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Authors: Susan Grant
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breakfast?”
Zhurihe shook her head. She was never very hungry after coming home from her absences.
“How about I take the goats up to the pasture this morning? Then you can stay in bed.”
“Oh, would you, Cam? How can I make it up to you?”
“Tell me you’re staying around for a while this time.”
Zhurihe looked coy. “I would like that.”
A typically vague answer. It saddened Cam more than angered her. She enjoyed Zhurihe’s company, and missed her when she was gone. She had so little else to cling to in this world.
Zhurihe threw a blanket over her head and disappeared from sight, only a muffled squeak of a sneeze giving away who lay under the lump of brown wool. Cam wished she could stay in bed, too, but the ladies awaited her, udders filled to bursting.
The first challenge of the day was not stumbling and falling into the hole outside in the dirt that served as a toilet. If that meant sacrificing her pride and completing the task with the help of a crutch, that was fine with her.
Cam rinsed her face and brushed her teeth using a bowl of cold water. Then she fixed her wheat-colored hair in the same style as Zhurihe’s, but her braids were mere stubs no longer than the back of her neck. Cam studied herself critically in the small mirror. Somehow the style didn’t have the hoped-for youthful effect it did on Zhurihe. She was only twenty-five, but her eyes were prematurely old. Hollow, they reflected her devastatingloss. While she no longer wept big buckets of tears when she pondered what she’d lost, grief had left a permanent stain.
Cam turned away from the sad face in the mirror. After stripping and changing into soft layers of brightly colored wool and a pair of cowhide boots lined with the wooly undercoat of a yak, she fixed herself a plate of bread and goat cheese and ate standing up in the kitchen. Her leg muscles were so stiff and painful today that she feared not being able to leave a chair once she sat in it.
She was wiping her hands clean of crumbs when she heard a strange noise from outside. The sound wavered, as if it were traveling from a great distance. In a city she wouldn’t have noticed the sound, and it wouldn’t have woken her if she were sleeping, but in the utter quiet of the countryside the rumble stood out.
Cam ran to the window. Her heart hammered, threatening to drown out the distant roar, and the aches in her muscles were no longer noticeable. She knew that sound!
She shambled to the front door, throwing it open. Cold, dry air slapped her in the face. The sky looked like steel wool. And yet she knew what was behind the clouds.
It was an airplane, too high to see any detail, only a sliver of metal at the tip of a contrail. It was high and moving fast.
She jumped up, thrusting her fist in the air. “Oh, baby, oh, yeah!” Somewhere, someone still had the technological knowledge to maintain and fly a plane!
Before Cam realized what she was doing, she was running, lurching along in an unsteady gait out past the pens of animals and piles of manure, past a few early-riserlocals heading out into the fields. Ahead, there was an opening where the strands of clouds had separated. Cam limped to a halt on the rutted dirt road, her face turned to the sky. Where was the aircraft? Then she saw it: a minuscule sliver, glinting high up in the rarified, raw sunshine that only pilots and eagles knew.
Every cell in her body seemed to soar skyward, taking her trampled spirit with them. “Y’all, I’m here. Don’t go. . . .”
Even without knowing who sat behind the controls, friend or foe, she knew she was calling out to one of her own kind—another pilot.
Just then, a ray of sunlight hit her square in the face, and she laughed, truly laughed, for the first time since crash-landing in the year 2176.
Something slammed into her from behind. A wool blanket fell over her as the ground rushed up to meet her. All she had to break her fall was a long, thin arm she’d sprained once
Zhurihe shook her head. She was never very hungry after coming home from her absences.
“How about I take the goats up to the pasture this morning? Then you can stay in bed.”
“Oh, would you, Cam? How can I make it up to you?”
“Tell me you’re staying around for a while this time.”
Zhurihe looked coy. “I would like that.”
A typically vague answer. It saddened Cam more than angered her. She enjoyed Zhurihe’s company, and missed her when she was gone. She had so little else to cling to in this world.
Zhurihe threw a blanket over her head and disappeared from sight, only a muffled squeak of a sneeze giving away who lay under the lump of brown wool. Cam wished she could stay in bed, too, but the ladies awaited her, udders filled to bursting.
The first challenge of the day was not stumbling and falling into the hole outside in the dirt that served as a toilet. If that meant sacrificing her pride and completing the task with the help of a crutch, that was fine with her.
Cam rinsed her face and brushed her teeth using a bowl of cold water. Then she fixed her wheat-colored hair in the same style as Zhurihe’s, but her braids were mere stubs no longer than the back of her neck. Cam studied herself critically in the small mirror. Somehow the style didn’t have the hoped-for youthful effect it did on Zhurihe. She was only twenty-five, but her eyes were prematurely old. Hollow, they reflected her devastatingloss. While she no longer wept big buckets of tears when she pondered what she’d lost, grief had left a permanent stain.
Cam turned away from the sad face in the mirror. After stripping and changing into soft layers of brightly colored wool and a pair of cowhide boots lined with the wooly undercoat of a yak, she fixed herself a plate of bread and goat cheese and ate standing up in the kitchen. Her leg muscles were so stiff and painful today that she feared not being able to leave a chair once she sat in it.
She was wiping her hands clean of crumbs when she heard a strange noise from outside. The sound wavered, as if it were traveling from a great distance. In a city she wouldn’t have noticed the sound, and it wouldn’t have woken her if she were sleeping, but in the utter quiet of the countryside the rumble stood out.
Cam ran to the window. Her heart hammered, threatening to drown out the distant roar, and the aches in her muscles were no longer noticeable. She knew that sound!
She shambled to the front door, throwing it open. Cold, dry air slapped her in the face. The sky looked like steel wool. And yet she knew what was behind the clouds.
It was an airplane, too high to see any detail, only a sliver of metal at the tip of a contrail. It was high and moving fast.
She jumped up, thrusting her fist in the air. “Oh, baby, oh, yeah!” Somewhere, someone still had the technological knowledge to maintain and fly a plane!
Before Cam realized what she was doing, she was running, lurching along in an unsteady gait out past the pens of animals and piles of manure, past a few early-riserlocals heading out into the fields. Ahead, there was an opening where the strands of clouds had separated. Cam limped to a halt on the rutted dirt road, her face turned to the sky. Where was the aircraft? Then she saw it: a minuscule sliver, glinting high up in the rarified, raw sunshine that only pilots and eagles knew.
Every cell in her body seemed to soar skyward, taking her trampled spirit with them. “Y’all, I’m here. Don’t go. . . .”
Even without knowing who sat behind the controls, friend or foe, she knew she was calling out to one of her own kind—another pilot.
Just then, a ray of sunlight hit her square in the face, and she laughed, truly laughed, for the first time since crash-landing in the year 2176.
Something slammed into her from behind. A wool blanket fell over her as the ground rushed up to meet her. All she had to break her fall was a long, thin arm she’d sprained once
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