Status: This is actually more of a side project. The "real thing" is Dark Side of a Full Moon, but I do admit that I'm starting to like this story a tad more. Sorry for being so slow at posting new chapters, but school and field hockey just started again.
Woman of Earth
from desolation and despair.
Rinker and I dance under the big glass roof of the cafeteria.
"And the Prom King is... Vincent Rinker!" announces the speakers. Rinker smiles t me before bouncing up to the stage. He is met with cheers of "Vinny!" and "Yeah Rinker!". My name is called next as Prom Queen. I am hustled up to the stage by the crown of my classmates. This night is going perfectly.
After prom, us and my best friend and her date. pile in Rinker's car, a beater that's older than the high school. My Jess hands me her iPod and the cord for it that connects into the car's cassette player. I hook it up and Spice Girls' "Wannabe" blasts from the speakers. Even the guys join in, Rinker singing in a hilariously high and tone-deaf voice. Jess is belting out her own version, complete with our names in it.
"Slam your body down and Rinker-Jess-Tess!" she concludes as we drop her off at the bottom of her driveway, taking her iPod with her. It's nearly one o'clock. Senior prom ended at eleven, but we drove on the highway just for fun, serenading passing cars with "Mr Brightside" and "Sweet Home Alabama". Jess' date, Rob, who's only a junior, is quiet in the backseat. Poor guy is probably overwhelmed by Jess' madness. He doesn't live too far away from my house. We drop him off and head back to my place.
We pull up in my driveway and get out of the car. I have my shoes in my hand. I hate wearing heels. Dad and Pappy are sitting in the garage, smoking cigars that smell like cinnamon. Rinker waves to them. Mama emerges from the house. One hand is on her bulging belly, the other holds a plate o rice-krispy treats.
"Hey, Mrs. Ryder," Rinker says.
"Vincent, I told you a million times. Stop being so formal and use my first name," Mama says.
"Sorry, Mari."
Mama smiles and thrusts the plate at him. "Good boy. Now take one." He takes one. I've been friends with Rinker since elementary school, and Mama absolutely adores him. It was only natural we would go to prom together, but I still have to keep reminding everyone we're not dating. He's like my brother. My real brother isn't due for another month. He's Mama and Dad's miracle, accidental baby, appearing when Mama thought she was too old to have another child.
I give Mama a hug and get changed out of my dress upstairs, scrub my makeup off, and cleanse my hair of the half a can of hairspray Jess insisted was necessary. Rinker stays in the garage with my dad and my mom's dad, talking and watching baseball on the small TV out there.
I come downstairs to see everyone in the house, bunched around a kitchen window. "What are we looking at?" I ask. Rinker mutely points. Enormous pods the size of houses are falling to the ground about a mile or two away. I can see their silhouettes against the glow from New York City on the horizon. They each land with a boom that I feel through the floorboards.
"Those look like the robots our military deployed," Mama say.
"I'll be right back." Dad runs out to the garage. He returns minutes late, wiping off a pair of old binoculars with his shirt.
"Mari," he says, "They are those robots." They were sent by the military to countries all around the world to monitor them for the US. The news told us they have a software program built in to them to assess the current greatest risk to the United States, and eliminate it. Each droid also has a link to the entire Internet to gain more information on global situations. What are they doing here?
I look back at the pods, still dropping like eggs laid by some massive bird. "Rinker," I say, "Isn't that where you live?" His face goes deathly pale. Rinker fishes in his pockets for his iPhone and dials. He punches the speaker button and we listen intently. The home phone is picked up almost immediately.
"Hello?" Mrs.Rinker whispers.
"Mom, it's Vinny. We say the military-pods dropping near the house. What's going on?"
She sniffles into the phone. "You're father and Emma were over at the neighbor's next door and one of the pods landed - it landed- oh Vincent! It crushed the whole house and everyone in it!" She sobs softly. Rinker's face is stoney. He gently sets the phone on the table and sits, the whole time staring blankly ahead.
"After that it opened up and Machines came out," she continues. "At least three dozen from each pod! They went into most of the houses and- and, well, I could hear the gunshots and the sc-screams." She sniffles again.
"Where are you now?"
"The basement. I'm hiding in the back closet, by the water heater."
"Mom, I'm --" The sounds of wood splintering comes through. Mrs.Rinker screams and her phone hits the floor. A gunshot. Wet-sounding coughs. Another gunshot. Then dead silence. Heavy footsteps and mechanical whirrs. "Target eliminated," a robot voice says. A Machine. The phone beeps, and "Call ended" flashes across the screen in red.
"I love you," Rinker whispers. He's so calm it's scary. He picks up the phone, carefully cradling it in his hands as if his very soul is contained in it. He slowly walks out of the kitchen. I hear the door between the house and the garage slam. We are all too stunned to speak. I am just about to go after him when Mama makes a surprised-squeak sort of noise. A wet spot is appearing on her pants.
She turns to my dad. "Brandon, I think we should go to the hospital." Dad looks at me and I know we are thinking the same thing. The hospital is past Rinker's house. We'll never get past the Machines falling like bombs alive.
"Brandon?"
"I'm sorry, honey, but we can't do that."
Tears stream down her face. "He's too young. He's not ready to come out yet!"
"I know. I know." Dad is crying too.
