by Sean Platt
“So you like that idea,” said Cameron, looking at Heather.
“I like it,” she said, relief permeating her tone.
“Then I’ll head out tomorrow. Just before first light. That way, I can sneak out without the people up top seeing me.”
“It’s a long walk to Utah,” Lila said.
“I can find a vehicle of some sort somewhere along the way. I’ll just need to be careful. The military controls the main roads. The back roads?” Cameron shrugged. “Well, everyone wants to be a kingpin and lay claim to their own piece of land these days. I don’t know how long it will take, but I’ll have a radio, and Terrence will show you how to use yours. Even the open channels are intermittent, but that way we’ll be able to stay in touch at least some of the time. I can’t share what I might learn on air, you understand — but if I learn anything about your father, I’ll do my best to come back and tell you in person.”
“I want to go with you,” Trevor blurted.
Heather glared at her son. Trevor’s suggestion was the height of stupidity. They were all safest in the bunker with their protectors. They’d nearly died trying to reach Vail. Heather wouldn’t let Trevor or Lila set a toe outside until the world ended or the ships left. And on that point, at least, Heather and Piper were in agreement.
“No, you won’t go with him,” Piper said.
Trevor’s head hung. He knew that had been coming.
Piper looked around the group, then back at Cameron. “But I will.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was 1 a.m.
A strange afternoon acquiesced to an even stranger evening. Trevor was awake, lying on a cot in his mother’s room, hands under his head, elbows out. It was strange not being in his normal room, but Cameron’s announcement — coinciding with the realization that Vincent, Christopher, Terrence, and Dan would be staying a while — had prompted a shuffling of roles. Cameron and his crew had been bunking in the middle of the main room, some on the floor and some on cots. That had felt fine for a while, and they assured the bunker’s original inhabitants that they didn’t mind at all.
But now that it seemed they were at least semipermanent, Trevor’s mother had launched into an uncharacteristic nesting frenzy, eager to make their underground house a proper home. She’d seemed so relieved to learn the others were staying (she’d muttered about it often enough during the past days, lamenting the idea of being “alone and vulnerable again” weighing heavy) that she was going out of her way to make them welcome. It was very un-Heather Hawthorne. She didn’t snip; she didn’t crack wise; she didn’t even make fun of Raj as he rolled his eyes over the affair. She made beds like a proper matron, washing sheets as Trevor had never really seen her do, pointing here and there assigning quarters.
In the end, Cameron’s pack had been stocked and set near the spiral staircase. Piper’s (regrettably, to Trevor’s mind) was beside it. Cameron had fought her on the issue, but Piper had won. She knew Meyer Dempsey far better than those files knew him, and was hence a valuable asset for the people at the Moab facility. Trevor’s heart broke a little — okay, a lot — at the thought of her leaving, but Piper was right, and Cameron couldn’t argue. It was what it was, and it’s not like he could profess his love to keep her from going.
The others had found themselves in new rooms. Trevor and Lila were with their mother as if they were five years old. Everything was settled. The only rearrangement left to make would be for Piper’s soon-to-be-vacant master bedroom. She was where she’d been for one more night. Tomorrow, the room would be taken by Vincent and Terrence, who’d split Piper’s mattress and box springs with each sleeping on one of them because, as Vincent said, “I’m not sharing sheets with this fag” before Terrence punched him.
For now, things were as they’d been in the next room: the last modicum of normality left in their abnormal situation. Trevor was glad the others would be staying — especially Christopher, who felt like the cool older brother he’d always wanted — but the thought of Piper leaving was — as things always were for him with Piper — strangely entangled. He felt something deep and longing, along with something more primal. Between the time his dad had left and the others’ arrival, Piper had been the family’s leader. She’d kept things running. In a way, she’d kept them safe. She’d made the decisions his mother wouldn’t. Her departure left him unbalanced, without a rudder.
He sat up on the cot, setting his feet on the carpeted floor. Sleep wasn’t coming. He wondered if anyone else was awake or if he was alone. He had limited options. He couldn’t turn on the TV, and he shouldn’t go into the living room because Raj was on the couch. Vincent and Terrence, without a room for one more night, were on the floor.
Maybe he could read. His Vellum was in the main room, but if that was all he went out there for, he could be quiet.
Trevor stood then walked into the bathroom. The room was long and wide — larger, probably, than your normal bunker bathroom, which was probably a coffee can that required emptying outside. But the size was perhaps justifiable because it was shared by two bedrooms.
Trevor didn’t turn on the lights — that was the surest way to wake the others. But the bathroom was lit by small, glowing azure night lights. Necessities of underground living, where there was no star or moonlight. And, of course, for safety. These lights, dim as they were, would stay lit if the power went out. Even if the other emergency lights failed, they’d at least keep everyone from stumbling blind.
Rather than going right to the toilet, he bent over the counter, in front of the sink, and peered into the mirror’s dark depths. As a kid, he’d heard the sleepover legend of Bloody Mary, and how if you said her name three times into a dark mirror she’d appear behind you. For years, he’d avoided mirrors in rooms filled with black. But now it felt safe, thanks to the world’s more immediate horrors.
