The Nuclear Winter

by Brian Thompson

  I followed him down a corridor, a right turn at the end, through another corridor, and into a row of hospital-like rooms. Memorizing the path was important in case I needed a quick getaway. In the middle of the row [XW68]lay my mom. She was hooked up to machines and sensors. Eyes closed, she appeared to be at peace. I remembered Old Guy’s speech about leverage. Threaten her life and they could get me to do pretty much anything.

  At that moment, it occurred to me that maybe we hadn’t been rescued at all.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Liam wanted to escort me all over the shiny, white industrial complex. Everything was white — even the light fixtures, digital ceiling cameras, side railing fixtures, and baseboards. The slick hallways, wooden cabinets, handles, and counters had to be bleached or repainted daily to stay this clean. The air didn’t smell like paint or strong cleanser, though, less of a bleach burn or gentle aroma in my nostrils and more like a sterile freshness.

  What also struck me was the contrast of black wheel paths worn into the otherwise perfectly waxed floor on the pathway leading to Mom’s room. They were deep enough for my feet to feel a difference when I stepped on them. She was far from the first person to be attended to in that room. Rolling beds shouldn’t be that heavy, should they? Why were the trails so distinctive, and why had no one bothered to fix them? How many had been there? With so few people around, the custodial staff must not be large either.

  I needed to explore who was housed here and why. But right now, I wanted to stay put next to Mom without Liam. His stiff body movements said he’d rather be anywhere else than with me by her bedside, but he stayed.

  I settled down into the room’s white leather padded chair and curled into a tight ball with my hands clutching my ankles. Mom’s body looked deathlike in her paper-thin gown with printed blue diamonds. The quilted blue blankets covering her up to the midsection were warm to the touch for now. I fingered the holes to touch her skin. After a while, the air would chill her, and the covering would provide little insulation. Being unconscious, she might not know the difference…but I did.

  I yanked the slack in the cotton mesh blankets from the bottom, covered her below the monitors attached to her chest, and returned to my position beside her. After about a half an hour, Liam left me alone and returned with a steaming Styrofoam cup for me.

  “What’s in yours?” I asked him as he offered it.

  “Water. We’re out of tea.” He jostled the cup in his other hand. “Caffeine makes me irritable.”

  Guys used the word “irritable” to describe themselves? Was it a British thing, or was he one of those high-maintenance [XW69]dudes who drinks with his pinky sticking out while reading stock market predictions? For me, I didn’t want the coffee especially fearing he’d dosed it to knock me out. A refusal might arouse his suspicions. I accepted it and slowly slipped. Whatever was in it, cream, sugar, artificial sweetener, poison — I wouldn’t swallow enough to damage my system. Soon, I’d say I have a thing about cold coffee and use it as my reason not to finish.

  As I fake sipped, Liam checked the time on his antique wrist piece. Pretty old school. I preferred the wall clock setting for my holo so I knew how to read it: four p.m. on the mark. The thing made a cute beeping sound. He fished the largest, darkest-colored pill I’d ever seen out of his pocket, tossed it into his mouth, and chased it with his cup of water. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, so he’d somehow swallowed the monstrous thing without choking.

  “Little late in the day for a vitamin,” I joked.

  “Not this kind.”

  He tossed the cup into a trash can behind him, which made me remember to fake sip again, but this time, I took a little in. I continued to push to know more. “What kind of vitamin is black anyway?”

  He chuckled but didn’t elaborate beyond “It’s dark brown, not black.”

  Fine. Be mysterious then.

  I repositioned and glanced over my shoulder. Mom’s room and the corridor we’d taken to get here were closed off to the outside. I hadn’t noticed that before. The observation windows were tinted yellow. Bodies walked past them too fast. I couldn’t make mental note of its appearance beyond white clothing and the tan or whitish-pink skin hue. Most were men or mannish-looking women.

  Why was everything white here? Was color banned?

  My companion groaned and eased himself onto the chair across from me. “Comfortable enough?”

