Gated

by Amy Christine Parker

“All right, look, I just can’t … stop … I mean … They locked us out. They left us to die.” He takes a few steps away from the door and yells, “Nothing’s happening! Open the door!”

  “They don’t know that,” Brian says quietly. “They have no way of knowing from down there—or of hearing us. And you said it yourself, even if they did, they wouldn’t open it.”

  “Well, then we have to make them hear, make them change their minds,” Will shouts before turning to rush past us and away from the orchard.

  “Where’s he going?” Marie wails, and Brian closes his eyes like he’s about a half second shy of losing his patience. “Pull it together, babe, please? Look at Lyla. She’s not freaking out.”

  I’m not?

  I haven’t given any thought to how I seem to everyone else, because I feel like my insides have gone all loose and jiggly inside my skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I still can’t quite believe that it has. We’re supposed to be in the Silo. We’re supposed to be part of the future, not still-breathing relics of the past. I wrap my arms around my body to try to physically hold myself together.

  Marie is just beginning to quiet down as Will charges back down the path toward us with an ax, his eyes targeting the shelter door. He raises the ax over his head and we all duck as if somehow he’ll hit us by mistake even though we’re nowhere near him. He swings the ax at the door. It connects with the iron and makes an impressive sound before it bounces off. The ax handle vibrates in Will’s hands and he curses as he almost drops it. But then he’s swinging it at the sides of the door, striking at the cement walls on either side. He’s grunting and yelling and swinging over and over again, but making very little progress. He sort of reminds me of one of those Looney Tunes characters—Yosemite Sam, maybe, when something isn’t going his way and he throws a massive fit. Then Marie winds up again, wailing and crying louder than ever as the ax hits the wall and the door … and I just can’t stop the crazy laughter building up inside of me. I start giggling because the whole thing is just too surreal.

  And then I’m smack in the middle of a full-body laugh, the kind I get when I’m really nervous. I clutch at my stomach. My eyes are leaking and my nose is running. My sides ache, but I can’t stop the waves of hysterics that keep crashing over me. It’s enough to stop Will from hacking at the door and Marie from weeping. Brian is actually holding her closer now, like he’s afraid of me or something. They’re all looking at me like I’ve gone ahead and totally lost it, which only makes my laughter worse. Pretty soon Will has to come up behind me and pat me hard on the back to make sure that I’m managing to breathe between laughing seizures.

  “Um, Lyla, are you okay?” Brian says. He looks more frightened now than he has the last half hour.

  I gasp and try to calm down. “Yeah, I’m sorry, but watching Will hit that door and then Marie with the wailing … and the orchard is so quiet, everything else is just so normal … This whole thing feels impossible. I mean, are we wrong? Maybe they’re just in the clubhouse. It’s not like we checked. Maybe the alarm stopped ringing because it was just a false alarm. This whole thing could be a really big mistake. Couldn’t it? Please, this can’t be happening right now. Not when it’s all our faults that we didn’t make it.” Now I’m crying in the midst of laughing, which is really terrifying because it makes me realize just how close I am to losing it completely.

  Will lets out a long, slow breath. “Okay, so it’s our fault we’re out here. So what? What’s crying about it gonna do? We need to figure out what comes next.”

  “What do you mean ‘what comes next’? Like we have options? We’re gonna die,” Marie shrieks, and Brian pushes her off of his lap and shakes her shoulders.

  “Shut up!” he shouts, and we all startle because he hasn’t really flipped out at all up until now. He’s been eerily calm, actually, but I guess since the rest of us have freaked out, maybe it’s his turn.

  “We’re stuck out here.” He stands up and kicks at the ground, uprooting a small patch of grass with the edge of his shoe. “We can’t do anything about that part. But we can stop feeling sorry for ourselves and figure out how to survive for as long as possible. I’m not gonna just sit here and wait to die. We either find a way to get them to let us in or we start figuring out what the next step is. So what do you guys want to do?”

  Will paces back and forth a few times before he looks at me and then back to Brian. “We need to find out how much time we have. Then we can decide.”