Trevor watched his pupils.
Lila had come to him earlier. She’d seemed embarrassed and hadn’t agreed to tell him anything — even though she had come to him — until he’d promised not to laugh. Trevor agreed too readily. His big sister had been his best friend for a long time and (though he’d never admit it) a kind of role model. The recent awkwardness between them and the distance it came with (Trevor’s fault; he was the one who was into his stepmother) had bothered him, and he welcomed a chance to share secrets again. But then she’d asked him a strange thing.
Trevor … do you ever … you know … hear things?
I hear a lot of things.
Like … in your head.
He’d looked at her funny, and she’d backpedaled immediately.
Maybe things that just seem to be in your head. Maybe moving outside. Or … talking outside.
You’re hearing talking outside? Through the ground?
Talking or singing. Never mind. It’s nothing.
Wait … singing?
That had made her look hopeful. He’d merely been confused.
Like … you’ll get a bit of a song stuck in your head. I’ve had something stuck in my head, like I’ve heard it before.
What?
“Plug the hole.”
Trevor almost laughed. It sounded like porn. But Lila was barely telling him this as it was, so he just shrugged.
Never heard of it. But he had to give her something. Lila was out on a limb, and he needed to do the same or lose her trust. Her confidence. I think about Dad a lot. I guess sometimes it’s like I hear his voice.
You hear Dad?
Trevor shrugged. The answer was no. He thought about him. But whatever made her feel better.
Do you ever … you know … dream about him?
Dunno. I guess.
She’d really paused hard there, as if trying to steel herself. Finally, she’d broken.
I keep dreaming of him in a big, metal room. Like … She hesitated again. You know, like the inside of a ship. And sometimes … Lila’s eyes were wide, almost frightened. Sometimes, it’s like I’m actually awake, and I’ll look in a mirr
or and see the same room behind myself, just for a second, with him standing behind me.
Hmm.
Have you ever had that dream?
Trevor shrugged again.
I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking, she’d said, watching his eyes. It’s just a dream.
Weird.
She’d watched him for another long while. Then, abruptly, she’d said, Never mind then went straight to bed. When he’d come in an hour later, she’d been sleeping, possibly deep in haunting dreams of their father.
Looking into the mirror, Trevor saw nothing. No metal room. No Dad. No Bloody Mary. Just the same bunker he’d lived in for a season and counting. The bunker, he sometimes thought, where he’d die.
There was a sound from the other end of the bathroom. A sliver of light appeared, lancing the darkness in a long, vertical slice. The sound had been a switch clicking on, lighting the other room adjoining the bathroom: Piper’s.
Trevor crept forward. The door was barely ajar. Holding his breath, he put his eye to the slit.
He saw Piper. She hadn’t been asleep after all. She must have gone into the living room while he’d been staring at the ceiling, also unable to sleep. But it was 1 a.m., and she was setting out on a long and dangerous trip in the morning. She had to get some rest.
Through the crack, he watched her walk back to the bedroom door and push it closed. That was strange. They all slept with their doors open. It just felt safer, under the circumstances, to not close themselves off.
Trevor’s heart hammered hard enough to hear. She’d closed the door because she was going to change for bed.
He should go. This was well past wrong. Trevor had crossed “wrong” almost a year ago, when he’d seen the liquid beauty of Piper’s eyes and the way light summer dresses clung to her body, and the strap of a messenger bag pressed her shirt against her chest, enhancing the natural swells.
If Trevor stayed where he was, he’d see them for real. Bare. Without a shirt or a bra between his eyes and her skin.
Casually, as if unaware of her display, Piper reached down, grabbed the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it over her head. There was no ceremony or strip show splendor. A practical motion that said No big deal — and No big deal, consequently, for what came next.
There was a creaking from behind him, in the other bedroom. Trevor glanced back, saw that the door was, of course, still closed. He’d come in here to pee. You didn’t leave the door open when you peed.
He returned his eye to the crack.
In the brightly lit room, Piper unzipped and stepped out of her jeans. Her legs were long and lean. Bleached of their usual color by confinement, yes, but her complexion was pale anyway, and she seemed to have used the tanning bed like the rest of them.
Trevor’s heart beat harder.
He swallowed.
He held his breath, afraid that exhalation would betray him.
Her panties stayed on. She stepped into a pair of loose shorts then bent her arms behind her back to unfasten her bra.
He should go.
Of course he should go.
And of course he wouldn’t.
Piper pulled the garment away, and Trevor nearly fell into the doorframe. It was one thing to fantasize but another thing to see her breasts for real. There were no tan lines. She took her Vitamin D topless.
Somehow that was too much.
Piper glanced at herself in the mirror for a moment, seeming to assess her figure (Perfect, Trevor wanted to tell her), then pulled on a T-shirt. She dug her hands behind her neck and fluffed her hair out from under the collar, then applied something to her lips (lipstick? No, Chapstick) and slipped beneath the sheets. She reached for the end table and clicked off the lamp.
