Ghost Hope

by Ripley Patton

  I slipped inside, leaning the painting against the wall and taking off my sand-filled shoes.

  “What’s with that?” Lonan asked. “You rob a museum or something?”

  “No.” I turned it around so he could see the front. “I found it near the compound’s crater, buried in the dirt.”

  Lonan stared at it, his eyes a little wider, and nodded. He didn’t ask me why I’d been at the crater, or why I looked like the desert had beaten the crap out of me. That was one thing I admired about Lonan. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke you knew it was going to be worth something.

  “Go get cleaned up,” he said, pointing toward the bathroom.

  No reprimand. No guilt trip about what I’d said to them. Reiny had saved my life at least twice. Together they’d housed me and fed me and treated me like family. And instead of thanking them, I’d made them feel like shit. Lonan had obviously let it slide right off his back, but Reiny was another story. I’d hurt her badly. I knew that, and I had to try and fix it.

  “I’m sorry about before,” I told Lonan. “I—it won’t happen again, and I’ll apologize to Reiny first thing in the morning.”

  “Good.” He nodded, giving me one of his rare smiles.

  8

  OLIVIA

  The rental van was fucked. I could see that even before we all climbed out. The entire front end was crumpled and the engine hissed steam, plus it had a new hood ornament. A bloody, flailing hood ornament in the last throes of death, its doe-eyes still locked on me as the light slowly faded from them.

  No, not the light. The PSS.

  “Not your fault,” Wade said, coming up beside me and looking down at the poor animal. “I shoulda warned you. Since the army left, and with no natural predators inside the fence, the pronghorn population has exploded.”

  “I didn’t see them,” I stammered. “They darted from behind the building.”

  “Olivia, it’s okay,” my mother said, putting her arm around me. “No one was hurt. See, Grant is fine. So are Passion and Samantha.” There they were, my passengers, safe and sound. But someone was hurt. Didn’t she see the animal dying right in front of us?

  “They’re fast,” Wade said. “Fastest land mammal in the western hemisphere, and that was a big herd.”

  “Oh my God, did you see that?” T-Dog asked as he and Chase came running up to the scene of the crime, their van parked behind ours. “They had PSS.” He held his camera’s playback screen up to show me. “Every last one of them.”

  I watched the recording of the pronghorns as they went streaming across the road in front of our smashed van, flashing PSS horns and butts, legs and flanks, eyes and ears. In a couple cases, it looked like the entire animal was PSS. They were glow-in-the-dark animals, and I’d still managed to hit one.

  “I didn’t hear them,” Samantha murmured, watching over my shoulder. “Why didn’t I—” She stopped mid-sentence, glancing at Wade and clamping her mouth shut.

  “Oh, they’re so beautiful,” Passion said, joining Samantha.

  “They’re mutants,” Wade said, frowning. “Supposedly, the government cleaned this place up, but I guess some damage can’t be undone. Still, no reason to let it suffer. I’ll get my gun to put it down.” He turned, walking toward his truck.

  The pronghorn had stopped flailing, but it was still looking at me with those PSS eyes. In all my life, I’d never heard of animals manifesting PSS, yet Wade seemed to be taking it in stride. He’d called the pronghorn mutants, but he hadn’t said a thing about my ghost hand, or Samantha’s PSS ear. All this time I’d thought we were luring Wade deeper into the depot, but what if he’d been luring us?

  “I should have never let you drive,” my mom said. “This is all my fault.”

  “No, it’s not,” I assured her softly, keeping my voice low so Wade couldn’t hear. He was reaching into his truck now, pulling out his rifle. “None of this is your fault, Mom. It’s mine. We didn’t come to see the Gorge. That was a lie. We came to find the dome. It’s here on the depot and the hackers need to get into it and access the computers. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I don’t trust this guy at all, so I need you to hold it together for me, okay?”

  Her fingers dug into my arm as I spoke, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t reproach or scold me. Then Wade Hermiston was back in our midst, hefting his gun.

