The Dome

by Camille Picott

  “Trading with Uncle Zed.” He looks around sheepishly, stuffing something into his pocket.

  I give him a quizzical look. “Trading for what?”

  He shrugs without answering, then gives my hand an affectionate squeeze. I return the squeeze, giving him a look to let him know this conversation isn’t finished.

  “What happened at the press conference?” Billy asks.

  “William Anderson crashed it. I’ve never seen Mr. Winn so angry. But I managed to get the Highjacker planted. Daruuk says we’ll have access to Vex within twenty-four hours.”

  I’m greeted by stark silence. Taro stiffens beside me. Billy pushes his hair aside to get a good look at my face. Even Zed stares at me, bread rolls and silverware forgotten.

  “Wait right there.” Billy disappears into his room, then remerges with a battered notebook and a pen. He returns to his seat on the book box, then motions for me to take a seat on a pile of used clothing.

  I flop down, pulling Riska into my lap. Taro sits down next to me, the clothing pile sagging so that our hips bump together. His warmth is pleasant and comforting, despite the fact that tension still seeps off him.

  “From the beginning,” Billy says, flipping open his notebook. I glimpse small, scratchy blue penmanship. “Start with Anderson.”

  “Commie,” Zed mutters. He sits down across from us on a miscellaneous stack of junk. He smells like he hasn’t showered in weeks.

  I shift, trying to put some distance between me and Uncle Zed’s stink. Riska leans forward, nose twitching as he sniffs the air close to Zed. His ears swivel toward the man.

  “What is that?” I point to the notebook in Billy’s hand.

  “My conspiracy notebook,” Billy replies. “I started it the day we arrived. I have to write everything down by hand now.”

  “It looks like you’ve almost filled up the whole thing.”

  Billy nods, then sits with his pen poised, waiting for me to begin. Taking in a deep breath, I launch into my tale. I relate everything that happened in the last few hours, beginning with my disastrous press conference and ending with my accidentally eavesdropping on Aston and Dad. Billy scrawls in his notebook, only pausing to ask me questions or to clarify some point.

  “What does all this mean?” I say at last.

  “Which part?” Billy asks.

  “Everything.”

  Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Anderson is turning up the pressure,” Taro says. “He’s devoting a lot of resources to hacking Global. That doesn’t come cheap or easy.”

  “I need to get into Vex.” Billy clicks his pen closed and slides it into the spiral binding. “Come on, let’s go find Daruuk and find out how soon I can get in. Oh, and—” He pauses, wincing. “Don’t tell Hank, okay?”

  We exchange a look. I wonder how Billy can keep things from Hank. I wonder if it makes him as sad as it makes me.

  I nod, showing him I understand. “I won’t say anything.”

  We head toward the door, nearly reaching it when Zed says, “Morning Star.”

  I pause, glancing over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “I never give intel away. Neither should you.” He rises, pacing toward me, the whites of his eyes stark against the dark tattoos covering his face. “You gave me intel tonight. Good intel. I’ll pay you for it.”

  A quick look at Billy confirms my suspicion that it’s better to go along with this. “Okay.” What does he want to give me? A pair of shoes? A candy bar?

  Zed stops when he’s a foot away, leaning toward me. “Maxwell.”

  This draws me up short. “What about Maxwell?”

  “Claudine sent him out this morning.”

  “Are you sure?” I say, at the same time Taro says, “How do you know?”

  Zed stares at me without blinking. “Positive. He left shortly after your press conference.”

  Billy, Taro, and I look at each other. We don’t speak, but I know we’re all thinking the same thing: tonight’s the night to break into Maxwell’s.

  39

  Maxwell’s House

  THE PLAN IS TO MEET AT BILLY’S HOUSE at three in the morning. We’ll have a few hours of darkness on our side for the break in.

  I’m dressed and about ready to leave when there’s a tap on my window. I pull the curtain aside and find Taro standing there.

  “Did something happen?” I ask, opening the window for him. “Aren’t we supposed to be at Billy’s?”