  Marie wipes her hand across her nose and exhales shakily. “We need, like, a phone or a radio or something.”

  Brian nods and looks at the ground. “Pioneer keeps a radio and computer in his room, right? We need to get them and start seeing if there’s any news about the end yet, if things are already starting.”

  “But we’re not allowed in his room. Ever,” Marie says with something like awe. Pioneer lives alone in two small rooms at the back of the clubhouse, but no one’s ever even seen them, because they’re strictly off-limits. I can’t remember hearing of anyone actually being invited inside of them.

  “Like he’ll even know. He’s in the shelter. Whatever’s left in his rooms can’t be forbidden anymore,” Brian says.

  “Then let’s go,” I say. Staying in the orchard is becoming unbearable. I can’t keep still knowing that my family is just beneath my feet, safe within the Silo. I’m never going to see them again. I didn’t get to say goodbye. None of us did. Will finally shrugs and takes my hand. Brian takes Marie’s and together we start down the path toward the clubhouse and Pioneer’s rooms.

  At first when we hear the lock clicking, we can’t track where it’s coming from. I jump because the sound doesn’t belong with the other, more natural ones around us. Without really thinking about it, we all huddle closer together. In the space of half an hour, we’ve become completely dependent on one another. Turns out impending death will do that. I’m shaking and Will’s grip tightens on my hand. Did we just imagine the sounds?

  The Silo’s door groans and slowly swings out into the orchard. For a moment everything seems to freeze; even the crickets around us have quieted. And then we see Pioneer filling up the space behind the door.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.” Marie throws herself at Pioneer. He doesn’t return her hug. His face is solemn. “You weren’t where you were supposed to be tonight,” he says quietly, his eyes resting on each of us in turn. His expression is unreadable. I can’t help shivering. I’d feel better if he’d yell. His calm is spooky.

  “Hurry up,” he says as he motions us inside.

  Brian and Marie rush into the space before he’s even stopped talking. Will lets go of my hand and moves toward them. I follow, but I’m moving more slowly. Why did he open the door? It goes against everything he’s taught us up until now. Why now after letting us pound for so long? I’m glad for the sudden safety, but I can’t help wondering what’s really going on. We don’t deserve to be let in. We broke the rules.

  I look at Pioneer. He stares into my eyes and smiles softly. “It’ll be okay, Little Owl. I’m here. You’re safe. Come inside now.” He puts his arm around my shoulders and gently moves me into the Silo. Then he shuts the shelter door and locks it behind us. When the lock snaps into place, I can feel my panic start to fade a little. Pioneer gives my arm one more pat before he moves to the front of our group. “Okay, my wayward flock, follow me.”

  Suddenly I know why he did what he did. He let us in because he cares for us, because he wants us to have a second chance, even if it means breaking his own rules. Of course that’s why. He’s always done everything he could to keep us safe. This is just one more example of his devotion to us. And my questioning is just one more example of how undeserving of it I am.

  He doesn’t speak another word as he leads us forward, and his quiet rubs off on all of us—either that or everyone else is drowning in guilt over our ill-timed trip outside Mandrodage Meadows right along with me.

  We follow him down the
first flight of steps, through the radiation-showering area, and past the armory. I’m dizzy with the sudden change of fate we’ve been dealt. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that we’ve been spared when Pioneer’s always vowed to keep the Silo’s door sealed once we reached the last day. His timing was so odd. Just as we were about to give up trying to get in, he opened the door. Why then and not right away? Wasn’t waiting far more risky? I keep stealing glances at everyone else to see if they are wondering about the same things, but Marie is grinning like an idiot and Brian and Will are staring blankly ahead, their faces giving nothing away.

  We walk to the stairwell that runs the length of the cylindrical shelter. We have all started calling it the Silo because that’s exactly what it looks like—a farm silo buried underground. Below us are six floors of communal living spaces in the main cylinder along with twenty personal compartments poking out from the two middle floors like the spokes of a wheel. The main cylinder includes a common meeting area complete with a large library and music space, a medical center, a hydroponic garden and fitness track, a theater, and a storage area; in the wheel spokes are bunks, tiny kitchens, and sitting areas—everything we need while we wait for the world to become safe to be in again.

