Cold World

by P. Mattern

“Hi!” I say, pushing my side bangs out of my eyes, “Hi Naomi!”

  Naomi is a little older and more developed than Bree, and I can tell by her body language as she quickly swallows her mouthful of fries and that she considers any attention from me a good thing.

  “Have you seen my sister around? Was she here earlier?” I ask her, coming straight to the point.

  “No,” she says shaking her head, “I thought she was sick today. I didn’t see her in ballet either. When was the last time you saw her?”

  My mind is reeling as I realize that I hadn’t seen or spoken with Bree since the night before.

  * * *

  Thankfully, Rollo shows up just then. He looks concerned and it’s only from looking at him that I realize I’m on the verge of panicking.

  “Hey, girls! Have a nice afternoon!” he says loudly as he pulls me away from them. At that point I am hyperventilating.

  He places a heavy arm around my shoulders.

  “It’s gonna be fine,” he tells me in a stage whisper, and I realize his brotherly arm is encircling me so that I will calm down.

  “But if you lose your shit in front of the entire student body, someone will alert Security. Do you understand?”

  I rudely wrench his arm away from me. Most of the kids are eating at this hour and the endless corridors are almost deserted except for the occasional stray student.

  “Now Bree is missing!” I tell him, and I realize I am blubbering, “Where the hell could she be Rollo? I can’t do this. First my parents… yeah, okay I should have been prepared for them, that was my screw up, but… now my sister’s gone too? This can’t be happening!”

  “She’s fourteen, not forty, why the hell would they do that to her?”

  “We don’t know,” Rollo answers in a calm voice. “But calling attention to yourself isn’t gonna get anyone else out, it’s only gonna get you in deeper.”

  “…Remember when I told you that I saw Pagan’s Dad in a cage?”

  I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my Henley shirt, feeling like a lost six-year-old. My guts are crumbling like old limestone and I’m trying not to whimper.

  Rollo looks me in the eyes. “I just got some intel from working upstairs. I need to tell you what I heard, but I think we need to find an out of the way place to talk. There is a lot more surveillance going on inside this underground city than anyone is aware of.”

  We settle in an out of the way corridor that houses a janitorial supply closet and another unmarked door. Rollo takes a long thin piece of metal about a third as big around as a pencil at the top that tapers to a fine point toward the end. He looks around, listens, and then sticks it in the small round hole above the doorknob.

  It pops open immediately.

  “Where did you get a door opener?” I ask as we step into a small shelf lined room that smells faintly of dust and various cleaning products and solvents, are they training you for janitorial duty too?”

  Rollo smirks. I realize with a start that he has lost weight lately. As long as I’ve known him, he’s been a beefy guy that nobody dared to mess with. Now he’s almost starting to look gaunt.

  “Well now,” he says, “I acquired this useful little gadget some time ago. One day I found this on one of the snack shop tables, like a maintenance worker had laid it down and forgotten it…

  “And like the Lady of the Lake of Arthur’s legend, the lunch lady turned to me, and said, ‘You, noble sir, is this yours?’ And I looked her in the eye and said, ‘Oh yea, thanks!’ And from then on, the mighty Lockpick of Excalibur was mine!”

  He slipped it back into his pocket, his face serious once more.

  “We’re gonna need it,” he said. “It’ll pop open most of the doors here. And now I’ll tell you what I think happened to Bree, but you better brace yourself—it’s not as bad as you think, but you won’t like it, either.”

  I gulped as I looked back at him steadily. The panic I’d felt before had settled into a dull throbbing rage that seemed like an entity within itself. I welcomed it because it made me feel stronger. It fed my determination to get to the bottom of what had happened to Bree…

  And to my parents.

  “The other day up on Medical Duty, I happened to overhear two of my older coworkers having a conversation,” he said soberly. “One was talking about some ‘little girl’ that they had found wandering around on the Medical floor. She’d said she was lost, and they almost bought her story about having accidently gotten off on the wrong floor, but then they looked down and noticed her shoes.”

