by K M Frost
Leah rolls her eyes, though she looks scared, too. “Well thank you, Mr. Sunshine.”
Rick ignores her. “At least we have guns here.” He’s quiet for a second, thinking, then he waves us after him and strides quickly across the vast room. We stop outside the gun room.
I hesitate. “Rick . . . ?”
He ignores me and pulls the door open. “From now on, I want everyone to have a gun.”
“Rick.”
He acts like he didn’t hear me, and strides into the room. He crosses to the wooden box that’s still laid out on the floor and grabs a couple of guns. He holds them out to us. “They’re all the same, so just grab one.”
Stewart is the first to grab one, and I step forward quickly to grab the other end of the weapon.
“Rick.”
He finally looks at me, though he’s clearly annoyed. “What, Jonas?”
I hesitate, glancing uncertainly at Leah and Stewart. “I . . . I don’t think we should be walking around with guns. They’re dangerous. Didn’t you see what they did to the Entities?”
“Exactly.” Rick thrusts another gun at Leah, who takes it after a short hesitation. “The Entities are more dangerous than anything in this place, including these guns.” He holds a third gun out to me, but I don’t reach for it.
In my mind I see that blurry memory of my dad holding a gun, and I remember clearly the fear I felt. If I felt that much fear just seeing a gun, how can I hold one?
I look at the proffered gun, and then at Leah and Stewart, who are watching me expectantly. Finally I look at Rick and see the fear in his eyes. He’s just trying to protect us, like any good leader would . . .
I steel my nerves and then wrap my hand around the gun, feel the cold metal, and am surprised by how light it is. I’m sure Rogue’s firestick was heavier than this gun.
Suddenly, the back of my mind explodes with tingles, and I see another blurry image like the one of my dad. In this memory, Dad’s sitting on a sofa, a gun in his lap and a small paper box open on the long table in front of him. The image fades, but I find myself looking at another small paper box, very similar to the one in my memory.
I cross to the shelf where the ammunition is laid out and open one of the boxes. Inside there are two layers of cylindrical objects, stacked neatly in rows of ten each. Each one is about as long as my forefinger, and a little thinner around. I roll one into my palm and am surprised at how heavy it is.
Rick and Leah seem a little confused, but they look like they’re thinking hard about something. Stewart just watches me curiously. I wonder if Leah and Rick are experiencing memories, too.
I don’t know how I know, but I’m sure the ammunition goes with the gun—it’s essential for the gun to work.
Rick mutters something and hurries to my side to grab some ammunition. He fiddles with the gun in his hands until a section comes off. I’m about to scold him for breaking it, when he grabs the detached part and begins to press ammunition into it, transferring the neat rows from the box to the gun. His brow is wrinkled in concentration, and I don’t interrupt him.
When the first box is empty, he pulls another one down and continues to pull half of the ammunition from inside and transfer it into the gun. When he’s done, he presses the detached section into the body of the gun. We hear a click, and when he releases the body it doesn’t fall apart.
After a moment he raises his head and stares at us in bewilderment.
“What was that?” Leah’s eyes are wide. She almost looks scared.
Rick looks down at his gun. “I’m not sure. I saw Jonas holding the ammunition and I just felt like I knew what to do. I don’t know where I learned how. . .”
I hold my gun out to him. “Can you do it again?”
He eyes my gun like he wants to try again, but isn’t sure he should. “Why?”
I hope they won’t think I’m crazy. “I think the guns need the ammunition to work. It’s just a feeling I have. That, and Rogue’s firestick was heavier than these guns. I think it’s because he had ammunition inside it.”
I don’t know if they believe me or not, but Rick takes my gun and does the same as before, detaching the section from the body and filling it with ammunition, then reattaching it.
When he hands the gun back, the weight is closer to Rogue’s firestick, and I feel more confident.
While Rick puts ammunition in Leah’s and Stew’s guns, I lose myself in my thoughts. How can the weight of the gun be comforting, when the thought of a gun brings memories of fear? I wonder what happened after that memory of my dad in a uniform. Nothing good . . .
I don’t understand my memories, or my mixed feelings about guns, but I do feel safer with the weapon slung over my shoulder. I pray we won’t have to use them, that the Entities will leave us alone, but now we’ll at least stand a chance if they do venture into the Clinic.
Later, when I start to fade from the Reality Dreams with my gun safely beside me, I wish there was a way to take it to Capernia. I would feel safer if I had a way to defend myself back home . . .
