Birth, Death, Memory
South suburbs of Chicago
One night in the future
“Auntie Bri?”
The plaintive call resonated through the cold diamond-stamped plates of the power plant’s topmost floor and roused Brianna Montag from her slumber. The slight-framed, winged Irishwoman gently extricated herself from the loudly snoring Grissom Montag’s grasp as the fiftysomething mercenary dreamt of past tussles, current struggles, and hopefully future triumphs. As he dozed on, the metahuman flyer padded from one makeshift bedroom to the next, carefully weaving through the dark between the lightly-carpeted plywood panels that comprised the interior walls of Vanguard’s less-than-formidable fortress. The crumbling, abandoned power station – its sole functioning generator droning away below – was only the latest in a long line of homes in exile for the small band of heroes that had once shaped the course of global events from their island stronghold and saved the world more times than most would ever know.
That same world had spent the past fourteen years under the heel of a merciless occupation force from across the galaxy, but somehow Brianna and her closest friends had survived and were now huddled in the ruins of a post-alien-invasion Chicago. And that meant life went on, and one of life’s unexpected gifts to Brianna was a wonderful young girl whose cheerful kindness and devoted affection had helped somewhat to dull the ache of her own son’s disappearance. That girl had probably just woken from another bad dream and most likely awaited a late-night talk and hug through the opposite door of her father’s room.
As Bri quietly traversed the room, she managed to avoid being disoriented by the periodic stray thoughts and sensations projecting unbidden into her mind. The white-haired, white-bearded man stretched across the mattress on the floor to her right appeared deep in slumber, but while his body lay inert his unconscious mind continued to gather information from his senses – and from the minds around him. In the gloom he appeared not yet middle-aged save the prematurely-faded close-cropped locks, but the youthful form belied the unsettling truth that Phil Smith had technically lived over eighty years, died once, was inexplicably sent back, and had since lived another twenty – though the latter had been years marked mostly by profound sorrow. The only respite from that sorrow were his best friends, Grissom and Brianna – and his only child, who glanced up with a faint smile as her surrogate maternal figure brushed softly through the doorway and into her room.
“Bad dream, dearie?” Brianna asked gently.
Alyssa nodded, her shoulder-length, fiery red hair tumbling about her as her wide cerulean eyes betrayed her lingering trepidation.
“Can ye tell me about it, love?” Brianna’s soft Irish brogue had a natural calming effect.
Alyssa thought a long moment as her hand absently reached to her nightstand and her fingers grasped an old but lovingly-polished locket – a gift from her “aunt” on her sixteenth birthday a short while ago. She shook her head, unable to recall what had troubled her.
Brianna put a hand to the girl’s cheek and looked down at her. In a perfect world, she should have been fretting over exams and breaking eager boys’ hearts, not leaping across post-apocalyptic rooftops with a loaded shotgun. Sadly, Alyssa’s childhood was only one of innumerable casualties inflicted by the Xyryth invasion. “Anything I can do t’help ye?” the flyer probed.
Alyssa hesitated. This was far from the first time she’d asked, but perhaps she’d inherited some vestiges of her father’s psionic aptitude or her mother’s infallible empathy and had sensed tonight might be different. “Auntie Bri,” she asked slowly and softly, “can you please tell me about my mother?”
Brianna’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel she could tell the girl – Phil’s recent change of heart had led him to request just that of her. But pulling the tale up from the depths of memory dredged up a surge of emotion, and the gravity of what she’d been asked to give this child now tugged at Bri. She cleared her throat and paused a long moment as Alyssa fixed her with an imploring gaze.
“Are ye sure?” the Irishwoman warned. “I have t’warn ye, ‘tis very sad.”
Alyssa nodded insistently.
“Very well, love,” Brianna said as she gathered her thoughts…
