by JN Chaney
Roland shrugged. “So she’s smart. That doesn’t mean our orders don’t matter.”
“Of course not, but this isn’t the arena, and Mr. Nuber’s not watching us. There’s no scoreboard here. This is real life. This is the surface. If she has a better way, and it makes sense and it helps us, we should listen to it.”
“Yeah,” said John. “What’s the harm in listening?”
There was a long pause as Roland looked at each of them. After a few moments, he approached Mei and held out his hand. “Let’s see it,” he said. “If there’s any merit to it, I can send a call back to Central and ask permission to modify the plan. Afterwards, we have to do what they say, okay?”
“Okay,” she echoed and then handed him the pad.
*******
The group packed and left not long after Mei proposed her plan. Roland was able to contact Central, receiving permission to follow the new course. He didn’t tell them who came up with the idea, but it hardly mattered. Everyone knew it was Mei.
Terry walked behind John on the road as the group headed west. After a short while, they all fell silent, and Terry’s eyes dropped to the ground ahead of him. He watched as John’s boots slammed into the mud, one after the other. John took such wide steps, but there was no clumsiness to them. His boot didn’t waver or shake, nor did his feet curl or shuffle. He walked with the confidence of a soldier, of a man. He walked with absolute control.
I could never be like that, thought Terry. Even before, when he felt the surge of adrenaline and energy, when he threw John in the air like a stone, when he had known absolute strength. Even then, he was afraid.
Afraid of what? He wondered. Afraid of himself, perhaps, or afraid what he could do. And in that moment, when he actually did have that strength, what did he do with it? He freaked, panicked, but above all, he hurt his friend. And what would happen next time? What if the next person couldn’t take the hit? What if he really did end up hurting them?
Terry trembled, afraid of his own thoughts. Stop it, he told himself, squeezing his fists. Panicking wouldn’t solve anything. Hadn’t John told him as much before? Just breathe for a second, he told him. But it was easier said than done.
Terry lifted his eyes from the mud, meeting the clouded light of the distant firmament. Beyond that, the sun lay hovering like a drop of yellow sweat on the backside of the purple sky. He had dreamed for years of what this place might look like, never imagining how beautiful it could actually be. Yet, despite himself, all he could do now was focus on his feeble little problems, his faults and petty weaknesses.
“It’s not far now,” said Mei, running beside him. Her skinny legs were having a hard time with the mud, but she didn’t seem to care.
“What does your map tell you?” asked Terry.
“A few more miles,” she said. “We’ve been walking for four hours, and we’re making decent time.”
“Great,” he said.
“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you aren’t excited to see Alex’s smiling, pretty face. I bet he’ll give you a big bear hug as soon as he sees you. Won’t that be nice?” she asked, teasing.
“Apparently you know a different Alex than I do.”
Mei laughed. “Nope, he’s the same one. I can’t imagine why you’d think otherwise. Maybe you’re just a pessimist, Terry. Ever think of that?”
“You’re really laying the sarcasm on thick today,” he said.
“He’ll be even happier when we tell him why we’re here. I’m sure he won’t resist us at all.” She giggled.
“Can I ask you something?”
The look on her face shifted from a smile to a concerned frown almost instantaneously. “Everything okay?”
“I was thinking about what Sarah said. You know, about the gas. Do you think we’ll be okay? No one’s ever been exposed to these levels of Variant before or for this long.”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering the same thing,” she said. “But I don’t think there’s much to worry about. So far nobody’s had anything serious happen to them. Everyone feels great.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m thinking too much about it.”
Mei stared at him, tilting her head. “No, I don’t think so. There’s something you’re not telling me.” She punched the side of his arm. “Come on, out with it.”
He sighed. “Do you remember back in training when I ended up in the hospital?”
“Sort of,” she said. “It happened a long time ago. Mr. Nuber said it wasn’t a big deal, right?”
“They said it was a panic attack,” he said. “They tried to tell me the gas had nothing to do with it, but I didn’t believe them. After Mr. Nuber got me from the hospital, he told me I was right. I had a bad reaction to the gas, and it almost killed me.” He lifted his hand toward the sky, covering the sunlight over his face. “But it never happened again. I went back to being me, and I figured that was the end of it.” He lowered his hand and stared at it. After a moment, Mei grabbed it, and he looked up at her. “It happened again,” he finally said.
“You mean you blacked out?”
“Hours ago,” he said. “It was exactly the same as before, except I woke up in minutes, rather than days.”
She dropped his hand. “You’ve been walking around with this all day?”
“Sorry.”
“Does John know about this?”
“He was there when it happened.”
“Dammit!” She snapped, kicking the mud. “I swear he’s such a jackass.”
“I didn’t want to worry anyone,” he said.
“Well you’re an idiot,” she said. “And stupid.”
“I know.”
“Do you really?” she asked. “Because if you’d told me earlier, I could’ve checked you to made sure you were okay. You’re such an idiot!”
“Alright, alright,” he said, trying to keep her quiet. “You’re right. Keep it down so the others don’t hear. Promise you won’t say anything, okay?”
