Mad World Bandby Danielle L. Parker |
Table of Contents Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 appear in this issue. |
| Chapter 3 |
Sammy Breckinridge sat in the swing, kicking lazily with one dropped foot. It was very hot, and the shade of the canopy above her head was welcome. There was little shade elsewhere. From her seat outside her parents’ house she could see up and down the short street, and those identical small block houses, treeless, grassless, and blindingly white, were so bright in the hot California sun that she screwed up her eyes. If she did it the right way, she could see a kind of sun-shadow at the edge of her vision; but though she tried, she could not quite decide what shape that blotch formed.
There was no incentive to move. Sammy knew every person who lived in every one of those houses, for this was her second year, now, at the base. In the house to her left lived Dr. Aaron Bissenger, a middle-aged and balding gentleman Sammy found very dull; to her right lived Dr. Victor Scofield and his wife Mary and their young baby. Three houses down was the only child who came close enough to her own age to be considered a friend, but since whiny Peter Rasmussen was twelve to Sammy’s sixteen, she did not consider him at all interesting. And right now Peter, who was prone to disobeying his mother’s orders to wear sun protection, was inside the house with a bad burn.
All the same, Sammy was not as bored as she usually was during her summer break. She was watching the street toward the humped collection of buildings that formed the work center of the base. Past them were the entrance and its formidable guards, and sometime today, through that entrance, she expected a newcomer to arrive. She had heard her parents talking about it, after supper, and the extra coats had been moved out of the front closet to provide the newcomer some small space to put his personal clothing.
Perhaps the visitor would be old, and no more interesting than dull Dr. Bissenger, but still, it was a new face, and Sammy had been waiting all morning for him to arrive. Someone was moving in with them. It was change, at least, and Sammy was anticipating that.
The hours wore on, and at last, panting with the heat, Sammy went inside to pour herself a glass of ice tea. She was the only one at home now, for both her mother and father were scientists and worked. She glanced at the ladder up to the attic as she went back out: there, apparently, was where their visitor would sleep. A futon had been dragged up already. But Sammy knew it was hot and stuffy, and she felt a little sorry for their new housemate.
She brightened in anticipation when she came back outside, for in her brief absence, one of the base’s silent electric cars had driven up the short street. Two young men were getting out, looking a little hesitantly at the identical houses. After a moment the man who had been the passenger pointed, somewhat doubtfully, to the number painted on the house opposite, and went to the back of the car for what was doubtless his luggage.
The other young man turned to stare at his side of the street with a frown, and Sammy, ice tea in hand, went up to the small wooden fence that divided her parents’ dirt from the street and waved.
“Up here,” she called helpfully. “You’re supposed to stay here!”
The gentleman so addressed smiled in comprehension, and turned to the trunk for his own bag. He only had one. Sammy, watching in excitement, saw it was not going to be such a dull summer after all. The former passenger had gone across the street to knock on Dr. Emory Black’s door, and the driver, a tall, broad-shouldered and long-limbed young man, came up the street to Sammy.
“Hello,” he said, smiling in a kind way. “You must be Samantha.”
“Sammy,” she corrected, staring in some wonder. “You’re... you’re so... large.”
And he was. He loomed over Sammy as he opened their small gate, so she had to look up so sharply she felt the crook of it in her neck. His eyes were bright blue, as blue as the brightest summer sky, and his thick straight hair was pale gold. He was, as Sammy was already aware, very good looking, and very large, and very blonde.
“Yes I am,” he said, and seemed faintly amused by her gaping wonder. He held out his hand, which was dry in spite of the heat, and which quite swallowed Sammy’s small fingers in its gentle grasp. “I’m Dorn.”
“That’s a very odd name,” she said, dumbfounded. She led her visitor inside. “I don’t know if you’re going to fit. My mom and dad aren’t home,” she explained. “They said I could meet you. They both work, you know.”
