by K M Frost
I think Abby must have seen my eagerness, because she smiled kindly, but I could see she was tired.
“I would love to start right now, Jonas, but I would feel bad going into this with my limited knowledge of Thomas Moche. Would you be willing to give me the weekend to read this and brush up my knowledge?”
I nodded easily. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
Abby reached out to give my hand a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, Jonas.”
I stood, seeing the fatigue in her face. She seemed reluctant for me to leave, but then her mom came to see me out and Abby let me go.
In the last glimpse I caught of her she was already opening the book with a smile, settling deeper into the sofa for what looked like an extended read.
Chapter 6
I’m alone again. I guess I should expect this from now on—now that we’re not going outside anymore, there’s not really a need to wait for each other. It makes sense, but it’s still hard for me to get used to. For weeks we’ve stuck together, and now we’re all going our own ways.
Stew’s on the far side of the room, sifting through faces, and it looks like Abby’s still asleep. Leah and Rick aren’t around. I assume they’re back in the room going through more books. I don’t think I can handle reading those confusing entries right now, and I decide to take a look around out here. I still haven’t found Mom or Dad, and that bothers me.
First, I go to Ellie’s bed. Her face is peaceful and her breathing is steady. Whatever’s wrong with her, at least she’s still alright for now.
Then I head deeper into the room, moving up and down row after row of sleeping faces. I find a few people I recognize from Capernia, but can’t name.
I wonder if everyone is here—I mean everyone. Like, is this all the people left in the world? Even though this place is huge, it seems impossible this is everyone in the entire world. What if my parents aren’t even here? Could there be another Clinic, and that’s where they are? Will I ever find them?
I’m starting to feel like I’ll never find the people I know. But then, two beds from the end of this row, I see a familiar face.
Ms. Erikson!
I run to her with a rush of relief. I don’t know her all that well, but there’s no mistaking that graying hair and hardened young face. She can’t be much older than Mom, but you wouldn’t guess it by looking at her. Her face is lined, thin, and pale. She’s been sick for as long as I can remember, though the doctors have no idea what’s wrong with her. She’s had ups and downs, but mostly she stays in bed with her sickness.
Mom sometimes takes me and Ellie along when she visits Ms. Erickson. Her house smells funny and she isn’t much for conversation, so I don’t really like to go, but Mom insists on it every few weeks. We sit by her bed for a couple minutes while Mom and her catch up, and then Ellie and I escape outside. Ms. Erikson’s backyard is awesome. She’s got a bunch of thick, gnarled trees and tall, tangled bushes that are great for hide-and-seek, and it’s a whole lot better than spending the day inside with Ms. Erikson.
My relief fades as I look down at her now. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks, but I think she looks worse than the last time I saw her. Her skin is thinner and impossibly paler, and the lines on her face seem to carve even deeper.
Tentatively, I reach out and touch her cheek. Her skin is still warm, and if I watch closely I can see she’s breathing. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I wish her sickness was just a part of the dream. I can clearly see it’s not. Something must’ve happened to her here, and it stayed with her when she went to sleep . . .
I search a little longer for Mom and Dad, but the excitement of finding Ms. Erikson has faded, and I don’t know that I can make it through another row of blank faces.
Instead, I make my way across the room. I plan to join Rick and Leah in the room from last night, but halfway there, my plan changes. I head instead toward the far wall, an idea dancing along my mind, tempting me.
I walk slowly along the wall, eyes peeled for a door. I don’t have to walk far before I find a sleek door, exactly like the one Rick found yesterday.
My excitement builds as I search for a way to open it. I can’t see anything, so I brush my fingers over the smooth surface, and I find a flat handle—almost like the handle on a drawer—and I curl my fingers inside and tug the door open. There’s a soft scraping sound as it slides open, but I keep pulling until I can see inside.
I’m expecting a room like the one Rick found, but though there are shelves and boxes in this room, they’re not like the ones in Rick’s room.
“Uh, guys?” I call over my shoulder apprehensively.
I don’t know what it is, but this room feels more ominous to me, and I don’t dare venture inside alone.
Once Rick, Leah, and Stewart have joined me at the door, Rick leads the way in, oblivious to whatever force kept me from taking that first step.
After a slight hesitation, I follow them inside and a light above us flickers to life, elongating the shadows in the room.
Stewart crouches beside a wooden box and raps on the lid. “What’s this room for?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. There wasn’t any sign on the door.”
Leah and Rick wander farther into the room, which is longer than the room Rick found, with metal shelves reaching high above our heads and packed tightly with wooden boxes, all closed.
Stewart squints at black letters painted on the side of one of the wooden boxes. “What’s . . . ‘guns’?”
I tilt my head to see the letters better in the pale light. Guns . . . The strange tickling in my mind is back, stronger this time. I scratch my head absently to relieve the irritation.
“Let’s find out, ” Leah says eagerly. She tries to pull the box off the shelf, but the box barely moves, and she grunts. “They’re heavy, whatever they are.”
Rick rolls his eyes, but he takes her place and lifts the box down with a low huff of exertion.
