What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  The Devotees tell us this is proof that Devo set America on the right path. After the Genetic Integrity Act was passed and the borders were closed, God sent his Fury to cleanse the Earth, leaving us with the task of improving the human race.

  I was born during the total eclipse of the sun on October 5, 2108. An eclipse can last for hours as the moon passes in front of the sun, but totality is when the moon appears to block out the sun completely, and the earth goes dark. Totality was only three minutes and fifty seconds long, but that’s when I was born. The date and time are on my right foot, which means I got the Devotee’s seal of approval when I was born. My mother still took the eclipse as a bad sign.

  I suppose that’s why I started looking up. I want to be ready to dodge whatever is coming for me.

  I have about fifteen minutes until lights out. I’m not supposed to be out of barracks, but there’s a clear sky, and this might be my only chance to see the June Bootids meteor shower. It’s usually pretty weak, but this year promises a zenith hourly rate of up to a hundred. My insides thrum with excitement.

  I never talked about my stargazing to anyone at home because they’re all afraid to look up. My telescope is about the only thing from home I miss. I know about tonight’s meteor shower because I secretly have an espenak, a database with a five-millennium catalog of celestial information.

  How I got it is kind of strange. I was on a school camping excursion. I hated it until it got dark. The night sky was so beautiful there. I snuck off to be by myself and look up. Jay was not on that trip, so it’s not as if anyone would notice I was gone. I was being goofy, measuring how far apart the stars were with my fingers and then pretending to squish them.

  “Don’t squash Jupiter, it’s my favorite,” a voice beside me said.

  I was too surprised to be scared.

  He was an old man, at least to me. His hair was still jet black, though, and his eyes were a shining dark gold. Anyway, he started telling me about the stars and the planets and how you could navigate with them. He was talking about angles and degrees and orbits, and I got it right away. I’m good with patterning and everything up there follows its own pattern. It all makes sense.

  “Whenever I look at the stars, I know they haven’t noticed that I’m here. They’ve been up there since long before I came along, and they don’t even know I exist. That’s when I remember not to take myself quite so seriously,” he said.

  And then he gave me the espenak. It’s a silver-colored sphere on a chain, and it looks as if it should be heavy, but it isn’t. It has lines etched into it. Except they aren’t actually etched; sections move if you know how to do it. He said it was like a puzzle box, and he showed me how to move the parts to open it up. Somehow, the small sphere becomes a flat box with a compass design on its surface. A holograph pops up when it’s opened correctly, and he said I could retrieve whatever data about the stars I needed. Then he showed me how to use the information.

  “It’s yours now,” he said when we saw the sun on the horizon. We’d been at it all night.

  “Mine? Why me?” I couldn’t believe anyone would give something so wonderful to someone like me.

  “A teacher of mine gave this to me, and now it’s time for me to pass it on,” he said. “I’m glad I finally found you. There aren’t too many of these around, and every generation needs a few good people to keep an eye on Heaven. When it’s your turn to pass it on, make sure you find someone worthy, someone like you.”

  That was the best night of my life, the best thing that anyone has ever said to me, and I never even asked him his name.

  The thing is, now I know when certain things are going to happen. Things other people don’t want to know about. It made me question a whole lot of things that I grew up thinking were absolute truths. For instance, I’m pretty sure the meteor named God’s Fury came from the P100ST comet and not necessarily from God, and the comet’s hundred-year orbit is bringing it back this summer. The Devotees aren’t talking about the comet, but they are preparing for the centennial celebration of God’s Fury. They are expecting God to let us know if we’re still on the right path.

  In the meantime, I want to see tonight’s meteor shower.

  I’m much better at sneaking around than firing a rifle, and I have a stolen apple in my pocket in case I need a bribe. One building over from my barracks, with my back against the wall, I edge my way to the corner and a ladder that goes up into darkness.

  Soundlessly, I climb up and over the parapet onto the roof. Before I can turn around an arm snakes around my waist from behind, trapping my arms, and a hand closes tightly over my mouth. My legs kick uselessly as I’m hauled behind what might be a heat exhaust and dragged up against a hard body.