  “The chair pads are soft, but no matter what I do, my right butt cheek keeps going numb.”

  “Ha.” He pointed to the hospital bed. “Your mum’s improving.”

  “How do you know that? She’s unconscious.”

  He licked his lips and said, “Her vitals are steady. They were erratic when she arrived.”

  I didn’t know where to begin with the questions. The clear-door refrigerator full of blood bags was a start. “Vampire fridge is for a transfusion?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “Worse case, yeah. What blood type is she?”

  “I don’t know.” Hopefully, my shrug was convincing.

  “Well, what blood type are you? It could be the same.”

  Having powers meant I had to be AB negative with the antigen, didn’t it?[XW70] “I don’t pay attention when nurses draw my blood.”

  “Hmm.” He stood and stretched his legs. “We’ll figure it out, then, yeah?”

  Didn’t look like the explosion had left her with many injuries, but we could only see the surface, and they’d scan her body to be certain, which could uncover more than she’d want them to know. Protecting her was my number one priority with escaping this place a close second.

  Liam waved his hands in front of a wall panel. A blue, holographic, three-dimensional image of Mom’s skeletal system appeared. “Mild to moderate concussion,” he said, pointing to a throbbing red mass in her skull. “Worse than yours. Your rapid blinking gave it away.”

  Meaning we couldn’t fly to escape.

  He also explained the small blue knots dotted along her spine — muscle contusions — and the crooked line on her ribcage was a hairline fracture. How had I caused the explosion and barely suffered a scratch?

  “Try to relax.”

  I stopped fidgeting and noticed I’d spilled coffee on the floor. “Oh. Sorry.”

  He waved me off, bent over, and blotted the spot with a napkin. “No worries.”

  “Why all of the white? Black would be easier to hide stains.”

  He laughed at my suggestion and tossed the napkin into the automatic trash can. “You’ll have to ask,” he said while dusting himself off.

  “Who? When?”

  Liam rubbed his hands together. “Soon enough.”

  The way he said it sounded like I was going to the VIP section to shake hands with a celebrity. I’d been there and done that enough to be somewhat fearless though the authority figures I’d met weren’t powered. “Where are you from?”

  With a twirl of his right index finger he said, “Across the pond. Nowhere special.”

  “And you’re my age?”

  He crossed his arms and repositioned himself in the chair to face me. His smooth and comfortable body language did nothing to ease the rising tension in my chest. “No. I’m legal.”

  Again, he was nonspecific. His dark lips were kissable, but he wasn’t my type — that’s not why I asked his age. Over eighteen meant he’d chosen to stay superhuman. According to Mom, on December 4, 2042 — my eighteenth birthday — I’d be forced into a similar decision: keep my abilities or be “normal.” Even now, I felt conflict about it. Superpowered people don’t get recurrences of bone cancer and die from it. Normal people don’t shoot flames from their hands and wear tech-outfitted body suits.

  “Where are we, Liam?”

  “That’s classified.”

  I cleared my throat. “Are we still on the East Coast?”

  “Classified.”

  Fantastic. Escaping would be more difficult. One direction would take me near home while others could send me
to another coast or across the Atlantic.

  Liam gulped his water and gave me a wary look. “Plotting an escape?”

  To keep myself safe, I overexaggerated my reaction to his question. “Escape? Me? From here? Are you holding us hostage?”

  “No. You’re free to leave whenever you’d like.” The tone of his voice suggested the opposite was true. “I’m hoping you and your mum will listen to our pitch, first. To join us.”

  “Who’s us? Government?”

  He nodded. “Of a sort.”

  What would it take to get a straight answer longer than three words from this guy? I leaned back in my chair. “Are you this vague with your girlfriend?”

  Liam laughed heartily.

  “You don’t have a girlfriend?” I asked him. “Or, you do, and she’s an idiot.”

  “Any question you’ve asked, have I not answered?”

  “Okay, a boyfriend?”

  His voice raised in pitch. “I have not lied to you, Lucy.”