The young man seemed to fill their small house; he almost had to duck to step inside. He looked around calmly, and saw the ladder on the side. “In the attic?” he said.
“Yes.” Sammy pointed to the closet. “That’s for you too.”
“Well,” he said, “I think I’ll just take everything with me. I’ll go up, Sammy, and then, maybe, you can offer me a glass of that ice tea.”
Sammy wanted badly to follow him up that ladder, but he did not seem to want her to. When the young man, unperturbed it seemed by the stuffiness of the small space that was to be his temporary home, came back down the ladder, Sammy was waiting with upturned face and an extra glass.
“My father said you did not have to report in yet,” she said, offering an envelope that had been left behind a little shyly. “That means you can sit outside with me and we can have lunch.” She brightened. “I can cook, you know.”
Dorn took the envelope and opened it, and after a quick glance at the note inside, nodded and put it in his pocket. He wore a white shirt open at the throat, and light tan trousers. Sammy could just see a thin gold chain inside that shirt. “So it seems,” he said pleasantly. “Well, I haven’t had lunch yet, Sammy. That sounds nice. But let’s have our tea outside first. I think I saw a swing.”
The young man took up so much space that Sammy did not have much room for herself, but she did not mind. She sat for a moment with all her questions bubbling in her throat, not quite sure what to ask first. But her companion forestalled her. “What do you do here by yourself all summer, Sammy?” he asked curiously.
“Well,” she said mournfully, “nothing, really. I was really glad to hear we were going to have a visitor. I’ve been here two years, and there’s never anything to do in the summer. We’re not allowed off-base, and there’s only Peter,” she rolled her eyes meaningfully, “who’s close to my age.” One of her more important questions came to mind. “How old are you?” she asked, stealing a glance. She was a little in awe of her companion. She had never met anyone so large and so fair.
“Too old to be your playmate, Sammy. But maybe we can be friends.” He glanced down at her; that was, as Sammy could already see, a kind face. “You have friends, I hope, Sammy.”
“There’s Peter,” she said with a scowl. “He’s twelve, and a... a baby. He whines and cries a lot.” She kicked her feet, but with the weight beside her, the swing did not move.
The visitor nodded in complete understanding. “Don’t you have something to do during the summer, though, Sammy?” He glanced down the dusty street with its starkly identical block homes with a slight frown drawing those light brows.
“Study,” she muttered. “Mom and Dad don’t even want me to watch the news. There’s a war on, you know, and... we’re not winning.”
The smile had completely vanished from that friendly face. He said quietly, “Yes, I know. Still, it’s a shame you have nothing to do. Don’t you read, or play computer games, or chess, or something?”
“I’ve read all the books in the base library,” Sammy said glumly. “All of them I’m allowed to read at my age. And we only have Kango on the computer. I’m pretty tired of it now. I’m not allowed to go in with Mom and Dad. It’s too dangerous, they said.”
That, her companion did not doubt. “Sports, Sammy? Do you... play tennis, or baseball, or... swim?”
“Where,” Sammy demanded, “and with whom?” She waved her hand at the blinding white dirt and the empty street.
The large young man said nothing for a moment. He had drunk his tea, and the condensation-clouded glass dangled in his hand. His gaze fell on the two sticks Sammy had stuck upright in the dirt, and he smiled a little.
“I think we should have lunch,” he said at last. “I’m sure you’re a good cook, and we’ll both do the washing up.” He was still looking at those two sticks. “Sammy,” he said slowly, “do you know what fencing is?”
“Sword-fighting,” Sammy said promptly, and looked at the two sticks. “With that?” she asked doubtfully.
“Well, that’s not exactly what we need, no,” her visitor said. “But it gave me an idea. You’d be surprised, Sammy, what you can do with a few small items and a dirt yard.” He got to his feet. “I’ll talk to your parents first. And now, Sammy, I think I’d like that lunch.”
Copyright © 2006 by Danielle L. Parker
