by Kevin George
“Please,” Horace said once he finally caught up to her, “haven’t I proven myself? No more secrets, I swear to you. Just come back and I’ll show you everything there’s to see in the ISU.”
Carla shook her head and kept plowing forward. “You still don’t get it,” she said. “It’s about trust. . . trusting the people who care about me most. . .”
“But you can trust me,” Horace said.
She stopped and spun toward him suddenly, her eyes glassy, face streaked with tears not just caused by the cold.
“It’s my mother,” Carla said, her voice cracking. “I think something’s wrong with her. . . I think she’s sick. She swore everything was okay but she was acting differently the entire time I was home. She’s the one who finally convinced me to go back to you. . . I think she and my father wanted me out of the ISU. . . I don’t know why nobody trusts me to know what’s going on. . .”
Horace had never seen her so low and wished he had the words to soothe her. Instead, he reached out and took her gloved hand, giving it a squeeze. She squeezed back. Together, they trudged toward her parents’ ISU. Horace scanned the village the entire time, searching for any sign of trouble, unsure what he’d do if they encountered any. But it wasn’t until they approached the Corrigan home that he spotted someone heading in their direction.
More like stumbling, Horace thought.
The wind carried distant yelling and Horace pulled Carla toward the ISU. Just when it appeared they’d reach safety before the man caught them, Carla stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Horace tried moving her again but she let go of his hand and rushed to the other villager, whose clothes were ripped and bloodied.
“Father!”
Ronald Corrigan collapsed to his knees before Carla reached him. Horace hurried to their side, offering the large man an arm to help him stand. Carla’s father had always been such an intimidating presence that it was unnerving to see him so vulnerable.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Ronald told his daughter. “You’re supposed to be with him. . . in his ISU. . .”
“What happened?” Carla asked. She glanced around the general vicinity. “Mom?”
“She’s fine. . . well, she’s safe at home,” he said. “But she. . . you were right about her. She hasn’t been feeling well for a long time. Once you were gone, I convinced her to let me head to the supply bunker to look for any medicine that might help.”
Carla marched toward her ISU, but her father reached out and took her arm. She tried to pull away, but he pulled her closer, wrapping his large arms around her.
“She didn’t want you burdened with this,” Ronald said. “She knew you wouldn’t stop until you got your hands on medicine. And dealing with the thugs that took control of the supply bunkers, that means you would’ve had to trade. . . something I could never. . .”
Ronald choked on his words, shaking his head. He took Carla by both arms and lowered his head to stare into her eyes.
“Your mother and I have lived our lives,” he said. “Now we want you to live yours. This isn’t an easy life, but we don’t want to make it harder for you than it needs to be. That’s why we’re both happy you found someone to share this existence with.”
“Thank you, sir,” Horace whispered, receiving a nod and snort from Carla’s father.
“It sounds like you’re giving up. . . that you’re both giving up on life,” Carla said.
Ronald’s jaw clenched and he shook his head. “Never,” he said. “I already fought my way into three supply bunkers but didn’t find anything useful. I hear the Zwiers are hording the most stuff. That’s where I’m going next.”
“So are some other villagers. They’re fed up with what’s been happening,” Carla said, turning in the direction where they’d just been.
The light snowfall hadn’t lasted long and their view was obscured by whiteness. But no amount of bad weather—no amount of shrill wind—could mask the distant echo of gunfire, pop after pop, nearly a dozen, mixed with screaming. Horace expected Carla and her father to retreat toward their ISU, but neither father nor daughter took a single step back.
“There’s no time to wait,” Ronald said, heading toward the sounds of battle.
“Please, Mr. Corrigan, nothing good will come of this,” Horace said.
“Nothing good will come from any of this,” Ronald said.
Carla refused to be an innocent bystander. Horace followed them, listening as Mr. Corrigan tried convincing his daughter to stay back if things got ugly. But by the time they reached the next supply bunker, they found most of the ugliness already over. Several villagers lay dead in the snow—family and friends kneeling beside them, some screaming, some crying, some completely silent—while others writhed on the ground, screaming in agony. But it was a group of villagers near the supply bunker’s entrance that caught Horace’s attention.
“They deserved everything they got,” one villager said.
Horace and Carla reached them first, pushing their way into the group to see Zwier and four of his followers on the ground, all of them dead, their faces smashed nearly beyond recognition. Several villagers—a few who’d been digging alongside Horace and Carla—now held the gang’s guns. Ronald pushed his way past them and down the steps to the underground supply bunker. Horace and Carla followed, and that seemed to snap the others out of their momentary trance. Within seconds, the bunker was crawling with every person who’d battled the gang.
Horace expected the bunker to be teeming with supplies and building materials, but nothing could’ve been further from the truth. The shelving units were mostly empty, growing increasingly bare as villagers grabbed at anything and everything within reach. One villager’s arms were so full that he began to drop supplies, which smashed against the bunker floor. Carla rushed to stop him, calling out to anyone who’d listen.
“Please, don’t take what you don’t need! Other people might be able to use some of this stuff! If we steal it all, we’re no better than the Zwiers!”
