Strange Exit

by Parker Peevyhouse

  If only places like this could actually have protected the people left behind.

  “I know this place,” Taren said. “Built to protect the coast during World War Two, but never even used. They finally filled it in to stop explorers from crawling down into it and trashing the place.”

  “Cool, great,” Lake said, prodding him forward. The figures standing at the rusty gate had noticed them. “Things are different in the sim.”

  “I like history,” Willow said, smiling at Taren.

  His attention was only on the figures dwarfed by the Battery’s entrance. “What if I’m supposed to know a secret handshake?”

  “Tell them you forgot to wash your hands?” Willow suggested.

  “Great, thanks.” Taren edged out ahead, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and lifted his head in greeting.

  The two figures didn’t respond. They leaned against the gate, bored by wind and sun and visitors alike.

  “You know these guys?” the taller one said to the other, a girl with taut biceps and boots big enough to stamp small trees out of existence.

  The boots-and-biceps girl watched Taren shuffle to a stop a good distance from the gate. She glanced at Lake and Willow while Lake held her breath. “Yeah, it’s Ajay.” She nodded at Taren. “Aren’t you supposed to have something with you, Ajay?”

  The tar. They knew Ajay was supposed to deliver it to the Battery.

  Willow threw Lake a worried look. Lake tried to look unruffled.

  “Supposed to,” Taren said. “There’s a whole story.”

  “Oh, good.” The girl crossed one huge boot over the other, getting comfortable. “I like stories.”

  Taren hesitated. “Mind letting us inside first? It’s been, you know, a long day.” He didn’t even have to try to sound exhausted.

  “You can come in,” the girl said. “I don’t recognize the other two.” She turned and reached through the bars of the rusted gate and pulled a long metal bar through, then cocked her arm like she was ready to start swinging.

  Taren scrambled back, shielding Lake and Willow behind him. “Whoa, hey. These are friends of mine. They’re just looking for shelter.”

  The girl hefted the rusted bar. Lake wondered what it would be like to get bashed in a simulation. The tightness in her chest told her she didn’t want to find out.

  “You’re vouching for them?” the girl asked, holding the bar ready to swing on the off chance he might say no.

  Taren held his hands high to fend off a blow. “Yes, I’m vouching for them!”

  The other guard moved to haul open the gate. “Don’t mind her, she’s just messing with you.” He scowled at his partner. “You didn’t pull that on the guy who came in earlier.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “You always get jealous if I don’t threaten someone’s life.”

  “You gave him a pretty warm welcome,” the boy-guard said sourly.

  “We’re not the first ones to arrive today?” Lake asked.

  The boy-guard was still moping. “Like, asphalt-in-sunlight warm.”

  The girl gestured with her rusted bar, waving them through. Taren passed with the stiffness of someone anticipating a blow. Lake held Willow’s hand and they walked through together.

  Just inside the entrance was a vertical shaft tinged with orange light. The throat of a beast. Taren went down first. His wide eyes stayed fixed on Lake until he passed the edge and she could see him no more. Willow went next. Then Lake.

  The voices of the two guards followed her down the shaft. “That guy who came before them didn’t even have anyone to vouch for him.”

  At the bottom of the shaft was a concrete tunnel lit by bracketed torches. And then—

  The tunnel opened, and a city bloomed before them.

  Blocky buildings jutted from the cavern walls, their walls pocked, corners rough as if unfinished. Their flat roofs splayed under the sunlight struggling through a narrow crevice overhead. Dozens of people milled through the place, boys with uneven stubble along their jaws, and girls with dirt streaked over their muscled arms. They carried crates of jerky and Red Vines and Coke, or armloads of blankets and nylon jackets. Loose stones clattered under their feet. More tumbled from windowsills and from steps that emerged from the ground even as Lake watched, and from doorways that slowly etched themselves into existence.

  Lake’s insides turned to water. I can’t wake this dreamer. Whoever it is is in too deep.