  “Everything’s fine.” He drops onto the floor inside my room, his boots barely making a whisper of sound. “I just wanted to … see you first. I mean, I want to give you something.”

  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out something thin and shiny, handing it to me. I step closer to the window to look at it by the light of the moon and stars. The movement takes me close to him, my arm brushing his torso. His breath feathers across the top of my head. He doesn’t touch me, but doesn’t move away, either.

  I peer down at the object in my hands. When I realize what it is, my lips part in awe.

  It’s a red rose—an honest-to-god red rose, the sort you’d see in a pre-’Fault movie. It’s been pressed flat between two thin sheets of plastic. The petals, leaves, and stem are all perfectly preserved.

  Beside me, Taro shifts, scrubbing a hand through his short hair. “It’s dumb, I guess, but I wanted to get you something and there aren’t a lot of options around here. Dad once told me that guys in the pre-’Fault days used to buy red roses for girls they—for girls they—cared about.” He swallows.

  I look up and see tension across his brow and around his eyes, making me realize how nervous he is. I’m so touched it takes me a moment to find my words.

  “Thank you,” I say, looking up at him. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.”

  He gives a soft, relieved chuckle, his shoulders rounding in relief. I lean against him. His arms come around me, drawing me close. I let myself relax into his embrace.

  “Is this what you were trading for with Uncle Zed?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you give him for it?”

  “He wanted salt shakers from the cafeteria. I stole two for him.”

  We both laugh. The soft rumble of his chest thrums against my ear. I like being in his arms, I realize. It’s no longer the scary place I thought it would be.

  Was Hank right? Is having someone—a boyfriend—a nice thing? What would Mom say, if she were here? I can’t help but think she would approve of Taro, the mercenary boy who doesn’t like fighting or killing. In fact, I can’t think of a boy she’d like more.

  Seized by impulse, I rise up on my toes and plant a quick kiss on his lips. I drop away almost instantly, feeling shy, but his arms come up and catch me, holding me close against him. He covers my mouth with his.

  Our last few kisses have all been tender and gentle. This one is different. It’s hungry, deep, and passionate. His lips devour mine, one hand coming up to cup my face. There’s a slight tremble in his fingers as he touches me. He pins me against his body with his other hand, the muscles of his chest and torso hard against me.

  The kiss both thrills and terrifies me. I break away, overwhelmed by the intensity. I rest my forehead against his chest, trying to catch my breath. His rough breathing ruffles across my hair.

  We stand like that for a long moment, neither speaking.

  “Billy is waiting for us,” Taro says at last, pulling away. “We should go.”

  I nod, knowing he’s right.

  “Taro?” I say as he boosts himself over the windowsill.

  “Yeah?” He lands lightly on the ground outside.

  “Thanks for the flower.”

  A smile blooms on his face. I take the hand he offers me and climb out after him.

  ***

  “This is the one,” Billy breathes, indicating a small yellow bungalow tucked into the street on the northernmost edge of the Village. The three of us glide forward,
slipping into the shadows of the front door.

  “How are we going to get in?” I whisper.

  Billy slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a thin box of old-fashioned lock picks.

  “Where did you get those?” Except for the Dome, homes don’t even have old-fashioned locks anymore; it’s all palm scanners, voice recognition, or eye scanners.

  “Zed brought these with him to the Dome. Do you know how to use them?” he asks Taro.

  “Yeah. Dad’s training was thorough.” Taro takes the box, sliding out the picks and inserting them into the lock. After a little twisting, the door clicks open.

  I look over my shoulder, half expecting to get caught, but the street is silent and empty.

  We slip into the house. Riska rides on my shoulder, crouched low, black wings tucked tightly against his body.

  It’s dark inside. Taro pulls a small flashlight from his belt.

  “Where should we start?” I whisper.

  “His bedroom,” Taro says. “If there’s anything he doesn’t want found, it’ll be hidden there.”

  We creep through the small living area, which looks like every other living room in the Dome. I stand close to Taro, practically glued to his back as we ease into the bedroom.

