But again, tonight, his charcoal words would lift from where he’d placed them. They’d mix in a flow of tepid water before running off the parchment’s frayed edges. Like so many times before, the dirtied water would carry his words down the drain and into the Commune’s waste-recycling units. How many of his words were trapped in the filters of the waste recycler? How many stories would forever be hidden away in a mash of recycling pulp and communal waste, never to be seen or read by another set of eyes? He sighed away the loss, for the freedom to write the way he liked was still his, at least for today.
“Attention,” Ms. Gilly commanded from the front of the classroom. Declan considered the years that the stout woman had been teaching him. There was a time when she’d towered over him and his friends, back when he was younger, and she was thinner. Still, she’d had a presence that had been so large in their young eyes that often he’d feared her, and frequently he’d avoided her.
It wasn’t until the year that he’d gotten sick and missed over two weeks of school that the fearfulness he’d held for her changed into something else. She’d appeared in his room, bringing with her a handful of parchment and a tiny pouch of sweets. Fever wet his brow, and a heavy rattle tumbled deep in his chest. There was talk that Declan had the flu, which terrified his parents. If word of his sickness spread, his dwelling would come under guard. But Ms. Gilly challenged the Commune floor advisors, telling them that they were overreacting. Unlike others, she hadn’t been afraid to enter his dwelling. She told them that she’d seen the flu firsthand, and that what Declan had wasn’t the flu at all. She’d smiled to his parents, and said that her favorite student would be fine.
Declan never forgot that. Now when he looked at Ms. Gilly, there was something more… something motherly about her. And she had helped, especially in the last year, when his mother and sister had really gotten sick. They weren’t as lucky as he had been: they’d gotten the flu—and died from it. That was the second time that Ms. Gilly had visited his home. She’d held him as he cried, and told him that it was okay, and that, in time, the pain would pass.
But the pain never passed. It stayed with him, and on some days, he was grateful to have it. Some days, though, he struggled to remember the sounds of their voices. His seat creaked as he turned just enough to look down two rows in front of him. He found the empty desk where his sister, Hadley, had sat. Part of him was relieved that her seat remained empty, but at the same time, it was concerning.
“Hadley sat there,” he whispered just loud enough to be heard. Hearing her name gave him a good feeling, leaving him content for today. Tomorrow might be different, but then again, tomorrow might be different for everybody in the world. After all, today was to be the End of Gray Skies.
“Attention, class,” Ms. Gilly commanded again. The sound of chairs moving, and the hinged screeching and clunking of school desks, became rushed. The ruckus continued as everyone prepared for the day, and then the noise slowed to a few stragglers before stopping. As Ms. Gilly began to speak, one last clunk of a heavy desktop turned her eyes. As she approached the source, young Rick Toomey went about his business, rummaging inside his desk, preparing a writing parchment. Ms. Gilly stared at the boy, but Rick Toomey continued, unaware that he was holding up the class. With her eyebrows raised, Ms. Gilly waited. It was only when the room had completely quieted that Rick Toomey at last took notice. When his upturned face met Ms. Gilly’s, he blushed and forced a smile while the rest of the class let out a laugh. Ms. Gilly chortled once, raising her hand to her mouth.
“If you weren’t so darn cute…” she started, and then brushed her thick fingers through his hair before returning to the front of the class.
“Does anyone know what day today is?” Her voice sang out over the class. The room was silent again.
“Anyone?” she repeated, rocking up on her toes and then back down.
“It’s the End of Gray Skies,” the class answered. A few voices trailed off, and then hushed amid giggles and the clapping of a few hands.
“And can anyone tell me what that means?”
Declan shrank back into his chair. To his surprise, young Rick Toomey bolted up out of his seat. He wore an anxious toothy grin, and turned to speak directly to the class.
“The End of Gray Skies is when the five Oceanic-VAC-Machines will change our Earth back to the way it was.” He finished with a stern nod.
“Thank you, Rick. That is correct,” Ms. Gilly said, motioning for the boy to sit. “Now, who can tell me why? Why is this of interest to us?”
