Race the Night

by Kirsten Hubbard

  “But it didn’t end for everyone,” Avis had said.

  “No, not for everyone,” Teacher had agreed. “Not for you.”

  She’d smiled at them, kid by kid, around the entire table.

  “You children are brilliant and special and purehearted. That’s why you’re here right now. You are better. You are more. You are truly good.”

  Hearing that had usually made Eider feel proud. But that time, she’d squinted a bit. Jay, truly good? She’d just seen him push Finch into a tumbleweed that morning. And Eider had laughed, which meant she wasn’t all that pure-hearted herself.

  “What happened to Other People?” Eider had asked.

  “What do you mean?” Teacher had replied.

  “All the people besides us. When the world ended, what happened to them?”

  Teacher’s smile had faded. “It doesn’t matter,” she’d said, waving her hand. “They’re not here anymore. Which means—it means they’re not anything we should worry about. They’re not suffering in the world as it is now.

  “You’re the luckiest children in the world,” Teacher reminded them. “You have everything you need. You’re safe and surrounded by people who care about you. You get to live out your lives. You exist.”

  Eider did feel lucky.

  Everywhere else, the world had ended. But at the desert ranch, it went on. That was the important part, even if there weren’t any automobiles or circuses or pumpkin coaches. At the desert ranch, the world still existed.

  And so did they.

  EIDER THOUGHT TEACHER MIGHT SCOLD THEM about the war games, but she didn’t.

  In fact, she spoke very little. During Practical, she had the kids read section after section, with none of her usual discussion. She just watched them perplexedly, like she’d realized she didn’t know them at all.

  Her mood affected everyone. After Physical, which they’d spent running around the fence, Eider overheard Nurse ask Teacher if everything was okay.

  “Not if you keep asking ridiculous questions,” Teacher snapped back.

  By dinnertime (canned sausages, rice, and stewed tomatoes, yuck), Teacher was already in her office. The kids ate in quiet discomfort, clearing their plates even though they knew she wouldn’t check.

  “Quiet Time for the rest of the evening,” Nurse said, with none of his usual loopiness. In fact, his face resembled the mean dog’s, right after the Handyman yelled.

  Everything felt wrong. And it was all Jay’s fault.

  Maybe not entirely, but mostly. Playing war had been his idea. And what was more, he’d brought up Robin, when he knew he wasn’t supposed to. Stupid, buffalo-brained Jay, whom Eider had never liked or trusted.

  She couldn’t let him get away with it.

  Eider waited for the other kids to disperse. Just like she expected, Jay disappeared into his trailer, then reappeared with a box.

  She followed him.

  Unlike Eider’s secret papers and Avis’s scraps and Finch’s odds and ends, Jay’s collection was creepy. Freaky, even. Eider watched him open the box and place each item on the ground behind his trailer.

  The skull of a coyote.

  Snail shells with the snails missing.

  A crispy, withered rattlesnake skin.

  A rattlesnake rattle.

  Worst of all, an entire board of bugs with nails through them. Moths with their wings spread. Shiny black stinkbugs. Right in the center, a wicked-looking scorpion. Eider hated scorpions almost as much as rattlesnakes. Jay must have caught the bugs, stabbed them, and mounted them so he could—well, do whatever he did with his dead things.

  As Eider approached him, she felt nervous, but she knew she couldn’t show it. She plunked her hands on her hips and used her most overbearing, Avis-like voice.

  “Hey there, oaf! Nice collection.”

  “What are you doing here?” Instantly, Jay started putting his creatures back inside the box. His big hands fumbled, knocking over the coyote skull.

  “You made Teacher upset with us,” Eider said. “You and your stupid war games.”

  “Me? You all played, too!”

  “Yeah, but you started it.” She took a deep breath. “And—and why’d you bring up—why’d you…”

  “Spit it out, cloudface.”

  After so much time swallowing her sister’s name, Eider discovered her mouth refused to form it. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Jay mimicked.

