Day One

by Kelly deVos

  His face puckers into a pained expression. “For you,” he chokes out. “I told you—”

  I came here for you.

  That’s what he said that very first night we were on the run.

  I don’t care how he intends to finish that sentence.

  Copeland may be right. I may not understand anything about this world, and I may always be wrong about my place in it, but I do know one thing for certain.

  Navarro is the one thing I really need to survive.

  Pushing myself up from the sofa and leaning awkwardly forward over the table...

  I press my lips to his.

  Hard.

  Maybe too hard.

  He freezes.

  Mac thinks we’re off making out all the time, but the truth is, this is only our second real kiss, and the first one lasted only a few seconds because there’s no real privacy in a Doomsday bunker with five people. So this is not typical behavior.

  I’m about to pull back...and maybe run away and hide somewhere.

  Then.

  He leans forward, too, and rises so I’m not hunched over in some weird position. The tip of his tongue glides along my upper lip. We’re both standing up now, and his warm hands wrap around my back.

  All the times I’d spent imagining.

  Gustavo Navarro.

  His lips on mine. His hands on me.

  Here we are.

  We almost knock over a cheesy wooden eagle on the coffee table as he backs me to the door of his room. Inside, it’s dark and cool and quiet.

  Unsure what comes next, in the tiny sliver of light created by the open bedroom door, I fumble the first several buttons of his jumpsuit. He sucks in a deep breath as I reach the one at his naval and run my fingers lightly over the muscles created by long days preparing for the end of the world.

  And then.

  He shrugs out of the jumpsuit and closes the door.

  Just this once.

  The end of the world can wait.

  The world will survive for one night.

  Tonight.

  My brother resisted the argument that both sides were the same, even though both sides were prepared to use the same methods to advance their causes. I’m not sure he ever asked himself if you could do wrong while trying to do right.

  —MacKENNA NOVAK,

  Letters from the Second Civil War

  MacKENNA

  LEAD: Journalism student and morally flexible hacker stow away on futuristic clandestine submarine to intercept doomed military mission.

  IMPORTANT FACTS:

  -Jo is leading a team to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

  -There she’ll meet Jay Novak, who has recently enlisted in the Provisional Army of the New United States.

  -Novak’s unit will try to permanently disable a cold fusion missile.

  -But the plans for the mission have already been leaked to The Opposition. Even though the operations take place in areas controlled by The Spark, The Opposition plans to have a huge force on hand.

  I go through this in my head. If we were at home, Mr. Johnson would totally accuse me of burying the lede. The big story here is that the town of Santa Fe is about to be the site of the first major battle of the Second Civil War. Oh yeah, and The Opposition plans to kill whoever happens to be in a one-hundred-mile radius.

  But all I can think about is Dad.

  He’s walking into a trap, and he has no idea.

  We’re all becoming footnotes in the big story.

  QUOTES AND BACKGROUND INFORMATION:

  God, it would take too long to summarize everything. Who could I quote? There are only a handful of people on earth who even have some clue as to what’s gonna happen.

  Hello! Earth to Mac! Argue with yourself later. Right now, we need to get on the submarine, which is probably leaving any second.

  One of the files Terminus and Jinx managed to steal is a map of SEALAB. Terminus brings it up on the screen of the e-tablet, and we spend a few seconds trying to get oriented. The underwater station was designed for research, and Jinx was right. The security isn’t great. Like, whoever built this place mainly expected nerdy scientists to be going from lab to lab. They hastily installed cameras in the parts of the station where Rosenthal is being kept, but otherwise there’s not a whole lot to worry about.

  Well. Except for all the soldiers milling around.

  The first fifteen minutes of our adventure are spent in a supply closet, trying not to choke on the smell of pine cleaner and moldy mopheads.

  “This plan is stupid,” Terminus says.

  “Why didn’t you say that before?”

  “I did say that before!” he whispers. Terminus taps an area on the map. It’s a computer supply room. “I have an idea,” he says.

  We snake around the network of halls, listening hard for the echo of voices. Terminus motions for me to duck and crawl underneath the glass window that looks into the computer lab room. Next to a door with a large sign that says AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY is a smaller door called STORAGE. Terminus uses the program he created earlier to unlock it.

  It’s an odd room in the shape of a C. The center is filled with racks of high-tech computers, extra monitors, spare parts of things I mostly don’t recognize. Small white night-lights create odd shadows and here and there, red and blue lights blink as part of devices I don’t recognize. There’s something that maybe looks like a speaker, and a few replacements for the alarm panels like the one on the wall of the dorm.

  Terminus finds a stainless-steel utility cart behind the series of racks. It has two shelves. He tells me to climb onto the lower shelf, and then he builds a fort of equipment, placing steel and plastic computer parts all around me.

  His duffel bag lands on the shelf above me with a thonk that makes my ears ring.

  “Whatever happens...stay quiet,” Terminus says.

  He pushes the cart clumsily out of the storage room.

  Apparently, Terminus’s big master plan is to push the cart around and act like he knows what he’s doing.

  OTHER IMPORTANT FACTS:

  -He does not know what he’s doing.