  “You’d better move clear and turn away,” he said, grabbing the rear legs of the pronghorn and pulling it off the hood of the rental van. It thumped to the ground in front of the grill, bleating weakly in protest or pain, probably both.

  The others were moving to the side of the van where they wouldn’t be able to see, and my mother was pulling me with her.

  “No.” I turned back to Wade Hermiston. “I hit it.” I walked up to him and held out my hands. “It’s my responsibility.”

  I was afraid my mother would protest, but again, she didn’t say anything. They all just stood, staring at me in shock. Except Wade. His eyes locked with mine, calculating, weighing, his sense of country honor and stark justice warring with the unnatural act of handing his weapon over to a stranger.

  “All right,” he said, a certain respect glinting in his eyes as he handed me his gun. “You know how to use it?”

  In lieu of an answer, I checked to make sure my mom and the others were at a safe distance.

  Then I turned back to the pronghorn, flicked off the safety, pointed the barrel at its head, and pulled the trigger.

  For a split second afterward, I was tempted to raise the gun and point it at Wade. I truly didn’t trust him and, with the gun, we’d have the upper hand. But then the image of Yale and Nose, lying on the ground in pools of their own blood, came to me. My friends had died. The pronghorn’s eyes were now hollow soulless sockets. If Wade Hermiston was my enemy, I would beat him some other way.

  “Your van’s front axle is broke,” he said. “It ain’t going nowhere. I can ride two of you in my cab if the rest of you can fit in the hippie van.”

  “Thank you,” I nodded, handing his rifle back to him. “We’d appreciate it.”

  * * *

  We were ten miles down the road when a dark spherical shape appeared in the distance, slowly filling the windshield.

  “What the hell is that?” Wade barked, his foot slamming on the brakes.

  “Looks like a dome,” I said, glancing at my mom and hoping she wouldn’t give anything away. I’d insisted on being one of Wade’s passengers. She’d insisted on being the other one, of course, leaving Grant, Passion and Samantha to ride in the hacker van. She’d even made me take the passenger seat while she sat in the middle of the bench between Wade and me, as if that would keep me safe. And maybe it had helped because he’d at least tucked his rifle away again.

  “But that—I’ve never seen that before,” Wade said, sounding seriously afraid. “It can’t be here.”

  He swerved his truck off to the side of the road and jammed the stick into neutral. The dome loomed on the horizon, but it was difficult to judge distance in the dark, expansive desert. I had to admit, if I hadn’t known what it was I would have been spooked too. From where we were, it looked like a crashed spaceship or some kind of alien bubble colony.

  “What’s up?” Chase asked, pulling up next to us in the Westfalia. “Why’d we stop?”

  “Because of that,” Wade pointed at the dome.

  “Probably some evil government secret,” Chase said, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “Let’s go check it out.” He pulled in front of us, taking off down the road.

  “Hey, come back here!” Wade called out his window, but it was too late. “Damn kids,” he mumbled under his breath, giving my mom and me a dirty look as he popped the truck back into gear and we tore off after them.

  Five minutes later, we pulled up to the compound. The Westfalia was parked near one of its oversized doors, and Chase and T-Dog were already at work, their cameras in hand, directing Grant, Passion, and Samantha to stand next to the door for persp
ective.

  As Wade, my mom, and I climbed out of his truck, Chase directed his camera light up, flashing it across a symbol of The Hold stamped on the door.

  “Stop right there,” Wade Hermiston said, and I turned to see him aiming his gun directly at my mom. “I’m not an idiot,” he said, nodding at the dome. “You knew this was here. Who the hell are you people?”

  Then, from behind us came a horrible groaning noise, like an armored beast waking up from deep inside a cave. Wade’s eyes startled away from us, following that sound.

  My mother sprang forward, even before I could, but her target wasn’t Wade Hermiston. It was me. She tackled me like a linebacker, both of us falling to the ground just as gunfire rained down around us.

  Wade’s rifle rang out once in response, and then he was on the ground too, dust and bullets exploding around him. Desperately, he began to army crawl back to the open door of his truck as fast as he could.

