The Nuclear Winter

by Brian Thompson

  Someone swooped in from our left and landed on the rock. From this distance, I couldn’t tell the person’s identity, but Zhang let me know it was my father. Shortly afterward, another flyer joined him from the opposite direction — a woman. It had to be Mom. After he made sure my comms had been turned off, Zhang let me in on the secret. “At sundown, every night, the director comes here. No one else knows this place except the two of us, and now, you and your mother.”

  “Why do you know about it?”

  He accessed a panel and changed several green-colored [XW103]levels with his fingers. “For emergencies. I’m the only other one in the complex who can reach it. Now, listen.”

  My father thanked my mother for coming, and she said, “This view is gorgeous.”

  “I came to a place like this with Sasha the day of your funeral,” he said. “She thought it’s how you’d want us to remember you.”

  “Jason, I’m sorry. I — ”

  He raised his voice. “Is it? Is that how you wanted us to remember you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  The surveillance levels were fantastic. We could hear them like they were in the room with us, minus any wind or background noise, and they could not hear us. Dad was hurt by what she had done, and he did not hesitate in letting her know. I didn’t blame him. Letting me think whatever about my father for fourteen years and three hundred sixty-four days was messed up on many fronts. But, this was supposed to be a private conversation. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have chosen that place to meet. “Should we be here?” I asked Zhang.

  “We can go if you want.”

  He’d have to teleport me away against my will to get me to move especially once it started getting good. “I’ll let you know,” I said halfheartedly.

  “Jason…” Mom continued. “Did you invite me here to attack me?”

  “No. I want answers.”

  Without their mannerisms and facial expressions, eavesdropping on them was like watching holovision when the projection crystal goes out.

  “After I left you,” she said, “I changed my mind about leaving three weeks after Oregon. Halfway to Walsh, I found out I was pregnant. And, I stopped and headed east.”

  “Why?”

  She gave the obvious explanations — they hadn’t finished high school[XW104] and she was confused. With a pregnancy, she’d never know if he’d want her for her. “You’d have dropped everything and married me in a second, and I would’ve given you a yes before you even asked,” she said through sobs. “I wanted you to want me with or without Lucy.”

  They moved closer to one another. Were my parents about to get back together? Was this happening? Dad was divorcing, and Mom hadn’t dated since they broke up.

  “How many people have we seen die, Jason? How many have died at our hands?”

  “I stopped counting.”

  Wow.

  “We were around Lucy’s age when we got these powers, and we’ve made decisions nobody we know ever had to consider.”

  Dad gestured toward her. “But she wants it, Rhapsody, she — ”

  “She thinks she wants it, but what she really wants is you. She wants her father and whatever that means for her. If you decided to pour concrete and collect garbage tomorrow for a living, she’d be right by your side. I know that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I would, too.”

  They kissed, and my heart leapt. I notified Zhang, and he immediately teleported me into my mother’s room. Under the covers, I smiled and fell asleep.

  My parents were back together. Happy early birthday to me.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When I awoke in Mom’s comfortable bed, I discovered she hadn’t returned from the cliff. Her side was smooth, undisturbed. Back home, in our “normal” lives, where she held to a tight routine, I’d have panicked. By this time, eight o’ clock on a regular Monday morning, she’d be dressed and fixing her second cup of coffee. Maybe she was doing that in the galley.

  I left the bed and stepped into the hallway. Where was the galley? I walked as if I knew. The third time I’d passed the same restroom, Zhang found me wandering and cursing to myself.

  “This way,” he waved. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks!”

  On our approach, the scents of fresh pastries, cooked meat, eggs, and brewed coffee grew stronger. I momentarily gave in to my hunger, snatched a cherry Danish the size of my hand, and devoured it. Not that I trusted Zhang much, but he was smart to feed me first. I stacked two plates of food and dove in. He sat across from me, and we did not talk. Too much chewing going on.

  My parents arrived while I was halfway through my second plate. Their body language toward one another was different. Mom didn’t hesitate, and my father constantly smiled. She gently touched his shoulder, and they shared a laugh. This interaction continued throughout the food line. Whatever they were both on to get them this happy, I wanted some. My back had healed, but I wasn’t in a good mood. Mom had been out all night long, and I had worried.

  “ — and a giant, poisonous octopus started singing with me.”

  What was Zhang talking about? “Huh?”

  “You haven’t heard one thing I’ve said, have you?”

  I shook my head no and refocused on my parents. “No. At least I’m honest.” Mom sat with me and my father across from me and next to Zhang. “What’s so funny, Mom?”

  She pointed to a spot on her right calf where a nasty pink gash had healed over. She never explained to me how she’d gotten it besides a “clumsy accident.”

  “When he had just gotten his powers,” she said, pointing her thumb at my father, “he dropped me on a roof, and I landed on a rusted nail. That’s where I got this.”

  That wasn’t funny. Had to be there, I guess?

  Zhang’s wrist beeped with a notification. He and my father stepped away from us and out of earshot. I leaned over to Mom. “Fell asleep waiting for you. Late night?”

  She didn’t respond.

