Where This Mystery Takes Us: Part 1 of 6
A natural disaster, a family on the run, a child in danger, and two parents with conflicting plans of where to go. Oh... and they're not human.
This is part one of a genre-crossing adult contemporary urban noir fantasy mystery fable that’s received good feedback from editors, but no sales, because it doesn’t quite fit into any one genre.
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On a November evening, an evening with the kind of dampness that seeps into your bones and makes moldering leaves cling to your paws, Erland Fox crammed his family’s remaining belongings into a suitcase and boarded his family on the cross-town bus to the train station. He scanned for friendly faces as the bus stopped-and-started through traffic. There were no other Foxes on the bus. There were no others Foxes on the streets. He felt disappointed, though not surprised. After the floods hit the city, every Fox had gone into hiding. No one knew what caused the floods. Rumors had spread that Foxes were to blame. But, Erland's family wasn't on the move because of the floods or because of the rumors. They were on the move because of their youngest child, Pip.
His family consisted of his spouse, Hedda, and two children: Buddy and Pip. Erland looked at Buddy, the oldest, who licked his forepaw while gazing at lights that checkerboarded the passing high rises. Erland studied Pip, swaddled in a frayed blanket against Hedda's belly. Pip's fur was matted from fever and her breathing was raspy. Pip had been born in late summer and took ill after the leaves had turned.
At the train station, Hedda, Pip, and Buddy got off. Erland fell behind, dragging the suitcase up the aisle with paws more dexterous than strong. The wheels were broken and he didn't have time to fix them.
The driver, a silverback Gorilla, leaned over and spat on the floor in front of Erland. He glared at him with those eerie, deep set eyes that Gorillas have, demanding a response.
Erland froze out of fear. "How may I help?" he said quietly, his ears back.
"This bus is filthy," the driver said. He pointed his thick finger at the floor. "I won't have some ignorant skulkers sullying my bus. Clean it up."
In quieter times, before the floods, hardly anyone would have bothered him, but now it seemed to happen daily. He swallowed his anger. He dutifully ducked his head and sopped up the mess with his handkerchief.
The driver spat again.
Erland patiently wiped up that mess, too. He knew from experience to say nothing and play his role. Eventually, as he expected, the driver got bored and let him go.
His family waited outside. They'd never been this far from home. Their noses were overwhelmed by diesel fumes and layers of not-before-smelled scents.
Hedda asked him what had happened, using a flick of her eyes toward the bus.
"It'll be better in Stone City," he said.
"That’s not really an answer," Hedda said. "And I don't remember agreeing to that."
In the past few months, they'd taken Pip to both of the doctors in the city who would treat Foxes. Neither one had a cure. So Erland and Hedda discussed plans: Erland's plan involved coming out of hiding to go to Stone City. Hedda's plan seemed more desperate, in Erland's view.
Before they could decide whose plan to follow, Pip's illness got worse. Erland and Hedda had each decided to follow their own plan. And Erland packed the suitcase.
Before they could decide whose plan to follow, Pip's illness got worse.
Now, Buddy stopped in the parking lot, gazing upward. "What's wrong with those funny dots?"
"The stars?" Erland said. "There's nothing wrong with them."
"What's stars?"
Hedda said, gently, "You know what stars are. You've seen stars. Stars are…" and she made an exaggerated "L" sound.
"Lightning," Buddy said.
"Li… li…" Hedda prompted.
"Lights."
"Right! In the… heh.. heh..."
"Lights in the heavens!"
Erland looked up, surprised at how few stars were visible here, compared to their home. "Stars are suns, like our sun. They look small because they're far away."
Hedda glared at Erland.
"Everything in the universe is far away from everything else."
Hedda bared her teeth.
"Never mind." Erland noticed suspicious shadows behind a delivery truck and remembered his own father scolding him for lingering out in the open. "Go with what Mama says."
He shooed his family through the station's back entrance. Their steps echoed across the tiles of the concourse. The crowds had left for wherever crowds go at this hour.
"I'm starving," Buddy said.
"You're not starving," Hedda said.
Erland bought a bag of chips from a vending machine with their last coins. Hedda was too tired to protest.
Buddy tore into the bag, dotting his muzzle with crumbs.
Erland's and Hedda's stomachs gurgled.
Buddy laughed. "What's that noise?"
"I'll explain later," Erland said. "I have to get tokens for Stone City. Wait here with your mother." He glanced at Hedda. She sagged like a half-stuffed doll against the vending machine and adjusted the blanket that held Pip against her. He couldn't remember the last time she'd put Pip down.
“I want to go with Papa," Buddy said.
“Stay with your mother," Erland said.
“Is she sick too?”
“She's OK.”
“She's not going to throw up again?”
Hedda straightened her coat. “I’m fine.”
Buddy sniffed the air suspiciously.
The issue apparently settled, Erland headed for the station agent's booth.
He'd forgotten that Hedda had a plan, too.
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