  “Can you be silent?” a voice hisses at me.

  OK, stay calm, maybe I’m not going to die.

  I get a sharp squeeze. “You were about as quiet as a grenade coming up here. Can you be silent now?” he asks again, with more urgency.

  I nod quickly. It’s hard to breathe. The hand loosens, but is positioned to clamp back down. Two breaths, in and out.

  I manage to turn my head enough to see a uniform. His grip on my waist relaxes a little.

  “I’d have noticed if you were following me, so why are you here?” he asks in a low voice.

  I’m momentarily distracted and whip my head around when the first meteor streaks across the night sky.

  “Why would I want to follow you?” I ask, both indignantly and a little too loudly. “Look. I didn’t expect anyone to be up here, okay? Why are you up here?”

  Who is this guy?

  “I can tell how hard you’re trying to be quiet,” he says softly and gives me a sharp squeeze. “Try harder.”

  I struggle to break free, and quite unintentionally my foot kicks the vent. Loudly. I need to try harder.

  “Are you simpleminded all the time or does it come and go?” He is angry now. “This isn’t hide and seek. You could be dead right now.”

  I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, against my back. I don’t think he’s going to kill me. His pulse would be accelerated, wouldn’t it?

  He suddenly pushes me face down, flat against the roof, and half lies on top of me. It happens fast and feels impersonal, as if it’s a practiced move done without thinking. I squirm and try to complain about the rock jabbing into my abdomen, but he presses his fingers firmly on my lips as he pins me to the roof. “Be still,” he commands.

  He’s lost interest in me and turns toward a movement down on the ground. I can make out a transport backing up to a hangar bay. A few soldiers hop out, and then three civilians stumble from the back of the vehicle. The soldier on top of me curses under his breath when he sees them. There’s a woman with matted auburn hair, and one of the men has lost a shoe and limps along unevenly. They’re in torn, dirty clothing.

  I get a blinding flash of the perfectly obvious and give up my resistance. This isn’t about me sneaking around. Not even close. It’s a little late, but the fear finally creeps in and I start to sweat. I’m acutely aware of his body pressed into mine as we watch the people below disappear into the building.

  He remembers I’m here, and his fingers leave my lips but he keeps me pinned. “Okay,” he says, his chin over my shoulder as he speaks in my ear. “Tell me again why you’re here?”

  “The meteor sh—”

  He squeezes me tightly before I can finish. “Wrong answer,” he whispers in my ear, and I shiver.

  His breath is warm, it tickles my neck and I inhale his scent. My brain is now mush and my eyes are squeezed shut.

  Think!

  Wait a second. He’s not supposed to be here either.

  “I wasn’t here.” I exhale quickly a few times, trying to expel the fear that is mixed with a shaky desire.

  “And while you weren’t here, what did you see?”

  “I wasn’t here, so how could I see anything?” I answer as my eyes fly open.

  He finally rolls off me and w
e sit up.

  “I guess your simple-mindedness does come and go,” he says, amused.

  “Jackass,” I mumble under my breath.

  I think he smiles, but I’m not sure all my senses are working properly.

  He nods to the ladder. As I step over, I realize I miss the feel of him pressed against me. I head down and he follows. Back on the ground we look at each other for a moment. I have to look up because he is tall, taller than Jay. His eyes are the silvery-gray color of ashes. There’s a hint of a lazy smile as he shakes his head.

  “A meteor? I’ll be keeping an eye on you… J. Grant,” he says slowly, and walks away at an unhurried pace as I stand in a state I believe is called catatonic.

  Over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, he says, “And you most definitely did not see me.”

  He disappears and I lean against the wall, dazed. I can still feel his fingers on my lips.

  Hang on.

  How did he know my name?