If anyone heard her, they gave no indication. When she tried to block the villagers from leaving, she was pushed aside, crashing into the wall. Horace hurried to her side and was also jostled around, a villager inadvertently hitting him in the side of the head with a solar panel. He fell to the floor beside Carla, the two of them leaning against each other for support. The bunker cleared out moments later, only a few people left to dig through the scraps. Horace and Carla helped each other stand. Together, they hobbled to the back of the bunker, finding Ronald with his back turned to them, staring at a shelf that held the remnants of medical supplies.
“Daddy?” Carla asked.
“It’s all gone,” Ronald said, nodding to the floor. Broken bits of glass littered the area, and several colorful liquids had swirled together to form a small pool of worthless medicines. “They took it and smashed whatever they didn’t need. We were too late.”
He turned to his daughter, the blank look in his eyes turning to fire when he saw her hurt.
“I have to get to the next supply bunker before the others tear it apart,” Ronald said. “I don’t want you coming. . . I don’t want you risking yourself again.”
“You’re not going anywhere without me,” Carla said.
Ronald frowned. “I figured that would be your response,” he said, lightly touching his daughter’s cheek. He turned to Horace, his face becoming hard again. “That’s where you come in.”
“Sir?”
“Take Carla away from here,” he said. “Take her back to your ISU. Keep her inside until all of the trouble ends.”
“No,” Carla said. “You can’t do this on your own. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s too dangerous if you come with me,” Ronald said. “If I’m focused on protecting you, I might miss something and put us all in more danger. If anything were to happen to you. . .”—he frowned and swallowed hard—“. . . your mother would never forgive me or herself.”
Ronald marched out of the
bunker, kicking aside broken supplies as he went, suddenly finding steadiness in his legs. Freezing wind hit them once they set foot on the surface again. Carla continued insisting that she’d join her father until Ronald turned and nodded to Horace. Horace reached out and took Carla by the hand.
“No,” she said, pulling away from him. “There’s nothing you can say to stop me.”
“Please, I might have something that could help your mother,” Horace said, looking around to make sure nobody overheard them. “The ISU. . . our ISU. . . it holds more secrets than you realize.”
“Probably because you don’t trust me enough to tell me,” Carla said.
“But I do,” Horace pleaded. “Come with me, we’ll look together.”
Carla’s brow furrowed. She turned to her father, shaking her head. “I’m not going to leave—”
“You damn well will,” Ronald snapped. “I’m your father and I’m ordering you to go with him. Who knows what we’ll find at any of the bunkers? And if there’s a chance Marshall can help, you have to go with him.”
Carla frowned but nodded, asking exactly what they should be looking for. After Ronald explained how his wife was suffering symptoms of pneumonia, he ordered them to search for any sort of antibiotic. The trio traveled across the village until Ronald turned toward the next closest bunker, disappearing into the storm and the sound of more yelling.
Horace led Carla into his ISU, the warm air greeting them. His pulse finally slowed and exhaustion nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bed—with Carla in his arms—and sleep for hours, but Carla showed no sign of fatigue. She marched to the end of the hallway, bypassing every door along the way.
“You better not have been lying to me,” she warned, her voice laden with worry.
“I should’ve trusted you all along,” Horace said, stepping around her as he reached for the lever to the hatch. “But now you need to trust me.”
With a heavy pull, the latch squealed open, revealing a dark hole in the floor and the top rungs of a ladder. Horace climbed in first, explaining that the drop was much deeper now that the ISU was on the surface. Carla followed and together they climbed down to the dirt floor below. Motion sensors turned on the dim lights in a short hallway leading to a bunker twice the size of any supply bunker in the village.
Carla stopped, a tiny gasp choking out of her throat, her eyes taking a quick inventory of the fully-stocked shelves. Horace couldn’t tell if she appeared more amazed or disgusted. Before he could figure it out, her focus turned on him.
“I’m. . . sorry,” he said, glancing toward the floor.
“Do you know how many people could be helped by all of this?” she asked.
Horace nodded, his cheeks burning with shame. He considered explaining the importance of self-preservation—of his grandfather once telling him how this ISU was a safe hold away from The Mountain—but he knew those words wouldn’t convince Carla.
“If I opened this bunker for anyone to use, one of the gangs would’ve taken it by now,” he said. “There’d be nothing left for us. . . or for your parents.”
“What’s behind the doors?”
With so much else to focus on, Horace was surprised she’d spotted both doors so quickly. One was located against the hallway wall just before the opening to the bunker. The other was on the far wall, mostly hidden from view by the shelves in its way.
“That one’s a radio room,” he said, nodding to the close one. “My grandfather wanted to remain in contact with the Communications Center beyond The Mountain.”
“The. . . what Center?” Carla asked.
Horace shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anymore. After my grandfather died, they must’ve cut off communication with the outside world. Haven’t heard from the center or from any of the arks beyond.”
“There are more arks?”
Horace nodded. “There’s a lot more out there than One Corp. or my father wanted us to know. I’ll tell you all about that when things settle down. For now, we need to focus on finding the right medicine.”
