“Stay here!” Without hesitation, he shoulders his way back through the doors, giving me a view of the blazing inferno within. The adrenaline and panic of our predicament seem to have given him a momentary burst of energy.
“What? Dad! Don’t go in there!” My breath comes in and out in hot gasps. I reach down to check on Brent, but feeling a steady pulse, my mind drifts back to the matter at hand.
I can hear the crackling of fire, but also the foaming jet of the extinguisher. Slowly, the glow dulls, and I’m immersed in darkness. Too much time passes, and my nerves tingle under my skin. I’m overwhelmed by the thick smoke choking the air, so I lay down next to Brent, pulling first his shirt up to cover his nose, then my own. I can hear the skittering paws of rats as they flee from their nests.
When Dad returns from the back room, I’m relieved that I can see him silhouetted against a backdrop of natural light, rather than the dancing yellows and oranges of fire. He has wedged the outside door open, and he repeats it with the inner door, allowing a hot breeze to blow through. It’s stifling and muggy, but at least it pushes the smoke around.
Dad flops down on the ground beside us, every ounce of his energy spent. “Are you—” he begins, but I interrupt him.
“Don’t ask if I’m okay. Please. If I hear those words even one more time, I’m going to lose what little sanity I have left.” Dad sags, but he gives a nod. I sigh. “Are you okay?” I ask.
I swear the corner of his mouth lifts up in a ghost of a smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Anything left of those supplies?” I ask without any real hope.
The look on his face confirms my fear.
He rolls up onto all fours and crouches down next to Brent, who has started to stir under his t-shirt muzzle. “What happened?” Brent croaks.
“I hate to tell you this, bro, but about that mother lode… We are once again broke.”
16
Lori
I never thought sitting in the dark could be this miserable. Over the past few years, life in the compound has been growing increasingly dim. Light bulbs would burn out and wouldn’t get replaced. Wires would get fried, and we wouldn’t have the means to fix them. And as our population tapered off, whole sections of the compound went unused because there simply wasn’t enough electricity to go around.
And all it took was one morning outside, one glimpse at what the sun has to offer, and my relationship with the darkness has changed. It’s suffocating. It’s hot and too close, like swaddling me in a wool blanket, and then wrapping it around my face so I can’t see or breathe.
With his newfound energy, Dad announces, "I think our best choice is to move forward." Brent and I share a look. I disagree about this being the best option, but it may be the only option. And from the worry in Brent's eyes, I'd say he feels the same. Neither of us say anything; I don't know about Brent's motivation, but I don’t want the blame for whatever comes next. Our dad can shoulder the responsibility this time. He figures that there’s nothing left behind but a charred mess and a doorway leading nowhere.
Perhaps there’s something else to be found in here, something worth protecting with a tripwire.
My mouth opens of its own accord. “Why do you think someone was so willing to burn all those supplies?” I ask, my voice disappearing into the black void around us.
The guys are silent as they contemplate my question. “I’m telling you, there could be something more valuable in here,” Dad says.
Brent, always the optimist, sneers. “Or maybe those boxes were empty. Maybe they were just bait, to get us through the door.”
Great. What is it about all these criminals out there? Now I have to worry about some sociopath sneaking up on us in the dark.
As if on cue, something scuttles across my feet, causing me to let out a high-pitched squeal. I try to shake off the shiver of dread, but the feeling lingers.
“Where are we going, Dad?” If he’s going to be the leader, he’d better have a destination in mind. Or at least go faster; the rats are lapping us.
He looks into the dark interior of the endless room. The sun outside has started its descent through the sky, and what little light is coming through the open doors is fading. "Well, the direction to go is obvious." He gestures with his hand and rather than look, Brent lowers his head into his hands. He reeks of regret and avoidance. Smells a lot like BO.
Dad coaxes us off the floor with weak words of encouragement. He pulls me up by my hand, and his skin is dry and hot against my own. I try to get a good look at him in the gloom but it's impossible to see anything. A feeling of foreboding is quickly settling over me like a shroud.
