by Teri Terry
“I’m not sure about this. What if that website you met JJ on is being monitored now?” I’m giving Freja a let’s-talk-about-this look.
She raises an eyebrow, and I know what she means—what she is asking permission for—and as much as I don’t like it, I nod.
Is something wrong? she asks me, silently.
Maybe. We need to talk about this first.
All right.
“Maybe we should think about this for a while,” I say out loud. “How about in the meantime we try to find that fuel?”
CHAPTER 11
FREJA
WILF WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE LOCATION of gas supplies on the base, and he even knew where the keys were kept. He’s had a lot of time on his hands to explore.
Kai fetches the truck while we work out the emergency release for the boom gate so he can drive it onto the base. Now that we know it is just Wilf and Azra who monitor the cameras, at last I can be out in the fresh air without that appalling hat.
And I wonder why we’re even doing this—getting fuel for the tanks in the back of Angus’s truck. We’ve found what we need here: internet and supplies. Surely we’re not going to take this truck back to Angus? Maybe this is just Kai’s way of distracting us from attempting to contact other survivors—if we even can.
I can’t see what his problem with it is, anyway. He was always a bit funny about being with that group of survivors—even though I could tell he liked and trusted Patrick.
But he doesn’t like being the different one.
Who does?
When Kai drives the truck through the gate, Wilf and I get in the front with him, and Wilf directs Kai to the pumps. Azra went back to the bunker, saying something about making dinner.
There’s no power on the base generally, just in the bunker. Filling the tanks is slow without it; it’s a matter of siphoning small amounts and then transferring to the tanks. Wilf is soon bored and wanders off.
“Alone at last,” Kai says, heaving a full tank onto the back of the truck, then getting an empty one to replace it.
“Why are we doing this? You’re not still thinking we’ll take them back to the farm—or are these supplies for us?”
“We can’t leave them stranded without fuel or a truck—so yes, it needs to go back.”
“Aren’t other things more important?”
He meets my eyes. “Yes and no.”
“Hmmm. And now is your chance to talk like you said you wanted to. What was bothering you earlier, Kai?”
“Lots of things: the state of the world, my family—and their whereabouts—kids like Azra and Wilf left on their own. We can’t leave them here like this; what do we do?”
“It’s not for us to decide, Kai. Look at all the two of them have managed so far.” His eyebrows are going up, and I’m shaking my head. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t offer help. Just don’t be surprised if it is refused.”
“They’re not exactly adults. Should they decide what to do?”
“The world has changed.”
“Don’t I know it. Just because they’re survivors doesn’t mean they know what’s what at their age.”
“I didn’t say that it did. But—”
“I just get the feeling you think anyone who is a survivor is vastly superior to everybody else. Like suddenly a twelve-year-old can make grown-up decisions.”
“I never said anything of the kind! But you don’t know how it is to be as they are. How would you know what’s right for them better than they do?”
There’s a pause, an uncomfortable one.
“Look, Kai. I really think the best thing we can do for them is get them to hook up with Patrick’s group or another like it. I think once they’ve thought about it some more, that is what they’ll want to do.”
“What if Patrick and the others are with Multiverse and Alex?”
“We don’t know that they are.”
“We do know there was a mysterious group in Scotland that contacted them, asked them to go there and join up.”
“Scotland is a big place.”
“Survivors are, what—one in fifty thousand, something like that? What was the population of Scotland? How many groups could there actually be?”
I frown. “Math isn’t my thing. Anyway, apart from Alex, nobody else we met in Multiverse was a survivor—that doesn’t exactly make a group.”
“Shay, Elena, and Beatriz have joined them, though.” Kai manages to say their names without wincing, either visibly or internally, and despite my irritation at this conversation, I still notice this. I’m relieved he can say her name without it being a big thing.
“They did, but that was well after Patrick was communicating with whoever it was.”
“I just have a bad feeling about contacting them. Aren’t there any other options for Azra and Wilf?”
“Like what? Turn them in to the authorities and hope they’ve given up on the institutionalization or murder of survivors? I don’t think so.”
The last tank is full now, and Kai heaves it onto the back of the truck with the others.
“What now, then?” Kai says.
“If you want to take the truck back to the farm, go ahead. I’ll wait here; I don’t want to leave them.”
Kai wants to get going instead of having dinner, and Azra packs some food for him. I manage to get her to hold back Wilf while I walk out to the truck with Kai. The bike is full of gas too, for his return, and he’s managed to squeeze it back on the truck with the tanks.
“Well. Okay, bye, then,” Kai says. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He stands there, a bit awkward—shifting from one foot to the other. Is he that impatient to get away from me?
“Kai?”
He turns toward me, and there is something else there, in his aura—some worry he hasn’t shared.
I slip my hand around his back to tug him closer, and all at once he hugs me tight like he doesn’t want to let go.