  “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot!” I heard T-Dog yell. “We’re unarmed.”

  I turned my head to see him, Chase, Grant, Passion and Samantha plastered to the ground near the Westfalia, their arms splayed out in surrender.

  The door of the compound was open, a lone silhouette standing smack in the middle of it, hefting an assault rifle.

  Wade Hermiston’s truck revved to life and he peeled out in reverse, his headlights flashing across my mom and me. He was leaving us. The fucker had a gun and he was leaving a woman and a bunch of teenagers at the mercy of an unknown armed maniac.

  Gunfire sang again, pinging against the body of the truck, as Wade tore off northbound, disappearing into the dark desert night.

  I pressed against my mom, curling myself around her. Would the gunman turn his sites on easier prey now that Wade and his rifle were gone? Were we all going to die because I’d been stupid enough to bring us here?

  “Uh-oh,” my mother whispered, her eyes round with surprise as she raised a bloody hand between us. “I think I’m hit.”

  “What? Where?” I asked stunned, staring at her hand, unable to see a wound.

  “My leg,” she said, looking down, both our eyes falling to the hole in her jeans and the slick, dark blood seeping from her thigh.

  No. No, no, no. This could not be happening.

  “Put your hand on it and press down hard,” I said, managing to keep my voice calm as I guided her bloody hand back to her leg. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get help.” Where was I going to get help? We were in the middle of the desert, miles from the nearest hospital. Blood was welling up from between her fingers now. Her eyes were losing focus. She needed a tourniquet.

  “My mom is hit!” I cried out in utter panic, not caring what the gunman did, just thankful he’d stopped firing. “I need something to stop the bleeding.”

  I heard voices calling to one another, feet shuffling, people moving toward me, but none of it really registered. I just kept holding my mom and talking to her. “Mom, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

  “I know you do.” She smiled weakly. “You’ve got me. And I’ve got you.”

  “Where is the entry wound?” someone asked in a clinical, doctory voice, and a large, sandy-haired man crouched next to me, an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. He tugged at his waist, pulling off his belt. I might have been intimidated by his weapon and his size if it weren’t for the fact that he looked like death warmed over. He was gaunt, pale, and had a large bandage taped to his neck.

  “Pete?” my mother said to him, her voice a mixture of pleasure and pain. “How did you get here?”

  Was she hallucinating, or did she actually know this guy? Because I’d never seen him before in my life.

  “I wish I knew, Sophie,” he said, gently wrapping his belt around my mother’s thigh and synching it like a pro.

  The guy who’d shot my mom was an old friend? WTF?

  “The last thing I remember,” he went on, “was charging toward the compound dodging gunfire with you. The next thing I know, I wake up inside with a hole in my neck, no power, and not a soul left but me. That was two days ago, and frankly, at first, I thought I’d died on that ER table and woken up in hell.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” My mother sighed, closing her eyes.

  “Is she okay?” I begged him, whoever he was. “Help her, please.”

  “She just passed out,” he said. “Let’s get her inside.”

  “No.” I grabbed his arm. “She needs a hospital. We can take her in the van.” I gestured toward the Westfalia, my eyes taking in the two front tires, now utterly flat, two more victims of this guy’s marksmanship.

  “We don’t have time for that. She needs treatment now. Take her in,” he said. And then arms were reaching out for her, Grant and T-Dog, lifting her together and carrying my mom toward the dark maw of the compound. Meanwhile, Chase hopped in the van, started it up, and drove it limpingly toward the doors. Of course, we needed the van and its equipment inside with us, safe and sound, in case Wade Hermiston came back.

  “I’m so sorry.” Pete turned to me. “I thought you were CAMFers. The guy in the truck—he had a gun. I should never have fired like that, but two days alone and injured made me a little jumpy.”

  “You shot my mom.” I glared at him and his pitiful apology.

  “I know,” he said. “The good news is I’m a certified nurse and EMT, and there’s a fully equipped infirmary inside. Now, let’s get in there so I can get that bullet out of her,” he said, standing up and offering me his hand.