Dad is determined to close the outside door, to add a barrier between us and our potential pursuers, leaving us in what I refuse to think of as our final resting place. Then he has us all walk along the outside of the room, following with one hand on the wall, the other held out in front to avoid walking into anything. At first, we can see dim outlines of objects—I swear I startled over the first six all-too-human mannequins we came across—but soon enough, the darkness is too complete for our eyes to adjust to. So far, we’ve only bumped into what feel like racks of empty hangers and shelves, mostly covered in dust.
“Lori, do you remember that time you were six years old, and I took you to the zoo?” Dad’s voice takes on that reminiscent quality I know all too well. He’s always been a fan of reliving the past. He gets this glazed, dreamy look on his face. If you don’t stop him, he’ll go on for hours.
“No, Dad,” I sigh, exasperated. “How can you possibly expect me to remember a single day, from fifteen years ago!” My supreme eye roll is wasted on the darkness.
“No, no. You’ll remember this day,” he says with such certainty that I almost believe him. “We spent the entire day there, had so much fun. We were just about ready to leave, but you were upset that we hadn’t seen the tigers yet. So, we hiked all the way to the very back of the zoo.”
“Sounds about right,” Brent chuckles. “She’s so demanding.”
I reach out to give him a smack but hit my knuckles on a shelf instead. Karma’s a bitch.
“Those tigers had better have been worth it,” I grumble.
“They sure were. You loved those damn cats.” He trails off, lost in the memory.
I clear my throat to bring him back on track. “Is there a purpose to this story?”
Dad chuckles in the gloom. “Your feet hurt. You had worn your new fancy shoes.”
Something tingles deep in the recesses of my mind. “The shiny black ones? With the little bow?”
“Those very ones! Well, they pinched your feet after so much walking. I tried giving you a piggyback for a while, but you were just too damn heavy.”
This time when Brent gave a strangled laugh, I landed my hit. “I wasn’t heavy. I was… solid.”
Dad continues as though we haven’t interrupted him with our bickering. “Well, you started whining something fierce. You told me that I would have to leave you behind because you couldn’t walk another step.”
“So you left me there?” I laugh.
“Maybe I should’ve,” he teases. “No, I asked you, ‘Do you want some ice cream?’ And because you were a little girl, you were willing to do anything for ice cream. We walked to the little snack shack and got an ice cream cone. And when that was done, I asked if you wanted to feed the ducks.”
The more my dad talks about that day at the zoo, the more I feel the memory niggling at the edges of my brain. I try to shove the memory back down; I don’t want it. It’s bright and it’s happy, and it’s nothing but a kick in the gut.
But he keeps going, blind to the sour expression on my face. “So we walked a little farther on and fed the ducks.”
“Okay, Dad. I get the point,” I blurt.
“Do you?” He turns to look back at me, and that’s when I realize that I can see him dimly in the shadows.
“Hey! It’s getting lighter! I can see you!”
H
e gives me a knowing smile, that doesn’t come across at all as condescending. “You haven’t changed so much after all. All you needed was a little distraction.”
Dad turns forward again, and I follow in contemplative silence, with Brent bringing up the rear. I no longer need to keep a hand out to avoid bumping into anything; shadowy silhouettes are darker grey, giving the space a jagged, broken feel.
Soon, we can see clearly where the light is coming from. The whole front of the building is a wall of windows, mostly boarded over, but one window is clear of obstruction, the boards pulled clear. Now that the sun is lower in the sky, we’re relatively safe from its rays, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to go press myself up against the glass or anything.
We hesitate, trying to get a good look at the room we’re in, trying to find something of use. The ceiling is low, giving us an impression of the ornate patterns carved into the plaster. The floors alternate between plush carpet in the display areas to polished tiles in the higher traffic walkways. Even with the empty shelves, it’s pretty obvious that this place was once swanky. Definitely a high-end department store.
