First Light

by Kody Boye

  “We made it,” Lyra replied.

  “Yeah,” Rose smiled, looking out at all the faces in the cafeteria. “We did.”

  Chapter 8

  The night was dark.

  For once, Rose felt as though she were truly safe.

  From her place in the academy ballroom—where above she could see the moonlight piercing through the high windows and reflecting teardrops of light off the crystal chandeliers—Rose lay awake and listened to the sounds around her.

  The people breathing, the blankets shuffling, the cots creaking—the melody they wove about the room offered comfort to a shattered mind that in the past had feared community would never be found. But here, now, she was something she hadn’t been in quite some time.

  Safe.

  Really, truly safe—without fear of the encroaching dead or the natural world around them.

  There was, of course, the lingering doubt: that something would happen, that someone would slip in, that someone wouldn’t notice and that someone, so consumed with fever and rash, would curl up in a corner to die.

  The walls were thick, but the corridors were small—crammed tight and about two to three people wide.

  They couldn’t run.

  They’d be trampled.

  Or worse. Eaten.

  Only to come back, she thought as the hand of doubt appeared within her mind’s eye, and start it all over again.,

  She closed her eyes to dispel the thought, wishing horribly that Lyra were beside her. They’d spent the whole day together, only for it to end when darkness fell. The cots were assigned. Lyra and E.J. were placed on the far side of the room—only a five minute walk, but seemingly an eternity away.

  Sighing, Rose set an arm across her forehead.

  What she’d expected to be sweltering was ungodly cold.

  The thin sheet, the barely-substantial blanket—this was the east coast. Cold as it was now, it’d be snowing by next month, if not sooner.

  Then we’ll be stuck, she thought. Snowed in.

  The tendrils of loss pulled at her.

  Rose succumbed.

  She woke late.

  How long did I sleep? she thought.

  Rolling onto her side, she pushed the thick tendrils of unwashed hair from her face and looked about the room. As she’d expected, she was the only one here.

  After throwing her legs over the side of the bed, Rose slid into her boots, pulled her hair into as manageable a ponytail as possible, then started toward the open double doors.

  Though hazy about specific details, she managed to conjure the route by memory and followed the long, sloping hall to the split in the corridor.

  “Hey!” a voice called out. “Rose!”

  She turned to find Cindy running toward her, waving her arms ecstatically.

  “Hey,” Rose said, taking a step back as the girl came to a sliding halt. “I’m a bit lost.”

  “Kinda figured you would be,” Cindy said. “Sleep late, I take it? That’s ok. Did you get anything to eat? Probably not, huh? Well, come this way. I’ll take you to my dad’s office.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Rose said as the girl dragged her down the hall.

  “Come on. I know you’re hungry. And besides—my dad’s got food in our room. I can whip you something up real quick and then we’re out. Ten minutes tops. ‘K?”

  “Ok.”

  There wasn’t much more she could say or do. Fighting with a determined teenager was bad enough, but trying to combat her stomach? It was a losing game, so rather than argue, she allowed the girl to drag her along.

  She took only brief notice of the rooms they passed. As expected, classrooms had been converted to offices, personal quarters, the occasional storage room. Some were even designated as armories, and held boxes upon boxes of ammunition, though these were few and far between. They came mostly at thresholds—a safeguard against the dead, Rose imagined, if they managed to break in.

  It was when they passed the front office that Cindy stopped and released Rose’s hand.

  “Where is it?” she asked, fumbling through her pockets. “Aww, come on. Don’t tell me I—Found it!”

  Cindy retrieved a small key and jammed it into the door before throwing it.

  Unsure if she should wait to be invited in, Rose hesitated before entering behind Cindy. “Teacher’s lounge?” she asked.

  “It’s the biggest place they had,” Cindy replied as she gestured for Rose to shut the door. “You know politicians—always wanting more than they need. Dad’s really bad about that. But hey—I won’t complain. Gives me my own room.”

  “How big is this place?”

  “It’s got this living room here,” Cindy said, “then further back through that door there’s a kitchen, then a little bathroom, which we can’t use because the plumbing doesn’t work. That storage closet over there’s where I sleep.” The girl pointed. “Dad has that little area separated with the divider as his room.”

  “Far cry from what most people have,” Rose agreed.

  Cindy nodded. “I told Dad it might be better if he just used this room for business. He is helping operate the military establishment, after all. But no—he was too worried about something happening to me.”

  “As a dad should.”

  “We’re one of the few who’ve got a personal fridge,” Cindy said, leaning down to pull out a sandwich wrapped in foil. “The cafeteria’s the only mandated place that has it besides certain military personnel—you know, keeping our troops safe and all.”

  “I take it the medical unit is part of that?” Rose asked. She unwrapped the sandwich and took a meaty bite, nearly choking once, and chastising herself to chew.

  “Yeah. Which is surprising, really.”

  “How so?”

  “This thing was whipped together so fast. Academy was closed for the winter—renovations on the parking garage or something. By the time we got here, most of the other checkpoints we’d been told to go to had fallen. I still can’t believe we’re alive.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Since the third day after they blew up New York.”

