Escapism, with Raya Riken

by Rebecca Zugor

     Here comes trouble. I brace myself, but it turns out I’m safe. For now, anyway; my cousin Tommy chooses to stop within shouting – rather than slapping – distance. “Anne, we’ve found a dungeon. Come and see.” He starts to head back across the sun-bleached playing field. “This is the best summer holiday ever!”

     I stand there with my mouth open, because it’s the first time he’s smiled at me since I came to live in his house, and then I remember what he said. Not wanting to miss out on anything exciting, I take off after him, hoping my face doesn’t end up all red. Sprinting was never my strong point.

          Raya Riken, in her astrofibre catsuit, whizzes across the field like an electric blue bullet.

           I follow Tommy up a slope, and see some children pointing to the ground. “You dragged me all the way over here just to see a slab of concrete?” I try to yell, but my words come out in a load of gasps and wheezes. Tommy looks smug. The kids laugh.

     “It’s the roof of an old air-raid shelter.” Saeed is the brainy one, and he’s only two months younger than me. “Must be fifty feet long, and look, it’s not straight – there’ll be lots of corners inside.”

     “Someone’s been in.” Tommy beckons me over to a two-foot wide hole at one end, just under the roof. “There’s a plank leading down to the floor.”

     The kids grin at me as if they’ve just discovered the back door into Narnia, and one by one, they crawl into the hole. “I’ll keep watch out here in case any grown-ups come.” I try to sound casual. I hate the dark, and I’m still not sure about Tommy, even though he smiled.

     Raya Riken waits by the entrance to the cave. She’s seen enough people walking the plank to last a lifetime. Course, Cap’n Grimvil’s ‘plank’ always led to an airlock. Moving a strand of long copper hair away from her eyes, Raya scans the horizon. No sense in letting those dastardly inter-galactic pirates recapture her.

     The robotic frog-like creature on Raya’s left shoulder speaks in its tinny voice. “I do not have your gift for seeing through objects, Miss Riken. Please remove your hair from my field of vision.”

     “Arr, you be tangled in my tempest-tossed tresses, Frot.”

      I sit on the grass, inspecting the bruise on my arm. I took Tommy’s favourite book a few days ago, so he pinched me. I didn’t tell Uncle Phil. He’s been so kind these last few months, taking me in after Mum died, even though it was my fault. Cancer is caused by stress – that’s what someone at school said – and I caused the stress, by shoplifting. I wanted to see what it was like. Didn’t know I’d get caught. Or hooked. And if Uncle thought I was taking stuff again, I’d be out of here faster than you can say “Social Services.”

     Raya lifts Frot from her shoulder and laughs, as her companion looks skywards, his yellow eyes turning violet in the sunlight. “Methinks you’ll not be saying ‘Pieces of quantinium flashlings’ today, me little planet-lubber.”

     “I have never uttered those ridiculous words,” says Frot, “and you’re right, Miss Riken, in thinking I would prefer to have remained on L’Candelan.”

     “Arr, I wanted to explore the galaxies, matey. Didn’t know we’d be ending up on The Meteoric Cutlass.”

     “For years, Miss.”

     “Cap’n Grimvil’s power-restrictor be hard to beat, Frot.”

     “They made you use your X-ray vision to scan space stations for treasure.  It was wrong.”

     “That be why we left. Shame your home co-ordinates were scrambled during the escape, me little navigator.”

     “Electromagnetic lock-ons.” Frot shakes his head. “Tiresome.”

      The kids emerge from the shelter, all gabbling at once.

     “Anne, what ya thinkin’ about?” says one. “Ya look far away.”

     “There’s rats in there.” Tommy shudders.

     A girl’s voice. “We’re coming back tomorrow with torches.”

     I get home in time to help Uncle’s girlfriend with the tea. Steam mists my National Health specs as I pick one of her long hairs off the shepherd’s pie.

     “Surprised the doctors don’t warn you about dyeing it, Tanya.”

     She grins. “Your uncle likes me blonde.”

     “It’ll give the kid cancer or something.”

     She puts a hand to her swollen belly. “Oh. Your mum...”

     “She didn’t dye her hair, though. So d’you think something else causes cancer?”

     “Ginger, wasn’t it? Like yours?”

     “Mine’s more copper.” I jump, as Tommy burps loudly behind me. 