  Eider scowled. Avis had been right—Jay was just a jerk. “Why are you so mean all the time?” she demanded. “No wonder nobody trusts you.”

  “So what?” He replaced the lid on his box. “It’s not like I trust you either.”

  “You don’t trust me?” Even though it was only Jay, Eider felt extremely offended. “Why not?”

  “You’re always up to something. You’re sneaky.”

  “I’m not sneaky!”

  “Yes, you are. Or you think you are, but you’re not. All that stuff you’re up to, it’s obvious. Maybe not to Teacher, but to the rest of us.”

  Eider didn’t know what to say. Because it was true, of course. She was always sneaking around—to the slabs, the storage room, through the gap in the fence. She’d thought she’d been getting away with it, but the other kids had noticed.

  How long before Teacher noticed, too?

  Eider cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not the only one sneaking around. Why would anyone collect dead things? Like that board of stabbed bugs—did you kill them yourself?”

  “What?” Jay looked gravely insulted. “I didn’t kill them!”

  “Then who did?”

  “They died of natural causes! However things die normally—I just found them. I pinned them to the board so I could see them better.”

  Eider wrinkled her nose. “Why do you want to see them?”

  “Because they’re interesting.”

  “How are dead bugs interesting? They’re disgusting.”

  “No, they’re not,” Jay insisted. “I like looking at their wings and exoskeletons. Seeing how they fit together.”

  “Why don’t you look at them when they’re alive?”

  “I try when I can. But how am I supposed to get a good look at a rattlesnake when it’s alive? Or a scorpion? Or a stinkbug? Even moths and beetles won’t sit still.”

  “It’s still weird.”

  Jay looked exasperated. “Just because something’s not interesting to you doesn’t mean it’s not interesting to someone else.”

  Eider remembered how Avis rolled her eyes when she spoke about the sea. Or how Eider never understood Finch’s odds and ends, his metal scraps and snarls of wires. Until he turned them into a radio—then she was interested. She shook her head, feeling a little ashamed. Jay was wiser than his dopey tree-trunk voice suggested.

  “I guess that makes sense,” Eider said. “Sorry I was mean about your collection.”

  Jay frowned at her, like an apology was the last thing he expected. Then he shrugged his brawny shoulders. “It’s all right, cloudface. I’m sorry….” He waved his hand dismissively, like Teacher did. But it was good enough for Eider.

  “Why do you hide your collection, anyway?” she asked. “If it’s only for studying?”

  He stared a moment longer, like he didn’t have a good answer. Then he picked up his box and hurried away.

  During Quiet Time, Eider hovered outside the storage room. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to go inside.

  Then a poke between her wingbones made her jump. She turned to find Finch, looking more animated than usual.

  “I’m ready to try again,” he said. “I found another battery. I think it might be the solution.”

  “You found a battery? Where?”

  “In that same ravine we explored before. I went during Quiet Time yesterday.”

  Eider’s jaw dropped. “You went exploring by yourself?”

  Finch wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t go very far. Can we meet
this evening? At the slabs?”

  Eider was all set to say yes, but then she hesitated. You’re always up to something, Jay had said. You’re sneaky. The same reason she hadn’t entered the storage room yet.

  But what if the radio did work? And she wasn’t there to hear it? Eider had read the phrase “partners in crime” in a book long ago, and she finally understood it. At least if she and Finch got in trouble, they’d get in trouble together.

  “Of course,” she said.

  Finch grinned. “If possible, could you try to come without waking…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but Eider knew what he meant.

  “Just me,” she said.

  The crunch of footsteps interrupted them. “Oh, whoopsie!” Nurse said. “What are you two doing over here?”

  Eider was glad they were standing outside the storage room, not in it. “Studying,” she said breezily. An excuse that always worked with Nurse. “Finch had a bunch of questions about today’s lesson.”

  “I did not,” Finch said.

  Eider kicked him in the ankle.

  “Studying! That’s what Teacher and I like to hear. Much better than pickle stealing, am I right?”

