Race the Night

by Kirsten Hubbard

  “What’re you looking at, cloudface?” Jay asked.

  “I’m practicing telepathy, too,” Eider said. “Ew, Jay. You’re gross. Why are you thinking about that?”

  Jay’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t—whatever. Go away.”

  After dinner, Linnet called Eider’s name. “Could I talk to you?” she asked.

  Eider shook her head. “Not right now.”

  “But—”

  “I said I can’t talk right now, Linnet!”

  Eider jogged straight for her trailer, hoping Linnet wouldn’t follow. It wasn’t time for bed yet, but she climbed onto her bed and scooted against the wall, hugging her knees, as the sky outside the window deepened into blue evening. At some point she heard the other girls come in, but she pretended to be asleep.

  Eider didn’t know what to do. Or even what to think. Her thoughts spun around and around in her head, all except one:

  Am I really named after a pillow?

  She felt like a pillow. Soft and useless. Push too hard and she’d explode into fluff: windborne, air and nothing.

  Eider had met someone from Beyond. An Other Person, with lumpy shoes and moving-picture magic. Not dangerous-seeming in the slightest. Or suffering. He seemed like he was doing just fine. He was cheerful, even!

  And all Eider had done was stand there, gaping like a dead sea fish. Then she’d sent him the wrong way. She hoped he’d made it home okay. Wherever home was. In a desert ranch, like theirs? Or in a town? A city?

  Where did Other People live?

  Eider was desperate to know more. But it might be years before Teacher told them. Who could Eider ask, besides Teacher? Nurse was useless. The Handyman wouldn’t even talk to the kids. And besides them, no voices entered the desert ranch but Teacher’s.

  Then again…

  Eider sat up in bed.

  EIDER HAD NEVER ENTERED THE BOYS’ TRAILER AT NIGHT. But there was a first time for everything.

  Jay was snoring with his mouth open. No wonder Finch hadn’t heard her tapping. Eider poked Finch in the side until he woke.

  “Ow!” Finch protested. “Why’re you girls always poking me?”

  “Sorry. Can you come outside? I need to talk to you, but I don’t want to wake Jay.”

  “Jay sleeps like a boulder.” Grudgingly, Finch pulled on his boots and followed Eider down the steps.

  “So I’ve been thinking about your radio…” Eider began.

  Finch looked like he’d been struck.

  “Why do you look so—Finch, I’d never tell Teacher on you! Don’t you know that?” The relief in his face annoyed her. “That’s not what this is about. It’s just been so long since we’ve listened to your radio, and I’ve been thinking about it. About the voice we heard.”

  “Just one word,” he said. “Nothing ever again.”

  “But we never tried again.”

  Finch raised his eyebrows, until it dawned on Eider that of course he’d tried again. On his own. It bothered Eider, even though it was her own fault for ignoring his meaningful glances. Now she understood why Avis hated being left out.

  “Okay, fine,” she said. “But…wouldn’t we only hear it when somebody is broadcasting? So like, at certain times? Or certain days of the week?”

  “Maybe, but how would we know? We can’t just leave it on constantly.”

  “Well, sure. But what I’m saying is—I don’t think we’ve given it enough of a chance. I think we need to try more. We know Other People are out there. Teacher confirmed it!”

  “Evil people.”

  “But do you really think everyone is evil?”

  Finch lifted one shoulder.

  “Because I don’t. Because…” Eider lowered her voice to the slightest breath of air, softer than a whisper. “I met somebody when I was exploring. A man.”

  Finch froze. Long enough that she wondered if he hadn’t understood her. But he had. “I’ll meet you at the slabs in ten minutes.”

  Eider told Finch all about Charles the Hiker.

  She’d been hesitant at first. Secrets were a bigger deal than ever now. If Teacher somehow got it out of Finch that Eider had met a real, live Other Person out there in the desert and hadn’t run to tell her…

  Discipline seemed like a bigger deal now, too.

