Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

office—shook his head. It was hard to see through the rain, but he seemed to be rising from the pavement.

Molly was lying on top of Cole, the driver’s bench vertical and useless. She tapped his chest and pointed.

“I see it,” he said.

The skinny man, bathed in the pulsing of the red lights from the roof, stood upright and looked around at them. The wind blew water off him in sheets. He leaned back into it and staggered forward. Something shiny materialized in his hand.

Molly screamed and Cole wrapped his arms around her, trying to rotate his body between her and the gunman.

The Navy man raised his arm and pointed it at the windshield, ready to shoot out the glass of their protective bubble. Then he paused. He looked back over his shoulder, down the street. An avalanche of water rose up behind him. Even over the maelstrom, Molly could hear his high-pitched shriek of terror.

The large body on the ground was lifted up first, and then the man with the gun was hit by the foaming wave. His knees buckled and both men disappeared in the churning wall of white. A wall that headed toward Molly, Cole, and their thin glass barrier.

The smaller guy hit the car first, his body materializing out of the shuddering sea of confusion. His face pressed against the wet glass in a comical grimace as the car was pinned to the sidewalk by the breaking wave. The man was flattened to the vehicle, underwater, bubbles leaking from his nose and mouth. He looked right at Molly, his yellow teeth clinched tight as his lips split open in a sneer. The hand with the gun pulled back, twisting the barrel around to face her, determined to not be swept away alone.

Then another large wave hit the car with astounding fury, spinning the entire vehicle around in the proper direction. There was a shriek of grinding metal and glass followed by a metallic shot as the chain finally snapped taut; the car came to a rest, straddling the wide gutter. Detritus and debris from the alleys and streets of Palan thudded off the car as they passed underneath.

Wherever it went to, the garbage clinging to the windshield was going with it.

11

Parsona. Molly could read the word clearly on the starboard wing, the faded black stencil spread across the wide metal surface. She hovered above the “O,” the letter bigger than her outstretched arms.

Before she could even walk, Molly had spent time out here; she would crawl around while her father worked on the surface controls. Now and then he’d scoop her up when she got too close to the edge, then hold her in his lap and look out across the prairies of Lok. It was up here that she’d learned to read her first word, spelling out her mom’s name one letter at a time.

Now she floated just above it, weightless. Her old nightmare had returned, but it was different. She was closer, and there was something to push against.

Molly reached down and touched the cold metal with her bare hands; she hooked her fingernails on the edge of a line of rivets and pulled herself toward the gleaming hull. She floated, pulling herself along, working toward the glow emanating from the cockpit.

Someone was inside. She wanted to see who. Her father? Her mother? Was she dead, here to join them?

She approached the navigator’s porthole, so close to finding out, when she felt the first vibrations—the thrum of the main thrusters reverberating through the hull. She screamed for them to wait as the ship lurched into motion, but her wails would not carry in the vacuum. Her anguish reached no further than her own ears, transmitted through her tear-streaked jaws. Molly pounded the hull with her fists, struggling to alert someone to her presence, but the violent act just pushed her away. Off into the vacuum. Through which Parsona moved easily…

Molly startled awake, a shiver from the nightmare traveling into the real world with her. Or was it the cold? Last night’s events washed over her, filling her with a hollow dread. Her head rested on her hand, which was palm- down on Cole’s chest. She could hear his heart thumping, like the thrum of an idling engine. A warm and mostly-dry shirt was draped over the back of her soggy blouse, the hem pulled up to her neck. She rolled her eyes up Cole’s chest and neck and found him wanly smiling back at her.

“Good morning,” he said.

But it was still dark outside. The rain pattered softly on the passenger side door; various leaks had allowed rain to seep in, collecting at the bottom of the damaged shell. Molly felt sore and cold, but happy to be alive.

“How long have I been asleep?” She pushed up from his chest and searched for a way to brace herself in the awkward confines of the upturned car.

“Not long,” he said, sitting up and wincing, rubbing his neck as if it were stiff. “I think the worst is over, but we’d better get out of here before the authorities come looking. I figured out how to shut off the lights, but I’m sure we still stick out like a sore thumb.”

Molly agreed. She thought about their next moves and realized they didn’t have many available: back to the Regal, and now they were relying on Drummond for help. The thought absolutely mortified her.

Cole made some room and Molly stood on one door while trying to operate the other. The impact had jammed the seam a bit, but it opened with a creak of warped metal. She tried pushing it up and out, but the feeling in her arms hadn’t fully returned from the nightmare.

“Little help.”

Cole wiggled his way up beside her and shoved the door out into the early morning air. It flopped back into the darkness and a drizzling rain invaded their temporary shelter. Cole boosted Molly up to the side of the car and she slid down with a splash into the street.

“It’s deep,” she warned him.

She heard him grunting as he forced himself up and out. He landed beside her with his backpack held over his head.

“Not that deep, silly.”

Cole shot her a look. “Thanks. You know, I take you out for the night, hold the door for you and everything, and all you can do is make fun.”

Molly laughed and waded in the direction of the Regal. The water was up to her shins, the wide street flowing like a lazy river. The slight crown in the pavement kept most of the flood in the deep, wide gutters, but Molly saw that they could stand to be even bigger.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, looking around. “Why not build the city underground? Why build here at all?”

“Are you kidding?” Cole sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “And not enjoy this fresh air?”

Actually the air did smell quite a bit fresher. And the water was moving, carrying the last of the detritus with it, rather than standing and festering. As they splashed down the dimly lit street in the general direction of the hotel, Molly could see that the alleys were clean, the bags of refuse gone. The city was clean again. For now.

“Do you remember if these rains happen every month, twice a month, or what?”

Cole shrugged. “Nope. You seem to recall more than I do. I’d say it can’t be daily. I mean, people will build in some silly places, but like you said, this is just ridiculous.”

“I wonder if people ever get used to it.”

“Did those Navy guys seem used to it?”

“No, but I only saw a handful of locals dashing around after that first thunder. It looked like off-worlders and tourists.”

“I think we’re the only tourists here.”

They sloshed down several blocks in silence as the sky slowly brightened. Either the days here were extremely short, or Cole had lied and had allowed her to sleep for quite some time.

“It’s freezing,” she said, wringing water out of the bottom of her new blouse. Several of the pockets along her thighs bulged with rain. Molly slapped at them, sending out a spray. At least her boots seemed to have been a