  He shines the beam over the room, careful to avoid the window. It’s a small room with a narrow bed, a single dresser, and a bedside table. It has the same gray bedspread with the Global Arms logo embroidered in the bottom corner. It smells like Maxwell—that strong stench of cigarettes.

  “I haven’t smelled cigarettes on anyone else in the Fortress,” I whisper.

  “Claudine’s other mercs aren’t in the Dome,” Taro replies. “Maxwell is the only one I’ve seen.”

  “Where are they?” There’s nothing in the closet except an extra pair of boots and a row of Global-issued black jumpsuits.

  “Outside the Dome doing work for Claudine,” Billy says. “Or at least, that’s what Zed and I think.”

  I stick my hands into all the boots while Billy combs through all the pockets of his jumpsuits. We both come up empty.

  Taro drops to his knees and peers under Maxwell’s bed. “Nothing under here, either,” he says.

  “If he’s a League agent, he’s got to have a way to make contact with them,” Billy says. “He should have a communication device of some sort, something that can’t be traced.”

  I drop down beside Taro and stick my arm under Maxwell’s mattress. Nothing.

  “In here,” Billy says, calling from the bathroom.

  There’s barely room in the small space for Billy. Taro and I lean through the doorway for a better look. Billy rummages through the medicine cabinet. When that turns up empty, he rifles through the cabinet under the sink. Taro provides the light, shining the flashlight over Billy’s shoulder.

  “Nothing.” Billy sits back on his heels, lips pursed.

  My eyes land on the toilet. “What about there?” I point.

  Billy opens the bowl, shifting to make room for Taro and his flashlight.

  “Nothing special in there,” Billy says, frustration clear in his voice.

  He closes the toilet and reaches for the tank. The porcelain grinds as he lifts the lid. Taro shines the flashlight inside the tank, then across the underside of the lid.

  “Nothing,” Billy growls.

  “Wait a sec.” I squint, peering at the underside of the lid. “I saw something.”

  “In here?” Billy flips the tank lid back over to expose smooth white porcelain.

  “I thought I saw something.” I frown, taking the flashlight from Taro. As I skim the light along the edge of the lid, I see a flash of silver. “There!” I hiss, aiming the beam.

  This time, my friends see it, too. Billy’s excitement practically crackles over his skin. He yanks the flashlight out of my hands and positions it between his teeth.

  As the beam moves, the flash of silver disappears, replaced by plain, porcelain white. As Billy adjusts the light and leans in close, the silver reappears. I lean forward and make out a small cube attached to the lip of the lid.

  “It’s a cloaking device,” Taro says. “The flashlight interrupted its signal.”

  Billy reaches down and yanks on the tiny device. It comes out with a soft snap. There’s a sizzle of electricity as the cloak deactivates. The inside of the lid is fully revealed.

  Lying flush against the porcelain, attached by Velcro, is a tablet barely larger than my hand.

  “Yes!” Billy seizes the device and turns it on, absently shoving the lid at Taro. The screen in Billy’s hand illuminates, asking for a password.

  Taro settles the lid back into place. Billy’s fingers fly over the small keypad. Thirty seconds later, the home screen pops up. There are two folders on the desktop. One is labeled PR, the other Plague Data.

  “A public relations folder?” I whisper, confused. “That’s weird. Open the other one.”

  Billy taps the folder. The screen is filled with a graph. Along the bottom are names of cities and their corresponding states. Along the right side are the words Time Until Death.

  The line on the graph rises steadily from left to right, showing a progressively longer survival rate.

  “He’s studying death rates,” Taro says. “Why?”

  Billy scrolls to the second folder and opens it. A picture fills the screen.

  I step back, mouth going dry.

  On the screen is a picture of half a dozen refugees. I can tell they’re refugees by their stained and patched clothing. Most of them have scarves or scraps of cloth tied around their mouths.

  And they’re all dead.

