The Last Girl

by Joe Hart

  None of them had commented on the activity in the sky.

  Now the tension is something that Zoey can feel in the air. With each degree the sun falls, the river is leeched of more color. Soon it is a dark ribbon cruising past them, its constant rush adding to the apprehension instead of calming her nerves.

  Zoey looks up as the other three come to sit with her beneath the overhang. She can no longer see anyone’s features in the gloom.

  “Sure wish we could have a fire,” Eli says. “Could almost pretend we were camping out.”

  “Yeah, maybe a couple cold beers to go with some hot food,” Tia murmurs.

  “Okay, gotta stop talkin’ about it. Shit’ll drive me nuts,” Eli says.

  “Did people used to go camping for fun?” Zoey asks.

  “Oh yeah, all the time,” Eli says. “People used to do a lotta shit for fun, before everything went to hell.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like go swimming,” Chelsea said. “Janie and I would swim almost every weekend in the summer. Our parents used to take us when she was really little, and I kept doing it after they passed.”

  “I miss the movies,” Tia says. “Used to go a lot. We had a big theater near our place in Seattle, one of the kind that had the screen that was curved. I can still taste the butter on the popcorn. It probably plugged up a few of my arteries, but I’m pretty sure I’d drink a gallon of it straight right now.”

  Eli shivers. “Nearly made me throw up.”

  “Weak constitution.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ weak about me, woman, you know that.”

  “Besides your mind and sense of humor,” Tia says.

  “Don’t know why you don’t just confess your love for me. Could be a beautiful thing.”

  Chelsea nudges Zoey and laughs quietly. She smiles and gazes at them in turn. At first she thought that the group was made of companions depending on one another simply for survival, but as she spends more and more time with them, it’s clear they are so much more than that. She’s imagined what her life would have been like if she had grown up with her parents, how different everything would seem, but she could never get a true handle on what it would be like to have a family. She still doesn’t, but she realizes now a family is exactly what she’s looking at.

  “Think we should check in with Merrill?” Zoey asks Chelsea, pushing away the bittersweet sensation.

  A rumbling almost imperceptible to the ear comes from the west. Zoey feels it in her chest before she registers what it is.

  Thunder.

  They stiffen and wait for the sound to repeat itself. After another minute it does.

  Chelsea fiddles with the headset hanging around her neck. Her eyes widen. “Are you sure? Okay.” She stands. “Ian said he just saw lightning not more than twenty miles away. The storm’s coming.”

  “Let’s get ready,” Eli says.

  They move to the boat and uncover it. Zoey fumbles in the dark, trying to help where she can, but stays out of the way mostly. The handgun Merrill gave her is heavy in its holster on her hip. She grips the handle, feeling a modicum of comfort from its heft.

  As quietly as they can, they lift the boat from its mooring and walk sideways with it into the water. Several times the aluminum bumps a rock and Zoey cringes. Thunder rolls again and this time it has more power, lingering longer in the sky. Then there is a purplish jump of light, the lightning blooming in the bowels of several clouds. It is getting closer.

  Without speaking, they climb into the floating vessel, and Eli shoves them into the current.

  Tia starts the motor, its sound all but muted now by the wind and the murmurs of the storm. They begin to glide up the river, their speed barely enough to keep them moving against the current.

  “Remember, Tia and Eli at the front, me at the back,” Chelsea says, touching Zoey’s arm. “You guide us, and we don’t stop for anything, we keep moving until we’re back out and into the boat.” Zoey nods, her heart beginning to pummel her rib cage. The muscles in her arms and legs have become water. She flexes her hands and rotates her ankles, all the while trying to keep her breathing under control.

  The dark landscape slides inexorably past, the bend in the river coming closer with each minute.

  A glow begins to fill up the sky above the closest bluff facing the water.

  The floodlights. Oh God, Zoey thinks, I’m home.

  Chelsea hands her a small headset of her own and she dons it, poking the single earpiece in her left ear. “You’ll be able to hear everyone and if you want to talk to us, just start speaking, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Zoey, that you?” Merrill’s voice says into her ear as if he’s only feet away.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We’re all set here. Newton and I are in position.”