Ms. Gilly’s eyes crawled across the room, searching for someone. Declan shrank back down, trying to make himself smaller, trying to avoid being called on. Ms. Gilly’s hand lifted, and jabbed at the air, as if counting the number of students in front of her. Declan pushed until the chair creaked, catching her ear. When she turned to the sound, her eyes settled on him, and her finger stopped bouncing. She grinned at him, satisfied with her selection.
“How about you, Declan? What can you tell the class about the End of Gray Skies? Wait…” she paused with her finger still in the air. “Actually, I want you to first tell the class about Gray Skies. What happened?”
Silence; Declan hesitated, and didn’t say a word. He felt a tiny jab on his back and heard Sammi laugh teasingly. She punched him again, hard enough this time to bump him forward. Declan straightened his back, and then stood.
“Come up here, so that everyone can hear you,” Ms. Gilly said, slapping a hand against her hip.
“Go on, Dicklan, go on, now,” a voice from the back row teased.
“Don’t mind them,” Sammi comforted. “Go ahead, you’ll do fine. You always do.”
Nerves played in his belly and made his steps feel wobbly. When his mouth went dry, and his throat turned scratchy, he thought to go back to his seat. Maybe he could complain of a stomachache, or a headache. When he turned back, Sammi shooed him with a wave of her hands. Declan pressed forward until he found himself facing the class.
The youngest of children sat in the front row, twiddling their fingers and hands. One child stared absently ahead, making lip-smacking noises, clapping his hand against his open mouth. Older children lined up in each row behind the first. And many of the senior students sat in the back rows, including Sammi. Although Declan was ahead of her by one year, he liked that Sammi sat behind him.
Sammi caught Declan’s eyes, and delivered a wide smile and an encouraging nod. Even from where he stood, he could see the bounce of her red hair as she gestured her support for him. He smiled back, but it quickly faded when another voice teased from the back row. Ms. Gilly fired off a rapid series of claps to silence the hecklers.
Once everyone settled again, Declan began to tell the tale. He spoke to the class as though he were writing one of his stories. This time, the words wouldn’t end up trapped in the filters of the waste recycler. With his voice, and through his words, he showed the class what had happened. It was a sad, but good, story.
“Nobody knows exactly what happened. Nobody really knows what happened at all. Hundreds of years have passed since the massive Oceanic-VAC-Machines were built to fix what was broken. Five of the machines were built: one for each of the oceans. Over twenty years, thousands of people from all over the world worked together, communicating, building, and testing. They were going to save the world.
“Whether the world actually needed saving might never be known. Some speculate that the gigantic machines were built to transform the oceans into a new energy source. Some believe they wanted to fix global warming, while others think the plan was to use the ocean to fix the Earth’s ozone layer.
“Turning the machines on took months, but within weeks, the converted seawater rose high enough, fixing whatever was broken—or so they thought. But it also made the Earth’s air heavy; too heavy. The machines were left on, and the air continued to grow denser.
“When they realized that the atmosphere couldn’t adjust to the changes, the scientists had to change the
machines. Protection from the sun was better than before; for that, the machines worked. But at the same time, the machines were suffocating the planet.”
“Why didn’t they just turn the machines off?” asked Stewart, a boy in the third row.
At some point, Ms. Gilly had taken Declan’s seat in front of Sammi. She was slouched forward with her chin resting on her hands, her head lifted to listen.
“That is a very excellent question, Stewart. Very good,” she complimented. Stewart smiled, his eyes beaming.
“Tell us why they didn’t turn off the machines,” Ms. Gilly directed to Declan.
Declan suddenly felt distracted, unable to remember. He glanced around the class, hoping to land on something that would help him. Ms. Gilly stood up from the chair, blocking Sammi from his view. A moment later, the round top of red hair appeared from behind Ms. Gilly’s bottom.
Sammi mouthed the words, “They could not…”
Declan lifted his brow and said, “Because the machines couldn’t be turned off. Well… they could, but since each of them needed months to turn back on, the scientists didn’t want to take the risk, in case they didn’t come back on at all.” Ms. Gilly turned just enough to see Sammi’s head quickly slip back behind her.