     Raya Riken stiffens. “The lowlife be back on shore leave,” she says. “Methinks we’ll need more than a tot of rum to deal with this. Yo, ho, ho – and a bottle of my super-energade!”

      My uncle comes in, cuddles Tanya and eats a spoonful of baked beans straight from the saucepan. “How’s my boy?” he says, ruffling Tommy’s hair and hugging him, before turning towards me, arms open. I smile and take a glass of cola into the living room, leaving them to do the cosy family stuff without me. Best not to get too settled. Nobody wants a klepto.

     When I go to my room at bedtime I close the door, positioning my metal waste-paper bin (with the USS Enterprise picture boldly painted on) in front of it. I balance a thin book horizontally on the bin’s edge so that it will fall only if the door opens. Finally, I place a pebble on the book.

     “Zippety-flash, me hearties. That potion be increasing me inventive powers.”

     “Meaning, Miss Riken?”

     “Arr, what be this contraption, Frot?”

     “It appears to be a pile of scrap metal, Miss.”

     “Wrong. It be a pirate-repellent auto-alarm.”

 The next morning I arrive at the shelter just as the others are preparing to go in. I’m the only one who forgot to bring a torch, but I go with them. I can’t always be afraid of the dark. Trembling, I ease myself down the rough wooden plank, glad to be wearing jeans.

     Little Sally is last, giggling so much that she wets herself. In the dim light – no-one thought to check batteries – we see the wee trickling down the plank and making a small puddle on the floor. We laugh ourselves silly, until someone says, “We’ve all got to climb back up the same way.”

     The others head off into the darkness to explore. I follow but stop at the first corner when I see something scurrying away.

     Raya Riken stops inside the cave entrance, her X-ray eyes gleaming. “There be giant rats here, me hearties. Working for Grimvil, no doubt.”  

     Frot sounds nervous. “Unlike you, Miss Riken, I have no special powers. I suggest we go no further.”

      I turn and run, stumbling over discarded cans and gasping for breath. I scramble up the plank, getting a splinter in the process. Squinting in the sunlight, I flop onto the grass, relieved to be outside.

     The others follow. “Anne Rachel Richards, you’re twelve – older than us!”

     “I didn’t bring a torch, and yours were no good.”

     Tommy laughs, but it’s not a nice laugh. “I thought people with green eyes could see in the dark.”

     “I’ll come back and explore on my own. I needed fresh air, is all.”

At bedtime, I construct my early warning system as usual. Only tonight, it goes off. The pebble crashing into the metal bin makes such a racket, I jump out of bed and cower in the corner by the wardrobe, my heart thumping. I see the glow of a torch  under the door.

     Tanya looks in. “What are you doing, Anne?”

     “Nothing.”

     “Go back to sleep.”

     When she’s gone I switch on my torch and see that Tommy dropped one of his plastic spiders. At least it wasn’t a bottle of water he had planned for me this time. And nobody saw the silver heart necklace curled around Mum’s photo.

     Next morning, Tommy, apparently still furious at being stopped mid-prank, follows me outside. He hits me in the face and spits swear words into my ear, before running off.

     Brushing tears away from my stinging cheek, I notice blood on my hand. I wish he didn’t wear his skull ring when thumping me. I wish I could undo the past. I wish I could be honest with my uncle. There, three wishes and not a blinkin’ genie in sight.

     I decide to spend the morning in my room, away from everyone. I need to work on my book, anyway. Make a start on chapter two. I think the time-pool should dry out (by what? A solar flare? Sabotage?) so that my hero gets stranded. I wonder if I should change his appearance, so he doesn’t look so much like Saeed? Could be embarrassing, especially ‘cause in chapter three a girl turns up and I’d planned for her to look like me.    

In the afternoon I wander down to the playing-field, and sit on the warm concrete of the air-raid shelter roof. Hearing a whimper, I look round; it’s coming from inside the shelter. “Anyone in there?” No response, so I raise my voice. “Who’s there?”

     “Tommy. Is that Anne? I’m stuck. Anne?”

     I really want to run away and leave him there, but something scratchy in his voice – like when Mum swore at the doctor that time – makes me say, “Wait there.” I squeeze though the narrow opening and crawl backwards down the plank. “Where are you?”

     “At the end. My torch stopped working; I can’t see anything.”