  Rose faltered. Midway through chewing what was already in her mouth, she forced herself to swallow and settled down on a stool, nodding as Cindy passed a bottle of cold water over.

  Cindy pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. “You said you were in England?” she asked. “But you weren’t from there?”

  “No,” Rose said.

  “New York?”

  She nodded with a sigh. “Yeah. I was.”

  “I take it your family was there? And you don’t know what happened to them?”

  “By the time everything started, the international lines were down and there was no way I could get in contact with them—not even by email.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s just… I wonder what happened to them sometimes—if they got out, or if they went to visit my aunt and went down to Florida instead. I mean, my dad was a smart guy, and my mom wouldn’t have wanted to stay if something was going on, but… you never know. There’s so many things that can change your outlook on something.”

  “Maybe it’s better that you don’t know,” Cindy said. “I hear people tell stories about their loved ones and I can’t help but think: ‘What if they got away?’ Maybe they found shelter with the military, or ended up on a deserted island. Or maybe their community got smart and prepared before it started. It’s not really the best way to go about it, but… well… even if you can just think they got away, doesn’t that make it a little better?”

  Rose narrowed her eyes. “You lost someone,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

  Cindy nodded. “My mom. We were waiting in front of the capitol building for the jeep to pick us up when it happened. Tons of armed guards, police, machineguns, the works. Apparently, they didn’t think to watch the bushes along the chain-link fence. A part of it’d been torn down sometime during the summer. No… no one ever got around to fixing it.
That’s where it came in.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rose said.

  “It tried to go for me, but Mom, she saw it before anyone else and pushed me away. Didn’t scream, didn’t cry out—nothing. Because she knew if she did they’d open fire and blow us all to pieces. So she pushed me on the ground and threw herself at the thing. We don’t even know if she got bitten. The military opened fire too fast to tell.”

  The girl lowered her head. Steadfast resolve had quickly faded in the aftermath of the heroic story. Lips pulled into a frown, Cindy took a deep breath, then expelled it before raising her head. “My mom’s my hero,” she said. “If it hadn’t’ve been for her, it would’ve grabbed me. And I would’ve screamed. And they’d’ve shot both of us—just like that, no questions asked.”

  “What about your dad? Where was he?”

  “He’d wandered off to speak with one of the commanding officers. He didn’t even get to see it. I was the one with Mom’s blood on me. But you know what? I’m alive. And I always have a piece of her with me.” She reached under her blouse and lifted a small silver cross with golden wings for Rose to see. “It’d gotten torn off her sometime when it happened. I saw it twinkling on the ground and grabbed it just as the Humvee rolled up and the men started opening fire on the dead that’d been attracted to the commotion.”

  “You’re a brave girl,” Rose said, pressing a hand against Cindy’s cheek.

  “I try to be,” Cindy replied. “I—”

  The door opened.

  Rose turned to see none other than Governor Harroldson. “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

  “Dad,” Cindy said. “This is Rose. She was the one who was just brought in a few days ago.”

  “The one from England?” the governor asked. Rose nodded despite the man’s imposing posture. “I’m glad to see you’re well. Your friends must be thrilled.”

  “More than thrilled,” Rose said.

  Harroldson shrugged off his overcoat and reached up to undo his tie. “Cindy, honey,” he said. “Can you please see our guest out? I’ve been in meetings all night and I need to get some sleep before my brief with the President.”

  The President? Rose thought. How can that even—

  Harroldson lifted his eyes. “Now,” he said.

  “Yes Dad,” Cindy said. She took hold of Rose’s hand and led her toward the doorway. “Oh, by the way—I gave her your sandwich. She hadn’t eaten, this morning.”

  “That’s fine,” the governor sighed.

  Rose only offered the man a nod before Cindy pulled her out.

  “Hey,” Lyra said. “Are you all right?”

  “What do you mean?” Rose frowned.

  “I mean… are you ok? You’re acting kinda off tonight.”

  Figures, Rose thought.

  She hadn’t been able to keep a secret since the day she could talk. It only made sense that Lyra would see through her bullshit.

  By candlelight she watched her friend scrutinize her as if she were a petri dish. Her eyes narrowing, her teeth sinking into her lip, her fingers drumming along the armrest—ordinarily, Rose would’ve considered the presence of others a deterrent for questions, though that appeared to be anything but.

  Given the lack of space, the library had been designated as their recreational area. People could come and go, even if they just wanted to talk.

  You get used to it, Lyra had said the first time they were intruded on.

  Apparently, her friend had acclimated quickly.

  Under the intense pressure of Lyra’s gaze, and with no choice other than to relent, Rose sighed, leaned forward, and said, “I met the governor.”

  Lyra frowned. “What?” she asked.

  She recanted the encounter in detail—from waking up late, to running into Cindy, to being dragged into the governor’s quarters and served his very own sandwich. By the time she finished, Lyra’s mouth had dropped open, and the incessant drumming upon the armrest had ceased.

  “Shit,” Lyra said.