“To who? Roland?” she asked. “You think I’m as stupid as you are?” She shook her head. “I’m not going to let him send you back to Central so those doctors can study you. We’d never see you again!”
Terry smiled. “So what should we do, then?”
“When we stop, let me use the med kit’s scanner on you. I’ll run it on everyone so Roland and Sarah don’t suspect anything. It’s not the best piece of medical hardware out there, but it’ll get the job done. If you start feeling sick, tell me and I’ll give you some meds. No more secrets, Terry.”
They started walking again, and after a moment Mei turned to him and nudged his shoulder. “Don’t take any of what I said back there to sound like I’m concerned,” she said. “It’s not like that.”
Terry looked at her. “It’s not?”
“I’m worried about John, that’s all,” she said, looking forward. “He acts tough, but we both know he’s soft. If anything happens to you, he’d be devastated, the big baby. I’d have to carry him home. I can’t do that. Do you have any idea how much he weighs? I didn’t sign up for that.”
*******
Mei did as she promised. She took Terry’s vitals, but everything came back fine. No abnormal heart patterns, no blood pressure issues, no fevers, no rashes; nothing was present to indicate a negative reaction to Variant. Terry let out a sigh of relief when Mei gave him the news.
“We’ll do this again tomorrow,” she whispered to him, before moving on to the others. “Try not to overexert yourself.”
They were only a mile from the town now. Roland sat with the radio, talking to Central and requesting further orders. While they waited, Terry unpacked the cooking supplies and began handing out the rations.
“What’ll it be?” he asked John. “We have a fine selection.”
“Another bag of slop, I think. Those seem to be popular right now.”
Mei sat next to John on the ground. “Doesn’t bother me
.”
“Oh, come on,” said John. “Don’t you want a nice juicy soy burger? How about some fresh fruit? Man, I’d even take a salad right now.”
Mei laughed. “Do you guys remember the food back in the maternity district? My mother used to make the best tomato soup.”
“Yeah,” said John, his eyes wandering. “Apple pies for me…best you ever tasted.”
“Sounds great,” said Mei. “I never had pie until the academy, but I liked it.”
“Thinking about it makes my mouth water,” said John.
“What about you, Terry?” asked Mei.
Terry thought about it for a moment. “Sandwiches,” he said.
“Ew, that’s it?” said John.
“That sucks,” said Mei, frowning.
“It wasn’t bad,” he said.
“Then what was it?” asked John.
“It’s boring,” he said, shrugging.
“So what?” said Mei. “Not like we’ve got anything better to do. Just tell us.”
“Yeah, tell us about your sandwiches,” laughed John.
“Okay, fine,” he said. “Every Sunday, before the teacher from the academy came to visit, we used to sit in the living room together. Mother would make sandwiches and tea, while me and my sister played checkers on the floor. My mother never played with us; she only watched and smiled. We did that for a while…I don’t know how long…but then it stopped one day.” He pressed the base of his boot into the dirt, sliding it back and forth. The rocks crunched together, almost mechanically, like the noise the Contractors used to make when they repaired the city walls. “It wasn’t anything special,” he said. “But I liked it.”
“Sounds special to me,” said Mei. She put her hand on Terry’s shoulder, smiling. “And I bet the sandwiches were pretty good, too. Don’t you think so, John?”
“Sure,” he said. “I mean, you can’t beat apple pie, but I bet it’s a close second.”
“So there you go,” said Mei. “Even John thinks so.”
“What do you mean ‘even John’?” asked John.
Mei fanned her hand at him. “Nothing, let it go,” she said. “It’s time to eat, anyway. Terry, hand out the slop, and let’s all pretend it doesn’t suck.”
“Not sure I can,” said Sarah, suddenly. She and Roland were finally finished with the transmitter. “What are you guys talking about over here?”
“Just food,” said Mei, smiling.
John scowled at her. “Don’t think we’re done with this ‘even John’ business,” he whispered.
Mei snickered. “Stop living in the past.”
Roland sighed and sat on the ground. He twisted his back, cracking it several times. “I’m starving,” he finally said.
“Well, there’s bags of slop for everyone,” said John.
Terry tossed one of the meals at Roland, then to Sarah. “Eat up,” he said.
They each set the plate timers to warm their food. Once it was ready, they all ate. Roland finished first and took the opportunity to talk about their new orders.
“Central wants us to check these three zones,” he said, pulling up the map on his pad. The image had three red circles on it, roughly half a mile away from their current position. Each circle’s size was different, but they all covered areas where the buildings were still standing. “They said these are our best options.”
Sarah nodded. “Let’s not forget these two probably don’t want to be found. We need to use the goggles.”
“God, I hate those things,” said John, sighing. “The straps hurt my ears.”
Sarah raised her brow. “John, you’ve been wearing them for years.”
“Doesn’t mean I liked it,” he said.
“Well, this is the mission, so deal with it,” said Roland. “Pack the food when you’re done. Remember, we didn’t come up here just to look around and smell the Variant. We came to find those two and bring them home.”
