Going Gray (24 page)
When she looked toward the top of the machine, the sky cleared just enough for her to see a hint of blue. But the large vents that puffed white smoke, breathing like a dragon, kept the world’s old sky hidden from her.
The machine was taller than she remembered it being, but then again, everything was. Emily was certain that she’d become shorter over the last year. Age has a funny way of doing that to you. Her mind wandered to the farming floor, and her wanting to pick some apples—just like she’d done a thousand times before. An apple dangled just out of reach, touching the tips of her fingers, tempting her with its ripe shine and smooth skin.
“Maybe you should pick the strawberries,” her granddaughter had said. “That way you don’t have to stretch and reach up.”
She’d never had to reach before, and insisted that the fruit trees had grown taller. But she knew that what she’d said wasn’t so. She just didn’t want to admit that she’d needed a stepping stool.
Emily!
Emily startled when she heard her name called out, and immediately lost her thoughts about the farming floor. But the old woman staring back at her from the belly of the machine said nothing.
Silly girl.
She was hearing things and hadn’t recognized her own reflection. Emily pulled at her skin, finding more wrinkles around her eyes and mouth this year. She groaned with disappointment, seeing that her hair had lost nearly all of its color. What little color she held onto had gone pale white like a seabird’s wing. The image of herself made her want to cry.
“You
are
sentimental today, aren’t you,” she said aloud and choked back the emotion.
A gentle wind made a tear on her cheek turn cold. Emily turned into the breeze, welcoming the rush of air on her face. Wind of any kind had been scarce for as long as the sun stayed tucked away behind the clouds. But the unexpected breeze only lasted a moment, and Emily turned back to face the shadow of her past, hoping that this year she’d see her father.
She eased a hand forward and touched the metal beast. And like before, the touch was surreal and felt unfamiliar. The skin rippled outward from her finger, growing wide, rippling over the surface like a stone breaking the stillness of a pond.
Emily waited.
Silence.
She pushed a clump of black sand with her toe, giving the knock on the door a moment. That is what she called it: a knock on the door.
She knocked again.
Silence.
The only hope she’d ever had that her father might still be alive, still be inside the machine, was that the machine looked the same. Not just the same, but identical. The world had changed. The beaches changed. The people changed. But the machine never changed, and after so many decades, she’d begun to wonder if the same were true on the inside. Another tear ran long, staying warm until she plucked it from her chin.
Standing in the half-light of the gray machine, Emily saw her father standing behind her.
“Dad?” she whispered, and grabbed her chest, clutching her heart. She fixed her eyes on the reflection in the machine, watching his tall frame approach. He was as handsome as he had ever been and as young as he was the day he’d disappeared. “It’s you!”
She felt the touch of his hand on her shoulder, but then saw their reflection. She was young again. Slender, and beautiful with hair spilling a sheen of red over her shoulders. Her mind was lying to her again and this time the lie hurt too much. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the tears wash away the painful stain.
“Grandma?” she heard, and felt someone squeeze her shoulder, nudging her. “Gran, you okay?”
When she opened her eyes, the machine was still there. Her reflection was still there, but it wasn’t her father.
“I’m okay, David,” she answered, turning enough to pat her grandson’s cheek. “David, I thought I told you that I’d be okay by myself.” While she spoke with a stern voice, her heart swelled, loving that her grandson followed her out to the machine.
“I know you did,” he said. “I knew that you’d be fine by yourself, but… well, maybe I wasn’t.”
“That’s sweet,” she told him. “Have I ever told you how much you look like your Grandfather?”
“You’ve mentioned it on occasion,” her grandson answered, rolling his eyes. “Anything this year?”
Emily shook her head, biting back the emotion. She let out a sigh, giving the machine one more look and turned around to face her grandson.
“You know what?”
“What’s that, Grandma?”
“I have some work on the farming floor. Maybe you wouldn’t mind helping an old lady? Maybe help me pick an apple or two or three?”
Emily closed her arm around her grandson, leading them away from the machine. She took with her the memories of her years, the good and the bad. But there was still, and always would be, the mystery of the machine. She’d leave the mystery behind her, knowing that she was finally ready to let it go.
Phil Stark watched his daughter. He watched her from inside the machine, surrounded by a thousand mindless others. The lights on a nearby wall flickered a quick message, telling him that there was work to do. But Phil shrugged away the request, choosing to see his daughter again. A sadness wrestled with the choices he’d made. And he told himself that he’d made the right decisions, that the machine would save the world.
But just who did it save?
The lights flickered again, more demanding this time. Phil shook his head, defiant, intent on watching his daughter.
I don’t even recognize her anymore
, he thought sadly, and glanced at himself in the shiny metal.
But I look the same
. He hadn’t aged a day in the decades since the clouds fell.
It’s a punishment for what I’d done
.
Phil pressed his hand against the skin of the machine and shuddered. He had traded the warmth of his family for the cold love of an idea.
It’s a lie. Isn’t it
?
He heard the question in his mind, and a feeling of betrayal squeezed his insides.
“Just once,” he mumbled, wishing that he could step outside of the machine and tell Emily everything. He had wished the same every year, every visit. And as if she had heard his wish, his daughter raised her hand, placing it on the machine with his. Phil’s heart leapt. “She can see me!”
