Strangelets

by Michelle Gagnon

  “I’m sure.” She matched his tone. “So you think Nico’s in on it?”

  “Without a doubt.” He held out a wrist for her to steady herself on, and she took it gratefully. “Guessing they all are. Anat is security, and Yosh is here just to scare the bejesus out of us.”

  “And what about Zain?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” All the humor abruptly left his voice. “But I’m hoping he just decided to be quit of us.”

  “That’d be the smart move,” Sophie said. Privately, she doubted Zain had done anything of the sort, and she could tell that Declan had the same misgivings. But there didn’t seem to be anything they could do about it, at least not until they found someone to help them.

  Part of her was still hoping this was all just a strange dream. But the scrapes on her feet from walking through the forest barefoot argued against it; you never really felt pain in nightmares. And if it was a dream, it had gone on longer than anything she could remember.

  Anat was gingerly easing through a gap in the cafeteria doors, taking care not to slice herself on the shards of glass that still dangled from the metal frame.

  Nico followed with Yosh at his heels.

  “Shall we?” Declan helped her through the doors, carefully holding one side open so Sophie could slip through.

  They were in a small anteroom. Mold mottled what had once been white walls. Straight ahead, another set of double doors was intact.

  “The others must’ve already gone in,” Sophie murmured. She wasn’t sure why, but the instinct to keep her voice low was overwhelming. Which was silly—wouldn’t it be better if someone heard them?

  Declan opened the door. The next room was enormous, about half the length of a football field with a ceiling that soared up two full stories. Long tables were lined up in rows, and there was a serving station at the far end. Dim light filtered in from windows set fifteen feet off the ground. Most of the glass was broken, and a few tree branches reached inside like giant, grasping hands.

  The other teenagers had stopped dead in the center of the room.

  “So strange,” Sophie said in a voice just above a whisper.

  There were trays scattered across the tables, some with utensils and plates still stacked on them; but they were devoid of anything that qualified as food. The entire floor was smothered in leaves, thick enough to feel like carpeting underfoot. Each step she took released a pungent, musty smell in the air, like the floor was composting beneath them.

  “Look,” Sophie said.

  Declan followed her pointing finger and frowned. “What is it?”

  “Some sort of animal track.” There was a large impression in the matted leaves: much bigger than a human footprint, ending in what looked like four sharp claws.

  “Recognize it?” Declan asked.

  “Why would I recognize it?”

  “You’re the native, right?”

  “I live on the other side of the country,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, I’ve never exactly been big on the outdoors.” Which was true—even before she fell ill, the longest hike she’d ever taken was to the bus stop a half-mile from her house. She’d never even been a Girl Scout, and the one and only time her family had gone “camping” was a trip to Yosemite where they stayed in a cabin with indoor plumbing.

  “What about you, Nico?” Declan said. “This look familiar?”

  Nico slowly shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “And I’m guessing that the forest décor is new?”

  Nico had a pained expression on his face. “I was just here,” he mumbled. “Two days ago.”

  “Maybe a hurricane?” Sophie offered tentatively. “I guess that could’ve broken the windows. And then it flooded, washing all this stuff in?” The thought cheered her somewhat, although two days didn’t seem like nearly enough time for this amount of mold to grow. But it was hot as an inferno outside, which would have sped things up …

  “Sure, that sounds likely,” Declan agreed.

  “After Hurricane Sandy, I think it looked like this,” Sophie said, remembering all the news stories on TV; houses that looked like they’d been abandoned for years, streets strewn with detritus. “So maybe that explains it. Everyone was probably evacuated.”

  “Must’ve been one hell of a storm,” he agreed.

  Anat set her hands on her hips and demanded, “Enough. Where’s the food?”

  “It’s usually set out over there.” Nico pointed toward the serving station. Unfortunately, there was nothing that resembled digestible food: just metal trays filled with the same gunk that covered the floor, a mix of dead leaves, twigs, and mold. They all stared at them for a moment, disheartened.

  “If this is a cafeteria there has to be a kitchen, yes?” Anat asked.