I stroll between the racks, trailing my fingers along the hangers, setting them swinging lazily on their perches. And that’s when I see it.
“Dad? Brent?” I can hear them murmuring quietly, talking strategy no doubt. “I think you might want to take a look at this.”
They must sense my excitement because they both appear at my side within seconds. They follow where I’m pointing. In a recessed bay window, the windows now covered in a plywood sheet, is a lavish display, designed to entice shoppers from the street. And it just so happens that it’s been overlooked by looters.
We exchange glances, and then race each other to the mannequins. The temperature gets warm, but it’s within the realm of bearable as I step up into the display.
There in the window is a pair of mannequins, dressed to the nines. The female—if that’s what you can call this plastic figure with overly smoothed features—is wearing a red sequined gown that goes all the way to the floor. Her plastic hand is held out to her partner who is wearing a slim black suit.
I feel my eyes get wide. I can't deny that this is something I've always dreamed of. Having worn nothing but coveralls, scrubs, and pajamas for the past decade, this dress is as alien as the sun. Girls my age are supposed to dress up, are supposed to dance. But all of those experiences were taken from us. From me.
I may never know who was responsible for it, but sometimes I like to imagine some government scapegoat sitting in his ivory tower, probably drinking crystal clear water from a golden goblet. He would, of course, be laughing maniacally at us lower humans. And then I imagine what I would do to him if I met him. The fantasy gives me some sense of satisfaction at least, rather than having this meaningless life just thrown at me by accident.
I run my hand along the sequins and I make a decision. This dress is mine. I slide it off the mannequin’s shoulders and onto the floor. Dad and Brent stand by watching. They don't try to stop me. I knock the mannequin out of the way and pick the dress up from the floor delicately, cradling it in my arms, and that is when Brent steps forward. He slides the jacket from the plastic male.
“Why not?” is all he says.
I hold the dress against my body and swivel, in awe at the way the sequins glimmer in the light.
"Look at you," says Dad. "I always imagined my baby girl going to prom when she grew up. I wish I had a camera."
I can't stop the blush on my cheeks. "Give me a break, Dad," I say.
Brent and I get dressed in the dark change rooms. It feels strange, like playing pretend. Like it was all a game. Or maybe a dream; maybe I will wake up and everything will be back to the way it was.
Seeing the look on Dad's face makes it all worth it. Brent stands beside me in his fancy suit and offers me his arm. I link my hand around his elbow and he ushers me forward. Dad holds up his hands, holding his imaginary camera and says, "Click."
"How do I look?" asks Brent.
"Like my brother," I tell him.
He frowns. "What about now?" he asks, giving me a spin. When I don't answer right away, he gives me a few more spins, fast enough that I can't focus on the room around us.
"Now you look like my brother who's about to be covered in puke," I warn him.
As the sun dips behind the skyline, the light dims, making it hard to see each other. "Let's go outside and get a look around," my dad suggests.
“Are you kidding?” I practically shout. “We worked so hard to get in here, and now you just want to leave?”
“Not leave, no,” he corrects me. “But we aren’t going to survive long in here. If all we have are sequined dresses and suits, there’s a good chance we may starve.”
“What, you don’t like the taste of cotton?” I tease.
“There is no way this suit is made of cotton,” Brent says, deadpan, as he feels the material. “Pretty sure this is silk.”
“And will that improve the flavor?” Brent jumps out of reach as I try to lick his shoulder.
Dad ignores us, and shoulders open an emergency exit. “This way,” he calls, disappearing into a stairwell. Oh god, I think to myself. The dank stairwell feels like a trap. Brent and I hurry to catch up. Brent’s stolen dress shoes slip on the stairs, and I’m tripping over the hem of my dress. I didn’t bother with the ridiculous four-inch heels that were wedged onto the mannequin’s molded plastic feet. They didn’t seem practical, what with all the running for our lives that we’ve been doing lately.
