Exodus, Chapter Four

Joe knew the world inside his mind had meant a great deal to Presh. It was one of the few points about her he had managed to gather. Losing Robin and falling foul of Schiss-Zazz may have taken the charm off the place for some, but studying Presh’s features Joe detected no suggestion of that. Now he wondered what he was going to do with this most wayward of Mini-Flashes. What was it that had led Presh from The Flash Club to him in the first place? It seemed a baffling choice, knowing as Joe did she had loved that land devoid of The Four Heroes’ cause.

Our hero had never yet turned a Mini-Flash away from Nottingham. Here however was perhaps the first he must advise to reconsider. For the freedom he professed to stand for could surely mean nothing at all, if it did not also include the freedom to pursue paths other than his.

Joe had discovered where Presh was happy, and it was not with him.

His cause was therefore clear on where his duty to her lay.

“I have seen it end before, Presh,” were the words he chose. “Who is to say it will not come again?”

When she turned, the anger and animosity she’d last fired at him over that phantom netball court were indeed no more. Joe was taken aback to behold a look of worshipful longing.

Presh whispered softly in reply:

“It will be you.”

On forged the ship. Lyre, vocals, percussion and bass measured out the instrumental then laid before Cherry her cue to reprise. Some of the band were but shapes by then, as if the bulb that cast their scratchy silhouettes knew the song was nearly over, and had already started to dim. Yet for the listeners in the medical bay, it seemed that even as these friends faded, the blankness that had pressed on the portholes was at last showing signs of lightening.

Cherry held to the final line, her voice as strong as it had been for the first, even though she and her musicians were all but ghosted and gone.

Then when Flashshadow’s fingers on the strings played out the closing notes, only Flashshadow was there.

Outside now was deep blue cosmos and stars skimming by.

They were home.

Joe had no doubt of that, for besides the evidence framed by the observation-arch, Presh’s folded clothes on the seat-cushion had melted to air while he watched.

That was when something else caught his attention.

Something he was suddenly aware of, in the inside pocket of that half of his leather jacket which wasn’t hanging in rags thanks to Schiss-Zazz.

Slowly Joe reached there, and lifted out the letter.

For long seconds he stared at it. Could it be? Was it possible?

Among his many whirling thoughts was another which would make itself heard. The ship had passed the barrier, and Mini-Flash Pseudangelos was able to disappear on a whim.

She might already have departed.

It might already be too late.

In his free hand Joe grabbed one of Presh’s, and started off at a sprint.

They stumbled along, she with some justification astonished, for the few sparse steps it took Joe to remember running was out of the question. Not unless he was trying to help matters by tearing his middle in two. He thrust at Presh the sealed envelope, wheezing feeble instructions, and she seemed nothing short of thankful to be handed a task she understood. Like a shot Presh was off, whirling from Joe, in every respect the obedient Mini-Flash and not least that she showed her silky red ones. Good thing someone at least still knew how to get their pants in gear.

There were fever-dreams like this. Our hero hobbled desperately, while the scarlet shimmer ahead of him rounded the corner with ease. This must be what being first-gender felt like.

It couldn’t be too late.

Not after everything they’d been through.

The call came as from afar: “HOLD EVERYTHING!”

Joe’s palms slapped bulkhead steel, fingernails scrabbling as he all but dragged his body round the bend. The med-bay’s lintels were bathing the corridor.

He wouldn’t let it be too late.

Cliches regarding the last mile would have been redundant. Our hero staggered into the light, and a staring gawping tableau was before him.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR