by Lynda Engler
Next to the bookstore sat a music shop with a neon light illuminating a narrow band along the ceiling and floor. Luke saw an amazing drum set inside and promised himself he would return the next day and then thought, rather sarcastically, perhaps I should buy Granpapa a set of guitar strings. Ha! The old man would be livid that Luke was getting the opportunity to experience all the advantages of a modern city, when he himself sat underground in their small shelter. Poor old guy, thought Luke wryly, but with a total lack of sympathy.
His grandfather had refused to go Outside after Isabella, even though he knew their government was rounding up mutants to clean radiation from dead cities. His favorite granddaughter was Outside with mutants, yet his grandfather did nothing to save her. Absolutely nothing.
Granpapa does not deserve sympathy.
On the other side of the wide hallway that was the “B” ring, was a restaurant that was actually open. The elaborately lettered sign over the door read La Fortuna. Although he had already eaten, Luke wandered in. The place had muted lighting and soft music playing through unseen speakers. Wallpaper murals of mountain and lake scenes decorated the walls.
“Table for one, sir, or are you meeting a friend?” asked a voice to his right. It was a young man in his early twenties, with a thin mustache and long, black hair pulled together into a ponytail that sat at the base of his neck.
“Um, friends, no. I mean, I just got to Mt. Weather today. I don’t have any friends here,” Luke stammered. White cloths covered each small table; a faux candle sat glowing in the center of each. Couples or small groups occupied most of the tables. “I was just checking out the area and this seems to be the only place open.”
“I’ve never been one to turn away business, but may I suggest a place perhaps more suited to your tastes?” The waiter, or host, or whatever he was, smiled warmly at Luke.
Luke just nodded.
“Do you know where the central lifts are?”
Again, Luke nodded.
“Take them to level seven. Walk straight to Avenue 7B, turn left, and then go two blocks to your right. There are a number of venues that might appeal to you: a coffee shop, a decent pastry shop, and an arcade. Most of that area is open till 2 a.m. Around here, they roll up the sidewalks at nine.”
“Sidewalks? Avenue? It’s a hallway!” Luke almost laughed at waiter’s ridiculous description of this city. It was surely a marvel, but still, it was nothing like the real cities Outside. He had seen avenues, covered with rotting and ruined vehicles and overgrown with five decades of plant life. These were not avenues.
“It’s an underground city so we use urban geographic terms. Are you here from an FRC to go to school?” asked the restaurant’s host, unperturbed by Luke’s derision.
“No, I’m here with a scientific researcher. I’m his assistant. My name is Luke Bellardini.” He stuck his right hand out.
The young man clasped his hand and shook it firmly. “My name is Hayden. Look, don’t tell my boss but I’d rather be up at Indigo myself, rather than this stuffy joint, but I gotta’ make a living.” His voice was lower now and conspiratorially friendly, without any of the formal language of just a moment ago.
“Indigo?”
“It’s a club for college students at #82 Avenue 7B. My kid sister works there. She’s about your age. Go check it out. And if you see Teagan, tell her I’ll be up at eleven when I get off work.” Hayden shook his hand again. “Nice to meet you Luke. Maybe I’ll see you later.”
As he left the fancy restaurant, Luke realized how much he missed his cousin-brother Mark. He had spent his entire life being one of four kids. Granted, four was not a huge group, but it was a group. In the shelter, he could not get away from his sibs and he did not want to. Being alone gave him the heebie jeebies.
* * *
Isabella
“Something doesn’t smell right, Papa,” whispered Andra from Isabella’s lap.
“Maybe someone let one rip,” replied Malcolm, almost as quietly. Shia giggled in his lap, but Andra’s expression was dead serious.
“No, really, something’s not right,” she reiterated, louder this time. A few of the other prisoners seated nearby turned to look at the little girl.
The pair of drivers had just left the Spec after the noontime meal and the second bathroom break of the day but the vehicle had not yet started rolling. While Malcolm did not smell anything unusual, Andra’s super-sensitive nose frequently picked up oddities before he did.