  Everyone exchanged glances. Sophie wasn’t sure about the rest of them, but she had a sudden urge to go back outside and make a break for the infirmary; at least it had been clean in there. But there wasn’t any food, she reminded herself as her stomach grumbled.

  Anat threw up her hands in a gesture of disgust and made for the set of doors behind the serving station.

  “Maybe we should go with her,” Nico said hesitantly.

  “Right.” Declan turned to Sophie and pulled out a chair. “You’d best wait here. Rest a bit while we scrounge up a meal.”

  “Sure.” Sophie sank down gratefully. The chair was grimy and wobbly, but after their mile-long trek it felt like a sofa. She was completely drained. Maybe food would help.

  Yosh settled on a chair beside her. Declan and Nico followed Anat to the double doors. They all paused for a second, then Anat shoved the one on the right hand side open.

  Darkness beyond.

  “Do the honors, Nico?” Declan asked.

  Still looking bewildered, Nico held the door open. Declan vanished into the dark recesses of the kitchen, with Anat and Nico following closely on his heels.

  Murmurs and scuffling noises. Seconds later, Declan poked his head out. He was frowning.

  “Lights are out,” he said.

  “That’s odd,” Sophie said. The lights had worked in the infirmary. Maybe the electrical grid had been damaged here. “Any sign of food?”

  “Just some nasty canned goods. We’re checking the walkin next.”

  “Keep us posted,” Sophie said faintly. Her stomach was growling like crazy; even canned food sounded delicious. She hadn’t had a real meal in weeks, just fluids delivered intravenously. What she’d give for a nice juicy burger right now: Animal Style, from In-N-Out, with a double order of fries. There had been a franchise near her house, attached to a Krispy Kreme where they’d always grab a box of doughnuts for dessert. She salivated at the memory and swallowed hard; whatever they found in the kitchen, burgers and doughnuts probably wouldn’t be on the menu. To distract herself, she turned to Yosh and asked, “Are you feeling better?”

  Yosh nodded slightly. Her eyes seemed clearer, her body less rigid.

  “Good.” Sophie silently heaved a sigh of relief. She desperately wanted to know what had happened to Zain, but asking straight out might send the girl back into some sort of state, so she decided to start with easier questions. “You’re from Japan?”

  “Yes. Kyoto.”

  “Really?” Sophie perked up. “I love Kyoto. My folks took us there a few years ago. Oh my God, Nara was amazing.”

  “Yes, Nara,” Yosh said. “Very nice.”

  Unless she was mistaken, a look of panic flashed across Yosh’s face. But maybe that was just because her English wasn’t very good. “Those deer everywhere? Crazy,” Sophie said, trying again. “One of them totally attacked my sister.”

  “Very nice,” Yosh repeated.

  Sophie sighed. Definitely a language barrier.

  A second later, Yosh’s stomach rumbled—loud for such a tiny person—and Sophie laughed. “You’re hungry too, huh?”

  “Yes.” Yosh smiled thinly. “Hungry.”

  “I know, it’s
taking forever.” She turned back toward the kitchen door and called out, “Hey, guys! Any luck?”

  The only response was a loud creak from the depths of the next room.

  Suddenly, someone screamed.

  Sophie leapt to her feet and ran toward the kitchen, her fatigue overcome by a burst of adrenaline. Before she got halfway there, Declan burst through the double doors. He stumbled and fell to his knees, crying, “Jaysus!”

  She rushed to his side. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  He was bent double, wheezing. The others spilled out behind him; they all looked green. Declan was gagging. “The smell, it’s just …” he choked. “Lord!”

  “We opened the door to the refrigerator,” Anat explained. She wasn’t in as bad shape as the others, but she still looked pale. “The food must all have rotted. It smells …”

  “Bloody terrible!” Declan said.

  “So there is nothing to eat?” Yosh said in a small voice.

  “There are cans,” Anat said. “On the shelves against the back wall. We could try those.”

  “But that means going back in there,” Declan said.