Terry shook his head. “What if they don’t want to go?” he asked. “What do we do then?”
Roland stared at him for a moment. “We were given weapons,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“I’m not shooting anyone,” said Mei.
“Central’s orders, not mine.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re right,” said Terry.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Roland. “But they’re our orders, and right now they’re all we’ve got.”
Chapter 15
Documents of Historical, Scientific, and Cultural Significance
Open Transcript 616
Subtitled: The Memoires of S. E. Pepper – Chapter Nine
March 19, 2185
PEPPER: It’s strange the way our memory works. I can barely remember my father’s face without having to look up an old picture, but I know he had a crooked nose and big ears, and I know his favorite food was the catfish from our cousin’s ranch down in Florida, back where he was raised. He had red hair and freckles, but he could get a tan as fast as anyone. He loved my mom to death, and his favorite TV show was Marty Kroker’s Survival Show, and it aired every day at six pm. He was a Presbyterian, a carnivore, a wrestling fan, and he’d choose dirty hands over a necktie any day of the week.
I remember things about him, all the little details we use to define people when we talk about them. I can tell you all of it. But it’s been thirty-seven years since my dad died, and I can’t remember his smell. I can’t remember his voice or his laugh. I can’t remember his face.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know what he looked like. I have pictures, so I know his eyes were larger than most, and I know they were blue with brown spots in them. I know he had a mustache and my mother made him shave it. I know he loved me. But when I try to remember the way he looked at me on the scary nights, back when I was a little girl and I’d cry out in my sleep from all the nightmares, all I see is a shape—a blurry thing that ought to be a man, that ought to be my father, and it’s nothing. Just a shadow. So in this moment I grab his picture and I look at it and I stare at it and I wait. I wait for the memory, the one I’m sure is somewhere deep inside me. Sometimes I wait for hours.
So after a while, I put the picture down, and maybe I cry a little bit if I have to, and close my eyes and think quietly to myself. I start reciting things I know about him, all the little facts of the man I used to know, and I tell myself they’re true. I tell myself they’re enough, even though I know they’re not.
That’s the trouble with memory. It doesn’t always work the way we want it to. Sometimes we have to take what we can get from it and move on.
I was six years old on the day of the Jolt. We’d recently moved here. Dad had taken a job with the Ortego Corporation, and they paid him to uproot the rest of us and live underground. ‘It’s just for a little while,’ he told us. ‘Six to eight months—that’s easy. And think of all the fun you’ll have.’ I didn’t want to go. Not again. We’d only just moved to Montana, and I was starting to make friends at school, so why would I want to go? I fought him so hard on it.
It’s ironic now, of course. If he’d listened to me, we’d all have died up there, choked on fumes of purple vapors until our insides melted away. Instead, he chased the job and packed our bags. Before I knew it, I was standing on the edge of the largest elevator shaft I’d ever seen.
I have two regrets in life. The first is the argument I had with my father the day before the accident, when he suggested I accept an invitation to dinner from a young soldier, and I was having none of it. The second is that when we descended down into the earth all those years ago, I didn’t stop and look up, far into the light of the deep, blue sky, one last and final time.
End File
January 2, 2347
Unknown
Alex swept his palm back and forth against the surface of the wet dirt, flattening it. He dipped his fingers into the mud, letting its coldness slowly cocoon him. He smiled, even as the pain of the wound in his stomach ached like a fire in a
stove.
He lay inside a dark and narrow hole, soaking wet and aching. The smell of blood ran heavy through the air as drops of rain fell softly on the ancient planks above, like a thousand tiny fingertips beating gently to their own private rhythm. The walls, made up of rotting wood and hardened earth, leaned crooked from the passage of time, and at their base lay a pool of mud and filth. Centuries in the wilderness had overtaken the half-sunk hole, which had once served the purposes of men, but now remained abandoned as the drops of poison rain fell from a violet sky. For so long, this place had been without purpose.
But not anymore. Now, this hole would become Alex’s grave. He was going to die in this place, alone and in the dark, the same as if he’d never left that cursed city. Still, at least he would die in the world he was made for, breathing air only his lungs could breathe, and listening to an orchestra of rain. Even here, like this, he was still above them all. He was still the better man.
He coughed, drops of blood spewing from his throat. They tasted like salted metal, horrible and vile. He spit violently into the air, then leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
He awoke several times, but despite himself he could hardly keep his eyes open for more than a few moments. His body would allow for nothing more, so he absorbed all he could in the time he was given. The rain fluctuated between his flirtations with consciousness. At first it fell gently, then violently and hard. Many times the storm woke him, and many times he wondered if it would be the last thing he ever heard.
When consciousness finally found him again, the pattering of the drops above had ended, and the chaos of the storm had transformed into quiet emptiness. How long did he sleep? How long had it been since he crawled here and away from the conquering animals? He had no way of knowing, not without a pad or the sky to guide him.
He moved his hand against the ground, pulling up a fistful of partially dried earth. The rain probably stopped some time ago, he realized, or the dirt would still be mud. If so, then there was no telling how long he’d slept or how many days had passed.