“Make sure you’re still here when I get back,” he whispers into my hair.
“You do have a history of losing girls,” I say, surprised that I dare. “But don’t worry; I’m hard to get rid of.” And without waiting to see if he reacts to what I said, I kiss him, and he kisses me back until the world melts away.
A moment later I watch him disappear up the road, confused how I can feel one way one moment and another the next.
Is something wrong? It’s Azra. She’s standing in the shadow of the building behind me.
I don’t know.
Nice kiss.
You were watching?
Not much to do here but watch things. She’s sort of teasing and wistful at once.
We need to get you away from here before Wilf seems like a good option.
She shudders. As much as I like the brat—and don’t tell him I said that—that’ll SO never happen.
* * *
Over a dinner of tasteless reconstituted long-life spaghetti and meat sauce, we three have a meeting to talk about what Azra and Wilf should do. Wilf has some interesting suggestions, like traveling to the coast, building a boat, and sailing around the world. But eventually we get around to the option I’d raised earlier: contacting other survivors and maybe thinking about joining them.
And it’s unanimous: they want to try.
Doing this when Kai isn’t here feels wrong: I know he won’t like it. But for so long now, we’ve been on his quests: first, to find Shay; now, his sister, and dealing with Alex. I’ve gone along—I’ve been there for him. I did everything I could to help and protect him on the way. Even though he maybe wouldn’t agree with me not telling him what Shay said if he knew about it, I’m still certain it was the best way to help him. My friend.
Maybe now he’s something more, even though I’m not sure quite what that something more may be.
Or may become.
Just the same: this is one time he doesn’t get a vote. It is all about Azra and Wilf.
Back on the computer, first we check the email address Kai gave to his mum to reply to. There’s a message! It says to call the switchboard and ask for her assistant to set something up.
Given that a dead guy emailed her and she is reacting like this, maybe she worked out it is Kai. Maybe she thinks doing it through a switchboard and assistant means no one will take notice?
Next, I find the forum I met JJ on before, all that time ago. He was the first survivor I found anywhere, online or in person, and I remember how amazing it felt to know: I’m not the only one. I’m not alone.
I log in. I’m surprised to see that I have a load of unread messages: they’re all from JJ. Until recently he messaged every few days. They are variations on a theme but mostly asking if I’m okay, and I feel guilty that I didn’t think to contact him before and am only doing it now because I need help.
The last one he sent was over a week ago. Is that because he’s given up on me? Or maybe something has happened to him. I hope he’s okay.
I bite my lip, then type this: Hi, JJ, sorry haven’t been in touch. I’m fine. How’re things with you? And I sign it using my online name, the one he first knew me by: Dineke. There’s a pang inside when I see it on the screen again. It was my sister’s name.
Until I found JJ, I’d thought I was even more different—and more alone—than she ever had been, even before she killed herself. That’s why I used her name.
Finding JJ then had made me find hope.
And all we can do now is wait, see if he answers. If he doesn’t, we’ll have to try other ways to contact survivor groups. But it’s risky to search online for survivors when being one is so dangerous; anyone you find that way could be something entirely different from how they portray themselves—they could be survivor hunters. Or the authorities. Perhaps they are one and the same; it certainly was that way with SAR.
Come on, JJ, we need you.
Well, they do: Azra and Wilf. I’m good; it’s me and Kai against the world as usual, isn’t it?
But somehow that seems lonelier now than it did before.
CHAPTER 12
KAI
THE MILES GO BY, and since I’m trapped in the truck, there’s finally nothing to stop me from thinking: Freja, and that kiss. I had to kiss her. I wanted to.
But I still have this feeling like I’m doing wrong—like I’m cheating on Shay—and that’s completely crazy. She left me: she lost the right to say who I do or don’t kiss.
Yet it’s not quite as simple as that, is it? It’s me who feels this way—who feels totally messed up in the head. Maybe it’s not so much that I feel like I’m cheating on Shay but more that I feel like I’m cheating myself, and worse: if I feel this way, then I’m cheating Freja too. And that doesn’t make any kind of sense.
Anyway, I’m sure Freja has Angus and Maureen wrong: they’re good, decent, salt-of-the-earth type people. They’ve believed what the authorities have told them—they’ve had no reason not to—but they’ll listen to sense. And they’d definitely want to help Azra and Wilf. They’ve lost their family, children, grandchildren. They need each other.
By the time I get to the farm, I’ve made a decision: I will sound them out about taking those two in. I’ll be careful what I say until I sense their reaction, but there is no doubt at all in my mind: it is the perfect solution for everyone.
It makes far more sense than trying to ship them hundreds of miles away, even to a good guy like Patrick. Anyway, I’m not convinced he hasn’t made some connections—with Multiverse and Alex—that he’ll later regret.
Even though it’s dark and very late now, by the time I pull in front of the farm, Angus is outside, waiting. He must have heard the truck approaching.
