CHAPTER 2: RETURN

Carlita sits by the window, gazing out at the majesty of the midnight sky. The stars are brilliant tonight. The crescent moon bathes the rolling fog in a faint silvery sheen. A row of skyscrapers stretches away into the distance; guards on high alert are posted with rifles at many a candle and lantern-lit window.

Towering 13 stories over the fog and 33 floors above the death and destruction that only very recently ceased, she feels like it all happened far away, an eternity ago. It's been an incredibly long day. She yawns deeply.

She's sitting in the general store at 101 Cali at a round yellow-topped table where old folks usually gather to chit-chat during the daylight hours. Garden’s mother and father, Sunshine and Jazzman, are having a heated discussion in hushed tones behind the counter.

Carlita knows Sunshine well; as Garden’s best friend, she’s practically part of the family. But she’s rarely seen Jazzman, who spends all his time digging tunnels in the Crypts to support his family. He'd rushed upstairs tonight to rejoin his wife as soon as the fighting in the lobby had died down.

Jazzman winces in pain as Sunshine tightly re-wraps a wound on his arm with gauze. She scowls at him, but her irritation can’t hide the distress she’d endured being separated from her entire family when the fighting broke out downstairs. He yelps as she gives the dressing a rough yank.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can help with?” Carlita asks, hoping to lighten the mood. She tries to perk up, make herself at least look useful, but her body's like a dead weight that only wants to slouch down deeper into her seat.

“Oh no, no, ‘Lita dear,” Sunshine replies. She sounds husky and tired. “You’ve done more than enough just bringing my girl back home. Why don’t you help yourself to a snack from the shelves? Anything you like, it’s on the house.”

At this, Carlita brightens a little and happily sets to purusing the sparse rows of food and ingredients. Anything that doesn't come out of the community kitchen or greenhouse is available for purchase here at the store. There's also a shelf of medicinal tinctures, ointments and herbal remedies, upon which Carlita finds a selection of root infusion teabags.

Before long she's back at the table, digging into a strawberry tart while a kettle of simmering tea fills the air with a delicious, earthy fragrance. She eats slowly. She wants to stay awake, to remain with Garden as long as her friend needs her. But more than anything, she just wants to remain in this peaceful little community store for a while longer, to put off going back to her own sleeping quarters and facing her aunt.

Garden returns from the washroom just as Carlita is savoring her last bite. Garden’s hair is wrapped in a towel and the collar of her sweatshirt is wet. She has the same dazed, far-away look in her eyes that she had when Carlita found her on the stairs a little over an hour ago.

Carlita abruptly stands and smiles, then grimaces as her aching foot takes on her weight again. “Hi Gard! Would you like some tea?”

Garden shrugs and slumps into a chair, her eyes not really focusing on a blank section of the wall. It's impossible to tell what she's thinking.

Garden just killed a man, Raz had explained on the slow march up many flights of stairs. Shot him dead with a handgun. Pretty badass. Guess that accounts for her being a bit out of it, a bit shell-shocked. But still…

Carlita also just witnessed someone suffer a much more brutally slow and painful death than a single clean bullet to the forehead. And Carlita isn’t acting like an invalid. She has no idea what really happened to that guy who suffocated out there on the streets. Head engulfed in ice? How did that happen? She shudders, grateful to live indoors where the fog isn’t a constant threat.

“Oh, Garden’s been through a lot, dear,” Sunshine says (as if Carlita needs reminding), “She just needs some rest now. Right, Gard?”

Garden nods her head once, slowly.

“Right.” Carlita gives her friend a pat on the shoulder and half-turns to the door. Time to hit the hay, I guess. Time to head back to my prison in the kitchens. “Right.”

“Carlita?” Garden’s voice sounds muffled and faint, as if speaking through a heavy scarf. “Can we talk later? Tomorrow?”

“Sure!” Carlita responds with enthusiasm, immediately cringing inside. She probably thinks I want to pry her for the juicy details. Or that I’m really itching to leave. Or both… “What about?” she asks carefully.