  More possible, anyway. But Eider trusted Finch—lately, more than anyone. And so, she described the hiker’s beard, his red bandana, his lumpy blue shoes. Her description of the moving-picture device set a fire in his eyes. But not as much as her insistence that Charles hadn’t seemed evil, or dangerous, or even ill-hearted—that he’d been nice.

  “And funny,” Eider said.

  At that, Finch laughed. Eider did too. How funny that the man had been funny.

  For the next few days, they listened to the radio every night. It didn’t seem to matter where they met: at the slabs, in the storage room, underneath the date palms. All they heard was the dull, grainy roar.

  In the daytime, they continued with their lessons, as usual: hop-hop-hopping through obstacle course tires, tackling increasingly harder Extrasensory lessons, jotting down notes from the World Book. In Practical, the kids finished R and moved on to S, which was two whole volumes long: S–Sn, and So–Sz.

  One afternoon during Free Play, Eider thumbed through the first volume. The pages for Sea were missing. It didn’t really matter—they’d studied Ocean ages ago. But it was strange, just the same. The way Radio had been missing, too.

  Was it a coincidence? Or did it have deeper meaning?

  It was hard to tell.

  During Quiet Time one evening, Finch was late to the date grove. Eider waited in the trees, listening to the breeze shudder the palm fronds. She marveled at how dark it was without her penlight on. Dark, though nowhere near complete.

  She thought about her fairytale book. She had no idea where she’d left it—just sitting someplace, under a shrub. Her heart ached, remembering. It’d get ruined for sure. The desert devoured anything left outside for long.

  At least she’d memorized everything inside. Well, everything except the housing-development pamphlet, though she could still picture the dark-haired family when she closed her eyes.

  A footstep crunched nearby. Eider hid behind a palm trunk until she was sure it was Finch.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Jay wanted to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Avis. He says he has a crush on her.”

  “Really?” Eider’s mouth fell open. “Jay and Avis? They hate each other!”

  “I guess not.”

  “Finch, don’t you think maybe that’s the sort of thing you should have kept to yourself?”

  Finch blinked, then blinked again. “Oh. I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “It’s kind of obvious!” Eider couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Sometimes you seem like a man from the moon. Anyway. Did anyone see you come out here?”

  “Teacher is in her office. Jay’s asleep.”

  “Great.” Eider sat down with her back against a palm, watching Finch set up the radio. It still resembled a broken robot. She wondered what it would have looked like if the Radio section hadn’t been missing. “Hey, Finch?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why do you think pages are missing from the World Books?”

  He glanced at her. “I’m not sure. They’re super old—could be lots of reasons.”

  “You don’t think there’s anything…” Eider tried to choose her words carefully. “…anything on purpose about it? Like, about the particular pages that are missing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged, because she wasn’t sure herself. Only half-formed thoughts going tap-tap-tap on her brain. “I guess I’m just wondering if they have something in common.”

  “Hmm,” Finch said. His fingers began their usual dance, jostling wires, tapping knobs, and so forth. And suddenly, the grainy hum became a voice.

  “Don’t move!” Eider whispered.


  …STORM.

  “Okay, that was definitely storm,” Finch said.

  IT’S IMPORTANT THAT…

  WHEN…THE STORM COMING…

  “Is this one of your news reports?” Eider asked.

  “How would I know?” Finch said. “Shh.”

  AS LONG AS WE…

  …IS A THREAT.

  …THE SPECIAL ONES. WHEN THE DANGER ARRIVES…

  UNLESS…NOBODY WILL BE SAFE.

  A half minute passed, where they couldn’t make out anything. Then:

  …BECAUSE THE END IS VERY NEAR.

  Then a click, and the raspy, blurry voice vanished into silence. No grainy roar or dusty hum. Nothing.

  “Wow,” Eider said, the only word she could manage.

  “Yeah,” Finch agreed.

  They sat there a moment longer. Then he shut off the radio.