I wave a greeting and open the door, get out and stretch my stiff arms and legs.
“It’s a bit late, lad. Have you got good news for us?”
“The tanks are full.”
He clasps my shoulder. “Excellent! From the base?”
“Yes. And there’s more there if you should need it.”
He’s peering at the truck. “Where’s Freja?”
“Well, we’ve found somewhere we can get online, so she stayed, and I’m heading back in the morning. I’m sorry, but we’re moving on.”
“I see.” The disappointment in his voice is strong. “Well, come inside. Maureen’s up too; she’s making tea.”
The kitchen is warm—wood burns in the stove. Maureen is in her dressing gown; she smiles when she sees me, but her smile falters when her dad tells her what I said, that we’re not going to stay.
She shakes her head at Angus. “The two of us rattling around here on our own isn’t so good.”
“It’s you I worry about, girl. I’m not likely to hang around for too many more years. You can’t run this place on your own. Even if you could, you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Would you be open to other options?” I ask. “There may be something, well, someone. I mean…”
“What is it? Spit it out,” Angus says.
“We found a couple of kids who are on their own. They need somewhere to go.”
“Really?” Maureen’s face brightens. “How old are they?”
“There is a boy about twelve. A girl fifteen, I think.”
“Brother and sister? Immunity often runs in families—just us two in our family were immune, though.” A shadow falls across her face: thinking of her own children.
“No, they’re not related.”
“How’d they end up on their own? Why didn’t they leave with the other immune families when they were cleared out?”
I hesitate, unsure what to say—but I started, so…“Well, they’re not immune.”
Angus frowns. “How on earth did they manage not to catch it? It was everywhere around here.”
Maureen makes the leap before I can decide what to say next. “Do you mean…are they survivors?” She must read the answer on my face. Her eyes go wide with shock, dismay.
“Listen to me, please,” I say. “They’re just kids who need help. Normal kids who need a hug and a hot meal now and then.”
“Survivors aren’t normal,” Angus says.
“They’re not exactly like us, if that’s what you mean. But they’re decent kids—I’ve met them, I know. And I do know this: survivors aren’t carriers.”
“That’s not what they say—them on TV. The reporters and doctors and government officials,” Angus says. “Why should we believe you?”
“I’ve known survivors to be around people and not pass it on. What the officials are saying isn’t true.”
“Even if that is so—and I’m not saying it is—there are all the other things that are wrong with them. And anyway, they’re illegal. We’re not harboring criminals.”
“They’re kids. They haven’t done anything wrong; it’s not their fault they got sick and didn’t die. Look, this isn’t something you have to do; it’s just that they need help—and you need help too. I thought it was a good idea.”
“You thought wrong. I think you’d better leave.”
I stare back at Angus’s closed, angry face, and I’m bewildered. How could I have gotten things so very wrong? As I head for the door, I can hear Maureen pleading with her dad to listen to me, to take a chance. The desperation in her to have children in the house is painful to hear; it’s greater than her fear of survivors. But he’s not having it.
I start to unload the bike from the back of the truck; Angus comes outside again. His face is like thunder.
“It makes sense to me now, what you said—that you’ve known survivors. That Freja is one of them, isn’t she? That’s why she never had the tattoo. You lied to us, and you brought her into our home.”
He says it li
ke she’s a poisonous snake.
I don’t answer him. I start the bike and head up the road.
As I go, I’m replaying what happened, the things he said, and I’m stunned. Even Maureen. The thought of survivors horrified her; she might have been willing to take them in, but only because having no children horrifies her even more.
How can they be so prejudiced about people they don’t know, that they know nothing about?
CHAPTER 13
FREJA
I WAKE IN THE NIGHT, not sure why. Sleep doesn’t usually desert me, no matter what is on my mind.
I stretch, trying to get comfortable in an unfamiliar bed, but I feel wrong. Is it the weight of the earth above? I’m not a rabbit or a mole; it’s weird to be underground.
I’ll go outside for some fresh air, a short walk. That’s what I need.
I get up and put on clothes Azra found for me for tomorrow in the endless air force supplies tucked away in this place: men’s trousers and a shirt, standard military issue. It fits okay with a belt, and anything different to wear—anything clean—is a good thing.
I hesitate halfway up the stairs, then go back down to check the computer first. Merlin the cat’s green eyes glitter as he watches me suspiciously from across the room. He still won’t come up close to me, like he’s judging me and what I’ve done.
I know it hasn’t been that long since we messaged JJ, just a matter of hours. It’s unlikely that, even if he is still checking the forum, he’s been online in the meantime. But I can’t stop myself.
I log in to the website forum, and when it loads, there’s a red 1 by Messages. I click on it—it’s from JJ.
Hey there Dineke, how’re things? What color is your hair these days? We miss you. I miss you.
And the weight I’d felt before, that I thought was the earth above, is gone.