  4

  It’s dawn, not yet six in the morning, as I trudge over open desert to the range. There are ten narrow lanes marked by metal fencing, with various people-shaped targets positioned at the far end. This is not virtual training. These are real targets and real weapons for the real world that is out there, on the other side. At the entrance, a private, hand on her hip, talks to a tall sergeant. He’s in black fatigues, which makes him Special Forces. When the sergeant turns to look my way I recognize him from the rooftop last night. He’s got his arms folded across his chest and he says something to the private as he watches me approach. He makes me nervous, which ticks me off, and I’m not sure what I should say. Before I reach them he turns to leave, and I scope him out as he walks away. His pants are belted low, so they hang off his narrow hips. He has this long, ground-eating stride that makes his movements seem effortless, and makes it difficult for me to look away. It turns out he’s even better looking in daylight than he was in the dark.

  Somehow I’m both relieved and disappointed that he’s walking away.

  “Jackass,” I mutter, which makes me feel better.

  “You Grant?” the private asks, sizing me up as I approach. I nod, warily. “I’m Sheree LeSalle, your new battle buddy,” she announces.

  This is weird, and I’m a little scared. It’s the girl who cut in line last night to steal apples.

  She’s very pretty, and something in her attitude makes her seem kind of tough. Her light brown hair is pulled back, like mine, but she makes it look good.

  “Let’s practice,” she says. She sounds cheerful about it.

  She walks like a cat, quick, but not in a rush. Her hips sway, even with combat boots on. It’s just the way she’s built. She must drive the boys crazy.

  We proceed down the range to number six, and she stops.

  “Let me see what you’ve got,” she says bluntly.

  I reach for the ear protection, and she rolls her eyes.

  “You know they don’t hand those things out when it’s time to shoot for real, right?” she deadpans.

  I stare at her for a moment and toss them away, which produces a little smile on her face.

  “Are you here to kill me?” I ask.

  Her big eyes open wider. “Now why would I want to do that?”

  Hmm. Because you were talking to the guy who doesn’t want anyone to know I saw him last night, and now I’m conveniently on a firing range with lots of loaded weapons that could “accidentally” go off.

  I shrug and remind myself that I wasn’t there last night, and neither was he.

  I get into position and aim my pistol at the target. My hands are a little sweaty. Everything is uncomfortable. I take a deep breath and squeeze. Nothing happens. I look at my weapon curiously and hear a big sigh.

  “So you got a No-Go, did you? That’s really surprising.”

  I could get annoyed, but she’s kinda funny, in that sarcastic-but-not-mean way I’m used to from Jay. I might be starting to like her.

  She steps over, pushes me to the side. Her hands glide in one smooth movement to get her pistol in place, and squeeze off two shots to the heart, one to the head. The sound makes me jump, but she is rock solid.

  “That is what you should be trying for, but let’s start with firing a bullet from a weapon,” Sheree says. “Use your middle finger for the trigger so that your index finger is aligned with the barrel. You are now pointing at your target, increasing accuracy. Point and shoot.”

  She demonstrates and tells me to try again. The bullet exits, but it’s not what you’d call an accurate shot.

  “Like my daddy says, if you’ve got to kill a man you’d best kill him quick, and if you want to be sure he’s dead, you’d best be dead sure. So. You want to stop the breathing, start the bleeding and induce shock. That makes your targets the brain, the heart and the spine.”

  Sheree shoots them on the target in quick succession to punctuate her words.

  “Now, that means the kill zone on the human body—front or back— is about 36 inches long and six inches wide, from the top of the head to the groin. One bullet, anywhere in that zone, will incapacitate the target. Two is better.”

  I spend four hours with her. She’s surprisingly patient. There’s still no way I’m going to get a Go. I’m seriously worried. I have to qualify for firearms; that one is non-negotiable if I’m going to make it. And I should have used protection—my ears are ringing.

  As I head over for chow, I spot Sheree with the tall sergeant again. He’s rubbing his chin, and she’s shrugging and shaking her head. They’re up to something. Then she cuts in line and tells me that my weapons qualification has been pushed back, so I have one more day to practice.

  “What’s going on? Who was that sergeant?” I ask her as I look around, but he’s gone.