  Apparently, and this was news to me, as an extra security measure, the ‘sensitive’ areas of the secured floors are dusted with a chlorophyll spray that adheres to the bottom of your feet. You can’t see it with the naked eye.

  If your sister Bree had just been wandering around the corridors lost, like she said, she wouldn’t have had the dust on her shoes. As soon as they saw that her sneakers had a bright red glow under ultraviolet light, they knew she had been snooping.

  “They knew she had witnessed something that required Security Clearances, so they couldn’t let her go.”

  I had been half leaning against a wall, but after I heard the last bit, I found myself standing up straight.

  “Just tell me if they have her in a cage,” I say, barely keeping my voice under control. “And if she is—can you spring her loose? Can you get her out of there?”

  Rollo shook his head from side to side.

  “I don’t think she is part of Naris anymore, Billy. I heard them talking about exile. I think she is on the outside now!”

  My mouth goes totally dry and I get lightheaded. All the information I had ever gleaned about Naris floods into my mind. I had always been told it was dangerous on the outside, a bleak, uninhabitable environment that was highly hostile to humans. One filled with virulent bacteria, mosaic monsters, and even creatures from the last Ice Age that had been cloned from frozen DNA.

  I stare at him. “She’ll die out there,” I insist. My voice barely more than a whisper. “She’ll die of exposure before the morning! She’s too damn skinny, Rollo!”

  His eyes glow fiercely as he grabs me by both shoulders.

  “Not if we can help it!” he assures me, “Trust me! I’ve got a plan.”

  Chapter 4

  DON’T LET THE PORT DOOR HIT YOU ON YOUR WAY OUT

  Rollo insists we start collecting supplies for life outside of the Underground City in a way that won’t arouse suspicion. Because we are encouraged to live moment to moment here, and living space is at a premium, no one ever stockpiles much.

  But because Bree is such a stellar scholar and athlete, she has managed to amass quite a collection of snacks. Most of it is in the junk food category: starch and sugary treats. But there are a few nutritious snacks like cheese and crackers, peanut butter crackers and beef jerky.

  We discuss taking water in bottles, and decide to pack just a few. We are hoping there’ll be snow or ice to melt out there. Rollo argues that it might be radioactive, or otherwise contaminated.

  I tell him if that’s the case, we’re dead already, so we might as well hope for the best. We each pack a canteen and a couple bottles of water.

  I am thinking I would kill for something larger than my backpack, but it will have to do. I manage to hook it up to Bree’s pink kitty backpack, so that I can carry both. Rollo’s pack is kind of tiny for his size, and he rolls up blankets and other bundles and ties them to the outside of his backpack. We both review a book we found on ancient camping techniques, and Rollo has an empty lighter and some benzene he stole from the lab so we can start a fire.

  I realize most of what I know about the outside comes from watching old movies. So, I kind of have to thank the Collesium for that.

  “What about weapons?” I ask him, “Any thoughts? I know we are helpless against bacterium, but if we get attacked by a mosaic, I would like something to put between myself and those teeth!”

  Rollo frowns, which by now I know is not a g
ood sign.

  “Sorry. Weapons are top level clearance. Even the guards that work with me just have night sticks. However…” he continues, scrambling through his pack for a few seconds, “I did find these…”

  He pulls out two things with handles and barrels on them. One is made out of metal, and one seems to be made of bright orange plastic.

  “I was digging around one day in one of the storage closets on the med floor and found these,” he tells me, handing me the orange plastic one. Do you know what it is?”

  “Is it…,” I say racking my brain because what I am holding in my hand is maddeningly familiar, like I’ve seen it used in an action adventure movie, “Is it some kind of flare?”

  “Winner winner, chicken dinner!” Rollo responds, practically chortling.

  I look at them dubiously. “Well I know they are used to signal for help, but do they really work for defense? This plastic one looks like a kid’s toy. Are you sure that these could actually stop anything?”