I rush, trying to catch up. I hike my dress up around my thighs and take two steps at a time. The stairwell is gloomy, but there is a faint light coming from above. At the third landing, we run into a blockade of broken furniture. There doesn’t seem to be any way through, at least not without causing an avalanche to crush us all, so we choose to exit the stairwell. Through an outer door, we enter into some kind of a garage.
The air outside seems just as warm and stagnant as that inside the building, and taking a deep breath brings no satisfaction. There are a few decrepit cars lying abandoned, mostly intact considering how long they've been here. They've been partially protected from the rain and elements by the concrete ceiling above. The mechanic in me can't help but wonder what kind of car parts I can scavenge from their carcasses. But then I remember that I don't need their parts anymore. I'm not going back there, but maybe I could somehow get word to Jose about this automotive gold mine.
"Come on," shouts Dad. He's already across to the other side of the garage, heading for a second set of stairs up to the next floor. Brent and I follow, and we soon find ourselves at the top of the garage, looking down over the broken buildings and city streets. I squint in the last of the sun’s dying rays. I hate that feeling the sun against my skin feels unnatural, that somehow a few years belowground has overridden millennia of evolutionary instinct. I make a point to turn my face skyward and stick out my tongue. Take that, sun.
As I approach the overhang, a feeling of desolation sinks into me. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe I thought beyond the street that I would see something green, or clean. Something not… dead.
But there's just more of the same.
The three of us stand leaning against the railing, surveying the world around us. Where will we go? What can we possibly do to survive this new barren land?
The sun is setting, turning the sky a deep orange, tinged with purple. It's a stark contrast against the greys and beiges of the crumbling buildings. But as the colors deepen, the bleached world before us takes on a new intensity. The brick and cement seem to absorb the sunset, giving them an unearthly glow, and just for a split second, I catch a glimpse of a world awakened from the past.
"It's kind of beautiful, don't you think?” Brent’s eyes are gleaming with unshed tears as he stares starstruck at the sky.
I balk at the emotion I catch on his face. It’s too open, too raw. My instant reaction is to shut down and throw up my pro
tective walls. "What is?" My voice is especially bitter, but Brent is too awed to notice.
"The sky. The sun. Everything."
"Sure, if you can ignore the fact that everything here will kill us given the chance.”
Brent gives me a look, scathing and a little disappointed. "Can't you just enjoy this moment?”
Clearly I can't. All I feel is regret. Why didn’t I stay at the compound? My stomach is empty and grumbling at me in annoyance. I am literally starving, and the inside of my mouth is about as dry as the pavement below my feet. I want to find somewhere safe where I can sleep, but how am I supposed to know where that is? Nowhere is safe anymore.
As I stand here, reminiscing about the good life at the compound, Elyse’s face comes to mind. Or rather, how it looked in the end, chalky and slack. Bile coats the back of my tongue. I’m disgusted with myself, with how quickly I was able to sugarcoat how it was living under the government’s protection. A little bit of discomfort, and I’m suddenly willing to give up my soul for a little protein paste and a thin blanket.
I reach out and take Brent’s hand in mine. I give it a squeeze in an unspoken apology, and he returns the gesture in what I hope is forgiveness.
The sunset, all too brief, begins to dim. In that moment, I realize that something isn’t right. Something isn’t syncing with my memory of the sky. There are no clouds. Just a giant expanse of sky, broken only by the crumbling spires of an ancient city.
It feels alien and toxic. We don’t belong here.
As if to prove my point, a clatter echoes around us. I turn my head from side to side, trying to pinpoint the direction, but it’s impossible to tell exactly where it came from. “What was that?”
Dad and Brent freeze. We exchange glances. And we wait.
We hear nothing, not even wind. Just more of the unsettling silence that has been following us ever since we left the compound.
"Maybe it was just –” Brent is interrupted by what sounds like a rock skittering across the pavement. I look down over the railing to the street below. It’s hard to make out any details among the lengthening shadows. What I can tell is that it’s a long way down.
Prey (The Shade Chronicles Book 1) Page 12