Chapter 16
The rest of the week blurred together. It took the criminals a couple days to leave town, but as soon as they were gone, the Capernia Counsel had a big meeting at the Town Building, and Dad went, with lots of other adults. They tried to assess the damage caused by the criminals, as well as make plans for burying the dead (I didn’t ask how many there were). But the biggest thing they talked about, Dad said, was a strategy to protect our town from attacks in the future.
With Dad’s help (and a couple other strategists), they were able to set up a perimeter of fortifications all around the village.
They also assigned every adult man to a rotating patrol. The men in the village were assigned different shifts, and for four hours at a time they patrolled the outskirts of Capernia, watching for threats.
Dad’s shift was from eight in the morning until noon; luckily, every employer agreed to work around their employees’ patrol shifts, so Dad went to work at three in the morning, worked his patrol shift, and then went back to work until three in the afternoon, when he finally came back home.
I could tell the work load was wearing on him, but I’d never seen him so passionate about something. He took the patrol seriously, and no matter how tired he was, he never complained.
The day after the patrol was established, school was brought back into session, and even though most moms walked their kids to and from school every day, the terror the criminals had brought with them began to dissipate as the sense of security grew.
It was hard to focus on school with everything that had been going on, but I managed to avoid annoying any instructors, so I guess I wasn’t too inattentive.
It was great to have Leah back. Ellie was ecstatic when Leah joined us at the crossroads on the way to school, and though Mom had been shocked to see her walking all alone, she didn’t complain about her joining us. It also became a ritual for us to walk Leah to her house after school, at Mom’s insistence.
Mom wouldn’t allow me to go to the east side of town, so I only saw Abby in the Reality Dreams, and even then we didn’t have a lot of time to talk. She was focused on reading the journals, and when I wasn’t helping Leah look for her parents, I was searching for more storage rooms. I missed talking with Abby, but not as much as I’d expected to—especially after losing Leah—but maybe that was because I knew Abby wasn’t mad at me, like Leah had been.
Dad didn’t get weekends off from his patrol shift, so when I didn’t have school I went with him. I wasn’t allowed to carry a weapon (the patrolmen were armed with knives, and I couldn’t help wishing they had access to guns), but no one objected to me walking with Dad while he patrolled.
Today I’d helped Mom with breakfast and then left the house with Dad before Ellie was even awake. Our Saturday had been calm, and it was nice to take a break from life for a day and spend time with my family. I hoped today would be just as relaxed.
Dad and I walked to his post
in silence, and then patrolled back and forth at a steady pace.
I could see the other patrolmen at the posts on either side of us, but they didn’t acknowledge us in any way, and we kept to ourselves too, not wanting to distract them from their job.
I walked next to Dad, and we spent a lot of our time lost in our own thoughts. But, since my mind kept returning to tomorrow’s upcoming counseling session, I didn’t want to dwell on my own thoughts today.
“How’s work going?” I asked.
Dad kept his eyes on the horizon, but answered immediately. “Alright, I guess. People are getting tense, with the strain of the patrol assignments and everything.” He glanced at me quickly, and a look of guilt crossed his face. “You won’t tell Mom I said anything, will you?”
“Why?”
He looked back at the horizon. “She doesn’t want me telling you or Ellie anything that might scare you.”
Something about that bothered me. I mean, I guess I understood where my Mom was coming from, and I was glad she cared, but the thought of my parents sheltering me—like they were afraid I was too fragile to take the truth—got under my skin.
After all, I knew things that would terrify them.
If they knew about the Reality Dreams, and the simulation . . . the Entities, and where the criminals had really come from . . . If I told them about those things (and they actually believed me), they would freak out.
I sighed. “If only we had guns.”
I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud until Dad paused in his pacing.
“Guns?”
I glanced up, but he was frowning at the horizon. His eyes were unfocused, distant, like he’d heard something familiar, but couldn’t place the memory. I knew the feeling.
I began to wonder if maybe I could get my parents, my family—everyone here—to remember the real world. Maybe then someone could tell me what to do. Maybe they could tell us what had happened in the world before the simulation.
“Yeah.” I tried to keep my face and tone neutral. “You know—guns.” I put my hands in front of my body and mimicked holding a gun. “The weapon.” I watched his face closely, but it didn’t change. “It, you know . . . blows stuff up, like with fire, or something.”