  “I’ll do it.” Anat set her jaw and unwound the black scarf from around her neck. In one smooth motion she tied it around her face, leaving only her eyes exposed. Looks like she’s done that before, Sophie thought. Interesting.

  Anat marched back through the doors. Nico held one side open to provide light but stayed well behind it. A terrible odor filtered through, a rot unlike anything she’d ever smelled before. “Ugh,” Sophie gasped. The stench was so strong it set her eyes watering. She limped to the far side of the room and collapsed in a chair. Yosh followed and sat beside her again. Sophie found herself gazing at the footprints on the floor, trying to imagine what could have made them. She’d never been to Long Island but didn’t think there was much wildlife there besides deer. And they definitely weren’t a hoof prints.

  A minute later, Anat emerged with a half dozen large cans filling her arms. She dumped them on the nearest table. Nico let the door fall shut.

  “Garbanzo beans,” Declan said, reading the cans doubtfully. “Diced tomatoes, jalapeño peppers—oh, those’ll be tasty.”

  “You’re more than welcome to look yourself,” Anat said icily.

  “This one does not look right.” Yosh held up a can of stewed peaches.

  “Botulism,” Sophie agreed, examining it. The entire can had bowed out in the center. “Must have been close to the expiration date.”

  “Shame,” Declan commented. “Peaches would’ve been nice.”

  “We’ve got another problem,” Sophie said.

  “What?” Anat asked.

  “No can opener.”

  Declan groaned. “Fantastic. Looks like we’re going back in anyway.”

  “Someone else’s turn,” Anat announced.

  “I’ll go.”

  Everyone turned to Yosh, surprised. She lowered her eyes. “I don’t mind smells so much. I will try to find some utensils, too.”

  “You’re sure?” Declan asked.

  She nodded, then squared her shoulders and marched toward the door. Nico pulled it open again, and she vanished inside.

  Five minutes later, they were all digging into enormous cans of peaches, stewed tomatoes, and garbanzo beans at the far end of the cafeteria. Not the best meal Sophie had ever had, but it was food, and for the moment that was all that mattered. She couldn’t remember having ever been so famished. They shoveled bites in quickly, the silence only broken by the clink of forks against metal.

  Finally, Sophie sat back. She’d been fed through an IV for so long, her stomach must have shrunk. If she ate another bite she’d burst. She watched the others still chewing, their entire focus directed on the food before them. They were a random group of kids, that was for sure. Kind of like a post-apocalyptic model UN. The thought made her snort. Declan looked up and raised an eyebrow, and she smiled at him. He grinned back; she flushed and quickly looked away. The light sifting down from the windows was turning orange; shadows stretched long across the room.

  “It’s getting late,” she noted.

  Declan’s brow furrowed as he followed her gaze. “It is,” he said. “Strange that we still haven’t seen a soul. How many buildings are there?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Nico said. “A lot. But if no one is here … that’s strange. My father said this was the one building that’s always staffed. They figure that if food and coffee are available, people won’t mind working all night.”

  “So if the cafeteria is empty, there’s a good chance the whole place is, too?” Sophie asked.

  Nico shrugged. “Probably.”

  “How close is the nearest town?” Anat asked.

  “Six or seven miles.” He leaned back in his chair. “I could walk there.”

  “Shouldn’t we should stick together?” Yosh asked.

  “I vote we rest up, then get a fresh start in daylight,” Declan said.

  “Sleep in here?” Anat asked disdainfully. “It smells awful.”

  “No, back at the infirmary.” Declan held up a hand to still their grumbles. “We know there are beds there, and working bathrooms, and light. We’ll take food with us, then leave straightaway in the morning.”

  “Who made you leader?” Nico protested.

  Sophie pursed her lips. Apparently the meal had restored some of his swagger.

  “I can walk miles in the dark,” Anat said, tossing her hair. “I’ve done all night marches.”

  “Yes, please, tell us more about your extensive military training,” Declan muttered. “Apparently it didn’t include grabbing an opener when there are cans about.”