Once the wooden box is on the floor, we all move closer and watch in anticipation as Rick slides the lid off.
Inside there are a bunch of long black objects, and I realize I know what they are—firesticks. They don’t look exactly like Rogue’s weapon, but there are enough similarities I have no doubt.
But what about the name: guns? Was Rogue wrong, and firesticks are actually called guns?
The tickling in my mind intensifies, and somehow I already know the answer. These things are guns.
We stare at the guns in silence, none of us moving—even Stewart.
As I study the box of weapons, a smoky image slides into my mind, like I’m seeing it through a dirty, darkened window. I see a man (he seems familiar) holding a gun firmly, naturally. Behind him there are others—many others—all carrying similar weapons, and suddenly I’m caught by an unexpected emotion: fear.
I shake myself and the image fades, but the fear does not.
I look down at the guns and wonder why they upset me when I can’t even really remember what they are. I hadn’t felt like this when I saw—and even held—Rogue’s weapon. Why is the name ‘gun’ more frightening than ‘firestick’?
I’m lost so deeply in my thoughts I don’t realize the others are talking until Rick says my name.
I snap back to awareness. “What?”
“Don’t you think these guns look an awful lot like Rogue’s firestick?”
I frown. “Yeah. So what?”
“So what?” Rick laughs excitedly. “So now we have a way to fight the Entities. We can defend ourselves!”
I let that sink in, though I still feel distant (and the tickle in the back of my mind hasn’t faded yet).
“Haha!” Rick pulls a gun from the box with a grin and slings the weapon across his body, using the black strap that’s hooked to the gun. “Come and get me now.”
Next Stewart reaches for a gun, but I hurry to catch his arm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, buddy.” My heart beats faster, and I wonder why the thought of him wielding
a gun is so wrong to me.
Stew pouts. “But why? I want to hunt Entities, too.”
“Don’t worry. If we’re facing Entities you can have as many guns as you want.”
That seems to mollify him.
I release Stewart’s arm and look at Rick meaningfully. “But I don’t think we should be carrying them around when we don’t know how to use them.”
Rick smiles grimly. “No chance.” He shifts the gun to hang behind him, resting against his back. “I’ve been running from Entities for longer than I like to remember. There’s no way I’m letting this thing go now that I’ve found it.”
I want him to understand the danger of toying with the guns, but I know he won’t listen to me. I settle for protecting Stewart.
Leah’s still looking at the guns, but she doesn’t try to take one, so I don’t bother giving her the same lecture. Besides, if I tell her not to take one, she’ll probably do it just to spite me.
Though the discovery of the guns was a little unsettling (I still don’t understand why), I’m eager to look at the other boxes in the room, so when Rick announces he’s going to return to his reading, I don’t protest. He and Stewart disappear, but Leah stays behind with me.
“Mind if I take a look around?”
I shrug and move to the shelf across from her, next to the door, and begin to sift through the boxes on the shelf. Most of them are labeled, and actually, most of them are guns.
I move from one box to another, not opening any of them, since I already know what’s inside, until I find a new label: ammunition.
Curious, I heft the box to the floor and slide the lid open.
Leah pauses in her browsing to glance over. “What’s that?”
I frown at the smaller paper boxes stacked neatly inside. “Ammunition.” I crouch beside the wooden box to get a better look.
Leah rolls her eyes. “I can see that.”
I ignore her, though something about her comment gets under my skin. It doesn’t help that I’m already on edge tonight.
When I don’t reply, she leans against the shelf behind her, folding her arms and cocking her head at me. “So, what is ammunition, oh wise one?”
Irritated, I scoop up one of the paper boxes and fling it at her. She manages to catch it, fumbling for a second before closing her fingers around it.
She tosses me a dark look. “Touchy . . .” She turns a haughty expression to the small box in her hand and my irritation rises even more. I guess today isn’t a good Leah day.
“Well,” I mutter, “if you would get over yourself, I wouldn’t be so touchy.”
Leah pulls the paper box open and gives me a dry glance before peeking inside. “Get over myself?”
I bite back a sharp reply and pull in a deep breath through my nose, willing myself to stay calm. I catch her grin and know she saw my calming breath. I try not to grind my teeth, but it’s hard. She acts however she wants —angry, mocking, rude—and expects everyone to put up with it.
Ignoring the ammunition at my feet I scowl up at her. “Why do you do that?”
“What?” She looks completely baffled.
I shift within my crouch and wave a hand vaguely at her. “Why do you always say things like that? Always starting fights and being sarcastic?”
Leah’s forehead furrows in real confusion.
But I’ve opened the floodgate, and I can’t keep my thoughts inside any longer. “It’s kind of annoying. No, it’s really annoying. And it’s rude. I mean, I know you didn’t have a mom, but didn’t your dad at least teach you how to behave?”
The instant the bit about her mom is out, I wish I could take it back.
A shadow passes over her face and her green eyes become stormy, dangerous.
I stand quickly, all my anger gone. “I’m sorry, Leah. I didn’t mean that.”
I wait anxiously, clueless about how she’ll react. I’m cringing inside when she suddenly chokes and her eyes roll up into her head. I’m barely fast enough to catch her before the floor does.
