Page 10 of Exiles on Earth
I answer with, “Is Dad okay?”
“Dad’s fine,” Mum says at the same time. “He’s having a nap now. We went to the seaside earlier, he’s pooped! Mind you, so am I. Oof!”
My tension unwinds, but a new one snakes up my throat. “Mum, don’t overdo it. Did you push dad’s wheelchair around all day again?”
“It’s a good workout,” Mum says mildly. She always faces every challenge head-on, raising her children in an isolated pocket of rural Britain and now caring for dad. “I just wanted to know how it went. You know, with the bank today. Yes?”
“Yeah.” My heart sinks. “They… need me to refine some more.”
“Oh.” Mum’s voice crackles again as she heaves a loud sigh.
“Mum, I heard that from Portugal.” I wipe my face fiercely. “It’ll happen, okay?”
“Yes, I know. Keep going, lass.” Mum tries, but the words aren’t as hopeful as Dad used to say them. He somehow managed to inject hope and determination along with joy into the phrase, as though the work itself was as much a reward as the result. He loved being a farmer. Until his stroke.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Just keep going. One more day. One more fight.
“Oh, one more thing,” Mum says. “Mr Fassbender called.”
Her message spikes ice in me, nothing to do with the February chill. My fingers tighten around the phone. “Mr Fassbender? The developer? What did he want? Mum?”
“He said he was stopping by soon. Might bring his son.”
Great. A weight presses down on my chest, tightening like a noose. I resist the urge to stamp my foot, scream, do something to fight my way out of the fences closing in around me. Jim and Terry Fassbender, the father and son duo of developers trying to buy my land. And personally, I never want to see Terry ever again.
Not after what he did. Not after how he made me feel like I was finally seen—only to turn his back on me the moment it mattered. One night, and then nothing. No calls. No texts. Just silence.
My stomach twists, heat and shame crawling up my spine.
“I’ll get Floss to see them off,” I grumble, pressing the phone closer. There’s an airplane or something overhead, making a horrible racket.
Mum chuckles. “I know the last five years haven’t been easy on any of us. You don’t have to do everything alone, Elle-belle.”
“I know. I’m not. I have wonderful friends, and your support. You helped me grow to where I am now. I just… really want it, Mum. Really, really, truly, deeply, all-the-words want it.”
The farm. The future. Something of my own that no one can take away.
“Then you’ll get it.” The long pause in between as we search for what to say next echoes how I feel now. Where do I go now? “Alright, then, well, that pool won’t lounge by itself you know. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
That plane is getting really loud now, although I can’t see anything in the sky. Must be a microlight aircraft flying really, really low. Wish it would buzz off. “Love you. Give Dad a kiss from me.”
“We love you. Sweet dreams.”
“Bye, Mum.” Hanging up, I slip the phone into my pocket. Hearing Terry Fassbender’s back is the shit icing on the shit cake that is today.
Like I don’t already have enough ghosts haunting me.
Rumbles sound above me, and a light shower starts up, cold prickles of rain racing across the grass, pattering on my coat. Only in Britain can it go from kind of sunny to gray and cold in an instant, and now there’s rain on the way. Great. Anything else that can go wrong?
The mechanical droning from above shifts into a screeching sound.
FOUR
ILIA
I race backto the console, reach under for the broken hydraulics, and wrench so hard my shoulders crunch, burning pain shooting across my back. The ship’s nose comes up sharply and the engines automatically fire up in response, blasting downward with a roar.
The bot skids, blasts firing wildly against the walls, and my grip rips open as expected. I slide down the corridor, scales scraping along the metal sides, ending up beneath the bot. The engine roar still echoes in my ears, leaving a dull ringing as the bot’s cannons swivel down, malevolent red light gleaming.