  Eider had just climbed into bed when the alarm began.

  Eeeeeee. Eeeeeee. Eeeeeee.

  Her stomach dropped. What if it had sounded a few minutes earlier, when they’d been at the slabs? She didn’t know which worried her more, now: the threat of discipline, or the potential danger.

  WHEN THE DANGER ARRIVES…

  “Hurry!” shouted Avis, pulling on her boots.

  The boys were already in the shelter when the girls arrived. Jay, looking groggy. And Finch, looking panicked—because he was holding the radio.

  “Finch!” Eider said with a gasp. “I can’t believe you brought that!”

  “I didn’t have enough time to hide it….”

  “Hide what?” Avis asked.

  “Yeah, what is that, anyway?” Jay asked, a little less groggy now.

  Finch hid the radio behind his back. “Just a contraption.”

  “A what? Let me see.”

  Jay made a grab for it, but Eider knocked his arm away. “It’s none of your business!” she shouted, planting herself in front of him. Linnet backed into a corner, sniffling.

  “So it’s a secret?” Jay said. “What would Teacher think about it?”

  “Is that supposed to be a threat, you oaf? I didn’t tell anyone about your creepy collection!”

  “Don’t call it creepy! You know it isn’t!”

  “What’s he talking about?” Avis asked Eider.

  “Not now, Avis. Jay, this is important—”

  “Then when?” Avis interrupted. “What else aren’t you telling me, Eider?”

  “Nothing! I—”

  The shelter door opened, and they all went quiet. They must have missed the sound of the key in the lock. “I heard yelling,” Nurse said. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” all five kids said at once.

  Nurse rarely noticed anything. But he noticed Finch’s arms behind his back, the nervous-rabbit twitch in his face. “What’s that you’ve got there, buddy?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing. Give it here.”

  With shaking hands, Finch surrendered his radio.

  Nurse’s brow furrowed as he examined it. “Is this a…? No, it can’t be. But then again…” He ran a hand over his flat, bald head. “I think Teacher needs to know about this. Come along with me, Finch.”

  Finch stumbled after Nurse, head hanging. Eider followed. So did the other kids. If Nurse saw, he didn’t stop them.

  He knocked on the door to Teacher’s office. She opened it, then, seeing everyone, slipped out too quickly for Eider to peek inside.

  “What is it?” Teacher asked Nurse irritably. “Why’d you—What are they all doing here? There was an alarm. What are you thinking?”

  “I know, but—” Nurse began.

  “All I ask is that you do as I say. It could be dangerous.”

  Nurse’s cheeks were pink now. “Of course, of course. But I heard them shouting. When I opened the door, Finch was holding this.” He handed over the radio.

  Teacher examined it, turning it over. She wasn’t gentle with it, like Finch was. “Is this a radio? Finch, where did you get this?”

  “I—I made it,” he replied.

  “How could you possibly? Where did you get the parts?”

  “Um…” He swallowed. “Here and there, you know. Around.”

  “I’m sure,” Teacher said, in a voice that clearly meant the opposite. “Is it functional? Did you hear anything?”

  “I—”

  “All we heard was crackling,” Eider interjected.

  Teacher’s eyes blazed in her direction. “You were part of this, too?”

  “She didn’t build it,” Finch said. “That was only me.”

  “Yeah,” Eider said, “but I encouraged him. I helped him look for the parts.”

  “No, she didn’t, I did that all on my own—”

  “Quiet!” Teacher held up a hand. “I know you both. Better even than you know yourselves. Eider couldn’t build something like this without Finch’s help. And Finch wouldn’t build something like this without Eider’s encouragement.”

  Eider and Finch looked at each other. “That’s not…” they began in unison, then stopped.

  “It doesn’t even work,” Avis said.

  “So you knew about this, too?” Teacher said.

  Avis turned violet. “I don’t…I didn’t…”

  In one swift motion, Teacher slammed the radio onto the ground.

  Crunch.