My knees slam the hard floor and pain shoots up my legs, but the adrenaline rushing through me helps to mask the impact.
“Leah!” My stomach clenches in fear and guilt. Can too much anger kill a person?
“Rick!” I shout, feeling helpless and very worried.
I’m not sure if he’ll be able to hear me from across the Clinic, but a minute later he comes bounding into the room, his gun held tightly in front of him, ready for a fight.
He stares at me and Leah for a second, almost like he’s surprised there aren’t any Entities to kill. But then he slings his gun over his shoulder and kneels next to us.
“What happened?” He shifts Leah’s head from my lap to his and looks closely at her face.
I stutter for a couple seconds, then force my mind to focus. “We were talking—well, arguing really—and she just collapsed.” I take in her slack face (she looks paler than she should), then I glance at Rick anxiously. “Will she be okay?”
Rick surprises me by grinning. “Of course. She woke up. The worst part of being woken up is the fall, but since you took care of that, she’ll be fine. Come on, help me get her to a blanket.” He grunts, shifts to a crouch, and pulls Leah into a sitting position.
I’m still dazed, but I help him lift her, and then we carry her back into the main room of the Clinic and lay her on one of the blankets in the center of the room.
I study her blank face anxiously, though rationally I know she’s fine.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts by Abby’s anxious voice.
“What happened?”
I look over my shoulder at her, sitting on her bed. “It’s nothing. Leah just gave me a scare.”
Abby’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t say anything. I glance once more at Leah’s face, then cross to Abby’s bed.
Rick joins us. “It’s Abby, right?”
“That’s right.” Abby offers a wry smile. “I would get up, but . . .”
Rick chuckles. “Not to worry.” He reaches forward to shake her hand. “My name’s Rick, by the way. Rick Penski. So, are you ready to do something in the Reality Dreams?”
Abby nods, though she looks anxious.
“Good. ’Cause we’ve got a lot to sort through.”
Abby’s face lights up. “Oh! You mean those books you found?”
Rick seems surprised she knows about them, but he nods. “Yep, and we’ve got whole shelves with your name on them.”
Abby smiles enthusiastically, and in a minute Rick and I have brought her enough boxes to last for days.
After introducing her to an excited Stewart, Rick orders us all back to work, and we take up our various jobs: Rick and Abby reading, Stewart picking his way through the sleeping, me searching through metal boxes marked guns, ammunition, explosives, and more.
But though I’m curious about the contents of this new room, I keep losing focus as I worry about Leah. I decide I’m going to find out what happened to her first thing in the morning.
Chapter 7
I asked Mom and Dad for permission to visit Leah after breakfast. Mom was reluctant, but she didn’t necessarily protest, so I went anyway. Ellie wanted to go too, but since I planned on talking about the Reality Dreams, I refused to let her tag along, though I did feel a little bad.
I’d never been to Leah’s house, but I knew she lived on the south side of town, near the soap factory. I hadn’t realized how many houses I’d have to sort through until I was standing on the street nearest the factory, looking down at all the yards and houses, and I felt the first hints of uncertainty.
I didn’t like talking with strangers—it was awkward and uncomfortable—but it would be better than walking up and down the street looking for any sign of Leah.
I forced myself to walk up to the first house on the street, noticing the yard was small and untended. I tried not to compare it to the Lane’s immaculate yard, and instead knocked on the front door and waited.
A bearded man opened th
e door and frowned at me. At that look I was tempted to mumble an apology and slink away, but I forced myself to meet the forty-something man’s eye.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” I was surprised at how calm my voice sounded, but I was relieved. “I’m looking for the Randolf house, and was wondering if you could point me in the right direction.”
The man snorted and scratched at his hairy cheek. “You woulda been able to find it easy last night, what with all the ruckus goin’ on.”
“The ruckus?”
The man leaned against his doorframe. “Some lunatic a-yellin’ in the middle of the night ‘bout crime, and payment, or somethin’.”
“At the Randolf house?” I wondered if the yelling had been what woke Leah up.
“Tha’s right.” He folded his arms and looked down at me with small dark eyes. “What’s your business with ‘em?”
I tried not to look guilty. “Leah’s a friend of mine.”
He grunted. “A friend, huh? Then why is it you don’ know where she lives?”
My body coiled, like it expected me to run, but I forced myself to meet the man’s eyes. “We’re friends at school. I’ve never been to her house before.”
The man studied me for another moment, and then nodded with a grunt, as if I’d passed some kind of test. Then he jerked a stubby thumb to his left, toward the rest of the street. “Four houses down on this side o’ the street.”
“Thank you.” I eagerly stepped away from the man and out of the yard. I was careful not to look back, but I could feel his little black eyes following me.
Leah’s house didn’t look much different from the others on the street, though it was set back farther than most and had a porch and a big tree out front.
I climbed the couple steps to the porch and took a breath before knocking. I hoped this was the right house —I didn’t want to talk to another strange neighbor.
I waited, but there was no noise from inside the house. I hesitated and then knocked again, more loudly, but less certainly. I waited for an answer, but everything was silent.