“Contact your men,” he said to Corporal Noble. “Make sure they are okay.”
Noble looked down at Andra and raised one eyebrow quizzically. “Why should I listen to a six-year old?” The young soldier snickered.
Mutant children matured faster than shelter folk and his three-year-old daughters were frequently mistaken for children twice their age, but shelter folk could not be expected to know that. “She’s three, but I trust her nose. You should too. Something is wrong outside. Just check. Please,” begged Malcolm. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and it had nothing to do with the child in his lap.
Corporal Noble shook her head but she keyed her radio simultaneously. “Sergeant Gonzalez, this is Noble. Gonzalez, do you read me?”
The only reply was static.
“Gonzalez, come in please. Gonzalez!” Daphne Noble shouted into her radio, but there was still no response.
Daphne looked pleadingly at Malcolm’s daughter. “What do you smell, little girl?”
Andra looked her square in the face and said only one word. “Eaters.”
Realization suddenly dawned in Daphne’s eyes and Isabella knew that she now believed them. The soldier turned to her companions and ordered them into chem-rad suits. When they were suited up, she hurried them into the airlock. “Move!”
The four young soldiers left the HSPC with weapons drawn and Isabella, Malcolm, and the rest of the prisoners found themselves alone in the vehicle.
One of the female mutants in the transport, an elder of nineteen, shouted, “Let’s get out of here!”
“She’s right,” echoed a thirteen-year-old boy. “This is our chance to escape.”
Three men rushed the airlock and began pushing buttons but it refused to begin the cycle. “It’s no good!” wailed the youngest in desperation, sinking to his knees as his back slid down the wall of the transport vehicle. He pummeled his fists furiously on the floor, letting his rage of being held captive finally emerge.
They did not know the code.
Malcolm looked down at the boy, then pushed the other two aside to stand by the airlock. He sniffed at the faint smell that came in after the soldiers. “Andra’s right. That’s Eaters out there. If I can open the lock, who’s willing to go help these people with me?”
Blank stares and murmured rumblings were the only response, except the older woman who had suggested the escape. “Help them! Why? We’re prisoners. We need to escape.”
Echoes of approval rolled through the Spec like the tide hitting a sandy shore.
“No one deserves to be killed by Eaters. If I can get the lock open, anyone who wants to escape, feel free, but I’m going to help them,” replied Malcolm, as Isabella joined him.
She held his hand to show her support and Clay and Kalla came over and stood by their side.
Malcolm turned to the keypad and pressed each number slowly. When he got to zero, the lock made a rude buzzing sound. He nodded as if confirming something, then began pushing numbers in sequence. Quiet musical tones issued from the small keypad. When he hit the eighth button, the inner airlock door wheezed open.
Kalla pushed past him first and slid her petite, thin form into the airlock, swiftly joined by Clay. Those two were always up for action, no matter what the reason. Malcolm had wanted everyone in his tribe to stay behind in Telemark and build a life there, including his daughters, but Kalla had insisted she go on the journey, and where Kalla went, Clay was sure to follow. He was the best tracker in their tribe. Without his skill and Kalla’s sense
of direction, they never would have found Dr. Rosario and given him the key to finding a cure for the radiation and chemical poisoning strangling the world, Andra’s cat, Pumpkin. No matter what happened to them now, he knew that they had done something useful for the world. Maybe the old scientist would finally make the cure he had worked for his entire life.
The airlock chamber held eight people at a time so when Malcolm and Isabella got in, the older woman, the young teen and two other women who wanted to escape, joined them. When Andra and Shia tried to follow, Isabella sent them back to the safety of the Spec. Fighting Eaters was not child’s play, especially since their weapons had been confiscated.
“Once we’ve cycled through, the rest of you can follow in groups of eight and escape if you wish. The code for the keypad is 8 – 4 – 3 – 8 – 9 – 0 – 0 – 9.” The door slid closed, sealing them inside the chamber.