  Pressing for details, I kept with the questioning. “You were on a mission? That’s what they’re talking about over there?”

  She nibbled on a square of fresh watermelon and dried the juice on her lips with a napkin. “Where do you think I was, Luciana?”

  She avoided my questions, so I played along. “You weren’t alone, right?”

  Mom continued eating and didn’t divulge details. If my dream of my parents getting together was happening, I needed straight answers. Part of me wished for that as far back as I could remember although I had no clue who my father was until now. My fists melted divots into the table. “Stop ignoring me!”

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. Fifteen or not, you’re the child here, not me. And happy birthday.”

  The silence was telling. Sorry I asked. I choked on whatever I had last put into my mouth, and Mom patted me on the back. Regarding certain things, especially that, she was never a good liar. That was why she was one hundred percent honest with me regarding most things and why she kept dodging my questions. “Are you two back together?”

  Her metal fork clanked against her plate. “It’s ancient history.”

  “And?”

  “New. Complicated. Inappropriate to talk about with a fourteen-year — ”

  “Fifteen-year-old."

  “Last night was last night, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around…Look, he’s not the boy I fell in love with anymore. And I’m not the paranoid, love-struck girl, either.”

  The men returned to the table. Mom violently jabbed her fork into her spinach and mushroom omelet and tore off a piece. Don’t bother her any further. Okay. Got it.

  “Eat and prepare for the day,” my father said. “Kendel will train you.”

  I’d grown comfortable with Zhang more so than Kendel, and I’m sure the feeling was mutual. “I don’t want to train with her. Zhang can do it.”

  “She’s your shadow, not Zhang.” Dad’s answer was firm, unyielding. “He’ll
be handling another matter with me.”

  “Another matter like you had with Mom last night?”

  My wisecrack sucked the air out of the galley, and all conversation stopped. I sat back. A whole, boring day of throwing fireballs at unmoving targets and failing to fly instead of doing something, anything, [XW105]important. I guessed I’d have to locate the Forecaster in this fortress and get her to predict when I might have something interesting to do.

  My father laid [XW106]his rough fingers on my hand, which should’ve put me at ease but didn’t.

  “Give her a shot, and if it doesn’t work, quit. Nobody here will judge you.”

  She was that bad of a shadow, huh? I hardly believed him, but I told him what he wanted to hear. Mom let out a sound. She knew my say-what-he-wants-to-hear-so-he’ll-leave-me-alone tone well and wasn’t buying my answer. But, to my surprise, she didn’t snitch.

  We finished eating and went our separate ways — me to the grooming area and my parents and Zhang to wherever they were going. After my shower, Kendel met me. Pulling the white cotton towel tight under my arms, I rustled my hair with my hands. My broken ends tickled my shoulders. That was an inch or so of growth since I stopped chemotherapy.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey.” She sounded totally thrilled to be on babysitting detail. “Here. Research and Development modified it for your powers.”

  Kendel presented me a new bodysuit disk. I twisted the old one at the back of my neck until it detached, gave it to her, and replaced it with the new one. The process was a little painful like popping a pimple. She turned her back while I moisturized and got dressed.

  Once I slipped on my underwear and bra, both of which fit uncomfortably well, I asked her, “What’s first?”

  Kendel clicked her teeth. “Battle training with live targets.”

  Interesting. “Like against actual people?”

  “Yep.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until I say stop.”

  We didn’t exchange another word until I was fully dressed. Fighting naked sounded like an idea for a guy’s holovision show, not something I should be doing in a grooming area. Without being obvious about it, I measured her up. In her regular form, she was a head taller, skinnier, and narrower in the hips and chest than me. Who knew if muscle mass and weight changed when she shifted forms? I had no intention of finding out the hard way.

  I could bring the heat, though. If she tried me, I’d fry her.

  Mom had always told me eye contact was a sign of respect. Respect was not the emotion I was having toward this chick. Still, I faced her to hear the truth — see it come from her thin, pink lips. “What’s your problem with me, anyway?”

  “You exist.”

  I thought my armor into action, and the sleek, black metal snaked across my clothes. It had a heavier weight than the old one Peters had given me. “So, try to kill me.”

  Kendel didn’t bother activating her armor. Instead, she patted me on the shoulder and said, “No thanks.”

  She led me past the training center where I’d been yesterday to a wing in the facility I had never seen before. Bottling my aggression toward her was near impossible and walking to an unknown destination didn’t help. That’s it. I’m done with secret places. “Where are we?”

  “Go.” She pointed to an open room. “She’ll tell you what’s next.”

  Ugh. I hated surprises like this. Inside the bare room were two black padded chairs — one of them occupied. The occupant stood — a skinny woman with brown, curly hair. She wore a comfortable-looking beige turtleneck sweater, brown leather pants, and modest heels. Was she in her forties? Fifties? Hard to tell. The gray hairs in her bangs could have arrived early.

  “Hi, Lucy.” she said. Her voice was soft music. “My name is Susan. I’ve been expecting you. Welcome to your psychological evaluation.”

  My stomach dropped and rumbled. “Why?”

