GREEN [complete]

CHAPTER 10: Sekam

Dylan slouched back into the couch, their hand of cards splayed awkwardly in front of their nose. Their face scrunched into a dedicated scowl—brows down, nose wrinkled, lips in a downward-curving line—as they looked over their cards at Sekam.

Sekam was far less interested in the game. Her one cards were shucked into a neat pile in front of her. She idly tossed her single remaining can of baked beans up, caught it, then tossed it again. It rolled off her fingers, spinning through the air as Sekam stared out one of the newly un-boarded windows across the room. A thin breeze filtered into the room, reminding her that she had much bigger games to be playing; much more important games.

Bek looked between the two of them with narrowed eyes. Her afro was tugged back and secured with a red scrunchy that, unsurprisingly, was a flower print. She pushed two cans of peaches to the center of the table, where a random assortment of junk waited: a handful of silverware, a broken pair of glasses, a handkerchief, a bottle of shampoo, and a container of fish food that Sekam presumed was for Casper.

Dylan matched her peaches with a spiral light bulb, and Bek broke out into laughter. "That is not worth my peaches."

They scoffed. "Your peaches are barely worth my light bulb."

"Put in the watch," Bek said, nodding toward the gold watch that sat in Dylan's own personal collection of random junk.

"This probably cost like five grand."

"So?" Bek lifted both eyebrows, the muscles in her face straining like she was only trying to lift one. "You can't eat it—it's not worth shit anymore. Are you even old enough to remember when those were valuable?"

"I'm nineteen, not five." Nevertheless, Dylan slung the watch into the pile.
Sekam caught her can of baked beans and didn't throw it back up. She rolled her eyes back to them. "All this"—she gestured vaguely to the table—"belongs to Bek, why does it matter?"

"You need to stop and have a little fun sometimes," Bek said. "This is fun."

"Fun?" Sekam couldn't keep the sourness from her tone. "The world is dying and we're here. Doing nothing."

"We're waiting," Dylan said. "We can't exactly storm the castle when it's daytime, can we? Now. Are you playing?"

A growl bubbled up Sekam's throat, but she kept it behind her lips. They were right—of course they were right. She hated it. Knee bouncing irritably, she picked up her cards. She fanned them out in her hands. Most of them wore faces, their numbers painted in red and black. "I give up," she stated flatly, "you win." She tossed her cards down.

Bek choked. "You ... give up?" she asked.

Sekam shrugged with one shoulder. "Yes?" She pushed back from the table and stood. "I'm going to see what Ahl is doing."

"But ... Sekam, you would have won," Bek said.

"Dylan is going to win. Their numbers are better than mine."

Bek eyed Dylan. "No, they're just good at bluffing. Call." She laid her cards on the table.

Dylan swore softly under their breath and set down their cards as well. Sekam wasn't sure the outcome of the game until Bek cracked a triumphant grin and claimed her prize: the pile of random junk. "I can always tell when someone's lying," she said, snatching a can of creamed corn. "It's a skill of mine."

"Right," Dylan huffed. "You just got lucky."

Bek smirked at them over the nutrition label on the back of the can. Her lips moved as she read off one of the numbers, then she set the can down and pulled her shirt up high enough to grab the device attached to her belt. She'd called it an insulin pump—Sekam had no idea what it was, but she knew Bek needed it.

Sekam left them to their game and closed the door behind her. She'd been confined to the hideous blue house for nearly a week as Dylan recovered. They weren't doing what she would call good, but they were beginning to seem like they might not die after all. And they were determined to rescue Mars.

She trotted down the stairs, fingers tapping discordantly against the gun holster on her hip. She was anxious to keep moving, but she needed Dylan to get her inside ORCTech.

Sekam threw open the door at the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the bright grey to find Ahl standing in the middle of the street, looking up. His ears were forward, his starry eyes burning so deep and bright Sekam could almost remember the stars in the sky. Her eyes followed his.

A black speck traveled through the emptiness, tracking an unsteady line toward them. Sekam thought it was a bird, at first. Then, it came close enough for her to hear the steady fwup-fwup-fwup of its rotor. A helicopter. Sekam had seen them before. They carried men with guns and bulletproof vests. They were coming for Dylan.

"Dylan! Bek!" Sekam hollered toward the windows.

Bek's face appeared. "Yeah?"

"Helicopter!" Sekam pointed into the sky, over the roof of the house.

Bek's amiable expression vanished and she whipped away from the window. "Dylan, we have to go honey. We have to go right now."

Sekam was halfway up the stairs by the time she finished the sentence. She barged through the door and stalked across the room to collect Dylan. "Helicopter," she said.

Dylan's face drained of color. "ORCTech."

"Can't we just tell them you're going back anyhow?" Bek asked. She held her cooler under one arm, a case of bottled water under the other.

"Well ..." Dylan said, "Allegedly, I stole a few million worth of intellectual property."

"What?" Bek exclaimed.

"Allegedly."

"By the goddess"—Bek shook her head—"I wish I was young enough to be that stupid."

"We need to move," Sekam reminded them.

Bek jerked her head in a nod. She flipped the lock on the door and lead them out of the apartment. They hit the bottom of the stairs as the commotion started.
Screaming bullets. Screaming men.

One angry moose god.

Over Bek's head, Sekam witnessed what was left to witness: the soldiers were scattered through the street like forgotten paper dolls, blood and entrails strewn between them, and the helicopter was trying to flee. It would never reach the sky.

Ahl's head lowered and he walked forward. Slow at first; careful. One step at a time. Then, he charged. His hooves clashed against the pavement and a bone-shaking battle cry echoed out from him. His gore-strewn horns leveled on the helicopter.

It lifted off the ground and the moose god leapt. His body crashed through its metal shell like it was made of the same paper used to construct the soldiers it carried. It ripped in two, and Ahl exploded out the other side, snorting and shaking his head. Guts and scraps of metal flew from his horns, splattering everything in a thirty foot radius.

"Huh," Dylan said. "Well, disaster averted."

"There will be more," Ahl said. "We need to move on."

Bek was already tossing her cooler and the case of water in her truck. "Time to go," she agreed. She left the door open for Dylan as she rounded the truck and hopped in the driver's side.

"Are you coming with us?" Sekam asked.

Bek leaned across the bench seat to look out the open door at them. "If you want to get into the city in the mountains, you're going to need a key." She pulled her ring of keys from her pocket and gave it a jingling shake. "I have the key."