  “No trouble with the guard?”

  “No. We’re inside the station, but it won’t take long for them to know something’s wrong after the power goes out. The guard had a radio attached to his uniform. The first thing they’ll do is try to raise him on it, and when that doesn’t work they’ll send out a repair team along with more guards just in case. You’ll need to be very fast. The storm’s almost above us.”

  As if on cue, a light patter of rain begins to fall, dropping in cold points on her exposed skin.

  “Tia,” Merrill says. “As soon as the lights are out, that’s your signal to get into position. If a sniper spots you, Ian will take him out.”

  “Probably not before one of us goes down,” Tia says.

  Merrill ignores the comment. “Wait for the signal. Good luck.”

  They all tell him the same, and the earpiece goes silent.

  Thunder booms, so much closer, shaking the extended sides of the boat. The lights continue to burn, creating a halo behind the bluff.

  Time seems to still, stretching out, punctuated only by Zoey’s rapid heartbeat. How long will they have to wait? Minutes? Hours? Her jacket begins to plaster to her back, moisture running down her sides into her waistline. She grips the seat under her.

  There is an incandescent flash so bright it blinds her for a split second. She can see the afterimages of the electricity imprinted in her vision.

  Zoey blinks, straining to look past the bluff.

  Darkness.

  “Go,” Merrill says in the earpiece.

  The boat leaps forward silently and Zoey clings to her seat. The black shores scroll past as another sound begins to build. A raw gushing that she remembers so well it forces her eyes shut.

  They round the bend, and the ARC comes into view.

  It is a monolithic shadow rising above them. The outlines of the walls towering over the straight line of the dam behind it is enough to suck the breath from her lungs. There is only the faintest glow emanating from what she knows is the landing pad on the roof of the main building.

  The boat closes the distance, the ARC growing taller and wider with each second. She hears Eli swear quietly in her earpiece, and she agrees. It is something to be cursed.

  The wind cuts across the water, tugging at her hair, and one of the collapsible sides folds toward her. Without thinking, Zoey jams her arm into its path, stopping it from clanging against the interior of the boat. Pain blooms from her elbow up. It’s so sudden and sharp, a bout of nausea boils in her center. Then Chelsea is lifting the side back into position and the aching pressure is gone. She rubs at the place where it struck her but she’s not bleeding.

  She mouths I’m okay to Chelsea and the other woman nods, turning back around toward the approaching compound.

  The huge concrete stilts the ARC is built on hold it nearly five feet above the water. They will be able to pass underneath its base, barely.

  Zoey watches the walls as more and more detail becomes clear. There is the closest sniper nest, along with the man occupying it. He’s yelling something that is lost in another blast of thunder, and she cringes as lightning rips across the sky. They are held there for a second, pinned ben
eath the light in the center of the river fifty yards away from the structure.

  If he looks down now, we’re dead, she thinks. There’s nowhere to hide.

  The boat keeps moving and darkness floods back in, blanketing them.

  She holds her breath.

  Forty yards.

  No shots.

  Thirty.

  Twenty.

  Another shout from the wall.

  Ten.

  Five.

  They slide beneath the ARC, its mass above them like some colossal animal standing on many legs.

  “We’re under,” Chelsea says into her headset.

  Tia guides the boat between the massive supports, and Chelsea turns on a flashlight that shoots a soft, red beam out several yards. The sound of the river’s passage is magnified beneath the structure, the water falling from the dam’s spillway a roaring that fills the air. At the corner of her vision, movement catches Zoey’s eye. She squints through the darkness but can’t make out anything until another stuttering pulse of lightning cuts the night.

  Several long boats bob in the current beside a platform that’s mounted to the ARC’s wall. What looks like a small service elevator runs up and out of sight. That’s how the repair team would reach the shore. But with the power out, they’ll have to find another way down to the boats. That will buy them time.

