Chapter Nine: "Tangling Backroads"

    "I WANT TO BE A WRITER," Infinity spoke, watching her shoes trip over one another, the lined sequins glowing under the sun.

    "Oh yeah, what kind of writer?"

    "I wanna write things that make people's lives simpler!"

    "Like a technical writer?"

    "Yeah... like a tech-nickel writer."

    "I believe you can do it," he spoke, bending behind her and picking her up with surprise. "Ha, gotcha!"

    "Hey!" Infinity squealed with laughter. "Put me down!" She didn't even struggle.

    "Let's go celebrate your future career with a scoop of ice milk." He pointed to the Blue Bunny truck rolling around the corner.

    "Ooh, I want cookies and cream!"

    Infinity pulled out her shirts one by one, carefully folding them into a small pile. She had only brought three shirts, and they were short sleeve ones. How could she explain to them she scraped every dime to pay for this trip? She folded over another one and then eyed her jacket. If she always wore the jacket outside, they wouldn't know. She folded the shirts in a neat tower and set them beneath her bed. Hopefully there weren't Antarctic mice, she crossed her fingers as she went out the door.

    Luna had been in the foyer's corner scrawling nonsense numbers on her notepad, so focused it was as if she had disappeared into a another world. Infinity used to do that with writing, before she got the job. Fantasize about everything, have your own little world that you disappear off into. She soon found herself drifting into the tornado of memories, until she felt a little tap on her shoulder.

    "Infinity, I need to talk to you," it was Jaxton.

    "Oh yes, of course," Infinity murmured. She didn't know why her stomach started turning into itself.

    He led her into a bland white room, as if used for interrogations. Nothing but a single steel gray table was in the center, where a strung bulb swung in an unknown breeze. She took a seat, her hands so clammy it took three attempts to pull out the dull plastic chair.

    "I have to let you know that you cannot, repeat cannot tell anyone about this. Not even your friends."
   
    Infinity gulped, nodding. What was this about?
   
    Jaxton smiled contentiously, when suddenly she saw something unlift from that smile. A sign that something here was off. Terribly off. "Good, let's get down to business," he folded his hands, making direct eye contact. "I'm sure you may have noticed the ease you've received throughout the trip."

Infinity's thoughts were thrown into mayhem. She turned back her memories, one by one, trying to pick out what went easy. Luna's motion sickness, jet lag... what the hell was easy? "Like what?" She asked.

"Antarctica trips aren't cheap. In fact, they cost a fortune. It boggles my mind on how you can afford such a shindig."

"Me?" She felt herself getting heated over.

"As a trip leader, I am required to know everything about you. I'm sorry you lost a son, by the way. I'm a father myself, and..."

"Get to the point," Infinity demanded.

"How do I put this?" He drummed his fingers against the table. "I think the New Zealand government wants something from you."

    "What, you can't be serious."

    "This is the most serious thing I'll ever tell you."

    "Who the hell are you?"

    He swerved slowly around, as though pulled with an invisible force. "I'm part of the RLT, an underground resistance group. It is imperative you don't tell anyone this information."

    A chill slowly sank to the bottom of her spine when she realized what she was dealing with. "Does that mean my life is in danger?"

    "If you follow my instructions, you'll be fine," Jaxton explained, unfolding his hands. "And Infinity... it doesn't mean I won't take you up Mt. Erebus. You just need to know these reasons. As long as you comply, we will be fine."

    Infinity shivered at Jaxton's need to repeat his first sentence. It wasn't the type of importance that felt like important trip information; it felt like something could stop her before she even reached Mt. Erebus. She suddenly found a deep distrust for this place, despite the overbearing heat surrounding her. What will she do?

    The McMurdo valleys, as she read in a National Geographic issue, were dry rock. If Mt. Erebus had been situated near the center of the Antarctic, say, near Amundsen-Scott Station, she would see nothing but ice, and expect nothing but night at winter.

    When she was three days to three years old, her father took her to Yosemite National Park, little ways from the old home. It was there she grew obsessed with the rugged beauty of nature, the fantastic soaring redwoods and thick sequoias and more importantly, the rocks. In fact, that's where she decided she wanted to become a geologist. There was something fascinating about the sheer granite formations shaped over millions of years from wind and water and the Earth's movements— slow changes added up.

    Suppose it was just a childhood obsession, but she couldn't help but wondered what would've happened if she studied geology. She brought her arm sharply against her shirt; she needed to stop thinking about these parallel choices.

    In the tornado of memories, Infinity thought back to her father. She bit her tongue so it bled; calling that monster a father disgraced the good fathers everywhere. The last time she saw him was when she had finished stacking her clothes in her backpack, cross-country bus ticket in hand, and a scrawled note for him to not look for her. She had snuck out the back patio door when her father had dozed off on the couch, a beer in hand. Before she went out of her neighborhood forever, the place she had always called home, when she looked back she swore she saw the figure of her father, standing on the front steps and rubbing his eyes as if to bring everything to focus. Infinity assumed it was in, and being the teenager she was, waved goodbye by giving the middle finger. Frustration curled his mouth, mixed with drunken stupor. As Infinity ran out to the wild world, he stepped back inside, presumably for another drink.

    In the haze of confusion, Infinity couldn't help but wonder what her father was doing. Had he managed to drink down morality, suppose by getting a job? Or was he still ebbing like a tide from home to the bar, if he still had alimony money? No, probably kicked out of his home. Maybe he tried, he attempted to do something, but all the tries didn't succeed. Infinity clenched her fist, smiling a little at the fantasy. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing a person who berated you get a taste of their own medicine. For years on end. Infinity relaxed her fists as the thought subsided. No-- getting satisfaction from that sort of thing seemed like his level.

    To calm the impending frustration, she would usually oblige herself with a beer. As she started to walk down the hallway toward the bar, she realized why she quit drinking in the first place. Blood alcohol .11. Three people dead at the scene. So she went for the farthest room from the bar— the storage room. She didn't think she was allowed in there, especially with the warning, but since the door had been left swinging open she shrugged and assumed it was open to all.

    As she turned on the light with a flicker, her eyes caught sight of a figure among the hoards of cardboard boxes— Davey.

A/N:

I've done it! I've reached the word limit before the deadline for the open novella contest!

After a few weeks, I'm planning on unpublishing this story, and rewriting it for a serious novel.

You'll see the complete version of The Insanity Frequency before the end of summer, hopefully.

Thank you for reading!

WORD COUNT: 1276