  She shrugs and loads up her pockets. I’m grateful for the extra day, but this is just downright weird. I mean, what’s it to him?

  —

  Somebody shakes me awake. I’m confused, but jump up and stand at attention, thinking it’s a middle-of-the-night locker check. When I finally focus, it’s Sheree, gesturing to keep quiet and follow.

  Now what?

  Apparently I had three hours of sleep, and she says that’s enough. I’m back at the firing range at zero dark stupid o’clock. Sheree sets me to work. I know I need the practice, so I go along, but I use the ear protection this time. I watch the moving target, bite my lip, and squeeze. I might have hit it!

  “It is difficult to hit the head when you’re in actual combat,” Sheree explains. “As your heart rate increases, your motor skills diminish. In order to inflict extreme violence you require an inner calm to do it with any accuracy. That’s why you use the double-tap tap. Two rapid shots in the heart, one in the head.”

  “The target could be wearing body armor, so the double-tap to the heart is to focus you, then you only have to raise your rifle by a hair for the kill shot.”

  Sheree demonstrates the double-tap tap and steps aside. I imitate her and yell “Heart! Heart! Head!” as I shoot. I don’t hit the heart, or the head.

  I have aimed at every kind of target—stationary, moving, simultaneous engagement of multiple targets—and from every position—prone, crouching, behind barricade, single-handed, low light. I still have terrible aim.

  Now it’s grenades. Sheree reminds me that, without the firing pin, the grenade is not our friend. Grenades sound easy.

  “Buddy, cover me while I move,” I say.

  “Gotcha covered, buddy,” Sheree replies.

  I go through the steps, say them in my head.

  Proper grip.

  Thumb to clip.

  Twist, pull pin.

  Sneak a peek.

  “I’m up,” I yell as I throw it. “I’m down.”

  “You did it!” Sheree says in exaggerated disbelief.

  I stick my tongue out at her, but I’m pleased. I want to go back to bed now, but I have pugil fighting. All the platoons are together for the pugil fightin
g, and I’m desperately hoping to see Jay. It’s only been three weeks, but it seems like three months.

  —

  I pull on the hard jacket, the helmet, and the groin guard and get fitted with the big gloves. There are four combat areas, marked by low walls made from piled sandbags. The sun is already too bright, and it’s only eight in the morning. It goes fast. I bash about with the giant padded stick for three rounds, and it’s over.

  I make eye contact with Jay and he grins back at me. He looks fantastic, even with his buzz cut. He motions to me and we sneak to the back of the watching crowd, where we won’t be seen. I jump at him, arms around his neck, fat wet kiss on the cheek. Jay gives me a little swing around, tells me how terrific I look.

  I do? I haven’t seen a mirror since I got here, part of that losing our personality thing. We catch up quick. He, of course, is qualifying at expert level for everything. I tell him about my terrible aim. Jay says I have to pretend I’m shooting at Blake. I give him another hug and feel a prickle on my neck. I turn to see that sergeant, leaning lazily against some sandbags, watching me. My eyes skid over to his and then away.

  I guess he meant it, about keeping an eye on me. But why? It makes no sense and I wish he’d just go away. I turn back and give him my best glare.

  “Jess.” Jay nudges me. “Something’s up.”

  Four jeeps and a tank come tearing across the desert toward us. The soldiers on board are all whooping and hollering like mad, one of them is pounding the SAW, the machine gun, shooting at nothing. They’ve come back from a mission, Jay tells me. Everyone around us cheers them on as they make a wide arc in front of us.

  “How many skids they got?” a boy in front of us asks as he goes up on his toes for a better look.

  A thick metal chain hangs from the back of one of the jeeps. A cold, awful, wave of revulsion runs through me when I see what that chain is dragging across the desert. Bodies. Their arms are stretched out above their heads, bound to the ankles of the body behind them. A mangled, monstrous, human daisy chain. There are seven of them. The first one in line, with his legs bound to the metal chain, has one arm stretching at an impossible and unnatural angle behind his head; it is going to rip right off. I hope they were dead before this grotesque parade started.