  I know that there are definitely worse ways to wait out the destruction that’s coming. Some people have prepared small one-room bunkers in other parts of the world—tiny shelters behind their houses. Our Silo is like an underground city compared to those, but still it has walls, and every time that I’m in it, they seem closer together. I should be happy to be inside now, grateful that we’re safe, but the tension I felt outside hasn’t gone away. In a strange way, I feel like I’ve merely traded one death sentence for another. How long can any of us really survive down here away from the sun and the wide-open spaces of the prairie? I guess the only answer is for as long as we have to. We have no other choice.

  We go down one level before Pioneer stops us at the door to where the meeting area, library, and music rooms are. He opens it. Beyond the door are the rest of our family and friends, their faces streaked with tears and full of concern. At first there’s silence as we stare at each other, but then someone cries out and our families rush at us and everything blends into a tangle of hugs and kisses and more tears.

  My mom and dad sandwich me between them. They’re shaking and their voices are thick from crying. I nestle deeper into their arms. My mom’s shirt scrubs back and forth across my face, giving off the scent of her favorite lavender soap. I inhale it in tiny sniffs, my breath hitching as my own sobs start. Being here now is almost enough to make me hysterical all over again. I was so sure that I would be left outside.

  The room is loud with the sounds of reunion. It’s strange to think that we’ve only been separated for an hour or so. The Community surrounds the four of us, patting our backs and crying along with our parents. I look over at Marie and she grins at me, her face beaming with all the attention she’s receiving. Will and Brian look embarrassed by the sheer volume of love coming at them, as if they would wipe off their cheeks—moist with everyone’s kisses—if they could manage it without hurting someone’s feelings. I can’t decide how I feel. Awestruck, maybe? I can’t quite believe that I’m safe, that we all are.

  Pioneer speaks only after we’ve settled down some. “Brothers and sisters, sit.”

  The room quiets quickly and we all move to the rows of armchairs and sofas spread out across the space in groups. My mom won’t sit in a chair of her own. She perches on mine instead. She puts her hand on the top of my head. Will’s family hovers around him as well, and Marie is practically wrapped in her mother’s arms like a butterfly in a cocoon, both of them squished into the same armchair. I bite at my fingernail and try not to cry. Now that we’re safe, our punishment for sneaking out has to be imminent. What we’ve done is so bad that I can’t even imagine what it will be. I just know that it will be horrible.

  I look over at Pioneer. He’s calmly watching us settle in, his face smooth and still. He’s the only one who seems to know what’s going on, what will happen next. I grip the arm of the chair and try to brace myself for the bad news that has to be coming. Does this mean we will be living underground longer than we originally thought? The space around me is wide enough to hold the Community comfortably. There are five more floors of living spaces besides this one, but I’m still breathing shallowly like somehow it is no bigger than a clothes closet.

  Pioneer paces the length of the room, eyes on the floor and hands clasped behind his back, before he clears his throat and speaks.

  “For months now I have been plagued every night by concerns over the last days, about our preparedness to face them. I have begun to fear that we are not ready. Complacency has settled in among us, friends. Our commitment to survival has faltered.” He pauses here and looks into all of our faces, his eyes suddenly glistening. “My heart breaks when I think of how far we’ve come, how much we’ve done to survive, only to have it jeopardized when we are so close to the end. Tonight, I tested our readiness, hoping that somehow I was wrong, that we haven’t grown indifferent to the doom this world will face, that we are still on the right path, but deep down I feared that you would fail this test. And these fears were realized this evening.”

  His eyes bore into mine and I’m convinced that he knew the exact moment that we snuck out. From the corner of my eye, I catch Marie squirming slightly in her chair. She knows it too. The alarm went off because of us.

  No one talks, which only accentuates how quiet it is down here, how insulated. Pioneer’s eyes close and tears start to streak his face. “If today were truly the last, we would have lost four of our own. Four.” His face contorts with pain and he hides it in his hands. My mom lets out a small sob and I pat her hand. We wait as he struggles to regain his composure. “A few months are all we have now. There is no room for complacency. For rebellion. Not here, not anymore.” His lips pucker around these last words like they carry a bitter taste.