Within moments, the outer door began to cycle automatically. As they waited for the door to open, Isabella asked him, “How did you know the code? I couldn’t see the keypad from where we sat. How did you?”
“I didn’t,” replied Malcolm. “I heard the song it played and rememberized it. I have excellent hearing and a good memory. I just needed to learn which numbers went with which sound.”
She loved his often-odd vocabulary. Rememberized!
The door finally completed its cycle and the eight prisoners looked out upon a sea of carnage. A wave of decaying stench hit them and Isabella’s stomach flip-flopped. Lifeless bodies littered the broken road.
Chapter Four
Luke
Music blared from Indigo, the thin walls unable to contain the cacophonic symphony from within. Luke entered through the double doors, painted purple with multi-colored neon paint splashed in a haphazard pattern.
A staccato beat and flashing lights worked in unison as the club’s living heart, pumping energy into the young patrons’ souls. He could smell food cooking and something else – a floral scent. Luke came to life just entering Indigo. He smiled as his teenage ears adjusted to the volume, seemingly automatically filtering the higher decibels. Seeing no other empty seats except one at a table of five kids, he pushed his way through the crowded room. “Mind if I join you?” he shouted over the music.
“Take a seat,” answered a nice-looking blond girl. He read her lips more than heard her words.
“Thanks. I’m looking for a girl named Teagan. Anyone know her?”
“Yah, she’s over there,” answered a tall, thin boy at the table, pointing with this chin toward the bar.
The girl in question, possibly sensing people were talking about her, came over to their table, a small electronic device in her left hand. Like her brother, she had long, thin black hair but pale white skin compared to Hayden’s darker complexion. A nametag on her shirt confirmed her identity.
The band began a slower, slightly quieter ballad, allowing Luke to finally hear conversation.
“Can I help you?” Teagan asked with a warm smile that looked just like her brother’s.
“This kid was looking for you, Teag. You know him?” the thin boy asked.
Her eyes scanned him from head to toe, as if assessing his every feature. “Can’t say I do…”
Luke interrupted as she spoke. “Your brother, Hayden, told me to come up here. He said to give you a message: He’ll be here at eleven. My name is Luke. I’m new here.” He hoped his smile was as warm as her own. She was starkly beautiful and he suddenly became rather nervous.
“Thanks. If you’re a friend of Hayden’s, you can’t be all that bad. You like the band? They’re kinda’ new so management wants to know what customers think of them. Social Dissonance. Swank name, don’t you think?” Teagan asked, and then a broad smile crossed her face.
Luke just nodded, suddenly forgetting most of the English language. “Uh huh.” Oh, good answer, dimwit. Real eloquent, he thought.
“You want anything to eat or drink? I’ll need your palm on my pad if you want alcohol.” The pad turned out to be a black screen with a readout that was too hard for him to decipher in the irregular light of the club.
“Palm?” More eloquence.
“Yes. Place it here.” She held out the electronic notepad and he obediently put his right hand on it then pulled it away. She looked at it and said, “Sixteen, huh? No alc for you, my friend.”
“I just want some water. I don’t have any money anyway,” Luke said just loudly enough to be heard over the music.
“Pad says you have credit, so go ahead and order something,” replied the raven-haired girl. Her eyes were as green as an emerald and just as mesmerizing.
“Uh, okay. How about some carrot sticks or s–something?” Luke stammered, unsure what he could request or what they even served. As much as he had learned about the abandoned world Outside, Luke was completely unfamiliar with this fantastic world under the mountain.
“Health food nut, huh? Vegan? I’ll bring you our sampler plate. It’s got carrots, cukes, and some other green stuff in it. That sound okay?” Her smile was captivating. Luke would have drunk poison if she served it to him.
“Sure, thanks.” Oh, he was so articulate tonight!