  “Yes,” Rollo says nodding. “The metal one is a German-made and definitely capable of making a large, painful, flaming hole in something… or someone…”

  “The other one is less powerful… it might hurt something, but not sure it would kill it. And they aren’t made for shooting at targets, so you need to be close if you want to hit anything. Like I said, we are lucky to have anything to defend ourselves with. Ever notice that all manner of self-protection is completely absent from our curriculum? How none of us are ever taught how to defend ourselves, not even with martial arts, even though we see it in the movies?”

  “Oh, I know what the rationale is, something along the lines of ‘those that live in a stable society have no need of self-defense, since the Collesium provides protection for all its inhabitants.’ But it’s all bullshit. You have to ask yourself—where are all the sick people? The mentally ill people? Hell, where are the ugly people? You can argue that we were hand-picked, the best and brightest and most attractive of humanity, but I’ve seen how they cage their castoff members, ‘disassemble’ them for medical study or turn them out into the wilds of Naris. We’re in prison, Billy. This is the utopia they’ve wanted: they give us everything we could ask for except control, and they keep all of the control: the weapons, the resources, and the truth, and anyone that tries to grab at those or just doesn’t act or look the way they expect is collateral damage.

  “They’ll never teach us any form of self-defense, because it’s a weapon we could use against them. They want us soft, weak, compliant, and unable to defend ourselves. Ever hear of an organization called the Boy Scouts? It hasn’t been allowed to exist since the Great Upheaval, but their motto was? ‘Be Prepared!’

  “Well, they don’t want us to be prepared, they want us to fall down like bowling pins the moment we step out of line. But we gotta learn to stand up somehow, even if most of us are gonna get knocked down in the end.”

  By the time Rollo finished speaking he is fuming, nostrils flaring, the whole bit. He wordlessly hands me the flares, both kinds, and after checking to see they are loaded I put the orange one inside my pack, and the metal one in an outside zippered net pocket. Just seeing it there calms me down even though I have no idea whether I can hit the broad side of a barn with it. Then I ask, “Hey Rollo, don’t you want to hold onto one?”

  Rollo nods, “I’ll take the metal one. They’re one shot, so you better be sure before you pull the trigger. You’re skinny, but you can shoot straight—with basketballs, at least. I trust you with the flare, but I need you to have my back, alright?”

  I realize that I have been wrapped in cotton wool my entire life. I have never tried to hit a target with a dart even. I am just hoping I can fire straight when something gets in my face. “You’re safe with me,” I tell him, and I try to believe it.

  “I don’t think going up to the med floor and finding a way out is an option anymore.” Rollo continues. “After the breach with your inquisitive sister, they’re on a heightened security alert. There’s one other way out, and you’re not gonna like it. All I can tell you is…practice holding your breath!”

  * * *

  Skipping our last classes is not a big enough deal to raise suspicion, so we finish getting ready that afternoon. I am scared way beyond shitless as we make our way with some stealth through the more deserted hallways Rollo has chosen for our escape route. We can’t afford to run into anyone carrying our burgeoning backpacks, even friends. That sight would certainly raise an eyebrow or two.

  I find myself wondering whether we’ll be missed, and what kind of explanations will be floating around the rumor mill. Maybe none. People are too scared of disappearing themselves.

  Everyone who cared about me is gone… Except for Pagan. And I’m endangering her just by sticking around. She’s gonna be under suspicion as long as she’s near me. I can’t stay.

  * * *

  “But what if they see us and drag us back in?” I hiss at Rollo as we walk along, trying to keep situationally aware. Rollo is taller and I’m having a hard time keeping up with his long strides, “What if we drown? What if—”

  “What if we stay here and they make sure we disappear, anyway?” Rollo hisses back in an irritated stage whisper. “Personally, I like my tongue! Have you even gotten the chance to use yours? We’re on our own, man. Nobody’s gonna stick up for us. As long as their needs are provided for, they’ll let them do anything to us. This is the only way.”