Having only set foot in the bunker once before, Horace didn’t know where everything was located. He passed the largest shelving units holding solar panels, as well as replacement parts for the power unit, the hydraulics and other essential ISU systems. He spotted the section holding first aid supplies and scanned through dozens of pill bottles. Most names on the bottles looked like gibberish. Horace had to read the descriptions on each label, the words so tiny he had to squint, the list of symptoms for possible treatment so similar to one another.
Before he found their best option, Carla grabbed his arm and spun him around. She nodded toward the other door, this one against the bunker’s far wall.
“Is now really the—”
“Yes,” she said.
Horace sighed. “A tunnel.”
“Going. . .”
“The Mountain, I assume, at least down one end. I haven’t traveled more than a few steps inside,” Horace said. “The City Below down the other end? You’re certainly welcome to go in and see if that’s what’s most important to you right now.”
Carla stared at the door for several seconds before her face softened and she shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. Did you find anything that might help my mother?”
Horace returned his focus to the pill bottles, knocking over the ones he’d already read. “Might be easier if I knew what I was looking for, or if I knew what was wrong with her.” He finally grabbed a bottle and shook it. “Broad spectrum antibiotics. They can help with a bunch of different health problems until we figure out what’s really wrong.”
Carla took the bottle and nodded. Without another word—and without another glance toward either bunker door—she hurried up the ladder and through the Jonas ISU. Once outside, they heard more distant fighting, but it was hard to see anything in the worsening weather. Horace remained by Carla’s side, but neither said a word before reaching the Corrigans’ home.
“Who’s there?” a voice croaked from another room.
“It’s me, Mom.”
Horace waited by the door while Carla attended to her mother. He looked around the small ISU, remembering how cramped normal ISUs were. A vent above his head blew out air, but it wasn’t nearly as warm and inviting as the heat in the Jonas ISU. The temperature in this ISU was chilly and Horace shivered within his parka. He exhaled deeply, trying to calm his shivers, but watched his breath turn to steam. He wondered if Carla’s parents would be better off moving into his old ISU.
When Carla emerged from her mother’s bedroom, Horace was about to make that suggestion. But Carla marched right past him, muttering that her mother was resting and the only thing they could do now was find her father and bring him back.
“Once my mother starts getting better, maybe we can talk about me coming to live with you?” Carla asked.
Horace smiled and reached for her gloved hand as they headed back out to ISU-Ville.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Day was quickly turning to night. The last thing Horace wanted was to be stuck outside in the dark. As harsh as daytime temperatures were, nights on the surface could be deadly. With winds blowing at full force, snow swirled around Horace and Carla, restricting their view to less than ten feet. As they crossed more of the village, Horace decided their impeded view was actually a good thing.
They nearly tripped over broken supplies that littered the grounds. Smashed solar panels, broken power unit coils and dented strips of metal were already covered with a thin layer of fallen snow, making them nearly impossible to spot. Horace doubted the supplies would ever be found again after a few more hours of snowfall.
He thought the same thing about the bodies. Having already seen several corpses at the supply bunker battle, Horace and Carla weren’t nearly so shocked at the sight of death. But the farther they walked, the more dead they encountered, including familiar faces of neighbors and other villagers who’d seemed friendly e
nough in the past.
Carla picked up her pace and Horace had trouble keeping up. He sensed her fear, though neither wasted their energy on speaking. They passed several abandoned supply bunkers, as well as the Jonas ISU. Horace wanted to convince Carla to seek shelter for the night, but he knew she’d never agree with her father still out there somewhere. The number of bodies increased as they marched toward the next supply bunker, as did the amount of noise and screaming. Bloodied villagers appeared through the snow, retreating from the fight, warning Horace and Carla that the Zwier gang was nothing compared to these other thugs.
“My father? Have you seen him? Ronald Corrigan?” Carla called out to them.
Most fleeing villagers ignored her, but the ones who answered shook their heads. Gunshots echoed in the dark and Horace tried to stop Carla from going any farther.
“Go home, if you want,” she snapped at him.
But he matched her step for step, even hurrying to get in front when they reached the loudest fighting. It was hard to tell the good guys from the bad. Several dozen people swung makeshift weapons at one another. One villager fired a gun at the nearest fighter, but instead of the shot causing others to flee, it caused a mass charge at the one who’d fired it. The night had grown so dark that Horace couldn’t see exactly what the villagers were beating each other with, though he caught a few glints of metal in the dying light. The thuds of pounding flesh, the moans of agony and the cries of pain were enough to keep Horace back, but Carla called her father’s name and checked the villagers on the ground, those moving and those not.
Horace stayed by her side but also kept his head up, searching for any sign of trouble coming their way. Most of the fighting occurred near the supply bunker entrance, but Carla inched closer and closer to danger. She suddenly screamed and Horace looked down at her kneeling beside yet another body.
But this wasn’t just another body. Horace’s eyes were drawn first to the villager’s hand, which clutched the remnants of what appeared to be a pill bottle. When Horace looked into the blank, lifeless eyes of Ronald Corrigan—as well as the pool of bloody snow around his head—he could tell right away what had happened. Carla cried, her head buried against her father’s unmoving chest, her head slowly shaking.
