SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

He looked over at Jake rubbing the synthfat on his chest; great rolling globs of grease trapped in frozen waves.

“You gotta work it in. Smooth it out,” Tom instructed. “That shit ain’t cheap.”

Jake looked at him, squinting. “I thought the chinks dropped cases of it in the water for us to find.”

“Easy with that language,” Tom warned him. “Those chinks of yours are about to pay your fucking bills.”

Jake looked down and continued greasing himself, taking smaller scoops of synthfat and slapping them on his naked body, wattle and daub.

“That’s right. Nice and even. It’s a second skin.” He went over to Jake and stuck his pinky against the man’s chest. It made a squishy sound. He lifted it to Jake’s face. “See how it’s about halfway up the nail? That’s the right amount.”

Jake looked at it, then proceeded to smooth out the rest of his body.

Tom opened the book with a little flip of his wrist. Its pages were stained with grease.

“What’s that?” Jake asked.

“Eldridge.” He checked his watch. Seven forty-five. Shit.

Jake shook his head. “What’s Eldridge?”

“Tide book. If we leave as the tide begins to ebb, we can ride it out and double our speed. Hit a current right and we’re barely doing any work at all.”

“You still use books for that? Why?”

“Same reason you can’t take anything but a rowboat out: without that passport from Homeland Security to bypass the EMP generators at the bottom of the bay, any electronics will stop working the minute you hit the high-water mark.”

“Right. Sorry. Stupid question,” Jake said, sheepishly. “I guess I’m a bit nervous.”

“Relax. Worry about staying warm and staying as low in the water as you can. It’s pretty calm today, so we won’t have much chop—that makes us easier to spot. And the warm water attracts wildlife.”

“What…like sharks?” Jake asked.

“Patriots. They’re too lazy to go out when the weather is shit, but if it’s a calm, warm night, who doesn’t like a little cruise around New York Harbor: see the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street, the new pylons being driven into the bay for the Manhattan Bypass Bridge.”

“So if the weather is lousy, we have to worry about the cops and if the weather is nice we have to worry about vigilantes?”

“Career office didn’t tell you about this, eh?”

“Can’t say that they did.” Jake stood up, admiring the job he’d done putting on the grease. “This look okay?”

“You’re an Adonis. Put on your fucking swimsuit.”

He did.

The two men stared out into the ocean for a while. The ship lights came closer and closer together, now a pale necklace dotting dark skin. A few broke ranks and started moving, independently and quickly, toward the shore. He could see Jake craning his head to figure out what they were.

“Just trawlers,” Tom said, “coming in for the night.”

“They ever take people out?”

“No. Those passports are hard to come by and are passed down, like heirlooms. If they got caught, they’d screw their entire family, kids, grandkids, out of a livelihood. Not worth the risk.”

Jake relaxed and sat back down.

Tom added, “You won’t see the trouble until it’s on top of you.”

“Right” Jake said, incredulous. “Their boats are invisible.”

“Not exactly. But they don’t use running lights. It’s all infrared.”

“So how do you know if they’re on to you?”

“Look for emptiness. Blankness on the horizon. Stars and other lights blotted out by some kind of wandering darkness. When the lights go out, that’s when you worry.”

“What do they do to you?”

“They’ll either arrest you or kill you. Either way, they’ll start by throwing a halogen cannon on you, then dart you with a paralytic. The light is hot enough to blister your skin if you let it sit on you long enough. That’s the drawback of the Crisco: acts like a lens. Saw one guy, his back burned right off. Third-degree, blisters and shit. They just cooked him up with those bright lights, then dumped him on the beach, a few blocks down the shore. They aren’t legally allowed to kill you, but…you’re paralyzed, floating in the sea…easy enough to have an accident.”

“Fuck me,” Jake said, quietly.

“Funny thing is that when you get hit with the light and the dart, it’s an incredible feeling. You’re four miles out. Cold. Delirious. Suddenly that warm blush hits your spine and shoulders, like the sun rising, and you think, ‘Maybe now is a good time to take a little break, just lie here for a bit, warm the old bones and muscles.’ You’re warm and numb and exhausted. It’s paradise. Until you smell your flesh burning.”

“What’d you do with the guy’s body?” Jake asked.

“Dunno. Ask Alice,” he said, as seriously as he could manage. “We told her to take care of it.”

“It’s funny what passes for squid these days,” Ari shouted from his stall.

Laughter came roaring in from the guys drinking at the meat stall next door. Jake blushed.

“More crap from you,” Jake said, smiling. “Do you even know how to swim?”

“You’ll find out soon. Still hungry?” Tom asked. “Need something else?”

“I don’t think so.” He stood and looked up and down his own body. “I guess I’m ready.”

Tom nodded. He grabbed two bungee harnesses from under his stool and threw one to Jake.

“Over the shoulders and around the waist, then attach your dry-bag. You’ll want about six feet behind you.”

He put his own on and clamped a carabiner to the metal ring of his yellow bag, which he lifted above his head.

“Hold it up like this, until we get into the water.”

Jake fumbled a little with his straps, and Tom had to help him out. He saw the young man’s hand shaking, palsied, from fear.

“Too early to get cold, kid,” he said, with a short laugh. “Wait a couple hours. Here.”

Tom unfouled the lines and adjusted the belt.

“Good?”

“I guess so.”

“Follow me.”

In silhouette, they looked like a pair of oversized fetuses, looking to reenter the womb.

Tom stared at the break as he waded out. The sea was surprisingly warm. That didn’t matter. In two hours he’d be shivering so hard his ribs would bruise and he’d be turning back to shore after delivering the kid to the patrol boat. Or maybe they’d forget about the deal. That could happen. Maybe they were just playing a mind game with him. Maybe they wanted to recruit him for full-time work.

The answer was just a few miles offshore.

Something pinched at his foot. He looked down. A tiny crab, scuttling sideways, snipped at him angrily and scuttled off. He smiled and looked back at Jake.

“Time to pick your lucky star,” he said.

“How can I choose?” Jake said. “It’s just one big streak of light out there.”

Tom looked back toward the sea. Jake was right. The factory ships had come in even closer and the lights were now a continuous band straight across the water. A bobbing, burning, solid white fence. A noose. A cage.

A collar.

He walked farther into the surf.

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll go for that one,” he said, not bothering to point anywhere.

Boing Boing

She broke the silence, "Jared went in last week."

"Where?" I knew, but I was being difficult.

"You know where: the clinic."

"Oh."

Our living room was always small, but today it felt particularly cramped. We sat on opposite sides of the white microfiber couch. I stared at the TV.

"Is he good?" I asked.

"Yup. Got the dose yesterday. He’s recovering at home."