  She turned to Taren, but he seemed lost in confusion, watching the buildings inch into existence, the sleepers pass in and out of shadow. “How many of them do you think are figments?” he asked Lake.

  She shook her head. She didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Why was he so fixated on figments? Was it because of Willow—or could it have something to do with the figment Lake had spotted at the overlook?

  But the next moment, she forgot all about it. Because she realized who had arrived at the Battery earlier that day. She saw him. Sitting at a makeshift table of stacked crates, just visible through a carved window, the torchlight burnishing his face along the planes she had so recently traced with her fingertips—

  Ransom.

  Lake stepped closer, telling herself that she was mistaken, that Ransom couldn’t have found his way here.

  But there he was, hunched over a table of stacked crates, flanked by two sleepers, the light lending fire to his troubled gaze.

  “He didn’t have anyone to vouch for him,” she murmured.

  Willow darted to her side. “Is that Ransom? What’s he doing here?”

  Ransom looked up at the sound of his name. A flash of recognition in his eyes. Then, back to stony misery.

  What would happen to him if she closed this pocket of the sim while he was inside it? He’d never been able to leave the sim before. He wouldn’t wake up on the ship like any other sleeper. Would it be like using tar on him—would he go into shock?

  “He has to leave,” Willow said, “before we close the pocket.”

  Ransom locked his gaze on Lake’s and moved his head just barely side to side. A warning.

  “He can’t,” Lake said. “He’s their prisoner.”

  15

  TAREN

  Taren darted after Lake and Willow, into a shadowed alcove. The pattering of falling dust and rubble filled the space as the alcove slowly deepened into a shallow hallway.

  “What’s wrong?” Taren asked.

  “We saw someone we know,” Willow said. “They’re holding him prisoner.”

  Taren looked to Lake. The hallway went on widening behind her, so that it seemed she was being swallowed by shadow and stone. “We have to get him out of here,” she said, “before we try to close the pocket.”

  What? Taren had come to wake the dreamer. This was only a distraction. And anyway, it didn’t make sense. “He’s someone you know from the ship?”

  “From the sim,” Lake said. “He’s a sleeper.”

  “The deepest sleeper,” Willow said.

  Taren dodged a fall of dust. “What does that mean?”

  “He knows he’s in a simulation,” Lake explained, “but he still can’t leave it, no matter how hard he tries.”

  That didn’t really clear things up. I just want to get on with finding the dreamer.

  “If we close the pocket while he’s inside,” Lake went on, “I don’t know what’ll happen to him.”

  “He knows he’s in a simulation but he can’t get out?” Taren said. “That doesn’t make sense. Are you sure there isn’t something else going on with him?”

  Lake rubbed a hand over her face. Behind her head, an intricate pattern etched itself into the rock wall of the hallway. “We just need to get him out of here.”

  There’s something she isn’t telling me.

  As usual.

  “What’s he even doing here?” Taren asked. “He wanted to join the Battery club?”

  “Ransom’s more of a loner,” Willow said. “He’s a bit of a grouch.”

  Taren shook his
head. “I don’t get it—he just showed up here for no reason?”

  “I don’t know why he’s here,” Lake said, an edge to her voice. “We just have to get him out.”

  Taren gritted his teeth. He didn’t understand any of this. But Lake was hunched with misery, the gloom of the hallway a dark cloak around her.

  He took a deep breath. “I’ll go tell his guards I vouch for him. Maybe they know Ajay.”

  Lake straightened, a hopeful glow in her eyes. It was almost enough to counter Taren’s frustration. Almost. “His name’s Ransom,” she said.

  Taren nodded. Then he left the hallway before he could change his mind.

  Ransom looked up as Taren stepped into the doorway. The two guards went on balancing carved-stone dominos on a table of stacked crates.

  “Looks like my friend showed up before I could get here,” Taren said to the guards, nodding at Ransom. “Sorry about the mix-up. I can vouch for him.”