“That’s right. Thank you,” she said, and then added, “Thank you too, Sammi.” The class let out a laugh, but then quieted again when Ms. Gilly raised her hand. She was laughing a little too. Declan was about to continue, when a skinny, pale arm sprouted from the fourth row. Before Ms. Gilly could call on the owner of the arm, Tabby Wetton began to speak.
“Hi, Declan,” Tabby started to say, and then showed her dimples through a bashful grin. Gently biting her lower lip, she straightened.
“What happened next? Why didn’t anyone know there was something wrong?” This part Declan remembered from the history class.
“They did know something was wrong. The scientists said it was a side effect. But it wasn’t something anyone could see. And, before they could stop it, the accident happened. The clouds fell from the sky, fog formed everywhere. The air had become too dense. By then, it was too late. Turning the machines off wouldn’t make a difference.”
“But how bad did it get?” Tabby continued. “I mean, how much changed?”
Declan considered this last part. He only knew what he’d been taught.
“It changed everything. The fog was new to everyone. And toxic. There were stories that at first, it even killed. It was heavy with salt, choking all the machines. Cars and buses and trucks filled the roads and highways: rusted corpses. All traveling stopped. Even travel by foot became impossible. Families were separated forever. And back then, food came from somewhere else. It wasn’t like it is now, where we grow our own food in the Commune. Food was gone. Medicine was gone. It was chaos and pandemonium. And it wasn’t just the people. The animals suffered too. Birds stopped flying, died off. Thousands of species vanished. It was the end of the world. Murder, and torture, and…”
Declan was gone. The details he’d struggled to remember were now at the ready; his mind was racing like it sometimes did when he was writing.
“Declan!” Ms. Gilly yelled, interrupting him.
Declan jumped. He stopped talking, and focused on Ms. Gilly.
“Declan, thank you, I think that is enough,” she spoke in a low tone, and motioned with her hand to the front row. The third- and fourth-year students sat with wide eyes and mouths agape. Some had furrowed brows, and their lips were drawn down and trembling. Tabby stared, too. Her hand was to her mouth. Declan realized then what he’d done. He’d scared them. He looked to Sammi. Though her eyes were wide, she motioned for him to talk to them.
Declan stepped forward and knelt down onto one knee. He forced a smile, and looked at each of the children.
“It was an ugly time, but it is part of our history. And you know what? We survived! Sometimes a sad story can have a happy ending. We’re here. Your parents are here. Your family is here. We have food and school, and we still have some of the things from the old world. Not a lot, but some. We survived.”
“Then why do we need an End of Gray Skies?” young Rick Toomey interrupted. “Why do we have to change anything? Isn’t everything fine the way it is?”
Declan turned to face Rick. The question cramped the boy’s expression. How many in the class felt the same way? The world today, as they knew it, was their home. Should they try to change it? Declan stood, and a hollow pop sounded from his knee, pulling a giggle from the children.
“Why don’t we let Andie show us?” Declan said. At once, the class jumped and then straightened in their chairs, chanting, “Andie! Andie! Andie! Andie!” Ms. Gilly smirked, and with the wave of her hands, conceded the suggestion. Ms. Gilly was never a fan of Andie, the robot. However, the kids loved and adored him.
“Someone is going to have to get on the cycle,” she demanded as she joined Declan at the front of the room. Ms. Gilly pulled on his arm until he leaned in to hear her over the Andie chant.
“You know I can’t stand Andie, but if not for the good job you’ve done, we’d be moving on to our math lessons. Next time, leave some of your writer’s imagination up here,” she told him, tapping her hand to his head. He fixed a smile, and then went on to fetch Andie.
“Do we have someone to cycle up? We need a few minutes, at least. Those energy cells aren’t going to charge themselves!” Ms. Gilly shouted.
Declan raised his chin enough to see the cycle. He hated that thing. He hated it when it was his turn in class, and he hated it at home. The cycle came from the old world, a design handed down to put energy back into the energy cells.
