Free Ectopia by Martin Goodman Page B

I’ll call em, Dad threatens – Call the authorities and certify.
    With bugs up my nostrils
And ants for a brain
I feel great comfort
I am quite sane
    - Snap out of it, Alison. We’ve cleaned up. The swarm’s gone. You weren’t the only one, you know. We all got mobbed. You got first shot of the bathwater. Karen scrubbed you. You’re clean. They’re gone. No more insects, Alison. No more insect songs, OK? It’s over.
    My bones creak like crickets
I’ve got praying mantis knees
My hair grows in thickets
That hum with wild bees
    Mom’s alert now. Her eyes start moving about the room, looking into the high corners. She hears her own voice. Now she wants sight of it.
    Butterflies mate
Inside my throat
I open my mouth
And out they float
    Dad’s eyes water. He lifts his specs and wipes em with his hand. That’s it. Mom’s wrung a drop of emotion out of him. Now he’s dry as bone. He puts on the headset, flicks down the mike, and types in the security number.
    - Statesquad, he says, when the system answers. He gives Mom’s details.
    Name.
    Address.
    Age.
    Number
    - No longer certifiable for family use, he says.
    The screen goes blank. Mom sings another verse.
    At night my belly
Becomes a moon
It attracts the moths
They’ll fill me soon
    On the screen an eagle takes flight from a mountaintop. It’s the symbol of statesquad. Their response follows. It’s no debate. Dad’s certified her as useless, so statesquad’s obliged to take her in. They’ve sent a collection time and list of legal terms that form the access agreement. Dad codes in his acceptance without reading the details.
    - It’s for the best, Dad says, and strokes Mom’s head - I’ll tell Karen to pack your things. We’ve got till tomorrow to have you ready.
    So this is Mom’s last day at home. Give it two shakes, the day’ll turn into a family occasion.
    I head out the door.
    Â 
    I should name em. All the bits of us that make teensquad run.
    There are 24 of us. Malik, Runt and me, the three I’ve named already, plus 21.
    Mug, face squashed since birth, so no-one knows he’s smiling.
    Flint, solid and flashy, first to strike.
    Scud, not subtle but effective. Deploying him’s like flinging a hammer.
    Ozie, short for ozone, as round as a boy can get on veggies, farts are his biggest weapon.
    Skink. A slight thing, stands still, studies, blinks slow then darts.
    Furbo, olive skin and dark eyes. A schemer.
    Skel, grey eyes on a stick, skin on bone. He rattles in the wind.
    Ant, wire haired, black, pinched waist, big head, just like an ant. Knock him down, he won’t stay down.
    Soo, good old Soo. He’s got a chiselhead, 200 solid pounds, no fat, muscle for brain.
    Kes, beaked nose, flopping fringe, flaps his arms to show he’s keen, runs and dives at the smell of blood.
    Mulch. His jaw droops, his mouth gapes, his bug eyes look small even when they stare. He hangs out in the middle of whatever’s going on.
    Pint’s the same size as Runt but only half the speed on a short dash.
    Jok. Black hair, blue eyes, high cheeks, wide shoulders. He’s a poser, or maybe just good to look at.
    Roach’s eyes look two ways at once. His legs bend at angles when he runs.
    Toast goes pink and sweats at runspeed. The skin flakes when he stops and dries out. He rasps it loose with his hand, and goes white again.
    Melba’s blond. If you want a kid sister, he’s as close as you’ll get. His voice won’t break and his sweat smells sweet. The air’s cool when you run behind him.
    Zeb just is. His head nods or shakes, both of em slow, but he never speaks. His head’s shaved. You can watch the pulse beat in his thick brow.
    Saf knows nothing or everything, fuck knows which. He’s browner than Malik, close to real dark, runs with long strides and talks in long words.
    Parch is bloodless. His eyes are bruised, his skin is white, his