Runes of Evenight - Y.A. in Storage

from Runes of Evenight

The boy’s earliest memory was of himself and an older man crunching up a snow-covered hillside. A handsaw hung from the man’s shoulder by a length of twine. He clenched a bundle of rope in his fist.

The man’s face was not clear in the memory, but through the years Anon had grown to recognize the voice of the Father.

The boy tucked his arms to his chest for the cold, wishing he had a third hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight that flared off the white landscape.

His memory told him that they hiked for hours, but even with the boy struggling to keep pace, it would have only taken the Father a handful of minutes to locate a healthy spruce. The snow was not deep for the Father. Each time Anon stepped into a footprint the man had left behind, he sank nearly waist deep in powder. After a while, Anon began using his hands to help him crawl through the shallow drifts. Every few steps, the Father would glance over his shoulder to check on him. To Anon, the Father seemed too far away. His small mind worried that if he were to miss a footprint he would plunge into a drift where the Father wouldn’t be able to find him.

The Father found the tree on the crest of the hill, taller and prouder than its family. A few cones still clung frozen to boughs at the top. He lifted the boy by the underarms and stood him beside a rock jutting out of the snow.

“Stay close to the rock,” he said. “It will keep you safe.”

Asmund waited for him to obey before setting the blade to the trunk and grinding it back and forth. It echoed against the forest wall until, finally, he was able to push the tree over with a thump. He slid the rope tightly around the trunk. Then raised the boy atop his shoulders.

“How’s that?” Asmund asked.

Everywhere Anon looked there was snow. Trees stretched out their heavy white branches. The hillside slept soundly under its new fleece blanket. Slight groanings could be heard, as the trees labored under the weight of the fresh snow.

Anon lifted one arm into the air and felt taller than the forest. A grin bolted across his face, and the Father smiled in return.

Then came the loud crack.

Followed by a thick whoosh.

It felt as though the world was falling on top of them. A tree branch can only hold so much snow. Anon was thrown from Asmund’s shoulders. Everything went white.

When Anon awoke, he was trapped in a gleaming prison of cold. The weight of the snow made it nearly impossible to breathe, but he tried to scream anyway. Snow trickled into his mouth. His arms were pinned.

He lay there immobile, his body wrapped in snow. It was so quiet. Until the scraping. So loud in his prison.

“Anon!” someone yelled. It was Asmund. “Say something, Anon.”

Anon’s moan came out softly.

Another frenzy of scraping. The digging came closer.

“I am coming. I am here,” Asmund said.

The first light blinded Anon. The Father’s hands burst through the powder and tugged at his hips and suddenly he was up in the air, clasped to the Father’s chest. Asmund’s hands brushed the ice crystals from the boy’s head and face. He rubbed Anon’s back and arms until the warmth coursed through his body.

“I am here,” he kept repeating, though by then he no longer needed to say it. Anon knew.

From there, he couldn’t remember how long it took them to return to Lindisby Monastery. Nor did he remember what the tree looked like set up in the hallway alcove. The only memory he kept was him up on Asmund’s shoulders, his arms hugged around the Father’s neck for dear life, the tree dragging behind them through the snow, the branches wiping away their footprints as they descended a hill that, on that day, felt like the biggest mountain in the world.

Normal for Once - Y.A. in Agent Search

from Normal for Once

When we’d arrived at the park, I’d been so focused on the Ocean Hills guys and worried about the money that I hadn’t looked around. Wooden picnic benches. A gravel path that meandered into the trees and exited over to the left. Tattered kites trapped high up in the trees. The familiarity came and draped its arm around my shoulder.

“You all right?” Carlos asked.

“I’ve been here before.”

“So?”

I ignored him and walked toward the wrought-iron fence that bordered the park. Beyond the fence, the landscape dropped off into a cement riverbed that stretched both directions—to the left, small sand dunes overgrown with shrubs, and to the right, the bridge we’d crossed and the open cement beyond.

Dad.

He’d taken me there years ago, back in middle school before I’d earned the quarterback position on the team. I scaled the fence, pausing at the top to glance back at Carlos, who’d followed me halfway, staring at me dumbstruck.

“What gives?” he asked.

“You can come if you want. I won’t be long.”

When I dropped down on the other side, my memory plunged forward. I tucked the football against my forearm and crossed the bike path, stutter-stepping my way down the slanted wall of the riverbed. The shadowy area under the bridge drew me toward it.
Then I saw it.

The tire.

An old truck tire still hung from the underside of the bridge, roped to the metal grate in the ceiling.
Dad used to jog the service road that ran along the top of the riverbed. After years of sticking to the same route, he ventured down into the concrete riverbed, despite all the television footage of people drowning in flash floods.

I didn’t believe him at first, when he said he’d found the tire that way, hanging from the bridge like that. I thought he’d tied it there himself. It seemed like something a distant father might do to reconnect with his pre-teen son. It didn’t matter either way.