  “We didn’t spend the last ten years planning, building, and sacrificing to lose Community members on that last day. And as much as I would love to tell you that I have the time down to the exact hour, I don’t. None of us are sure when we will move in here for good—when the Silo will become the only safe place we have left.”

  “So you’re saying that this was all a drill? You let us think we lost our children for a drill?” says Mr. Wallace, Brian’s dad, and his face reddens. He leans forward in his chair like he’s having a hard time staying put.

  The rest of us back away from him almost on reflex. Questioning anything that Pioneer does is practically unheard of, and the few times that anyone has tried, they faced one of his more intense punishments—sometimes in front of the rest of us. I’ve never actually done something bad enough to warrant one of these punishments myself. That is, until tonight.

  I wince and try not to think about what punishment Will, Brian, Marie, and I face now. Sneaking out is even worse than questioning Pioneer. The hardest part is knowing that whatever it is, we deserve it.

  Pioneer stops pacing. His face pales and his eyes go from glistening to hard and flat so fast I wonder where the rest of his unshed tears have gone. Out of nowhere, he pounds the podium in front of him with the flat part of his hand, and we all recoil. He moves until he’s right in front of Mr. Wallace, staring him down until the poor man squirms and looks away. Brian and his mother shrink into their seats. I silently will Brian’s dad to be quiet. The last thing any of us needs is for one of our parents to be punished too.

  “Yes, I made you think your children were gone! God knows I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. You needed to feel what it would be like to lose them in order to truly understand how dangerous this time is. We are hanging onto the very edge of a cliff here! Your children dangle from the safety ropes that we provide them—this Community, this shelter. If you don’t keep the ropes in your hands at all times, they will plummet into the abyss with the rest of this forsaken
world and there is absolutely no getting them back then! Did you know where Brian was when the alarm went off? Did you have any idea where to look first? No! None of you knew. You trusted that they were where they were supposed to be. You somehow made it into the shelter. You made sure that you were safe. Then you sat here blubbering, wringing your hands and begging me to open the door.” Pioneer stabs his finger at the ceiling to the place where the Silo’s front door would be if we could see it. “You put the whole of their survival in my hands, where it cannot be, because on that last day I will not be responsible for anything more than shutting the door and locking it tight. And I won’t open it back up for any reason next time. Do you understand?”

  He says this last part directly into Mr. Wallace’s face and then hauls back and slaps him. Hard. I gasp; I can’t help it. It always shocks me when he does something like this in front of us. My mom shushes me. I watch as Mr. Wallace’s family moves a little farther away from him as if their proximity will bring Pioneer’s wrath down on them too. Mr. Wallace gulps like a fish and nods.

  Pioneer’s shaking now, as mad as I’ve ever seen him. His salt-and-pepper hair, normally smooth and neatly combed, is sticking up in a dozen different directions where he’s raked his hand through it. Even his eyes have taken on a frustrated glow. Maybe he has a right to be mad. He can’t take the burden of all of us on his shoulders, not when they’re already heavily weighted down with running the Community and preparing the Silo. He had the courage to step up and buck the disbelievers, to gather us here to save some remnant of humanity. If not for him, we would be as doomed as the rest of the world. He’s our only hope for a future.

  Around me heads dip and eyes study the floor—including my parents’. My mom rubs her thumb across the tops of Karen’s shoes—which made it into the shelter even though I didn’t. My parents avoid looking at me. What made them come here without me? Did they stop to look for me at all or did they just run for the shelter and trust that I would somehow be there, knowing that there was at least a chance that I might not? And worse, would I have done the same in their shoes? I wish that the answers to these questions were automatic. I want to say that I would never do what they’ve just done. I’ve always believed that they mean more to me than my own life ever could … but after this past hour, I can’t say that for sure. When the siren went off, I didn’t think about anything but surviving. They were only on my mind when I realized I wasn’t going to make it. And it’s this realization—that we are all one panicked moment away from cutting the bonds that tie us—that chills me to the bone.