  And I took it, pulling myself up, dusting myself off, and walking back into the compound with some guy named Pete.

  9

  OLIVIA

  “Who is he exactly?” I asked, pacing outside the glass doors of the infirmary. Inside, my mom was laid out unconscious on a gurney being operated on by a complete stranger—who had shot her in the first place—while Grant held two phone screens over her leg for lighting.

  Everything had happened so fast. The rush into the darkened compound. Someone pointing at a crank and barking orders for me to shut and lock the big bay door manually after Chase drove the van in. When I’d finished that, I’d turned to find myself in a huge room filled with computer workstations and overturned chairs, and its newest feature—a Westfalia parked to one side. Chase had hopped out, his arms full of cords and equipment. When T-dog had joined him a moment later, the stain of my mother’s blood fresh on the front of his t-shirt, he’d pointed me toward the back, to a smaller room off the larger one where Grant was already inside helping this guy, Pete, remove a bullet from my mom’s leg in nearly pitch-black conditions.

  “Pete worked for my father,” Samantha said. “He was one of the people hired to nurse David back to health, but on our way into the compound, the CAMFers shot him. He’s a good guy. Your mom is in good hands.”

  “I should be in there,” I said, moving toward the doors.

  “Olivia,” Passion stopped me, holding me back. “Pete knows what he’s doing. Going in there is only going to distract him.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said, pulling out of her grasp but moving away from the doors. I couldn’t watch my mother die. “I lied to her. I brought her here. That bullet was going to hit me, but she pushed me out of the way.”

  Passion followed me, taking my hands in hers, stubborn in her calmness. “She’s going to be okay,” she said. “And if you really think your mom believed this was a sightseeing trip, you’re even more gullible than you think she is. She knew all along this was about the CAMFers and The Hold. I mean, come on. Palmer leaves and the very next morning you’re chomping at the bit to get out of a house you’d refused to leave for a week? Your mother isn’t stupid. We all knew this wasn’t a vacation, and that’s exactly why we came. You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Olivia. In fact, you don’t get to. We’re all a part of it now.”

  “She knew?” I asked, stunned. “You all knew?”

  “We knew something was up,” Samantha said, shruggin
g. “We weren’t sure exactly what. I guess we’re still not sure, but whatever it is, we’ll follow your lead.”

  There it was again—someone insisting I lead them. Samantha James, born leader and heir to The Hold, was following me. I didn’t even know what to say to that. Except, obviously, it was time to tell them what was going on.

  “Okay, so, the hackers located the compound by satellite last night,” I explained. “They told me if we could get in, they could access all the data about PSS the CAMFers and The Hold have ever collected. And they were pretty sure we’d be the first ones here since Umatilla is deserted. But we thought it would be a quick in and out. We didn’t expect to run into Wade or this Pete guy. I don’t even understand why or how he’s still here.”

  “He’d just come out of surgery when the displacement happened,” Samantha said. “Maybe it doesn’t work on people who are unconscious.”

  “I guess that could be it,” I admitted.

  “So, we get the information from the computers and then what?” Passion asked.

  “We keep it away from them, and we look at it, I guess.” God, that sounded lame and not a decent reason to get my mom shot. I hadn’t really thought beyond that, though, because I’d been too desperate to get away and distract myself like a selfish idiot. After everything the CAMFers had done to me, surely I wanted more than just stealing their computer files. When I’d stood in the dome and banged my dad’s rock against Grant’s cube, I’d had a vision for something better, a world where people with PSS weren’t feared or lauded. Where we were just people like everyone else. That had been Marcus’s dream and I’d caught it from him, tagging along for the ride. But now he was gone and I was here, poised on the verge of accessing information about PSS the world had never seen. Information was knowledge, and knowledge was power. If this worked, we were going to have power, and everyone was looking to me for what to do with it. That scared the shit out of me, but at the same time, it felt amazing. I wasn’t sure why they’d all picked me as their designated leader, but I really didn’t want to disappoint them.