  “It’s really not that big a deal,” Rose replied. “I mean, he’s a person, just like everyone else.”

  “Maybe so, but something about it’s bothering you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be acting like such a nut.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You get what I mean.”

  “I know,” Rose sighed. “It’s… well… the way he looked—how ragged, rundown he seemed to be.”

  “He’s got a lot on his plate, Rose.”

  “Yeah, but I thought this was supposed to be the safest place on Rhode Island.”

  Lyra bit her lip. Whether it was to keep from replying or because she couldn’t reply, Rose didn’t dare guess.

  “Lyra?” Rose asked, desperately trying to fight off the shiver that threatened to run its course. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Rose,” her friend said. “I—”

  “Tell me.”

  “You mean you haven’t heard? From anyone?”

  “Heard what?” Rose paused. “What’re you talking about, Lyra?”

  “The entire eastern seaboard is gone. Everything from the Canadian border all the way down to Florida. They think it started in New York and got out of hand after they started bombing it. Something about the nukes making it airborne or something, spreading the contagion.”

  “They don’t know what caused it?”

  “No one’s saying anything. The only reason this information got out was because it was public.” Lyra collapsed in her seat, chest heaving as if just struck with a deadly blow. Her lips curled into a smile and a morbid chortle rose in her chest.

  “What’s so funny?” Rose asked.

  “You know,” Lyra said. “We were so fucking concerned about getting out of the U.K. when this all started. We didn’t care where we went, so long as we weren’t there. Then I heard that and I think, ‘Wow.’ We could’ve been here, where it started, and had absolutely no chance at all.”

  “Do they know how many people are dead?”

  “Millions. They stopped tracking based on census after they realized people were swarming from everywhere—looking for family, friends, loved ones.”

  Rose closed her eyes.

  “It’s not like there isn’t hope though,” Lyra said. “There’s this place. Fort Hope. At least, that’s what everyone’s calling it. Better than Lancelot’s Academy if you ask me.”

  Rose glanced back at the glass double doors. “So,” she said. “You and E.J.…”

  “Yeah,” Lyra said, blushing and bowing her head.

  “I’m happy for you. Really. I am.”

  Lyra nodded.

  Rose smiled, though in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder.

  What was her purpose here?

  The cold October air bit and stung at her skin.

  Drawing the hand-knitted throw about herself, Rose stepped into the courtyard that had been sanctioned for military activities and tried to make sense of where operations would be. Tents loomed all around her—sentinels in their enormity, wings blushed across dozens of feet.

  The wall—which, in its earlier days, had been nothing more than wrought iron—had been filled out with concrete: raised in places, thickened almost everywhere. Most disconcertingly though was how ready this place appeared for a siege.

  Rose swallowed the lump in her throat.

  As imposing as it was, she couldn’t let the façade get to her. They were just buildings—nothing more, nothing less.

  Rose started past the tents deemed medical and headed toward where she could see a number of civilians training with hand-to-hand weapons.

  Her presence was greeted with lifted heads and cautious stares.

  “Ma’am?” a soldier asked. “Are you lost?”

  “I think I’m in the right place,” Rose replied. “This is where you’re training the militia. Right?”

  The soldier stared blankly. The other men—who’d stopped to take note of their silence—remained quiet, preferring to watch rath
er than engage.

  Swallowing, the soldier gave a short nod and set his jaw into what he likely assumed was a less inconspicuous position. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “This is where we’re training the militia.”

  “How can I get in?” Rose asked.

  “You’re skin and bones, lady,” another male voice said. “You ain’t no use to us if you fall apart in the field.”

  Rose turned.

  From his place atop a wooden desk chair, a silver-haired man with one milky-blind eye and one steel-blue one looked up and surveyed her in one fell swoop.

  “Excuse me?” Rose asked.

  “You gotta be healthy to be out in the field. Well-fed, fit to fight if it comes down to it.”

  His sheer audacity wasn’t even nerve-racking anymore. Long past the point of appalled, Rose struggled to keep a laugh from coming. “Do you even know who I am?”

  The man raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m the woman one of your supply runners pulled into their van after I got beached by the hurricane.” Rose stepped forward—a newfound confidence, or possibly cockiness--inspired within her heart. “If I wasn’t strong enough,” she continued. “I wouldn’t have been out there all alone. I wouldn’t have gotten up after I was knocked unconscious and wandered into the city, starving and with a concussion. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have outrun and killed two or three zombies while I was at it.”

  Two soldiers stepped forward when Rose approached the silver-haired man.

  “If I wasn’t strong enough,” she snarled, “I wouldn’t have survived the outbreak in the major Liverpool area.”

  “Liverpool?” one soldier asked. “You mean you’re—”

  “That’s right. I’m the one from England. You know, the one who drifted at sea for nearly three weeks to get here?” She turned her eyes on the official, a smirk tugging the corner of her lip. “And you don’t think I’m strong enough.”

  “You’ve got some balls, lady,” the silver-haired man said, standing. “Some big, brass balls. And you know what? I like that.” He gestured to the soldier. “Get the lady a machete. I want to see how hard she can hit something.”