  “You wouldn’t even go back in there,” Nico scoffed. Turning to Anat, he said, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Good,” she said. “We’ll make better time on our own anyway.”

  “Hang on,” Declan protested. “We need to stick together. We don’t know what’s going on yet. And if you leave us, we’re bolloxed. You’re the only one who even knows where the hell we are.”

  “Declan’s right,” Sophie said. The prospect of separating made her feel panicky; she’d seen enough horror movies to know that nothing good ever came of splitting up. And Declan was right, without Nico the rest of them would be totally clueless. At least he knew the area. “We should stay together. Even if only for the night.”

  Anat and Nico exchanged a look. Whatever was going on between them, they were clearly not sold on the togetherness idea. But then Anat glanced at Yosh, and Sophie could see her waffling. “There’s that weird animal track, too,” she reminded them. “Something big made that. And we don’t have any weapons.”

  “That is true,” Anat said slowly.

  Nico shuffled his feet, looking unhappy. “So, what? We stay?”

  “We stay,” Anat stated. “But just until dawn. Then we go into town. Is your phone working yet?”

  “None of them will work until you’re a mile away from the facility,” Nico said. “They block the towers as some sort of security measure.”

  “Lovely,” Declan said. “Is that why the time is wrong, too?”

  “What do you mean?” Nico asked.

  Declan held up an iPhone. “Says January 1, 2000.”

  “What?” Nico scoffed. “That can’t be right.” As he checked his own, his eyes narrowed. “Mine says the same.”

  Sophie was too exhausted to engage in a riveting conversation about time stamps on cell phones. All she wanted was to crawl back into bed and stay there, preferably until help arrived. “Vote, then? All in favor of heading back to the infirmary, raise your hand.”

  Declan lifted his. She and Yosh quickly followed suit. After a pause, Anat jutted hers up. Nico glowered at them all for a beat, then nodded curtly. “Fine,” he said. “Sunrise.”

  “Sure thing,” Declan said. “And with luck, by this time tomorrow we’ll all be headed home.”

  The return trip took longer than Anat had anticipated
. Now they were burdened with large cans, and the lengthening shadows made picking their way through the forest difficult. During her mandatory military service, Anat had marched for kilometers across rough terrain. That hadn’t been the worst of it, though. She’d also been forced to carry an M16 everywhere, even to the bathroom; another recruit had forgotten theirs, and the entire unit was punished, forced to hold the rifles over their heads for nearly an hour. As her arms shook from the pain and stress, Anat knew she wasn’t the only one who would have preferred to turn the weapon on the imbecile who’d forgotten. He never did so again, though; a beat down after lights out made sure of that. In comparison, carrying a couple of cans through the woods was easy.

  The others were having a much harder time. Nico was doing all right, but everyone else kept stumbling and falling. They’d be covered in bumps and bruises by the time they got back. On her own, Anat could have made it to the infirmary in half the time. But instinct made her stay close. Even though she barely knew these kids, she was starting to feel responsible for them—Yosh in particular. Protecting the weak had been another major facet of her training; her responsibility to fellow citizens was drilled in from day one. Soldiers swore to abide by a rigid code of conduct. Even such minor offensives as neglecting to give up a bus seat to an elderly person could result in punishment. Not that any of these kids were her fellow countrymen. Far from it, she thought with a snort. They were all soft, whining about missing a single meal. If anything happened, she was clearly the best equipped to handle it.

  She’d be shed of them all by tomorrow anyway. Once they got within cell phone range, the others could contact their families. Shortly thereafter they’d be tucked away in their respective embassies, assisted with transportation home. But who could she call? If she contacted Hazim and tried to explain what had happened, he’d probably think she’d lost her mind, or worse, changed it. This entire situation had made joining him all but impossible; neither of them could afford a plane ticket to Egypt. And her parents would just try and compel her to return home. Plus Anat could imagine the skepticism with which the Israeli government would view her circumstances. They’d figure her for a deserter, maybe even throw her in prison. And then she’d have no hope of running away with Hazim.