* * *
Isabella
The bodies on the broken blacktop were bloody and lifeless. Even in life, their white eyes had been sightless. Gray skin, tough as a rhinoceros’ hide, covered their gaunt frames.
Corporal Noble and Sergeant Gonzalez stood above one of the dead Eaters. The sergeant was speaking to the four soldiers from the Spec. Isabella and the others heard her suit speaker broadcast their voices to the world as well as to the suit-to-suit radios.
“We were attacked as we exited the HSPC, but once we recovered from our momentary surprise, we dispatched the mutations rapidly,” said Sergeant Gonzalez, his voice muffled, but audible from inside his chem-rad suit, though no sound came from his suit speaker.
“Why didn’t you answer my hail?” asked Daphne Noble, obviously annoyed at her superior.
“My radio was disabled when this beast clawed the transmitter from my jacket.” Gonzalez turned and saw the group of prisoners outside the Spec. “Why are these mutants out?” he shouted at Corporal Noble.
“We came to help you fight the Eaters,” replied Malcolm before the driver, the burly private, raised his gun at the group.
“They really did, Sergeant,” said Daphne. “Their little girl knew the Eaters were out here and that you were in danger. She could smell it, and she warned me. That’s why I came outside looking for you when you didn’t answer.” She strategically positioned her body between the group of escapees and her superior.
“Dream on. They just wanted to escape,” laughed the sergeant as he moved past Corporal Noble and forced the muzzle of his weapon into Malcolm’s broad chest. “Right, freak?”
“Would I leave my children inside the vehicle if I wanted to escape?” asked Malcolm so quietly that the soldier had to struggle to hear him. The tribal leader had learned long ago the psychological power of a soft voice.
The sergeant ignored his answer, prodded him with the nose of his weapon, and pushed him and the others back toward the transport vehicle. Just as he was about to cycle the airlock, it opened of its own accord, and eight more prisoners emerged.
“Not escaping, eh? And you lot were coming out to help us too?” asked the sergeant, as he shoved the eight mutants back into the airlock at gunpoint.
Chapter Five
Luke
Teagan returned with a plate of food and a tall drink. “I thought you would like to try our lemonade. It’s sweeter than water.” She winked at Luke as she placed the glass in front of him.
“Thanks,” he replied, tasting the drink. “Um, sweet...” like you, he thought, but his lips refused to form the words. She smiled politely and then turned and worked her way through the crowd back to the kitchen.
One of the guys at the table took a stuffed mushroom from his sampler plate. “Snatch!”
It remi
nded him of something his cousin-brother Mark would do and he pushed the plate into the center of the table so everyone could reach. The thin kid grabbed another snack and Luke took a carrot as well.
Luke had grown up in an underground shelter that his grandfather, Anthony, had built when he was a young man. His grandfather and his young wife had survived the Terror War in that shelter and had raised four daughters there. The shelter had four bedrooms, a hydroponics garden, and a well-stocked supply room. Once the government contacted family shelters like their own, they sent supplies. Luke’s father, John, had been a soldier who came to their compound on one of those resupply missions, 35 years after the war. When that soldier left, he did not know it but he was a father four times over. All four of Anthony Bellardini’s daughters were pregnant. Repopulating the devastated world was imperative, but Luke would have liked to have a father around, rather than just one parent. The four babies shared a father, and their mothers were all sisters, so they called each other cousin-brother or cousin-sister.
Sib was so much easier. His sib Mark was obnoxious, Abigail bossy, and Isabella… well, Isabella was unique. Adventurous and curious, she was their grandfather’s clear favorite. Luke’s blood still boiled whenever he thought about how that cowardly old man would not go after Izzy when she left the shelter with the mutant tribe.
No matter. She was on her way to Mt. Weather now and soon his mission to save her would finally be over.
“So, you hang with Hayden Reese, huh?” said the thin kid around a mouthful of food, breaking Luke’s reverie. It was difficult to hear anything over the pounding of the music, so Luke raised his voice to make sure they could hear him.