  Ransom stared, the torchlight gleaming in his eyes.

  Just play along. Taren tried to say it with a look.

  One of the guards glanced up, gave Taren a smirk. “It’s a little late for that.”

  “He was asking a lot of interesting questions,” the other guard said. “I think we’re past vouching.”

  “So he’s curious about his new hangout.” Taren forced a smile that neither guard returned. “Who wouldn’t be?”

  The first guard plunked down another domino. “We’re taking him to Eden as soon as we finish our game.”

  Eden—is she the leader of this place? The heavy look Ransom gave him confirmed his guess.

  That means she’s the dreamer.

  “I can take him to Eden,” Taren said. “I’m supposed to report to her on a job she sent me to do.”

  “You mean collecting tar?” one of the guards said. “Where is it?”

  Ransom’s shoulders jerked. His expression flooded with dread.

  Yeah, I brought tar here. But don’t worry, it’s hidden.

  “That’s what I have to report to her about,” Taren told the guard.

  The mention of tar had clearly made the other guard nervous. He almost upended the crate-table in his attempt to place his next domino. “We shouldn’t have that stuff here,” he said. “Hasn’t anyone else seen what it does?”

  Ransom leaned back on the crate serving as a stool. The shadows on his face shifted. “I’ve seen. If there’s tar here, this place isn’t safe.”

  The first guard waved a hand toward Taren. “Fine, just take him. Let us get on with our game.”

  Ransom hesitated, but Taren took his arm and pulled him up. He didn’t want to give the guards a chance to change their minds. “So Eden’s just…?” Where, exactly?

  The guard pointed in the direction of a narrow passageway without looking up from his game. “Her usual place.”

  “Usual,” Taren echoed. “Right.”

  He led Ransom back to the hallway where Lake and Willow were waiting. Lake immediately pulled Ransom close in a way that made Taren look away. Willow caught his eye and grimaced, but sharing a moment with a figment only made Taren more uncomfortable.

  Lake pushed Ransom away now, her expression turning stern. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to help.” Ransom slumped against the wall. “But I think I’m just screwing things up.”

  “Actually…” Taren said, and earned a glare from Lake.

  “How did you even get here?” Lake asked Ransom.

  “I followed someone,” he said. “I didn’t even know if it would work. Guess the sim’s being kind to me today.” He shifted away from the rubble trickling down the wall next to him.

  “It’s never kind,” Taren said. “Even the good parts are only a trick.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Willow said, looking put out.

  Lake cut in. “We need to get you out of here,” she said to Ransom.

  Taren shifted, accidentally scraped his elbow on newly cut rock. “They’re expecting me to take him to the leader of this place. If he disappears, someone’s going to get suspicious.”

  Lake glared at him again. “Then we better get him out of here before they have time to get suspicious.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” Taren held out his palms in defense. “You get him out of here while I go talk to the leader. She’s expecting me—or Ajay, anyway.”

  “You want to try to wake the dreamer alone?” Lake scoffed. “You’re still new at this, there’s no way you can do it on your own.”

  Taren bristled. His brother’s face flashed through his mind, wearing that dismissive smirk. “You think you can fix anything?”

  “I woke the sleepers at the house,” Taren pointed out. In the same pocket where you almost got trapped.

  “This is going to be a lot harder,” Lake said.

  Taren knew Lake was only anxious about her boyfriend, but he couldn’t help resenting her sharp tone. “I know that.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Ransom cut in. “I can get myself out.”

  “How?” Lake asked.

  “The guards at the gate are friendlier than the ones down here,” he said.

  “He’s going to flirt,” Willow translated.

  Ransom ignored her. “You go talk to Eden, I’ll get out on my own,” he told Lake. He pulled her close before she could protest what he’d said. “I promise I’ll turn up again somewhere else.”

  Lake relaxed in his arms like Taren had never seen her do. For just that moment, her anxiety seemed to relent. Then she pulled free, and all her electric energy was back.

