Free Silenced by Natasha Larry Page A

going?”
    “Surprise,” he says before ducking out the door.
    I follow, swinging the door shut behind me.
    “Not really a surprise person,” I say as we head down the hall.
    “You’ll like this one,” he says over the clomping of our feet on the stairs.
    I roll my eyes and follow him down the front walkway and toward the front door. Once we’re outside I squint to adjust my eyes to the lighting change. The artificial sky draped across C6 is dimming, so it must be nearing dinnertime.
    Dinnertime. I remember that being a thing.
    \We trudge down the front stairs, and Tripp leads me around to the back of the house. I take in my surroundings and reminisce about orange chicken. When dinnertime was still a thing, I would frequent this Chinese joint smack dab in the middle of the ghetto. Their orange chicken was worth the risk of getting mugged. Even as a memory, my mouth waters.
    Once we make it to the back of the house, my gaze sweeps across a long field of brown grass. Some two hundred feet away, a yard littered with armored vehicles sit behind a low, bolted gate. My gaze darts ahead, to the alcove Shoestring is headed for. Another set of stairs leads toward a small space on the basement level of our house. Looks almost like a baseball dugout.
    My feet pound down the stairs. Tripp sits on a short, concrete bench at the bottom. I stand in front of him, glancing around.
    “Hell is this?” I ask, resting my vision on Tripp.
    He grins and reaches into his pocket. “This,” he says, holding up a small, plastic bag with a greenish-purple herb bundled inside. “Is a bag of happy. Not as good as a time machine, but better than a beer.”
    Oscar nips at my ear. I grab some sunflower seeds from my pocket and hold up my palm. He swoops toward it and eats from my hand.
    After I get him right, I focus on Tripp and his little bag. Leaning over, I spot what looks like glitter sprinkled all over the herb. I squint.
    “Is this…”
    “Orc weed,” Tripp says, pulling a smooth, green pipe from his other pocket. “Some of the last in the world, too.”
    Straightening up, I whistle. I’m impressed. I’ve heard things about Orc drugs. Claims of it helping solve formerly elusive mysteries of the universe. Claims of it being used in cancer research facilities to give scientists cutting edge ideas. Never been able to get near the shit, because only Orcs grow it.
    And if an Orc doesn’t want to sell you something, you don’t argue. You shut the hell up. When he starts to pack the bowl, I turn and place the rest of Oscar’s seeds on the bottom step. Then, I wave him off. Once he’s eating, I turn back to him.
    His arms are extended, holding out the bowl in one, a lighter in the other. “My people call this the answer.”
    I raise an eyebrow. “The answer to what?”
    “Name it,” he says, waving the bowl and lighter at me. I hesitate, remember where I am, then reach for the bowl. Holding the pipe to my lips, I pause with my thumb on the lighter.
    “Come on Pike, man up.” He grins.
    I narrow my eyes at him. “It’s not that, just haven’t done this shit since college. And even them, I’d burn regular shit.”
    He chuckles.
    I suck in a deep breath, then light the pipe and press it to my lips. It doesn’t even burn on the way in. I inhale the smoke to the bottom of my lungs, then hold my breath.
    All it takes is one hit and I...
    Am something else. At first I think I’m high—higher than shit—but I’ve been high. I’ve never been this. This is some other shit.
    Colors brighten, snapping everything into focus. Green leaves on towering trees wave to me. The wind that rustles them sings. Even the air, so stagnant before, goes in like it’s been filtered through a machine.
    Yeah, this is some other shit.
    Sure, the world is over, and I got someone killed, and I’m off the no killing wagon—whatever fuck I had left to give was gone as soon as I inhaled.
    If I were gay, I’d throw Shoestring a good dicking. He’s a