  Crossing my arms over my breasts, I continued stomping on his nerves. “You haven’t told me the entire truth. We can leave whenever we want, but we don’t know where we are, so how do we know where to go?”

  “You — ”

  “And you’re ‘a sort’ of government?” My use of a fake British accent and air quotes encouraged an eye roll. “We’re not a constitutional monarchy. We’re a republic. For the people and by the people.”

  “If you think that’s the truth,” he shouted, “you’re the stupid one.”

  Conscious of our escalating volume, I lowered my voice. My mother hadn’t stirred. “What’s the truth, then?”

  Liam exhaled and sighed. “The Ordnance lobby and fearmongering controls the government. Your precious republic is for some people and by a few people.”

  “What does that mean, and what’s a lo — ”

  “Military weapons, municipal firearms, hunters — it’s trillions in business. A piece of that money goes to election funding, and the election winner controls how the laws pass. War profiteering. When there are tragedies, there is money to be made.”

  “And you’re a part of that?”

  Liam rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “When the scales tip too far in either direction, we balance them.”

  “How?”

  He gave me a one-word answer: power. Of course, a guy who could fly faster than a jet airplane had to have a God complex. Liam calmly explained how his organization, or collective, uses predictive measures to assess catastrophic events most likely to cause a social tipping point and allow or instigate them.

  Um, what?

  In simpler terms, he shared, they found crisis-causing actions to force sudden societal change — coup d’état’s, political scandals, school shootings — and made them happen. He gave me an example of an African country he refused to name stricken with decades of poverty. “How would you fix this dilemma?” he asked me.

  I sipped my coffee, forgetting that he might have drugged it. Spitting it out would give me away. I reluctantly swallowed and hoped for the best. “I don’t know.”

  “Years ago, at night, we torched their agriculture and shed blood — old people, criminals, no one significant, mind you. Within a month, the United Nations sent aid. If I showed you a picture today, you’d think it was Eden.” He held out his hands at an unequal level as a demonstration. “Balance.”

  I’d thought I was in a bad situation beforehand, but this dude had just admitted to mass murder and property destruction to accomplish his goals. How was that balance? “The UN would’ve sent help.”

  Liam counted his points using his fingers. “Eventually and to a lesser degree. Overpopulation, famine, poor agriculture — we solved this country’s most widespread problems overnight. It was good work.”

  That didn’t seem logical. “They’ll eventually overpopulate again.”

  “No,” he said in a powerful, definite tone. “They won’t.”

  They’d figured out that problem, too. I was afraid to ask how.

  “The power to control what happens in this world, Lucy, is at stake. You’re in control, or you’ll be controlled. We’re not your enemy, no, not unless you stand against us. What happened with the ‘Chicago Fourteen’ years ago opened our eyes to a bigger solution.

  “After your mum heals, we hope you’ll join us. With you on our side, what took us hours to burn to the ground that night would’ve taken seconds.”

  I placed the cup on the glass table to my right. The writing was on the wall. “And if I don’t,[XW71] you’ll let my mother die?”

  His face twisted. “I didn’t say anything about killing her, and — ”

  “And you didn’t answer my question. You’ll kill us if we don’t join you?”

  Liam cursed, balled his fists, and pressed them against his knees. “No. How can I get you to trust me? I saved your lives and lost good people to do it. Why would I do that just to kill you?”

  Again, I fought to keep my voice down. “I don’t know.”

  “If I wanted you dead, I would’ve left you inside that cave.”

  Fair point. “Regardless. I’m not joining your group. Point blank. Once she heals, we’re out.”

  A smirk crossed his face. “Never say never. Drink your coffee. It’s Jamaican and better hot.”

  His insistence made me nervous. Mom always taught me men didn’t [XW72]do things for women because they were nice guys. They wanted something. What did he want beyond me joining his superpowered army? What did it matter to him if we lived or died? I didn’t imagine a world where Liam would come out and tell me, especially since he was getting aggravated by all my questions. I’d have to find out for myself.