  “Part of the process, I’m afraid. Would you like a drink? A soda or maybe a water? And happy birthday.”

  I’d been around people like her before. “Thanks. Just read my mind, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “That’s not the kind of work I do, Lucy. I’m not one of you.”

  “You’re normal?”

  Her hair bounced as she shook her head no. “Normal is a relative term. Will you sit?”

  I put her to the test by thinking a stream of nonsense she’d have to respond to. Susan didn’t flinch. She was telling the truth or had an out-of-control bluff. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  She tapped the right arm of the chair. “We trust one another. That’s how therapy works. Everything you say is confidential unless you intend to hurt yourself or others.”

  Therapy. Therapy meant a label. Damaged. I claimed the seat across from her. We sat for a moment. Susan’s ocean-blue eyes tightened on me. “The speed and honesty with which you answer my battery of questions and follow-ups, the faster this is all over. Whatever you say beyond that is up to you. I’m evaluating you for the field, Lucy, that’s all.”

  “Field?”

  “To use your powers in a more comprehensive, open, and controlled manner in sanctioned situations. We call those situations ‘the field’. Oh, I forgot about this.” Susan handed me a metal bracelet with five studded white jewels. “Can’t have you tossing my front door into the ocean.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. It’s strictly for safety purposes. Mine and yours. The bracelet suppresses your powers while you’re with me. I’ll release it when we’re finished. Are you ready?”

  I slid the bracelet over my wrists and immediately noticed the difference. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Let’s start out simple. Describe the extent of your abilities and the times you used them.”

  I explained to her about the fire, and it might or might not be radioactive, and I could fly with help. I’d used them first starting at the house. There was the guy in my hallway — no, I had stabbed him through with a knife not burned him, and the guys in my house who I’d given burns, and the practice with Old Guy, the car explosion…

  And the guy who I unintentionally incinerated. I didn’t count Mateo, because I couldn’t confirm his death. Pretty sure Liam was still breathing.

  Susan tapped a glowing blue module hooked to her right ear. I’d seen one of those before used to record notes. “You’ve used lethal force more than once.”

  “Yep. So?”

  I sighed and anticipated the next question. How did I feel about the ability to kill? I rubbed my right wrist — the one I had to shake loose from a charred skeleton hand. I’d never thought about responsibilities attached to having this degree of power. Part of me saw power as a curse and hated it. A different part of me loved it.

  “How does that feel?” she asked me. “The ability to control whether someone lives or dies.”

  The rigid coldness of the bony fingers on my wrist haunted me. “Complicated,” I admitted to her.

  “That’s fair.”

  “How am I supposed to feel?”

  Susan rested her chin on her hand. “No right or wrong answers here, Lucy. You’re either ready for the field, or you’re not. No judgment either way. Your parents only know the end.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m going to push you a little bit. I need you to explain complicated to me.”

  For a moment, I thought about how much I wanted to share with her. Whatever I said was being transmitted through her headset to cloud technology — confidential to a point. Who was to say my parents weren’t listening? “Good and bad, like good about the bad, bad about the good, I don’t know. That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  “Try not to think of my evaluation in a binary fashion.” She repositioned herself in the chair. “Not good or bad, right or wrong, black or white. It is what it is, and the fact you feel a sense of wrong isn’t a negative thing. Do you want to go into the field?”

  My heart thumped. What was I supposed to say? Yes, I wan
ted to go into the field, fight for the right cause, and beat the bad guys. Or no, I wanted to be a normal girl who could light her entire body on fire. There was no more “normal.” My parents had decided that for me years ago when they had a relationship and conceived me. I told Susan the truth.

  “All right,” she responded. “I can work with that. Let’s proceed.”

  The questions continued, but the interview went forward more like a conversation between,[XW107] say, a teacher and an uncomfortable student. As Susan talked to me and shared personal stories of her own — she’d split with her husband after she started work here — she got me to talk. We discussed everything irrelevant, from holovision reality stars to current events, over hot coffee. Had therapy been like this when Mom had taken me, I wouldn’t have blown it off.

  Then, she fired kill shots in the form of a word association game. Easy rules. Respond to her prompts with the first word or words that came to my mind. “Elayna Sandoval.”

  Simple. “Mom. Kind of a stranger lately.”

  “Try to stick to fewer words. Jason Champion.”

  Hmm. “Handsome stranger.”

  “Life.”

  I relaxed a bit. This wasn’t so bad. “Short.”

  “Death.”

  “Shorter.”

  Susan paused for a moment, and she focused on the tip of her square-toed, brown leather shoes. “Natalee Gupta.”

  Natalee was my best friend who was wasting away in a coma somewhere in Nowhere, Ohio. Whom I couldn’t stop from getting shot, and who was being tended to by a person with one name who might or might not be an actual doctor. My world grew dark and hot. Every place on my body tingled with energy. The bracelet was doing its job. No flames.

  “Natalee Gupta, Lucy.”

  In all the mayhem of my life, I’d forgotten all about her. She could have died on Isabella’s table a week ago, and I wouldn’t have known the difference. Nat was my best friend, my only friend, and I’d been self-centered and stupid and I…

  “Pass.”