  “Zoey, where’s the laundry room?” Tia asks in her earpiece. Zoey brings her gaze back from the boats and searches the smooth concrete ceiling above them. Here and there are small ports that dribble water that looks like blood in Chelsea’s red beam. Zoey imagines the interior layout, positioning herself in the doorway of the laundry room. She twists in her seat and points to the left.

  “Go around the next support and it should be right there.” Tia pilots the boat in a smooth turn that brings them past the thick stilt. The ARC’s base is unbroken for a dozen yards, and Zoey’s about to say they must have missed it when a large plastic pipe appears in Chelsea’s light. It drips water, and when she glances to the right there is another, smaller port she knows is the drying vent.

  “There,” she says, pointing again. “Stop ten feet or so to the right of them.” Tia brings the boat beside the pipes and Eli stands, sliding his palm against the rough concrete before bringing them to a halt. Tia drops something into the water and ties off a cord as Chelsea does the same.

  “Are you sure this is it?” Tia asks, donning the pack over her shoulders that is attached to the steel tanks. “I really don’t want to cut into the guards’ barracks, but I’d pay good money to see the looks on their faces if I did.”

  “Tia, focus,” Merrill’s voice says in their ears.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Zoey says, moving out of the older woman’s way. Tia braces her feet on the bottom of the boat and slides a pair of goggles over her eyes.

  “I’d look away, this is gonna get bright.” Zoey turns her head to the side just as a brilliant blue light illuminates the boat and the water surrounding it. The hiss that accompanies the cutter barely competes with the spillway, the sound lost amid the flowing water and thunder that continues to roll above them.

  Tia works for minutes that feel like hours. Zoey chances a look up and is nearly blinded by the plasma cutter’s light. In that brief glance, three quarters of a smoking circle is illuminated, and even as Zoey looks away, Tia makes a sign with one hand to Chelsea, who pulls up the front anchor and swivels the boat to one side of the hole Tia’s making.

  The blue light abruptly stops and there is a brief pause before a huge chunk of concrete several feet across drops free of the ARC and splashes into the water beside the boat.

  “Easier than I thought,” Tia says. “Eli, give me a boost.” Eli moves up beside Tia and stabilizes her as she places one foot on his thigh and climbs upward through the hole she’s made. “Bastard’s still hot,” she says as her legs and feet disappear. “Watch yourself.”

  “Chelsea, you next,” Eli rumbles. In a moment the other woman climbs up and out of sight. Eli turns to Zoey and motions to the hole. “After you, my lady.” She stands on the boat’s seat, trying to balance as it rocks beneath her. She reaches up and finds two hands extended and waiting. She grips them and is lifted up with a quick boost from Eli, then she is on her knees, scooting away from the hole several feet from the table where she spent more hours than she can remember folding never-ending amounts of laundry.

  She stands up and draws her pistol.

  She is inside again.

  The thought sends a ripple of dread through her. It is like she’s just been swallowed by an enormous beast and with each minute is being slowly dissolved in its cavernous belly. She steadies herself against the wall as memories wash over her, nearly making her stagger. Zoey blinks, pulls air into her lungs. Expels it.

  “Are you in?” Merrill asks.

  “We’re in,” Eli replies, standing up next to the hole. “Leaving the laundry in a second.”

  “Good. I think I bought us more time. They asked the guard if everything was all right, and I responded that we were working on it. Think they fell for it.”

  “Perfect. We’re moving now,” Tia says, stepping up to the door leading out of the laundry. Chelsea and Eli flank her, weapons up. There is a flicker of blue, and the door opens.

  “I’ll be in front,” Eli says. “Zoey, you’re behind Tia. Talk us through it.” Then he steps through the doorway into the hall, and she follows close behind.

  The hallway is awash in the yellow glow thrown by the few emergency lights mounted on the walls. Their footsteps are too loud in the quiet that grips the corridor, and after a beat Zoey realizes why. The mechanical room is silent behind the door to their right, all of the machinery stilled by the lack of power. The quiet is eerie.

  “Through the next door and up the stairs to the third floor,” she whispers. Eli barely nods, sidling up to the closed door at the end of the hallway. Tia places the plasma cutter even with the lock and triggers the blast of blue flame. The door clicks open, and Eli rushes through.

