies. I glanced down at my feet. The small soles of my boots sunk into the gleaming white sand.

I climbed the wavy floors of sand dunes, but as I reached the top, I realized what lay on the other side was far from scenic.

People had erected massive white tents all over an open area, creating a small campsite. A mixture of human and Maztek doctors treated patients both inside the tents and out - the camp was already over capacity. Doctors were even wheeling around small children on appropriately-sized mobile beds. Most of them appeared to be on drugs for their pain. They looked tiny next to their towering IV drips.

I kicked off my boots and swung them next to me as I walked along the crest of the hill. The tiny grains of sand felt fantastic between my bare toes. When I spotted my father and grandfather coming up the dune to our right, we looked for a place to hide and found it beneath a large boulder. I held onto the edge of the rock and carefully peeked around it. I knew this area was out of bounds. Even though they were far away, I would be able to hear their conversation from my hiding place.

Father and Upa put on surgical masks and approached a man in a hazmat suit from behind. The man turned around and lifted his mask over his head. It was Marshall.

"Fahzi," Marshall said. My father had a weary expression on his lined face. He had not slept for a few days. "I think it's far too early in the day to see your ugly mug, Andrei."

"As they say on Earth – blow me, Marshall," Father fired back, grinning. The grim look on his face disappeared as he looked around at the grisly scene. "How's it looking for these patients? Have you made any progress?"

"Our supply of antidote is running dangerously low. I have people working to find the ingredients we need from neighboring ports. Once we get all the components, we can start creating a fresh batch."

"How are we determining who is first in line for the remainder? I assume children are receiving the last of the antidote," Upa piped up, crossing his arms.

My Upa's face was deeply grooved and heavily scarred, and his sleeves could barely contain his muscles. As he spoke, someone approached wheeling a chubby boy with big brown eyes and a handful of tubes running out from his chest. Upa's expression instantly softened as he made a silly face, getting the boy to start giggling. As soon as he turned back to the men, his face was as grim as ever.

"For now," Marshall replied sternly. "The Xylo biological weapons have put these villages in quite a predicament. They've understood for the most part, but tensions are escalating. A few have started to complain, and those in severe pain will begin to make louder demands."

The haunting call of a blow horn ripped through the air.

Surprised by the noise, I fell and landed on my butt with a thud. I jammed my feet into my boots, wanting to flee the scene as quickly as possible. Hurtling down the slope of the dune, I ran straight for Marshall, Father, and Upa.

Soldiers were streaming in from all directions to evacuate the patients and workers, who were starting to panic. Father's eyes bulged, then lit up when he spotted me. He grabbed me by the back of my shirt and held me up by the shoulders.

"Lazarus! I know I told you to stop playing around here. It's going to get dangerous." Father paused and held me in his arms. He turned toward Marshall, who was running towards a tent. "Marshall! You're going in the wrong direction."

"I know there's a patient back there who's senile. We haven't accounted for him. He often hides in the supply closet..."

"Marshall, no! And there he goes. Fuck!" Father thrust me into Upa's arms and started running after Marshall. "We're running out of time. Take Laz and make sure you get him to the shelter!"

My body trembled as Upa opened a circular vault door built into the ground. He pulled back the top and he climbed into the small space, squeezing me along with him. The bunker of last resort was made to house only one man, so adding a young child made it very cramped. I still hadn't uttered a word, but I knew my eyes were wide with fright. Once we settled inside, Upa sealed the door behind us.

"Close your eyes, Laz. There's going to be a little rumble, but it will all be over soon."

The eerie whine of an approaching bomb grew louder than a rumble. Before I could brace myself, the ground above us was hit with a blast that shook the ground. Just as Upa predicted, our chamber vibrated for almost ten seconds.

"It's going to be fine, Laz. Just hold on tightly to me."

Upa climbed the ladder and grunted as he lifted the vault door over his head. He set me on the ground next to him and grabbed my outreached hand. Upa fanned the cloud of dense black smoke permeating the air. Through the fog, we could see that the few remaining tents were ablaze.

Three shadowy figures began limping toward me. As the fog slowly cleared, my knees went weak with relief. Marshall and Father each had an arm of a white-faced patient draped around their necks. They lay him carefully on the ground and promptly fell alongside him. All three lay quietly amidst the wreckage, trying to regain their strength.

Laz pulled his hand away. He looked drained and fell back but caught himself with his palms before he hit the ground. My face felt flushed. I rested the back of my head against the edge of the bed. Laz crawled over and sat next to me. He leaned in and gently opened my eyes with his fingers.

"Are you all right in there?"

"I'm okay. Just tired and a little shaken." My eyes drooped shut again as I shook my head sadly. "To think, after all that, Dad died in a horrible shuttle crash."

"Why do you say that?" Laz interjected. He frowned, looking genuinely confused. "Marshall survived the impact."

The hairs on my arms stood up straight, and my blood felt ice-cold.

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"It turned out Synic shot down his shuttle. It's very similar to your situation. Synic took Marshall hostage and interrogated him about Maztek troop deployment."

Laz's words trailed off as he stared at me. I sniffed and wiped off my tears with my fists. He was doing it again – evaluating me with his stony poker face.

"Why are you waiting? What did they do to him? Don't hold back now," I begged. My pitch was rising with every word I spoke. "Don't spare a single detail. What did they do to my father?"

Laz blinked at me.

"Marshall would not give up any information, of course. Synic killed him. They told me it was swift and painless. Your father died a hero."

It was my turn to narrow my eyes and analyze his face. "Are you lying to me?"

Before I could get an answer, the communicator crackled to life.

"General? General, this is Sargeant Major Dallas – do you read me? I repeat, do you read me? Over."