  I have another panicked thought. I haven’t had any time to tell Pagan what we’ve discovered. I need to tell her goodbye. I open my mouth but close it after a warning look from Rollo, who isn’t finished with dressing me down.

  “Now stop talking before you get us killed! Honestly Billy, I don’t know what your deal is sometimes!”

  I realize he has a point and I finally get smart enough to shut my mouth, which does nothing for the gut-gripping fear in my belly. I feel unprepared, off balance, and disoriented.

  I push down my thoughts of Pagan, realizing it’s too late to tell her I love her, and she can’t come with us because there is every chance that we are marching to our deaths.

  The Natatorium we use for our High School swim meets is currently deserted. Only the security lights are on, and the humidity in the room is cloying and sinister. We stop and stare at the glassine surface of the water for a moment, and Rollo points down to the far end, which seems pretty far away, because the main pool is Olympic-sized.

  “There,” Rollo says, “at the far end, left side. It’s the main flow mechanism for transfer and filtering of water. Because we are underground, and because of the pressure from the aquifer, it is constructed differently than systems for inground pools on the surface.”

  I take a moment to think. I looked back at Rollo, my voice echoing off the water surface as I speak. “Hydraulics? Possibly with tricky pneumatics?” I guessed.

  Rollo nods his approval.

  “Yeah, pretty close anyway. They use a system that combines the mechanism of hydraulics with the natural pressure of the groundwater reservoir located at the East end. Pretty nifty, except for one thing I’m not sure about. That’s why I brought this!”

  He holds up a heavy looking metal cutter.

  “Where in the name of all the Gods did you get that?” I ask. Nothing resembling a weapon or even a larger tool was permitted among the general population of our underground city.

  Rollo gives me a smug look.

  “I filched it off the cart of the Repair Engineers for the Medical Floor,” he says, holding it up and looking at it dreamily as though it were a trophy, “It was almost too easy.

  “And now we have to get going.”

  I don’t have time to get afraid as we were walking to the far side of the pool. We strip down to our trunks, securing our clothing and our backpacks in large, waterproof plastic bags. I find myself wishing I had paid more attention when Rollo had shown me a crude map of the huge drainage pipes that went beyond the drain to the pumping station that
was one floor under surface level with a series of metal stairs going up to ground level.

  We exchange looks. We turn on our headlamps and don our goggles. Rollo looks determined as hell. I am petrified. We both take the deepest breath we can.

  Then we are underwater, and I understand why Rollo said we had to weigh down our packs. Even weighted they feel buoyant. He unlatches the flow door and there is an immediate feel of suction and pressure from behind, and we find ourselves drawn along a watery corridor that initially feels as though it’s going down, but then levels off.

  Rollo points upward, and I realize that he is trying to tell me we should shoot up. There might be air above the torrent pushing us through the pipe, so we do, expelling breath and taking in gasps of air again. Later he will tell me that there is an air pocket above every juncture, something that turns out to be very necessary.

  It seems to be lighter ahead, and I know we are heading for a runoff port that balances the tunnel pressure and the groundwater pressure, but we encounter something unexpected. Rollo turns to me and I can see panic in his eyes under his goggles.

  We are at the drain gate, the one Rollo will have to hack a big enough hole through to admit us to the pumping station, but there is something huge blocking it.

  Rollo, starts cutting, his head turning anxiously toward something that seemed to have gotten wedged against the drain tunnel grate. I realize that I can see a huge fin, and a shiny grey bulky mass pressed up against the grate. If it was alive, it doesn’t seem to be moving now. Thank goodness for small favors.

  My more immediate concern is that I am running out of air. We have to swim back to the last juncture just to grab some more air after Rollo has cut most of the grate. We head back, and Rollo cuts his hands up bending back the metal grate, but we squeeze through. The opening is sufficient enough to let me squeeze through. I slice myself so badly going through but I need to breathe so badly that I don’t notice my injuries till later.