“My dreams … have gotten a whole lot weirder.”

Carlita hovers a moment, curiosity written plainly upon her face. Garden, Raz and myself, all a bunch of wackos these days. Her eyebrows raise as she silently asks, What’s up?

“Tomorrow, ‘Lita. Tonight … I just can’t.” Garden buries her face in her arms upon the tabletop, signifying a definite end to the conversation.

“Right.” Carlita raises a hesitant hand toward Garden’s parents. Jazzman smiles back through gritted teeth.

“See you tomorrow.”

###

Soda meets Raz in the stairwell for the second time that night. Both are going up.

“Hey,” Soda says. “Working late?”

“Yeah. Everybody in the whole damn tower and the Crypts are awake tonight. Ain’t no rest for the couriers.” Raz is carrying a plastic crate packed with cloth-wrapped bundles that bounce lightly with each step.

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“Long day for everybody, huh…” Soda’s voice is heavy with weariness.

“Yeah, pretty crazy.”

The two friends walk in silence for a moment, then Soda cuts in with an insinuating tone, “You must’ve had an extra long evening…”

“Hey?” Raz seems not to understand.

Soda pokes Raz in the ribs with a tired grin. “I saw you and Garden come outta the third-floor landing together. Everyone knows what that means, dog!”

“Oh … oh! No!” Raz’s laugh sounds guilty as hell. “No, no no, it’s not what it looked like! I was just helping her.”

“Suuuure…”

Raz rolls his eyes. “Garden’s too young for me, man! She’s more your age, why don’t you go after her?”

“Naw dog, I need at least two girls my age to tie me down.” Soda’s grin widens and he strikes a pose on the stairs like he’s expecting a fresh prospect to come walking around the bend any moment.

“Riiiight…” Raz laughs. “Anyway, thought you’d be heading back down to the Crypts tonight.”

Soda shakes his head. “No way. Gotta find a place to crash up here.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Soda groans and starts dragging his feet up the stairs again. “Dude, I ran all the way here from Corona Heights today. I don’t wanna have to hike back up 40 flights again at the crack of dawn.”

Raz chuckles and slows his pace to match Soda’s as they exit the stairwell on the 43rd floor. The air is abuzz with late-night commotion of people gossipping in the halls about the evening’s violent end.

“Just got back from City Hall,” Soda continues, referring to the community’s general assembly rooms three floors below. His voice is low, almost conspiratorial. “There’s a Committee meeting in the morning and I’ve been given permission to speak. Dead Boy and I learned some intel about this gang that attacked us.”

Raz raises his eyebrows in surprise.

Soda proceeds to explain in hushed tones what Old Man Elvis told them earlier that evening. He describes the shattered Frozen they saw all down the street and finishes his tale with a frightening description of the ice wraiths that were loitering in the fog during the attack, watching the mayhem.

Raz’s eyes are wide with appreciation. “Wow, damn. You win today’s breaking news, man. That is heavy.” He nods down the hall. “Come on, you can crash at mine tonight. It’s not far, I just have to drop this off first.”

Raz stops by the clinic to deliver his parcels, which are revealed to be bandaging rags soaked in some kind of medicinal oil. The waiting room is full of people in need of medical attention after the fighting downstairs, although none seem to be in critical condition.

The most seriously wounded have probably already died or been patched up by now. Surveying the wounded patients, Soda grimly reflects on the earlier battle. There’d been plenty of gunfire, but ammo ran out fast. The attackers had followed up on the initial assault with knives and makeshift bladed weapons, leaving many victims with deep lacerations bleeding out all over the steaming ice-slick ground. Plenty had died on the spot, from gunshots or slashed throats or spilled guts. Soda realizes that he hadn’t really noticed how horrifying the whole scene was during the thick of battle—he was fleeing other terrors after all—but in retrospect the details he previously refused to notice are now coming back with far too much clarity. He looks away, but the memories still haunt his mind’s eye.

Raz leads him down the hall and keys open another door to the apartment Raz shares with his parents. Raz’s mother and father are still up, talking in the living room when Soda enters. Both his parents look Middle Eastern, although his mother is noticeably lighter-skinned.