  -One wheel of this cart squeals so loud that people on the mainland can probably hear.

  It’s really uncomfortable down here. Like, everything Terminus stacked on this cart has sharp corners that keep pressing into my legs and arms. I’m sitting cross-legged and hunched up in a ball, and one of my feet is falling asleep, and I think I might have pulled a muscle in my neck and—

  Oh crap. Several voices are coming closer and closer.

  Footsteps grow louder.

  We almost knock into three pairs of work boots.

  Calm down, MacKenna.

  “Partridge? Where do you think you’re going?” a deep voice asks.

  These soldiers must recognize Terminus from Fort Marshall.

  “You know this guy?” a female voice asks.

  “He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on Marshall’s kid,” the man answers.

  “I thought that’s what we’re doing,” the woman says.

  “We’re escorting her to and from the briefings. He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on things from the inside,” the man says.

  My blood boils hot, and it takes every ounce of self-control I’ve got not to bust out from behind the computers.

  LEAD: Morally flexible hacker is a spy.

  A third man’s voice adds, “They say she’s just like him. Like Dr. Marshall.” The guy can’t keep the awe out of his voice.

  There’s something off-putting about this. Navarro was right. They want Jinx for something. And also. It’s starting to really suck how often Navarro is right.

  The least Terminus can do is to make up a halfway believable lie.

  Instead.

  “The Perun,” Terminus volunte
ers. He’s trying to sound bored, but there’s an edge to his voice. “Copeland wants this stuff loaded in the supply bay.”

  “He asked you to do it?” One of the smaller pairs of boots wiggles around. “Why?” the woman voice.

  “The general doesn’t ask. He orders,” Terminus says. “But feel free to call him. Copeland’s in a meeting with Rosenthal. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to be interrupted.”

  “Okay,” the woman says uncertainly. “Maybe one of us should go with him.”

  “We’ve got our orders,” the third man says.

  “Get back to your barracks ASAP, huh, Partridge?” the first man says.

  “Right,” Terminus says, this time finally achieving the dull tone he’s been going for. “Because I really want to hang around in the hallway all night.”

  The boots resume moving and grow fainter. Our busted, squeaky-wheel cart gets going again. When I can no longer hear people shuffling and chatting, I punch the steel shelf above me.

  Ouch.

  I make a loud bong sound and rub my hand, which kinda throbs.

  Terminus leans down. “Shh! I can explain.”

  I’m strangely disappointed by the knowledge that Terminus is a double agent. Not only does it mean that Navarro was right. Again. But also... I thought...

  I try to stay mad. “You better!”

  QUOTES AND BACKGROUND INFORMATION:

  “You like him!”—Jinx Marshall.

  Ugh.

  I wonder if Navarro and Jinx have noticed that we’re gone. What will happen when they figure out we’re gone? Is it too late to go back?

  But then there’s my father.

  There is no going back.

  I bounce and bop around on the bottom of the cart. All I can see is strips of white wall as it goes by, and it’s hard to tell how fast we’re going, or how long it’s taking. Occasionally, we take a corner or stop at a door. When my scenery changes to the dark glass of the Moon Room, I can see that we’re close.

  My head hits the shelf as we take the entry ramp to the Perun.

  “Shh!” Terminus says again.

  I rub the top of my head.

  Yeah. Sorry if my concussion is bugging you, bro.

  We’re back in the blue light of the submarine, and queasy jitters churn in my stomach. According to the file, the Perun is on its way back to Puerto Peñasco. Once there, the crew will meet my father, who’ll take over command of the mission. Not only will we have to hide for more than forty-eight hours on the submarine, but I don’t know what will happen when we get to land. Dad will be pissed, and he might not agree to call off this mission.

  I feel like I’ve had ten cups of coffee.

  I mostly catch smells. Sea water. Salt. The rubber of cables. Lemon cleaner.

  Finally, Terminus stops the cart, moves several of the monitors, and offers me his hand.

  I don’t take it. Instead, I try to get off the cart on my own, rolling over clumsily onto the floor. We’re in a supply room, or maybe a small janitor’s closet, that contains stacks of paper towels, toilet paper, a few brooms and a couple of hoses. There’s one blue lightbulb on the ceiling in the center of the room.

  “You’ve been spying on us!” I tell him, the instant I can get up off the ground.

  “Shh!” he says, shaking his head.

  I’m so tired of him saying SHH! over and over.

  I don’t want to SHH!

  I’m about to open my mouth to argue when Terminus grabs my arm. He’s still shaking his head. And he whispers, “I was never gonna spy! But I had to say something, or Copeland wasn’t gonna let me come.” His eyes are unexpectedly earnest when they meet mine. “I had to come.”

  I’m not sure.

  What if Dr. Doomsday was right?

  Trust no one.

  Except...even Dr. Doomsday didn’t believe that.

  Plus, it got him killed.

  Oh. Also.

  Seriously, whoever designed these jumpsuits should be sent to bed without their supper. They are scratchy and uncomfortable, and the whole time I’ve been wearing one, I’ve been either too hot or too cold.