  “Pickle stealing?” Finch repeated.

  Nurse tweaked Finch’s nose. “This is no place to study, anyhow. How about I walk you back to your trailers?”

  “Sure,” Eider said.

  “I don’t even like pickles,” Finch muttered.

  That night, Eider waited until the other girls’ breathing was even. Then she pulled on her boots, tiptoed down the trailer steps, and crept into the night.

  A slight breeze disrupted the dark—not really strong enough for papers to come, although you never knew. But its electric whisper made the desert feel alive. Like anything could happen. Like maybe there really was music in the air. Or voices from Beyond, just waiting to be captured by Finch’s radio.

  A light was on in Teacher’s office, but Eider couldn’t see into it. None of the kids had ever been inside. As if the rusty old sign in front of the spike applied to it, too.

  NO TRESPASSING

  KEEP OUT

  None of the kids had been inside Teacher’s trailer, either. One evening, though, Eider had seen Teacher standing at its window. She’d been lantern-lit from behind, gazing out at the desert. Her long, white hair had hung loose. As Eider had watched, she’d gathered it over one shoulder and run a brush through it, again and again. But her eyes had been the strangest part: they’d looked so sad.

  The memory still made Eider feel funny. It was the most human Teacher had ever seemed.

  Finch was already waiting at the cement slabs. He wore his jacket over his nightshirt, the hood pulled over his head. The radio sat beside him. If he’d swapped one of the wires, Eider couldn’t tell.

  “Have you tried it yet?” Eider asked, sitting on the other side of the radio.

  Finch’s hood fell off as he nodded. “I heard something.”

  “You…” She paused to take a deeper breath. Somewhere, a night bird cried out. “What did you hear?”

  “I’m not sure—I turned it off.”

  “Why in the world did you do that?”

  “I got nervous.”

  Eider laughed. “Finch, you’re so weird! Why did you get nervous?”

  “Because…what if I was wrong? What if it doesn’t work?” Finch paused. “Or what if…what if it does?”

  They sat with that thought for a silent moment.

  “Let’s do it,” Eider said. She had an urge to take Finch’s hand. That was what she would have done if it were Avis. But Finch wasn’t her best friend.

  He reached for the tiny knob. Touched two wires together. The same crackly sound whispered through the speakers. “I know I heard something,” he said. “I know it.”

  He kept messing with it, wiggling the wires, tapping the knob ever so gently. Eider listened hard. And then—almost imperceptibly at first—the crackly hum sharpened. Clarified. Into what sounded like…a voice.

  A voice!

  A real, live human voice.

  Eider pressed her knuckles against her mouth with one hand, then grabbed Finch’s arm with the other. She could hardly believe it. She couldn’t believe it! Definitely a voice. Not singing, but talking. A talking voice—broadcast from Beyond.

  But…the voice was grainy. A voice with ants running through it. Impossible to understand.

  “This is so frustrating!” Eider exclaimed.

  “That almost sounded like—” Finch began. “No, maybe not.”

  Unable to hold back any longer, Eider reached out and tapped the knob herself. Immediately, the voice sharpened.

  “There it is!” Finch whispered. “Listen!”

  Heart racing, Eider closed her eyes and listened as hard as she could. Sifting through the sound, like she had during their first Extrasensory lesson. Bundling it in her clenched fists. Then her eyes flew open.

  “Storm,” she said.

  “Storm?” Finch repeated.

  Eider nodded, her insides flip-flopping. “I heard it. I heard the word storm.”

  “Are you sure? I think it sounded more like warm. Or worm.”

  “Why would it be worm?”

  “Why would it be storm? It barely ever rains here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Let’s keep listening.”

  But no matter how much they jostled the knob and wires, they couldn’t make out any other words. Before long, the voice died out. All that remained was that hushed, frustrating crackle.

  They’d captured just the smallest windblown scrap of a story. A World Book with just one page left: Storm. (Because it definitely wasn’t worm.)