  She angled herself to peer out of the hallway. The light revealed her to be half-coated in dust, as if the Battery were turning her into another etching. “Hurry,” she told Ransom, “while no one’s looking.”

  Ransom pressed her hand as he slid past her. “I found out something that might help you: the leader of this place had a sister.”

  “What?” Lake was still focused on keeping watch.

  “She begged for her sister to come along on the ship,” Ransom said, “but her sister was over eighteen, so they wouldn᾽t let her come. Maybe that information will help you.”

  Lake brushed dust from his hair. “Maybe so. Thank you.”

  Ransom slipped out of the hallway, and Lake stood for a long moment, watching him go.

  Taren tried to squash his impatience. “We should go.”

  “I know.” She kept her gaze focused on the place where Ransom must have vanished through the buildings by now.

  She thinks I can’t manage on my own. But she’s the one who keeps forgetting we don’t have time to waste.

  He heard a low voice coming from the end of the hallway, and he spun to peer into the darkness. Taren, it said.

  A familiar voice: Gray’s.

  It wasn’t coming from the hallway. It was inside his own mind.

  The ship is breaking down, the voice said.

  I know, Taren told Gray silently.

  The voice came again: If I were on that ship, I’d clear out the sim so fast. I’d do whatever it took.

  Taren squirmed. What would it take?

  It didn’t matter. He had only this one chance.

  I will too. I’ll do whatever it takes.

  16

  LAKE

  Taren led the way through a narrow passage between looming rock-buildings. Lake’s adrenaline was so high she hardly registered the uneven ground beneath her feet, the rough-cut walls of the narrowing buildings. “Do you think Ransom’s out?” she asked.

  “He said he could manage,” Taren reminded her.

  “He’s probably already back in his pub,” Willow said, “building Coit Tower out of toothpicks.”

  The passageway opened into a wide cavern with other narrow alleys leading away from it.

  Sunlight streamed through an opening in the vaulted ceiling. It illuminated walls painted with red mud and glinting with the jagged edges of embedded stones. At the edge of the light, a teenage girl
sat on a stone outcropping like a weathered throne, flanked by half a dozen shadowy figures.

  Eden, the dreamer.

  She wore a faded school uniform, odd clothing for a queen, and a crown of dried leaves. “We’ve been waiting for you,” she said to Taren, her voice slow as the water trickling down the cavern walls.

  Lake quailed. But then she remembered: Eden had sent Ajay on an errand. Now she expected a report.

  “I don’t have the tar,” Taren said. “It … it was stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Eden sounded more intrigued than alarmed.

  A bad sign.

  “These two tried to help me,” Taren said, gesturing to Lake and Willow on either side of him. “They’re looking for shelter. I can vouch—”

  Eden waved a hand, and Taren stopped speaking. “These two—where did they come from?”

  Lake glanced at Willow, who seemed transfixed by the red sludge pooling at the base of the walls. “We came from an empty neighborhood,” Lake said. “A ghost town.”

  Eden skewered Willow with her gaze. “And is this your sister?”

  Lake kept quiet, sure Eden would know if she were lying.

  One of the soldiers flanking Eden’s makeshift throne approached, and she let him speak into her ear. Taren shot Lake a worried look.

  Eden gestured to someone in the shadows, and the girl-guard from the gate stepped from the mouth of a passageway, using her metal bar to prod along a prisoner.

  Ransom.

  Lake bit back a cry. He hadn’t gotten out. Her gut had told her he wouldn’t, and her gut had been right.

  He gave her an apologetic look that melted her. Even when he was coated with dust and weary with disappointment, she wished she could hold him. You dummy, you should’ve never come here.

  Eden’s voice broke through her thoughts. “And who is this boy?”

  Taren cleared his throat, so obviously nervous that it pained Lake. “I don’t know. I met him here.” He glanced at Lake. What could they say to get Ransom out?

  The girl-guard tipped her head to one side. “I heard you tried to vouch for him,” she told Taren.