  A knot forms in my stomach. The bodies are heaped in a pile in an alleyway. There’s no blood anywhere and the bodies appear to be intact, but I can tell from the sightless eyes that they’re dead.

  Billy flicks a finger across the screen.

  Another picture of dead bodies. Then another, and another. Piles of dead people. Most of the dead are the young and old.

  “What sort of public relations stuff is this?” I ask. The sight of so many dead makes tears clutter my eyes.

  Neither Taro nor Billy responds. Billy continues to the flick through the pictures. A few more snapshots of bodies, then an electronic image of a map.

  It’s a map of the United States. There are a handful of red stars on the map. I lean forward for a better look, reading the names of the towns marked out by the stars.

  Altura, Minnesota. Duncan, Nebraska. Wilmot, South Dakota. Byron, Wyoming—

  From the front room of the house comes a soft click. Taro and Billy hear it, too. Billy clutches the tablet to his chest, eyes darting back and forth. Taro takes me by the shoulders and pushes me toward the bed.

  “Under,” he breathes.

  I don’t think. I drop to my belly and slither underneath. Taro is right beside me, the two of us wedging our bodies beneath the narrow bed. Billy comes next. Even Riska burrows with us, crouching between my feet.

  The bedroom door swings open. My heart thuds. There’s a bare inch between the bottom of the bedspread and the floor. I’m so breathless with fear that it takes a moment to realize the boots are too small to belong to Maxwell.

  The boots stop in front of the bed. The owner crouches down, peering at us. I register a shock of short red hair. Hank’s green eyes go straight to Billy.

  “It is you,” she breathes.

  Taro and I exchange glances. Billy looks like he wants to collapse in on himself.

  “You were supposed to meet me at the Aircat landing pad after my Vex appearance.” Hurt and accusation lance Hank’s tone. “I waited, but when you didn’t come I started walking home … and then I saw you guys …” Her voice trails off. She straightens, disappearing from view, but I detect a distinct sniffle.

  The three of us roll out from under the bed. Billy emerges last, practically hiding behind every scrap of hair on his head. Riska mews, flying up to my shoulder.

  “Billy, I thought you were done with th
is kind of stuff.” Hank’s eyes are wet. The accusation is all gone, replaced by the hurt.

  “Now isn’t the time for this,” I say. “We need to leave. If we get caught—”

  “We could all get thrown out of the Dome.” Hank gives Billy a look of despair, tears welling in her eyes again. Without another word, she turns and walks out. I hear the front door open and close.

  Billy starts after her, then stops and stares down at the tablet in his hand.

  “Are you going to go after her?” I ask.

  Even with half of his face concealed by his bangs, I can see the tension in Billy’s neck and jawline. He hesitates, then shakes his head.

  “This is bigger than me and Hank. Everyone here in the Dome could be in danger.” He pulls out a small screwdriver, barely larger than my pinkie finger, from his pocket. With his other hand, he slides the back off the tablet, then peers down at the internal organs of the tablet. “There might be a tracker or a self-destruct mode in here …”

  He sticks the screwdriver into back of the tablet and pries. I hear something snap. Billy pulls out something small and black barely larger than a rice grain.

  “This is the tracker. Here. Get rid of it.” He passes it to Taro.

  Taro takes the small tracker. He considers it a moment, then smashes it between his thumb and forefinger.

  “And here. Break this, too.” Billy passes Taro something rectangular and silvery. “Now they can’t remotely destroy the tablet. Come on.”

  I look for Hank as we hurry back to Billy’s house, but she’s nowhere to be seen. By the way Billy scans the area, head swiveling back and forth, I can tell he’s looking for her, too. I want to say something to comfort him, but can’t find any words.

  For a brief fifteen seconds, I entertain the idea of Hank having a complete change of heart and helping us figure out what’s going on with Maxwell. It would be like old times, when she helped me get Black Tech from Billy to sneak into the Cube.

  Then I snap back into reality. I admit to myself that Hank will never side with us on anything that goes against a Global rule. I sigh, feeling sad. Billy glances over at me. I see the same sadness reflected in his face.