Strikers (40 page)

“Let’s go!” Cassi squeals, tugging on her life vest.

Luckily, these life vests are smaller, the kind meant for people who can swim. Instead of feeling like I’m stuck inside a much too large bubble, it feels like a little orange hug around my middle. As a bonus, they make me feel less self-conscious wearing these so-called bathing suits. Purchased in Pensacola, it clings to my body and makes me feel more than naked. Still, it’s better than swimming in my heavy clothes.

The two white-topped buoys come close, but not too close. Both of them have plastic bundles strapped to the top. We’ll swap those with our own bundles.

“Looks good. In you go,” Marcus says, flipping the ladder over for us. We all clamber down into the choppy water, but it no longer feels strange to have such a yawning depth below me. The water is so blue it’s almost magical from far away, but clear as air once you’re down in it.

The buoy is attached to a line, which is in turn attached to a winch on the boat. The clicking of the line paying out as Jovan pulls the buoy is loud in the quiet air.

Cassi reaches the nearest buoy first and circles it in delight. We’ve been told about them, but they are something else up close. Florida is the most advanced of all the territories and zealous about remaining so. No one can even land there save at specified ports, and access beyond is strictly prohibited.

They apparently live very differently than the rest of us. The Flint brothers have told us stories of tall towers where thousands live and work, never leaving the building at all and technology so advanced they can control machines with other machines implanted in their bodies. It sounds rather horrible to me, but who am I to judge?

The buoys seem to give weight to those assertions. Small screens and glossy lenses rise from the surface and I can see more moving around under the water behind thick glass. Marcus says there are people who look through those lenses from back on land, so Cassi does just what I would expect her to do. She ducks under the water and waves into one of the lenses, pressing a kiss to the glass and grinning.

Jovan and I don’t dawdle, but unhook the first parcel and replace it with our own. It’s heavy, so I’m glad for the buoy. Inside should be advanced engine parts and difficult-to-find computer components. Inside our parcels are things banned in Florida: alcohol of several types, cocoa powder, butter and all sorts of decadent foods. I can’t imagine living life without those rich additions now that I’ve had them. Minus the alcohol, which I won’t have anything to do with, of course.

When we move to the second buoy, one of the camera lenses rises from the top inside its protective glass and the little lens darts around until it focuses on me, where it stays fixed. I smile down into the lenses and see the aperture widen and narrow in response, which makes me laugh. I wrap my legs around one of the protrusions off the body of the buoy to remain steady and I can feel the hum inside it as whatever propels and guides it keeps it in position.

Our parcels neatly tied to our buoy, Jovan and I prepare for our swim back. Cassi is already halfway there, swimming with sure strokes. Jovan gives the high sign to Marcus that he can pull in the buoy.

At the last second, he grabs my hand and then grips the handle on the buoy with the other. The buoy shoots forward and Jovan pulls me up until I can wrap my arms around his neck. It’s an amazing sensation, zipping through the water so quickly I can feel both of us rise a little. I let one arm go from around his neck and hold it up behind me so that we move more smoothly on the water. Those few seconds feel almost like flight, or like we’ve become some sort of boat ourselves, the water lifting us like those fish that fly above the water sometimes out here.

It’s over quickly and I climb the ladder, bringing my dripping self up on deck. Cassi tosses me a towel on her way to the stern for her hat and I move out of the way so Jovan and Marcus can bring up the laden buoy and inspect their treasures.

It is in that moment that I feel it and freeze, my towel forgotten in my hand. I am free.

I. Am. Free.

My life is my own. I control not just what I do now and in the future, but how I will feel about the past. I get to control how I will let it shape me. And in that liberated moment, I decide that it doesn’t matter. I decide that I am grateful for it all. That all my past pain, the fear and everything else in my life was a gift that left me the person I am now. The free, strong girl who stands here with the entire world before her.

Jovan comes up on deck, dripping and golden in the sun. His eyes shine like that hawk’s and his smile is tentative for a moment. Whatever he sees must be the answer he’s been looking for. I know it’s mine.

Just two steps each and we meet in the middle. There are no words, no hesitation. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me. Not the fumbling press of icy lips like in the river, not the uncertain and unskilled kiss behind the school of years before, but a real kiss. My first real kiss. And it is everything I have ever wanted and more. My toes curl into the deck and my arms tighten around his neck until he has to shift his hands from my face to around my back.

The kiss seems to go on for a lifetime and there is nothing else in the world except us. He seems to feel as if he doesn’t have enough arms as he holds me, his hands shifting to press me to him, his fingers hot against the knobs of my spine between my shoulders.

Some eternity later, a voice intrudes and Mario says, “Aw, get a room!”

We part then, suddenly aware of the three people looking at us, two with mouths agape and Cassi with a smile from ear to ear.

“About time!” she shouts at us and then disappears into the hatch.

There’s no awkwardness, no embarrassment, just the feeling that we’ve done the right thing at the right time. In front of us the sails snap into place and the boom shivers as the force of the wind tightens it into position. Jovan slips his arm around my waist and it’s perfect there, like his arm was designed to fit me and no one else.

For just a flash, I think of the pendant and the life it can provide. But it’s just a flash and I push it away. It’s a tool meant for me to use, not meant to control my future. I understand that. It was given without obligation. A gift from the father I thought didn’t love me. In the end, he gave it all for me, even his life. Someday, I’ll venture into the interior of the territories. I’ll see the East, the Southeast and maybe even Florida. Those are thoughts for some other tomorrow.

Right now the water ahead of me is so blue it almost rivals the sky. The sun is yellow and warm. Salty water is pooling at my feet and I feel the wind like a beckoning kiss across my skin. And Jovan’s arm is around me, finally. Right now, I’m right where I want to be.

This is a self-published book. I turned down traditional publishing contracts for a few very simple reasons. I want to write what I think will make people happy and do it at the pace that works for readers—and for me. I just can’t stand the idea of waiting two years after a book is done to get it out to the readers. So, I take my chances with self-publishing and hope the readers and I can connect somewhere in the vast world of books.

You can help me with that. Self-published books—and self-published authors—rise or fall under the weight of their reviews and the enthusiasm of their readers. If you liked
Strikers
, please take a moment and review it on the site you purchased it from. You’ll be doing me a huge favor and allowing me to continue to write quality work without constantly worrying about marketing. And if you really liked it, share the news with fellow readers or on your social network.

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Ann Christy is a career naval officer and secret writer. She lives by the sea under the benevolent rule of her canine overlords and assorted unruly family members. She’s been known to call writing fiction a form of mental zombie-ism in reverse. She gets to put a little piece of her brain into yours and stay there with you—safely tucked away inside your gray matter—for as long as you remember the story. She hopes you enjoyed the meal.