He started taking me jogging. We’d each carry a football, and he’d chase down my tosses, whether they went through the tire or not. He’d hold the tire steady, and my good throws would snap right through and careen off the slanted cement banks. Then he’d get it swinging side to side, like a wide receiver slashing through the defensive backfield, and I’d have to hit him in the numbers.

I could see the tire before I entered the shadows, but once in the darkness, my memory proved true. A glance back showed me Carlos hadn’t followed. I wouldn’t take long.

The tire hung in its place, though the damp environment had mucked up the rope pretty good. I stared at it a few moments before pacing myself back ten yards or so, the distance of a quick out pattern. In the thin layer of riverbed sand, I drew a line with my shoe, uncovering a black hash-mark of spray paint.

Then I remembered. Dad had brought a can with him one day and marked off every five yards with some paint. The hashes between me and the tire were all buried by layers of sand, but a couple of the marks behind me shown through clearly.

After a careful shove, the tire swayed like a pendulum. I held the ball down at waist-level as if I was at practice or warm-ups, crouched under Tug at the line. I pulled the ball out, dropped back, set my feet, gauged the receiver’s speed, and threw. The ball smacked flatly against the side of the tire and rolled down the embankment, wobbling to a stop on the riverbed floor.

I chuckled.

I looked around for a few seconds, soaking it all in, the muffled noise of street traffic, the faint creaking of the rope, the sound of so much cement. With my shoe, I cleared the rest of the sand away from the spray-painted line. Then I stepped forward and grabbed the football.

It had been a long time.

I'll Show You Everything - Midgrade in Storage

from I'll Show You Everything

The fog lingered in Lake Park like it often did at night, but the park was empty. No Zach Terloy and friends. No homeless man. Just Nolan and his brother wearing sweatshirts and board shorts and riding to the beach in the middle of the night.

Main Street had a different feel than it did during the day. The Electric Chair was the only sign you could see, probably because it was bright pink. Past the bend, the only movement was a couple in their twenties leaning against a motorcycle and kissing.

Riding past the Sugar Shack, Nolan realized it was the first time he hadn’t seen the tables filled with people. A soda can rattled across the street, and a napkin flapped in front of him and stuck against a dew-coated fire hydrant.

“Let’s hope a cop doesn’t see us,” Michael warned. “Curfew’s 10:30 at the beach.”

“You’ve done this before?”

The streetlight shone red when they reached Main and PCH. Checking for traffic, Michael walked the Flyer across the street, the light not changing to green until they reached the other side.

An equal quiet surrounded the pier. The lights were off at Dukes Restaurant. The outdoor market that filled the parking lot to the right of the pier had packed up and left its debris chasing its tail in circles.

They walked the Flyer down the same stairs that Zach had retreated down yesterday. At the bottom, the street lamps along the bike path looked like they were sucking up the fog that blew in from the ocean. The faint crashing of the waves rolled across the sand.

Turning left under the pier, they passed the sand volleyball courts and bonfire pits, some of them most likely still smoldering inside the cement fire rings. Last summer when he burnt himself digging, he’d learned that the pits can stay hot for days.

They passed snack shops and rental stores on the left. Nolan could hear the hum of the soda machines. A couple of runners passed them the other direction. It seemed to Nolan that more people jogged at night than during the day.

“We can’t go out near the pier,” Michael said. “Jake told me about a friend of his who did junior life guards last summer. He said they have sensors up in the tower that can tell if people are out on the beach. I didn’t believe him at first, but he said it’s infrared or something. He said they catch couples on the beach at night all the time.”

Nolan didn’t know what couples would be doing on the beach at night, so he pressed down harder on the pedals and stayed quiet. Straight ahead, the bike path extended parallel to PCH. He could hear Michael wheezing lightly as they pedaled in the chilly ocean air. His cheeks tingled, but the air felt good breezing past his legs.

“Nothing’s ever happened to me, but I always come way down here just in case.”

The ocean spread out to the right. Against its dark backdrop, two oil rigs shone bright yellow and reflected in the water around them. Further up ahead, deep silver plumes from the looming smokestacks disappeared into the night sky.

They stopped riding and locked the bike to a pole, stuffing their socks into their shoes and leaving them by the Flyer. The beach was the darkest Nolan had ever seen it until the moon broke through the clouds and cast its eerie glow along the divots in the sand.

Nolan shivered. “It’s cold out here. Aren’t we gonna get sick?”

“Ha. Get over it. You don’t really listen to all that stuff Mom says, do you? Most of it’s just to scare you.”

At a lifeguard tower, Michael draped his sweatshirt and towel over one of the support beams that was covered in dew. Nolan undressed slower than Michael and felt bad for making him wait. He didn’t want to get his stuff all sandy. Michael held his arms tight against his hair-speckled chest to keep warm. Nolan felt skin-white standing next to his brother.

As soon as Nolan had hung his towel, Michael let out a hoot and darted toward the water. He hurried to catch up, his feet splashing in the thin layer of water draining over the smooth wet sand. Only a few feet ahead of him, Michael was already waist-deep in water. A wave slapped against Nolan’s shorts and soaked them. The water always felt so cold at first. He knew his only choice was to get his whole body wet. Slowly getting yourself wet was torture and showed you were a coward.

Nolan built up some courage and dove into the next wave. The temperature shocked him, but before he had time to panic, the soothing adjustment flowed over him. He surfaced next to Michael. His brother smiled, and it felt like approval.

Together, they bobbed over the top of wave after wave. At times, Nolan couldn’t see the them coming out of the dark expanse and swallowed mouthfuls of salt water, but it seemed worth it to drink of the sea with his brother. Everything seemed worth it now. He scanned carefully for swells in the water, jumping off the sand in time to carry himself over the top of each wave.

“See? Aren’t you glad I dragged you here?” Michael asked.

“It’s a lot of fun.” Nolan’s response was an understatement. He was having the best time of his life. Never had he been more thankful for Michael. Walking out in front of his brother less than an hour ago while carrying wet bed sheets could have ended everything.

Michael had always defended him in front of other people, but this was different. This was an opportunity many brothers would hold onto and wait for the perfect chance to use against you. But not his brother.

“Do you feel ready for high school?” Nolan asked.

“I think so. I figure it’s not gonna be that much different than Dwyer. New teachers. Harder classes. More kids. It seems basically the same thing though.”
“You’ll be at Huntington, right?”

“I guess. I don’t have any reason to transfer. I don’t play any sports.”

“You afraid at all?”

They both dove under a rising wave and came up shaking the water from their hair like German shepherds.

“Afraid?” Michael spit out some salt water. “Now that’s an interesting word. I don’t know that I’m afraid.”

“You know what I mean though.” Nolan had never thought Michael could be afraid of anything. He always came across as fearless, like those surfers that try to shoot the pier, taking their life into their hands as they try to surf their way through the pylons.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s like that when you come across something new. I’m sure high school will be the same. But there’s a whole lot I don’t understand about it yet, and I probably won’t understand it ‘till I’m stuck in the middle of it.”

Another wave rose in front of them, and Nolan launched off the sand to get over the swell.

“What do you think’s gonna be the hardest part?”

“The girls. But that problem starts in junior high doesn’t it?” Michael splashed water at Nolan and laughed.

“What are you talking about?” Water dripped out of Nolan’s nose.

“Oh come on. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Or do I have to call Raina to get the whole story?”

Nolan should have known Michael knew. He knew everything. When Nolan came back from his slumber party last year, the first thing Michael asked was “So, did you get caught?” Sometimes, Nolan wondered if Michael followed him around. Or if he’d hired a private investigator with disguises and hidden cameras. That was ridiculous though, an eighth grader following his kid brother around, so he figured Michael somehow knew everything.

“Go ahead and call her if you want. Or go over to Julie’s and ask her. Don’t sisters talk about everything?”

“Brothers don’t.” Michael threw a sideways glance at him. “What makes you think sisters are any different?”

While they were talking, a wave crept up without them noticing and crashed on top of them. Nolan tumbled in the swirling water and felt the grainy ocean floor with his hands. His feet found the sand, and he shot himself to the surface. Coughing, he leaned forward, and water poured out of his nose. He couldn’t see Michael anywhere. Waist deep in sloshing water, he stepped forward.

A long second later Michael popped up. He stumbled for his footing in the swirling water and wiped the water from his face.

“Whoa. Didn’t see that one coming.”

As Michael opened his eyes, Nolan lunged into him, trying to tackle him as a small wave crashed into their thighs. He held as tight as he could around Michael’s waist, but Michael chuckled and pushed him backwards into the water.

He emerged with two handfuls of wet sand. Michael tried to dodge, but he splattered the side of him with mud. He laughed until Michael knelt to grab a couple handfuls of his own.

He tried to retreat up the beach, but the ocean pulled the water back into the waves, making it hard for him to run. To try to run faster, he picked his feet out of the water as high as he could with each step. Don’t look back. Run.

It didn’t matter. Michael’s wet sand smacked against his back, and it felt like a thousand needles knocking the breath out of him. He stopped himself with his forearms as he fell face down in the water, the thin sheet of liquid rolling the wet sand over his arms and splashing in his face.

Nolan laughed to hide the pain, but the fact that they were having a mud fight on the beach in the middle of the night was funny. It’d be funnier when the pain was gone. Michael came up behind him and put his arm around his shoulder.

“Let’s rinse off and get out of here.”

In the water, Nolan cleaned himself off the best he could. He’d been to the beach enough to know that any sand left in his shorts would grind against his thighs and crotch on the ride home. After they dried off and put their sweatshirts on, they headed up the beach. The sky was still dark, but the lights along the bike path seemed to shine brighter.