     Oh, great. “I’ll go home and get my torch.”

     “Nooo! Don’t leave me, Anne.” He starts to cry. He actually starts to cry. “I’m scared.”

     There’s no-one else around. “I’m coming.” I step into the darkness, feeling my way along the wall. My feet knock into some cans, which scatter noisily. I reach the first corner and pause; I’ve not been further than this. Once I get round this corner there’ll be no light from the entrance to help me.

     I inch my way forward. The air smells worse here, like old cigarettes and wee and something else, like my friend’s hamster cage when she forgot to clean it out. I hear rustling, and tell myself it’s only Tommy fidgeting.

     “Arr, this X-ray vision be great.” Raya Riken laughs. “Grimvil be trying the old scary-moving-skeletons trick again, Frot.” 

     Frot grips her shoulder tighter. “It’s working, Miss.”

     “Cap’n be thinking to scare me, but grave danger still be a magnet for Raya Riken, arr.”

     “Do not talk to me about magnets,” mutters Frot. “And we really need to work on your diction, Miss Riken. You have been keeping bad company. It shows.”

     “Arr, Grimvil said it’s how his ancestors spoke. Had a sense o’ history, that one.”

     “As I said, Miss. Bad company.”

      I can see nothing even though I’m raising my eyebrows – as if that’ll let in more light. Good thing the others can’t see me. My mouth feels dry and I find it difficult to breathe. I round another corner, then another. “Tommy?”

   “Here.”

     I’m so relieved to hear his voice nearby that I walk faster and trip, landing heavily. I rub my ankle and then flail my arms trying to find the wall again, panic rising within me. Something grabs my hand and I scream.

     “It’s me, Anne. Get me out!”

     “Frot, we must rescue the earthling and escape Grimvil’s clutches before it be too late.”

     “That would be a wise course of action, Miss Riken.”

      Half-crying and half-laughing, we fumble our way out, the wall’s rough surface scratching my hand. “How long have you been here, Tommy?”

     “Must be days.”

     I smile, though I know he can’t see me.

     “I pretended a brave soldier was with me, protecting me,” he gabbles. “So I stopped thinking ‘bout being scared. D’you ever do that?”

     I imitate Miss Webster, my games teacher. “Less talk, more movement.”

     “Do you?”

     “Move!”

     When we collapse on the grass outside, it takes me a while to steady my breathing.

     “You’re pretty brave, Anne.” Tommy’s cheeks turn red and then he runs off. I sit there thinking. If I can face the dark, could I face Uncle Phil, even if it means I’m sent away? I don’t want him thinking I’m good, when really I’m bad. It’s not right, when he’s so nice.

     “Another human rescued from Grimvil’s snare.” Raya sets Frot down on the grass and brushes cobwebs from his pale grey cheeks. “Methinks I’ve worked out how to retrieve the home data from your memory files.”

     Frot looks away. “When you come of age, Miss, your navigational capabilities will be fully developed. You’ll no longer need me.”

     “I’ll always be needing a friend, Frot.” Lifting him, she kisses him on the forehead. “Wherever I go, you’ll be with me. Come, time we be going home, arr.”

     “I do not share your confidence, Miss Riken, but if we arrive home before the next Starfest Celebrations...” Frot fidgets. “Then, ‘arr,’ indeed.”

      When I get back, Uncle is sitting outside. How do I tell him that Mum’s death was my fault? The thought of a children’s home scares me. Will Raya Riken come with me? Will she help me now? But I can’t see any brave superheroes here in the garden, no matter how hard I try, so it’s down to me. I take a deep breath. “I found Tanya’s necklace.”

     Uncle pats the bench beside him, and something in his smile and his “That’s good,” tells me that he already knows about the necklace. And he knows I nicked it.

Rebecca Zugor

'Rebecca won 3rd Prize in the Writers Bureau Short Story Competition in 2004. Since then she has had further competition success and has also had stories published in a number of magazines. She sometimes uses past experiences as inspiration for her writing. As a child she once climbed into a disused air-raid shelter; that was the starting point for this story! Often, a newspaper article or snippet of conversation will spark her imagination. She has recently decided to concentrate on speculative fiction. Her futuristic story 'Caveat Emptor!' can be read in issue 4 of Escape Velocity.’ 

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