“As I said, George and the rest of the committee are certain it was a fluke, which is why nobody’s sent out scouts to check on them yet. Their celebration is usually a day earlier than ours. Someone probably got drunk and did something stupid.”
“Scouts” was a term we used for anyone who traveled between neighboring colonies. They braved it every month or so, trading supplies and sharing news and information.
Butwhatwas a fluke?
Assuming the storm passed us overnight, I was due to join the scout team tomorrow on an excursion to the closest colony to the north, where my pregnant cousin Zina lived. I hadn’t seen her in at least three months.
I rapped against the door and pushed it open.
My parents stood opposite each other, on either side of their bed. My mother’s green eyes found mine. Her bronzed face quickly softened into a smile, her hands casually moving to sweep her curly hair back in a bun.
I looked to my father, his cocoa-brown eyes fixed intently on mine. He had also relaxed his expression, though his right hand fidgeted with his beard.
“What’s all this about?” I asked.
My mother sighed and glanced at my father. “I don’t wantto worry you with this, especially not today, but—” She hesitated.
My father put an arm around my shoulder. “A flare was spotted last night,” he explained. “It came from Zina’s compound. Though it wasn’t accompanied by a siren, so I’m quite sure there’s nothing to worry about. Probably just someone in high spirits being reckless.”
We only used flares if there was an absolute emergency and we needed outside help, as we always avoided unwanted attention. But as Dad said, the emergency protocol was to accompany flares with a siren. Still, my nerves tightened a little.
“We’ll go to visit them as planned,” my father assured my mother. “The team will leave tomorrow and confirm everything’s alright. That’s all we can do in any case, with the incoming storm. We hope for the best and go tomorrow.”
A silence fell between us.
Right. Hope for the best.
The door creaked and Bea entered the room with a stern frown on her face, a fistful of honeysuckle scrunched up in one hand. “Who’s going where?” she demanded.
I decided to take that as my cue to leave. Either that, or I would stand there dwelling on a situation I had exactly zero control of. What would be the point of that? We were going tomorrow. That was all we could do.Besides, it’s likely just a false alarm, as Dad said. A flare set off during their festivities. Zina’s probably fine.
“The storm’s due in two to three hours, by the way,” I added on my way out, pushing my thoughts to the celebration tonight. “So, everyone will have enough time to get to the hall.”
“I’ll make sure the organization team is aware,” my father replied, following me.
He headed for the front door, while I crossed the living room and entered Bea’s and my bedroom. I grabbed my favoritedress from the closet, then scaled the narrow staircase. I emerged in the bathroom at the top of the house; a sheltered veranda with a sprinkler fixed to the ceiling and a toilet in one corner. It was almost open-air, with just the thick meshing and a curtain surrounding the area for walls. If I'd been bold enough, I could’ve drawn back those curtains and showered while taking in the stunning view beyond… but I wasn't quite that adventurous. Our neighbors were a tad too close for comfort.
I stripped and stepped underneath the water, relishing the coolness gushing down my spine, and looked in the ancient, cracked mirror that hung opposite me. Realizing my hair was curlier than I had expected, I grabbed some conditioner and indulged in a deep oil treatment, then dried off and pulled on my knee-length dress.
I ran my hands along the smooth fabric and the orange pebbles that decorated the neckline. It had been a gift from my grandmother for my birthday last year, just before she passed away at ninety-two, and it brought out the green in my eyes—or so she had claimed. My Uma had been a dressmaker and had woven the fabric herself, staying active until her final days.
I returned downstairs. My sister now sat quietly on a stool in front of my mother, who braided honeysuckle buds into her hair.
“Wow, look atyou,” my mom said, looking at me.
“Thanks… I’m going to the kitchen to see if they need any help,” I muttered.
“Okay, honey,” she replied.
“Okay, honey,”Bea mimicked.
I slipped through the door, then put on my harness and launched myself. I zipped past tree house after tree house, greeting neighbors as I flew by, until I reached the kitchen.
The aroma of spices flooded my nostrils when I hit thedeck outside the long, rectangular structure, and my stomach grumbled. Founders’ Day feasts were always next-level.
I headed straight through the door, into the steamy interior, where my skin broke out in a light sweat. I navigated the tables, complementing today’s chefs as I passed the assortment of multi-colored platters.
I made my way around two giant pots of boiling grains, then headed to the last table at the end of the room, where a tall, well-built man wearing a pink-and-purple bouffant-cap attacked a stubborn jackfruit with a carving knife.