Mama wraps her arms protectively around her abdomen. That day is the first time I ever see Joseph Allen Ryder, and the last anyone ever sees Vincent Rinker.
"And the Prom King is... Vincent Rinker!" announces the speakers. Rinker smiles t me before bouncing up to the stage. He is met with cheers of "Vinny!" and "Yeah Rinker!". My name is called next as Prom Queen. I am hustled up to the stage by the crown of my classmates. This night is going perfectly.
After prom, us and my best friend and her date. pile in Rinker's car, a beater that's older than the high school. My Jess hands me her iPod and the cord for it that connects into the car's cassette player. I hook it up and Spice Girls' "Wannabe" blasts from the speakers. Even the guys join in, Rinker singing in a hilariously high and tone-deaf voice. Jess is belting out her own version, complete with our names in it.
"Slam your body down and Rinker-Jess-Tess!" she concludes as we drop her off at the bottom of her driveway, taking her iPod with her. It's nearly one o'clock. Senior prom ended at eleven, but we drove on the highway just for fun, serenading passing cars with "Mr Brightside" and "Sweet Home Alabama". Jess' date, Rob, who's only a junior, is quiet in the backseat. Poor guy is probably overwhelmed by Jess' madness. He doesn't live too far away from my house. We drop him off and head back to my place.
We pull up in my driveway and get out of the car. I have my shoes in my hand. I hate wearing heels. Dad and Pappy are sitting in the garage, smoking cigars that smell like cinnamon. Rinker waves to them. Mama emerges from the house. One hand is on her bulging belly, the other holds a plate o rice-krispy treats.
"Hey, Mrs. Ryder," Rinker says.
"Vincent, I told you a million times. Stop being so formal and use my first name," Mama says.
"Sorry, Mari."
Mama smiles and thrusts the plate at him. "Good boy. Now take one." He takes one. I've been friends with Rinker since elementary school, and Mama absolutely adores him. It was only natural we would go to prom together, but I still have to keep reminding everyone we're not dating. He's like my brother. My real brother isn't due for another month. He's Mama and Dad's miracle, accidental baby, appearing when Mama thought she was too old to have another child.
I give Mama a hug and get changed out of my dress upstairs, scrub my makeup off, and cleanse my hair of the half a can of hairspray Jess insisted was necessary. Rinker stays in the garage with my dad and my mom's dad, talking and watching baseball on the small TV out there.
I come downstairs to see everyone in the house, bunched around a kitchen window. "What are we looking at?" I ask. Rinker mutely points. Enormous pods the size of houses are falling to the ground about a mile or two away. I can see their silhouettes against the glow from New York City on the horizon. They each land with a boom that I feel through the floorboards.
"Those look like the robots our military deployed," Mama say.
"I'll be right back." Dad runs out to the garage. He returns minutes late, wiping off a pair of old binoculars with his shirt.
"Mari," he says, "They are those robots." They were sent by the military to countries all around the world to monitor them for the US. The news told us they have a software program built in to them to assess the current greatest risk to the United States, and eliminate it. Each droid also has a link to the entire Internet to gain more information on global situations. What are they doing here?
I look back at the pods, still dropping like eggs laid by some massive bird. "Rinker," I say, "Isn't that where you live?" His face goes deathly pale. Rinker fishes in his pockets for his iPhone and dials. He punches the speaker button and we listen intently. The home phone is picked up almost immediately.
"Hello?" Mrs.Rinker whispers.
"Mom, it's Vinny. We say the military-pods dropping near the house. What's going on?"
She sniffles into the phone. "You're father and Emma were over at the neighbor's next door and one of the pods landed - it landed- oh Vincent! It crushed the whole house and everyone in it!" She sobs softly. Rinker's face is stoney. He gently sets the phone on the table and sits, the whole time staring blankly ahead.
"After that it opened up and Machines came out," she continues. "At least three dozen from each pod! They went into most of the houses and- and, well, I could hear the gunshots and the sc-screams." She sniffles again.
"Where are you now?"
"The basement. I'm hiding in the back closet, by the water heater."
"Mom, I'm --" The sounds of wood splintering comes through. Mrs.Rinker screams and her phone hits the floor. A gunshot. Wet-sounding coughs. Another gunshot. Then dead silence. Heavy footsteps and mechanical whirrs. "Target eliminated," a robot voice says. A Machine. The phone beeps, and "Call ended" flashes across the screen in red.
"I love you," Rinker whispers. He's so calm it's scary. He picks up the phone, carefully cradling it in his hands as if his very soul is contained in it. He slowly walks out of the kitchen. I hear the door between the house and the garage slam. We are all too stunned to speak. I am just about to go after him when Mama makes a surprised-squeak sort of noise. A wet spot is appearing on her pants.
She turns to my dad. "Brandon, I think we should go to the hospital." Dad looks at me and I know we are thinking the same thing. The hospital is past Rinker's house. We'll never get past the Machines falling like bombs alive.
"Brandon?"
"I'm sorry, honey, but we can't do that."
Tears stream down her face. "He's too young. He's not ready to come out yet!"
"I know. I know." Dad is crying too.
Mama wraps her arms protectively around her abdomen. That day is the first time I ever see Joseph Allen Ryder, and the last anyone ever sees Vincent Rinker.