  Zoey gets a glimpse of a black uniform and the surprised face of a guard before the butt of Eli’s rifle smashes into his open mouth.

  The man drops to the ground, one arm twitching as blood courses out past his ruined teeth and over his broken jaw. Without words, Chelsea unbuckles his belt, stripping his weapons from it in an instant. Zoey peers up the stairway, waiting for a shout of alarm or another guard to appear, but none do.

  “Everyone okay?” Merrill asks.

  “Fine here. Moving up to the second floor,” Tia whispers, dropping back behind Eli. They move in a line up the stairs, turning so they can see past the handrails to the landing above.

  Empty.

  “Go, quick,” Tia says, and they hurry up the treads, pausing at the next landing. Somewhere above them are voices. Zoey listens but can’t make out what they’re saying, but the words aren’t frantic, and there’s no thunder of boots rushing down to meet them.

  They move again, stopping at the second floor. Two guards stand halfway down the hall with their backs to them, their voices low. Zoey waves the others on, keeping her eyes locked on the two men, until Chelsea taps her on the shoulder. They fly up the next two sets of stairs, halting at the top as a door opens and closes somewhere below them. They wait for an agonizing second to see if there will be a cry of alarm, but nothing comes.

  Zoey’s stomach clenches as they stop on the third third-floor landing while Eli takes up position beside the hallway entrance. He holds up one finger and points to the waiting corridor. Thunder rumbles, vibrating the air. Below it is another sound.

  Boot steps.

  Eli waits, his large chest heaving before he spins and sprints through the opening.

  There is a strangled cry that cuts off as quickly as it began. Zoey sidles past Tia and into the hallway she knows so well.

  Eli crouches over a guard who’s lying flat on his back. The man’s feet drum for a second and then he is still. Eli stands, drawing the lon
g, thin knife from the guard’s neck in a quick movement. A dark pool is broadening around the prone man’s head, and Zoey looks away.

  “Which doors?” Tia asks, moving past Eli. Zoey follows her, swallowing the fear that taints the back of her throat with the taste of blood.

  The doors. She can see hers already, the scanner beside it dark. Lily’s is next. She guides them to it, throwing a look down the length of the hall as Tia places the cutter to the lock.

  The blue flame ignites.

  The door opens, and Zoey pushes through it.

  Lily sits on the edge of her bed, her small form barely visible in the single emergency light. Her hair has grown back some in the time Zoey’s been gone, and the stitches have been removed from her forehead. The sight of her there, so innocent and delicate, floods Zoey’s vision with tears as she holsters her pistol and moves forward. Lily cowers back onto her bed as Zoey approaches.

  “Nah, nah, don’ ’urt.”

  “Lily, it’s me. It’s Zee.” She takes another step forward, the light spilling over her.

  Lily freezes, and her mouth slowly opens. “Zee.”

  “I came back for you, Lily.” She barely manages to get the words out of her constricted throat before Lily launches herself into her arms. Zoey hugs her fiercely, and Lily squeezes her in return.

  “Zee, Zee, Zee,” Lily repeats in a hoarse voice. “I sorry, sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” Zoey says, running her hand over the back of the girl’s stubbled scalp.

  “Zoey,” Eli says quietly.

  Zoey nods and brings Lily to arm’s length. “You’re coming with me, okay, Lily?”

  “Kay.”

  “You have to be quiet, all right?”

  Lily nods her head. “Qui.”

  “That’s right, quiet. Let’s go.”

  Eli leads the way with Zoey steps behind, her arm around Lily’s thin shoulders. The hallway is still empty, but there is a great pressure building inside her. It is as if she can feel the walls beginning to crumble inward on top of them.

  Zoey brings them to a halt at the next door around the corner, and Tia pops the lock. Zoey steps past her and pushes the door open.

  Rita stands in the center of the room, hands balled into fists before her. Her narrowed eyes blink once as Zoey enters, leaving Lily in the entrance. They stare at one another for a long second before Rita’s hands fall to her sides.