But the moment was brief, and his heart quickly sank. Emily backed away, taking the arm of a young man, and then turned to leave the machine.
He looks like me.
Grandson? Great grandson?
Fire coursed behind Phil’s eyes, and he reeled around, shielding his face from the light. The sudden burn was a warning for having touched the machine. Another flicker of light stabbed in his direction, and a vile taste of regret filled his mouth. He swallowed hard and choked it back, knowing that his penance was forever.
“Goodbye, my baby girl,” he said, wondering if he’d see her again next year. He stayed a moment longer than he should have, watching, until the very last glimpse of Emily had disappeared into the world he’d helped create.
THANK
YOU
Thank you for reading
Going Gray
. I do hope you enjoyed my book. Want to know what happens next? Pick up
Gray Skies
where the story continues. Will the human race survive? Who is behind the machine? At the end of this eBook, I’ve bundled the first chapter for free. Give it a read.
Something that you may not know about
Going Gray
is that it is an
indie
novel, meaning it is an independently published work. Something else that you might not know is that you can help be a part of its success. When it comes to
indie
novels, nothing helps more than telling your friends and family about the great book you just read. Reviews help too, and it would be greatly appreciated if you would please leave an honest review on
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And don’t forget about the FREE stuff that I mentioned. Click the
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Look for some of my other novels and upcoming novels:
Gray Skies — Gray Skies Book 1
Blinded by Sight — Gray Skies Book 2
Union — Gray Skies Book 3
Glass Horses
Fallen Pages
Cradles In Prison
The Sound
Even Monsters Need Love
The Devil Orders Takeout
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU?
I'M A WALRUS!
Brian Johnson -
The Breakfast Club
Who am I?
I'm a resident of Virginia, living with my wife and children, along with three cats (sometimes more), a mouse, parrot, lizard and the funniest chinchilla on the east coast.
Although I live in Virginia, my heart is still in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where I grew up. And I hope that one day, I'll be able to call Philadelphia home again.
Growing up, I liked to read short stories, but struggled with the words. You see, I had a secret: a sad little secret. Ashamed and embarrassed, I was the little kid in the back row of the schoolroom, quietly moving my lips along with the class while everyone read aloud. I couldn't read. I couldn't write. I hoped nobody would notice, but they did. They always did.
By the time I'd reached the fourth grade, my secret wasn't a secret anymore. The teachers knew something was wrong.
Dyslexia
. Maybe that is why I liked science fiction so much? All those crazy looking glyphs on the screen, glowing, flashing.
The fix? Back to the third grade for me, and then special classes three days a week. It worked. Once I started reading, I never stopped. Stephen King, Piers Anthony, Dean Koontz, and even the Judy Blume books my sisters discarded.
I'm still one of the slowest readers I know, but school was never a problem again. I finally graduated the third grade, and then kept on going until I finished my Masters.
These days, I work as an engineer and spend my nights writing, editing and thinking up the next great story.
Happy Reading,
Brian
EXCERPT FROM GRAY SKIES
Chapter 1 from the
Gray Skies
novel.
Centuries after the clouds fell…
James Sundref peered up at
the executive guards and nodded. Their faces remained unchanged, void of expression. How many times since his promotion to four bands had he offered this simple gesture? How many times had he been ignored? After all, he was an executive, and that should command a certain level of respect, shouldn’t it? James shrugged his meaty shoulders and supposed the guards just didn’t care who he was.
He gave a glum look to the balcony’s ledge and a feeling of calm washed over him. In a moment, his final career advancement would take him to the top of the ledge—where he’d leap to his death. He imagined himself perched atop it, his round frame trying to balance itself in the moment before jumping.
Just how far down is it to the courtyard
? He quickly dismissed the question, knowing that it didn’t matter, that he had to go through with it. There were no more options.
James paused, thinking of all the lives he’d affected in the Commune, the largest community in the region.
How many?
he wondered.
All of them?
The number he saw in his head was daunting, and the guilt pressed down on him. Before he could take another step, he heard the curious turn of the guard’s head. James immediately realized what he’d done. Standing in front of the executive entrances was not permitted. Well aware of the rule he’d just broken, he pulled in a resigned breath and moved on. James knew all the rules. He knew them because he’d written most of them, just as he had written his final Commune rule earlier that morning.
“What does it matter now, anyway?” he mumbled. “I’m a dead man.” He tugged at the collar of his coveralls, trying to make room for the fatty folds around his neck. Choking back his breath, he shivered against the coolness of a light sweat on his skin. He shook again, knowing death was waiting for him.
When he reached the ledge, he realized for the first time just how high the executive floors were. His stomach immediately went to his throat, and he heaved in a breath that shuddered with fear. For a moment, his insides flipped, and he tried to commit his mind to the jump that would end his life.
Yet, maybe there were options. Maybe he could exile himself? But the idea of fending for himself outside the safety of the Commune made him laugh. He chuckled as he imagined a fat man running in the fog while Outsiders chased him down. Leaping from the executive floor was an easier death. It was quick and painless… he hoped.