  Now it really did look like a broken robot. Finch jerked toward it, but Eider grabbed his elbow to stop him. Even Nurse looked shocked.

  “You’re very smart, Finch.” The calm in Teacher’s voice was more frightening than any shout. “I should have known that one of these days, your curiosity might steer you in the wrong direction. It’s a strong force—a disease, almost. A disease of the mind.”

  “But I—” Finch began, but Teacher held up a hand again.

  “Should I take the kiddos back to the shelter?” Nurse asked.

  Teacher glared at him. “It was just a drill,” she said. “Finch, I’d like you to meet me in the classroom before breakfast tomorrow. It’s time for a little talk.”

  Eider worried late into the night. About the radio broadcast and its confusing, chilling words. About Finch and what his discipline might be.

  Even when she managed to fall asleep, the apprehension swirled into her dreams. She was trapped alone while the world raged outside: storms, tidal waves, the zap-bang-pow of a war that wasn’t games at all.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Those weren’t dream sounds—they were real. Eider sat up in bed. The faintest light shone through the trailer windows. It was morning, but barely.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “I’ll bet it’s the Handyman,” Avis replied from her bed.

  “Are you sure?” Linnet asked.

  “If it was a danger, there’d be an alarm, wouldn’t there? Go back to sleep.”

  But Eider couldn’t sleep, not until she knew for sure. Even though it was risky, she pulled on her boots and slipped outside, then jogged to the top of the rise.

  Avis had been right. From Eider’s vantage point, she could see the Handyman crouched beside the fence—right where the gap was. Tall wooden planks were stacked on the ground beside him.

  As she watched, he took a piece of wood and leaned it against another.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  FINCH WASN’T AT BREAKFAST THE NEXT DAY. At lunch, he arrived at the dining area late and ate his meal (spotted beans and brown rice, just okay) without looking up.

  Had he gotten disciplined?

  Eider couldn’t tell. His eyes looked a little puffy, but otherwise, he seemed normal. She was still dying to discuss what they’d heard on the radio, but she needed to know he was okay first.

  As they passed under the twin windmills after lunch, she managed to grab his arm.

  “I’m so sorry, Finch,” she whispered.

  He shook her off. “It’s okay. Forget it.”

  “But it was my fault,
as much as it was yours. Did you get disciplined?”

  Finch nodded. The windmills spun overhead, his face changing from sun to shade, sun to shade. “She took my…” He cringed, as if the agony was too great to bear. “She took my notebooks.”

  “Your notebooks?” Eider had braced herself for something truly terrible. Now a snort of laughter escaped. “That’s all? That’s not bad.”

  “Maybe not for you.”

  “But they were only World Book notes, right? Who cares! You can always read the books again—”

  “It wasn’t just World Book notes.”

  Eider paused. “Oh.”

  “I had lots in there. Plans, and ideas, and—and other things. She knew. She knew what I cared the most about, and she took it away.”

  Avis’s haircut, Eider realized. It had happened after her little talk with Teacher. Something twisted deep in Eider’s middle. “Can we get them back?”

  “No, she—she burned them.” Finch looked like he was trying not to cry. “Now what’s the point? What’s the point of doing anything anymore?”

  “Finch, you can’t think that way….”

  “How would you feel, Eider? If you lost the thing that mattered most to you in the entire world?”

  Without waiting for her to answer, Finch hurried off.

  Eider lingered under the windmills, letting the distance between them grow. Trying not to cry herself. She hated herself for laughing at Finch. For not understanding, even for a moment. Because she realized she had been disciplined. And she’d never gotten over it.

  How would you feel, Eider? If you lost the thing that mattered most to you in the entire world?

  “I did,” Eider said softly.

  In the days that followed, Eider thought things might change again. But in a hopeful way. That after Teacher had destroyed Finch’s radio, the kids might come together. Talk openly in ways they never had, about their fears, worries, and doubts.

  Instead, the opposite happened—they hardly spoke at all.