The Last Ferry (Part III)
(Serial Flash Sci-fi) “'Cheers to the Mars Destiny,' a woman in a cow print pantsuit with a large gold chain around her neck stepped into view."
Episodes
The Last Ferry (Part III)
by Annie Hendrix
Marcus awoke in the dark, his legs wedged between his torso and the wall of the metal duct. Above, the square opening of pale blue light was void of the Snoop. Marcus freed his tingling arm, felt around the cool metal for an opening, and found one beneath him.
As he tried to orient himself the panic closed in. Hot blood filled his cheeks and his pulse quickened. He inhaled deeply, and expelled the air slowly until he became calm. He pulled his legs tight into his torso, then rotated his shoulder toward the opening, and ducked his head underneath.
The square ceiling vent was a few feet below, in clear view. The glowing golden light illuminated a chamber of large, square fans. Marcus wiggled until his hips were on the edge of the duct. He gripped it with his hands and tried to support himself as he dove through the opening, slid down the wall, and landed in a crumpled pile next to the vent.
“Cheers to the Mars Destiny,” a woman in a cow print pantsuit with a large gold chain around her neck stepped into view. Another woman was on her arm in a blazer, tutu, and spike heels. The woman in cow print leaned in close and whispered.
“I feel bad it’s a simulation. The poor people who have to go through all that unnecessary travel,” her voice returned to its normal volume. “I can’t stand sitting for long periods of time!”
Marcus’s heart pounded in his ears.
A simulation?
A Snoop tailed the couple as they exited, then the woman from the Lava Pretzel booth walked by with an empty tray. She was angelic in her clean white button up, her warm skin nearly the color of a pretzel, her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail which did nothing to frame her face but highlighted her glistening dark eyes.
“Hey,” Marcus whispered.
The woman stopped walking and touched her temple.
“Go for Angel,” but there was no response.
“Up here,” said Marcus.
Angel looked up, startled, and composed herself. “Who is that?”
“I’m the idiot who missed the ferry earlier.”
She smiled at a party guest and touched her temple as if she were talking on the radio. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you on the elevator back to Earth?”
“I couldn’t afford another elevator ticket. I was going to wait, but now I’m just trying to get out of here.”
The old man Marcus had been seated next to on the elevator ride to the ferry terminal approached and put his hand gently on Angel’s shoulder.
“Something wrong?”
“No, I’m just radioing Jana.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not more important than filling that empty tray with more Lava Pretzels. We have investors attending this evening.” The man smiled and as he walked away.
Angel followed, then stopped and glanced toward the vent.
“I’ll help you,” she said, “but I don’t know you, you hear me?”
Another worker in a white button up shirt returned first with a yellow hazard marker, and a ladder. He set it up beneath the vent then walked away. Angel appeared beneath and gestured with her arms as if to say come on, then walked away.
Marcus removed the metal vent from the opening. He dangled his legs over the edge, and despite his best efforts to control his drugged muscles, missed the rung and plummeted off the ladder and onto the ground. He lie there with his cheek pressed against the transparent dance floor and stared at the view of the earth below, the network of cities gleaming in the dark.
More Fiction by Annie Hendrix:
The Last Ferry (Part I)
(Short Science Fiction) "He wanted a pretzel. He could taste the salt on his tongue, the oozy velvet cheese gushing into his mouth after taking a bite. How did they get the cheese inside?"
Moon Dollars
(Short Fiction) Stan’s repair shop occupied the far south corner of Main Street in the small coastal town of Shore Cliff. The other storefronts were empty, abandoned one by one as the …
Truthstack
(Dystopian Fiction) Nina dragged herself away from the exposed sidewalk and rolled down a grassy slope as bombs two, three, and four took down the Old Cathedral and debris whizzed over her head.
Simulation? The plot thickens! Like a hearty Marsquake Stew, the best accompaniment to Lava Pretzel.