“Mom, Dad, this is Soda, a friend of mine. He’s been through a lot today, so I said he could stay in my room tonight.”

There's a brief conversation that Soda has a hard time focusing on. The room is swimming now. He's so tired. Raz’s mother graciously ushers her guest into Raz’s room and brings him a wet towel to wash off the day’s grime.

Raz excuses himself, something about running a couple more crates before returning to sleep on the sofa tonight.

Soda doesn't even answer—he's perched on the edge of the bed, having his face and hands washed by Raz’s mom, blissfully wondering if his own mother ever pampered him like this before she left him in the fog when he was a baby. And then it's over; Raz’s mother bids him good night and closes the door, and Soda collapses on the bed, all the strength gone out of him with a sigh.

His mind is still swimming, spinning, spiraling away. He feels like he's floating up on a cloud, the memories of the brutal battle finally flitting from his thoughts like dust in the wind.

The last thing that crosses his mind before he falls into a deep, dreamless slumber is another confused memory from earlier that evening. When he was running down the hill toward the NBAZ, intent on defending his home … he hadn’t been running. He's sure of it.

In fact, he could swear his feet weren't even touching the ground at all.

###

Carlita lays huddled in her cot with the blanket pulled right over her head. Her aunt Maya had thankfully been away when Carlita arrived back in the tiny living quarters they share; now Carlita's trying her hardest to hide in the pile of blankets so she won't be noticed upon Maya’s return.

She teeters on the edge of sleep, feeling so very tired yet also nervous about the inescapable quarrel that is bound to come either tonight or in the morning when Maya confronts her. Her aunt's such an unpleasant old woman. Carlita often imagines how it must really irk her to have to raise a child that isn't her own. She sighs and wishes for the umpteenth time that she could live somewhere else.

She lets her mind drift, imagining (not for the first time) that she lives with Garden and her mother. Sunshine's always so nice to her and just generally an inspiring person to be around. Her warm, round face and long silver-blonde hair are a stark contrast to Maya’s cruel jawline and boxy, thickly-muscled frame. Sunshine sometimes bakes cookies for Garden and her, but Maya never bakes anything outside of working hours.

Once in a blue moon, Jazzman comes to visit. As he strides through the door, he doffs the hat he always wears and tosses it onto the hatrack with a mischevous wink, his hair smoothed down on the top of his head and sticking out at odd angles over his dirty collar.

He could be like my dad, maybe… Carlita’s eyes flutter as she gives in to the fantasy, sliding deep into dream.

“Got a present for you, ‘Lita,” Jazzman says. He withdraws a bundle wrapped in a soiled rag from his inside jacket pocket.

“For me?” Carlita’s eyes sparkle. When was the last time she received an actual present from anyone?

“Don’t tell nobody. Not exactly on the up and up, you know what I mean.”

He unwraps the bundle and reveals a little wooden bird. It's very delicate and seems to be carved all from one piece of light-colored wood.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Carlita breathes. She picks it up in her hands oh-so-gingerly and turns it this way and that, admiring it from different angles like one would a prism catching light.

The door opens a second time and Garden glides into the room. With a start of surprise, Carlita jerks around, instinctively trying to hide her new treasure.

Her elbow bumps the back of the chair, and the wooden bird goes flying. It clatters against the concrete wall with a sparkling burst of color. Carlita can hear wood snapping, and with it her dream begins to crumble.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Jazzman says. “Just one foot…”

“Carlita!” Garden says, her voice sharp and angry.

“Me tiene hasta el gorro!”

Carlita’s eyes fly open and she twists around in a feverish flash. Her aunt Maya is framed in the doorway, a candle outlining her fat figure and casting the bottom part of her face in ominous flickering orange. Her mouth is twisted up in an angry, mirthless smirk.

“Don’t even bother coming in to the kitchens tomorrow, you thankless brat. You’ve been summoned to a Committee meeting in the morning. Good night!”

###