  “For God’s sake,” Terminus says, giving me a light shake. He goes on in a tense whisper. “Look at where we are! If I was trying to spy on Jinx, why would I be here? Do you know what’s going to happen to me if we get caught?”

  I try to wrap my arms around myself in a hug. The truth is, I have no idea what would happen to him or to me. I know only that I don’t want to go along with Dr. Doomsday’s cynical worldview. That worldview is tearing the world apart.

  Doing my best to force myself to relax, I nod. “Okay. So now we wait?”

  “No,” he says. “We need to get to a computer.”

  This seems like Jinx’s and Terminus’s answer to everything, and this room seems as good a place as any to hide. “Why not stay here?”

  Terminus slowly opens up the janitor’s closet. “Did you ever study submarines and deep sea habitats?”

  Nope. Nope. Nope.

  I shake my head. I can’t see how pointing out the gaps in my reading is going to help us.

  He waves his hand and motions for me to follow him.

  Voices echo from everywhere, filling the narrow hallways.

  My heart thuds violently in my chest.

  Terminus takes my hand and drags me after him. My feet flop along like they’re hanging from my body. A loud tone sounds over the intercom. I clamp my hand over my own mouth to keep myself from screaming.

  All around us, voices get louder.

  We take a sharp turn down a narrow corridor that ends abruptly a few feet in front of us. Terminus pushes me as far back into the darkness as we can go. A group of soldiers carrying equipment and packs proceeds down the main hall, passing by without turning our way.

  The instant that they’re gone, Terminus tugs me back into the hall and pushes me through a door marked with a red square label. I find myself in a beautiful, spacious room, furnished like something out of Architectural Digest, Submarine Edition. Everything is still metal and kinda industrial, but the edges are smoothed out. Surfaces are curved and polished. Concern has been given to the comfort of the person who stays here.

  The room has a small private shower.

  Terminus approaches a wide steel-and-teak desk.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “VIP quarters, I think,” he says as he takes a seat at the plush desk chair.

  Seeing the expression on my face, he says, “I’m betting that the occupant will be on duty for a while.”

  “I still don’t understand what we’re doing here,” I say. “We could have hidden with the mops and brooms and been quite comfortable.”

  He makes a few taps on a touch screen. “Without food, water or a bathroom?”

  Ugh. Right.

  Jinx, if I ever see you again, I’ll apologize for mocking all your survival drills. If you were here, we’d have food, water and jackets. Probably weapons. And probably a plan that’s better than sneaking around like overgrown rats and praying no one notices.

  “Fine. So that wasn’t an ideal hiding spot. I can’t imagine that hanging out here and waiting for Copeland to get back is much better.”

  Terminus types on the keyboard. “We’re not hiding here. I need to adjust the expected headcount of the life support systems. Hang on.” There’s a pause. And then, “Okay. I think that should do it. I hope.”

  That sounded...not great. “Umm...”

  “So back in the old days when people went to deep sea habitats, they had to go through this process of compression and decompression. It meant a couple of days in a special chamber when you arrived down below and more time in another chamber when you returned to land. The Perun and SEALAB, they have a system that gradually changes pressure as needed. They’re constantly measuring
biometrics. Checking vital signs,” he says.

  Ah. I see.

  “If the computer finds more people than it expects...” I take a guess.

  “There’s probably an alert,” he agrees. He’s still tapping.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Um,” he says, staring at the screen. “Looking for a good place to hide. You know. Vacant quarters. Storage rooms. Hmm. The sub is pretty full up.”

  After a minute, he gets up from the desk. “All right, I think I found the place.”

  The place is the kitchen food storage area. I nearly have a series of heart attacks while we try to get there, but we make it.

  We’re able to move a stainless-steel rack of food about eighteen inches from the wall, creating a space for us to hide. We crouch behind massive cans of stewed tomatoes and stacks of cereal boxes.

  Then, we wait.

  * * *

  We’re slumped behind the cans for several hours, until the kitchen staff comes in and out of the room. Despite the fact that it must be in the middle of the night, they appear to be serving lunch. They’re making fruit salad with canned fruit and assembling sandwiches and loading bags of chips into metal containers.

  While we wait, I try to do a bit more reading on the e-tablet. Terminus is right about the sub. It’s an example of super advanced technology.

  Experimental technology.

  It’s quiet after the meal, and it seems like a good time to get something to eat and drink ourselves. I don’t know how long it’s been since we had dinner. My throat feels as dry as the desert back in Phoenix.

  Terminus suggests that we split up, or at least take turns sneaking around. Getting supplies. Using the bathroom. By bathroom, what he actually means is that we’ll use the large kitchen sink.

  “That’s so gross,” I tell him.

  “Yeah. Well. The nearest bathroom is outside the main control room. We have no idea what the food prep schedule is. We shouldn’t take any more risks than necessary,” he says in a frustrated whisper.

  I leave him cramped and awkward in our makeshift fort while I check things out. Glancing at the sink, I decide to try to hold it until later. I creep around the small kitchen. One of the racks has boxes of protein bars and another is full of bottled water. I’m stuffing the pockets of my dorky jumpsuit when something cold presses to the back of my head.