Gravity Box and Other Spaces (45 page)

She slashed this time. The blade caught him on the cheek and continued down, across his chest from clavicle to ribs. Warren spasmed then lashed out with his arm. He struck her face. She spun around, lost her balance, and hit the wall. The knife fell to the floor. Warren slammed the palm of his hand into her chest. Jen flew away from him, into the hallway. Before she could get to her feet he was there. He grabbed her throat and lifted her. She gagged and scratched at his hands. Distantly, she heard knocking at the door.

His eyes bulged in rage. He took her into the bedroom and threw her onto the bed. Her mother's corpse slid over on top of her. Jen pushed at it frantically. Warren was there then, shoving the body off the bed. Jen held up her arms to defend herself. He punched her in the stomach.

He straddled her. Reflexively, she jerked her legs up and slammed her knees into his crotch. He bellowed as he fell to one side. Jen scrambled off the bed, over her mother's body, and to the door.

She crawled on all fours across the slick hallway floor now stained with her father's blood.

“You fuckin' bitch!”

She saw the knife under the kitchen table. She made for it, stretched a hand out. A hand clamped her left ankle. She kicked back without looking. The hand loosened, she kicked again, then found her footing and scrambled crab-like for the knife. Her hand closed on it just as the table was overturned.

Jen rolled. Warren loomed above her, reaching. She gripped the knife in both hands and swung it at him. The blade crossed his throat. Blood splashed her.

Warren staggered back, hands grasping at the wound. Blood flowed through his fingers.

A sound like a trash compactor filled the hallway.

“Let me see your hands!” thundered an amplified voice, too large and sharp in the small space.

Warren turned. He dropped to his knees, seemed held motionless for a few moments, then fell forward.

Jen heard boots, muffled conversation. Someone appeared in the doorway. All she saw was black armor, a shiny plastic faceplate, and the ugly shape of an automatic rifle. Then the armor stepped into the room. Behind it was another one.

“Miss—?”

Jen frowned. “Cantril—?”

“Somebody get the meds here.” The armor moved closer to her, leaned in. Jen saw her reflection in the faceplate and wondered abstractedly if she really was that small.

Snow fell. The light was flat gray and diffuse, reducing the colors of the street to charcoal smudges and murky shadows. This was the right area, the right street. Maybe. She had been searching for a few hours now. She was
about to give up and return to the school when Cantril stepped out of a gangway.

“I'm flattered,” he said, grinning. “Came all this way to see me?”

“Hi, Cantril.”

“You look a lot better. Getting more sleep?”

“Starting to, yes.”

“Still heading to space?”

Jen grunted. “I don't have a choice now. I could become a ward of the state or let Ella Preston assume guardianship.”

Cantril shrugged. “As long as you get what you want, does it matter how?”

“I used to think that way, but—” Jen sat down on a nearby stoop. “I wanted to go to the orbitals to get away from my parents. It seemed the only place where they could never reach me.”

“And now that they're both dead you don't know why you want to go.” He sat down next to her. “If I could leave I would. Just to get a change of scenery, you know?”

Jen smiled. “I came here to say thank you.”

Cantril held open his hand and after a second Jen took it. He squeezed gently.

“You're coming back, aren't you?” There was hope and resignation in his voice, but not disappointment.

“You're the one who taught me that gravity works.”

Cantril laughed loudly. They sat together afterward in silence watching the snow trace innumerable, unpredictable, and inevitable paths through the air.