  But it was enough. For now, anyway.

  Because the most important message of all came through loud and clear. Not only were there Other People still out there, after the end of the world—but there were people broadcasting.

  People who wanted to be heard.

  EIDER WALKED BACK TO HER TRAILER IN A DAZE. Before she’d even shut the door, Avis asked, “Where’d you go?”

  “To the outhouse,” Eider whispered, kicking off her boots and climbing into bed.

  “Yeah, right. You were gone too long for that.”

  “I got a drink of water, too.”

  Linnet’s bed creaked. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Eider told her. “Everybody go to sleep.”

  Avis didn’t say anything.

  Eider knew she should feel sorry for leaving her out. Especially after she’d defended Eider during the war games. But right now, Eider’s emotions were too preoccupied. Whirling, spinning, spiraling like a dust devil in her chest.

  Other People.

  Those two words echoed in Eider’s head all night. And all morning. With every footstep in the crunchy desert dirt. With every clink of her spoon in her oatmeal bowl. With every meaningful glance from Finch, until she told him to quit it.

  Other People, Eider thought as she waited her turn at the obstacle course. During her checkup with Nurse. As Avis read the Railroads section in World Book Q–R with a yawn in her voice.

  It was like Finch had said. The world was big. Huge! Once upon a time, Eider had walked forever and hadn’t gotten far at all. In all that vastness, of course there were others. Others who looked outward, the same way she did. Others with the kinds of radios that broadcasted.

  What if Finch could make one of those next?

  The idea was exhilarating—and terrifying. If Eider could speak to Other People, what would she say? She didn’t have a message for anyone. Only questions—so many questions. Questions she’d wanted to ask Teacher, but hadn’t been able to.

  One question stood out the most:

  Do you know about the Other People?

  And if Teacher did know, had known this whole time…why hadn’t she told them?

  As Eider watched Finch’s clumsy stumble through the obstacle course, she tried to remember what Teacher had told them. It wasn’t easy. She’d told t
he kids there was nobody left, though. Almost definitely.

  Hadn’t she?

  Eider couldn’t quite remember if Teacher had said it, or had only implied it. She did remember what Teacher had said about the sea.

  “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, Eider. I’ve told you time and again, there’s nothing left.”

  But that wasn’t strictly true. Sure, there weren’t mermaids or narwhals. But the sea still had water—plenty of water. Sand made of fish bones was still sand. So what did Teacher mean by “nothing”? Nothing good? Nothing worth seeing or talking about?

  Were the Other People not worth talking about?

  Eider wished she could approach Teacher the way she’d used to. When she’d asked her questions instead of stockpiled them. The rattlesnake fever had changed everything. Trying to run away had changed everything.

  Back then, Eider had believed in Other People. She’d had hope—just no proof.

  Now she might have actual proof. And she was more confused than ever.

  “Today’s Extrasensory lesson is about telepathy,” Teacher announced. She didn’t seem disappointed in the kids anymore. In fact, she seemed upbeat. Even excited.

  It made Eider feel a little excited herself, which was a relief. Her endless loop of questions was starting to strangle her brain.

  Jay raised his hand. “Telepathy? Is that like telephone?”

  “No, it’s…” Teacher tapped her chin with her long fingers. “Actually, I suppose the words have the same root. They’re both about sending messages from one place to another, from one person to another. Telephones, telegraphs. Even radios.”

  Eider felt Finch’s eyes on her, but she didn’t turn to look.

  “But with telepathy, you’ll only use your minds. Same with telekinesis. And teleportation.”

  Unfamiliar words, but they seemed to excite Teacher even more.

  “Those lessons are far, far down the line, though,” she said. “You’ll have to master these easy ones first.”

  “Easy?” Avis whispered.

  Teacher went on. “We used telepathy in our last Extrasensory lesson. Or tried to, anyway. I’ve had a few days to contemplate what went wrong, and I believe it was the cards themselves. The cards got in the way.