  I nudged the coffee an inch on the table. “I’m not really thirsty anymore. Can I have a minute to talk to my mom? Alone?”

  “All right.” Liam left me and disappeared behind the door we used to enter.

  My feverish tinkering with my suit’s Wi-Fi didn’t work. Their wireless connection was strong but encrypted. I’d blacked out during our flight, and if I hadn’t, I’d still have no clue where we were. He and I were high in the clouds, and I didn’t recall the position of the sun. We hadn’t been airborne long enough to change coasts.

  Not like I could escape with Mom down. Whatever all this meant, I’d have to see it through. My pillow top bed and down comforter I yearned to bury myself inside had been destroyed in a fire. We had no home to return to.

  But stay here? Be a superpowered soldier? I didn’t want that. There were worse things in the world, I guessed. The image of that guy teleporting his hand through a body…I could’ve been next. Was what the dead guy had done worth such a gruesome death? In the heat of battle, though, I supposed you did what you had to do to win.

  I stood next to Mom and rubbed the outside of her hands to rouse her, careful not to hit the IV embedded beneath her skin. She responded with a tense squeeze. Her eyes fluttered open and darted all over the place. “Easy.” I didn’t want to lie or tell the truth. “We’re safe.”

  She mouthed the word “Where?”

  “Military medical facility,” I said. “Still on the East Coast.”

  The monitor measuring her pulse beeped faster. I’d never seen her panic before, and her tremoring hands scared me. I wasn’t at ease, either, but I had to get her to relax. She’d spotted the blood repository and stared at it. Mom mouthed two words to me: no blood.

  “Got it. Now, rest.” I patted her shaking shoulders. “We’re safe. I promise.”

  Satisfied, she shut her eyes and heavily sighed. Her pulse returned to a more normal pace. Injuries had taken a lot out of her. She’d always told me to follow my gut. Right now, my gut was rumbling with hunger and unsure how safe we truly were. I’d stretched the truth. Contrary to what he’d said, Liam gave me the impression that we wouldn’t be free to leave once she healed. For better or worse, we were captives, and, when the time came, we’d have to force an escape.

  Liam reappeared
and signaled my alone time with Mom was up. Watching her lay there helped me understand the truth of what Old Guy told me about being used as leverage. I wouldn’t leave without her. They may slow her healing process until I do what they wanted me to do. When I exited the room, I asked him, “How long will she be like that?”

  “Hard to say. Until she passes concussion tests — a few days? She’ll need to be careful not to puncture her lung with that rib. We’ll need to do some tests and bloodwork.”

  “No blood,” I said to him. “She has a clotting condition.”

  He believed the lie and notated her file. “I’ll make sure they know.”

  His inability to give me a timeline meant we’d have an indefinite amount of time here whether I liked it or not. I decided then that I’d spend all I could right here. Liam quickly put that to rest by mentioning he’d show me to my sleeping quarters sometime after dinner, which it was now time to do.

  Walking to the dining hall was halfway pleasant. By the sun’s position and the outside temperature, I could tell we were, indeed, still on the East Coast. The trees were barren, and the dead grass had been finely manicured and edged. Liam told me about the immediate area, careful not to mention the state, city, name, or a landmark I’d know. The way he spoke…he’d rehearsed his phrases or had been coached on what to say and what not to say. I ignored him trying to access my suit’s geotagging. Naturally, the location wouldn’t come up without Wi-Fi.

  “Can I call my best friend Natalee Gupta’s house?” I asked him as we neared the building. “Her father is probably climbing the walls right now.”

  He dug his hands into his pockets and produced his holo. “Nilesh Gupta? He’s dead.”

  I shook my head no. “How do you know that?”

  A news report on his holo screen showed Mr. Gupta’s workplace picture. He was dressed in a white shirt and plain red tie. He’d been missing since running into a gutted two-story house — my house! He must’ve thought Nat was still trapped inside it. The news sank my spirits, and I no longer cared to eat. Regardless of my emotions, I needed the food to function.