The chanting faded to a low rumble, as the older students sought out a volunteer to hop on the cycle. When nobody in the class stood up, Ms. Gilly addressed them.
“No cycle, no Andie!”
Charlie Tabbot stood up from the last row and raised a hand. A reluctant smile lifted a corner of his mouth. The classroom applauded and broke out in a cheer.
Taller than anyone in the class, Charlie was at the cycle within a few steps. At once, he perched himself on the cycle’s seat and began pumping his knees up and down. He struggled with his height, angling his legs so that his knees cleared the handlebars. When the motor behind the cycle began to hum, a thin yellow light started to burn. The more Charlie pumped, the hotter and brighter the light became. Twenty more minutes, and the energy cells would hold enough of a charge to last a week.
“There, you see. That wasn’t so bad,” Ms. Gilly began. “I know I wasn’t getting on that thing,” she joked, and placed a gentle hand on Declan’s back, nudging him toward Andie. “Go on, now, get Andie.” Most of the excitement was in waiting to see the android, to see what would happen. Andie was a bit of a little miracle, as most androids had lasted only a few years before being scrounged for parts. Declan’s own excitement grew, and he joined the children in the chant.
3
The saying must be true, Sammi thought to herself as Declan played with the children. Sometimes we do find our soul mate. Her face warmed with the thought, and she felt an excited flutter inside. Her momma had once told her that the feeling meant she had butterflies in her belly. Sammi had never seen a butterfly; not a real one, anyway. She’d seen them in the classroom’s electronic photographs, though, and sort of understood what her momma had been saying. She watched Declan kneel down and rile up the kids into a grander chant for Andie.
“He’s so handsome,” she mumbled. I’m feeling the butterflies. She laughed at the silliness of it.
Innocent round faces followed Declan’s steps across the room. Sammi could see their eagerness: their lips pursed, their eyebrows lifted in anticipation. She could feel the thrill. After all, she had been like that once—they all had. Images as clear as the butterfly in the electronic photograph came to her: sitting in the first row with Declan, squeezing his hand as they waited to see Andie. It had all been terrifically exciting.
Declan tousled another boy�
��s hair. He was good with the children, and that meant more to her now than it ever had before. She’d seen him with the children a hundred times, but now she was seeing him. It would soon be time for her to choose. She wanted to choose right; she had to. But she already knew… she’d always known. It would be Declan.
Her seventeenth birthday was less than a month away. It was a big day for a girl—even bigger than the End of Gray Skies announcement. From her perspective, anyway. A girl’s seventeenth birthday was the day that she could begin a family. With only a few years given to have children, she didn’t want to waste any time.
She’d seen some girls grow up and miss their time. No longer allowed to try. Some, like Ms. Gilly, had stayed alone, and worked with the children of others. But there was a time when Ms. Gilly had had someone to call her own. Hadn’t she? Sammi recalled a distant memory. It was an early morning and she’d found Ms. Gilly alone, staring at a drawn image of the man she’d chosen. When Sammi asked about the picture, Ms. Gilly was more than happy to tell her about James Sundref, about the years they’d had together. But their time to have a family expired, and she told Sammi that James Sundref had moved on. While Ms. Gilly had chosen to stay, other girls sometimes left the protection of their home, and the safety of the Commune, never to be heard from again. Six years was all that Sammi would be allowed, and there was no way that she would waste a minute of it.
Does he know I’m going to choose him? she wondered, and then a hard, cold possibility shuttered the butterfly wings. What if he doesn’t want me? What if he wants someone else… someone like Sheila Myers? Sitting a few rows away, Sammi stole a glance at Sheila: she was beautiful. She might even be the most beautiful girl in their Commune. Jealousy tapped her heart with an ugly finger. Talking to one of the boys, Sheila was playing with her hair, pushing a lustrous lock of it behind her ear. Sammi noticed then that Sheila was oblivious to Declan and the activities taking place at the front of the classroom.
Endure: Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 2 (Caustic) Page 2