Trevor was alone in the dark again, his incestuous sin committed.
Despite his shame, a few extra minutes in the bathroom were required.
He left the bathroom, sure that at any moment Lila and his mother would wake and see what he’d done, clear on his face like a brand. But they didn’t stir.
He wouldn’t be able to sleep, so without pausing at the cot, he crossed to the door.
He’d find his Vellum in the front room then come back and read by its internal light. In time, he’d have read enough to forget. But soon enough he’d remember what he’d seen of Piper — before he willingly recalled the memory — and would feel that conflict again.
He found the light on in the kitchen. Vincent, Terrence, and Raj were sleeping where he’d expected them, but Christopher was at the kitchen table, reading a paper book by the overhead light.
He looked up. “Can’t sleep, bro?”
“No.”
“Then have a seat, my friend, and let’s have ourselves a midnight jam.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
They set out just before first light, as planned.
Piper was more nervous than she’d expected. She’d been living in a vaguely apocalyptic world for over three months now (a calm apocalypse; as far as she could tell, if humanity had been able to ignore the ships and waning abductions, life could have gone on the same as ever), but she’d spent it mostly in a bunker.
New York felt a lifetime ago, and the Chicago freeway melee years distant. Even their fight to take over Meyer’s Axis Mundi seemed to be someone else’s memory. The bunker was Piper’s reality. Safe. Comfortable. They couldn’t go outside, but so what? Ignore the missing father figure, and it’s another mixed family living out the American dream underground.
The thought of opening the door and leaving willingly chilled her blood. She almost called the whole thing off. Piper had barely slept and rose hours early, finding Cameron eating his predawn breakfast. She’d joined him with a hushed good morning, and they’d eaten in silence. She’d had to bite her lip several times to trap her cowardly change of mind. It would be so easy. But if she let Cameron go off alone, he might never return. That thought barred the words from her lips. If she could make at least half of the trip (the outbound half), she’d learn what the others knew about Meyer. If one or both of them were killed on the return trip, at least she’d die knowing what there was to know.
Cameron stole glances at her through the meal. He, too, seemed to be holding something back. Perhaps he was going to suggest she stay where it was safe to await his return. Thank God, he didn’t. Piper might have stayed.
She had to go, for everyone’s sake. Cameron knew that. His protests were gallantry. He was a thoughtful, perhaps overly polite man — opposite Meyer in many of his failings but very like her husband when it came to his strengths. Both wanted to protect them and would do as they promised, or die trying. But Cameron also wanted to do the right thing. To apologize. To ask for permission. And to keep ladies from heading out into the wild, wild West.
But he knew the truth. Meyer’s tax receipts and email and memos to employees wouldn’t paint a complete picture. So much of what made Meyer unique was holistic, not recorded in any document. Piper knew Meyer could be sweet, though he never let the world see that side. You’d think, seeing Meyer own so many magazines covers through the years, that he enjoyed publicity. And he did when it advanced his business. But Meyer himself was (is, Piper corrected herself) a private, almost shy person. When his ambition and reserve butted heads, ambition always won. Without her there to guide the Moab facility’s investigation, the people there might never find their answer. And if Cameron was to be believed, the world might need it.
There was another reason Piper held her tongue. She was a vital, irreplaceable “Meyer data” archive, yes — but she was also alone. Lila had Raj, Trevor had Lila, Heather had Lila and Trevor. Piper was a mother in name, but at the end of the world, children clung more firmly to blood. Lila’s connection to Heather had deepened since she’d announced her pregnancy, and that was something Piper (try as she might) couldn’t relate to. And Trevor? She’d hoped confinement would heal whatever had broken between them, but it had only seemed to make things worse. He looked at her in the stra
ngest ways and avoided her even more fervently than during the cross-country trip. The looks could have meant anything, but to Piper, they seemed to say, You aren’t needed anymore.
It broke her heart.
And now that Cameron’s men were here, she really wasn’t needed. She’d kept the bunker running, but now Terrence had it handled. She’d done the dirty chores, but the men with their disciplined military backgrounds were happy to help. The men pulled their weight so well, in fact, that they pulled the slack left by the others. There was now officially more help than chores required. She was just another body. A loose end without a purpose and without the man she loved, taking up space.
And there was more.
She’d thought a lot about the life she’d ended. Garth had been a threat, no question. She had to stop him, no doubt. But couldn’t she have hit him with something? Couldn’t she have shot him in his arm or leg? But Meyer’s admonition had been loud in her ears: Don’t hesitate. She hadn’t, and it had all worked out fine. But Meyer hadn’t warned her about the nightmares. About the second-guessing and the questions. And it’s not like anyone wanted to talk to her about it. To them, Garth had been another of the bad guys — same as the bad guys Meyer himself had dispatched. Did anyone even really remember that Piper had pulled the trigger last? Or had they grouped the incident into a collection in their minds, attributed to the man of the house?