At my less-than-perfect description, his expression cleared and he quirked an eyebrow at me, amused. “Is this a game you and Ellie play? Well, you probably want to keep it quiet around Mom—it doesn’t sound like the kind of thing she would like.”
I knew he was teasing me, and frustration built in me. How was I supposed to get him to remember the real world if he thought I was playing around? If my own dad didn’t believe me, how was I going to convince anyone else?
Dad started walking again, pacing back and forth, and I walked with him. I didn’t try to tell him anymore about the real world.
* * *
It’s become almost common to find dead sleepers in the Reality Dreams. We’ve found thirty-two total over the past week—ever since the criminals made their appearance.
Whenever we find a breathless body, we venture outside and two of us dig a grave while the other two hold their guns at the ready, in case Entities show up. So far they’ve left us alone, but it’s still a nerve-wracking experience.
If we know the corpse’s name, we sketch it in the dirt, but if not, we just draw a cross on top of the grave to mark it. I don’t know how long the marks will last, but none have faded yet.
When we’re not burying the dead, we all go our separate ways.
Rick goes to the computer room and I know he won’t reappear until it’s time to wake up.
Stew wanders, not really sticking to a routine. I can tell he’s depressed about not being able to find Edison, but I don’t know how to comfort him. Honestly, I’m not surprised the people who set this place up didn’t plan for pets, but I wish for his sake they had.
Abby stays on her bed and pours over the books we’ve found. Every so often she calls us all over to tell us about something she found, but we still haven’t figured out what happened to necessitate this Clinic, or the simulation. She’s so wrapped up in her search, there are nights where all she does it read. But she doesn’t seem lonely, though. In fact, I think she’s so fascinated with this world, she’s more than content to do nothing more than read about the past.
I’ve gotten used to joining Leah in the continued search for her mom and dad. We’ve found several people we both know, including some instructors, as well as Brock and Austin. Leah said she was tempted to break a couple noses when we found the bullies, but I was able to convince her it was a bit cowardly to break their noses while they were unconscious.
She agreed, though she told me if we ever found Ethan he wouldn’t be as lucky as his cronies.
I didn’t argue.
Tonight we’re searching the beds by the room with the medical supplies, but we haven’t recognized anyone. My body moves mechanically as we sift through rows of faces, but my mind is working furiously to think up an argument to convince my family our lives in Capernia are false, and there’s another world that’s real.
I guess I’m quiet for too long, because Leah stops searching and turns to face me, arms crossed and mouth frowning. “What’s wrong?”
I blink at her unexpected question and roll back on my heels to give my mind time to catch up with the present. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve hardly said two words tonight, and usually I can’t get you to shut up.” Her lips quirk and I know she’s teasing me. She’s toned down her attitude lately, but it still slips out occasionally. I’d never tell her, but sometimes I miss her teasing, and it makes me smile when the old Leah re-emerges.
To hide my amusement, I study the list in my hand, even though there’re only two names on it. “I was just thinking.”
Leah scoffs. “Thinking? When did you start doing that?”
I force down my smile long enough to toss her a look. “I know—it’s a miracle, right?”
She grins, too. Then she leans forward, sobering. “What’s going on, Jonas?”
I lean against the bed behind me, dropping the list onto the blanket. “I talked to my dad today—tried to get him to remember this world.”
She looks surprised, but doesn’t interrupt.
I dip my hands into my pockets. “We were on patrol, and I mentioned guns. He stopped walking and looked like he was trying to remember something. I’d hoped with a little leading I could get him to remember. But the more I tried, the less he seemed to remember. Eventually he laughed about it and thought Ellie and I had made it up.”
“You shouldn’t take it too hard. I mean, even after we’d seen this place it took us a while to believe this was the real world. The people back home, our families . . . they don’t know anything other than Capernia. It’s going be a lot harder to convince them of the truth. I think it might be best to hold off on the confessions a little longer, until we have solid evidence for them.”
“I know. I just . . . I wanted my dad to know the truth.”
Leah frowns sympathetically, but I’m not looking for her pity.
I shake myself. “Besides, I thought if we could get people to remember, maybe they’d be able to tell us what happened here.”
Leah considers that, and for a second I think she’s going to agree with me. But before she can tell me what she’s thinking, her eyes go wide and she takes off.
“Leah?” I chase after her anxiously.
She stops next to a man, maybe late thirties. I reach her a moment later, but she looks awed, not worried.
“Dad.” She reaches out to make sure he’s breathing.
Surprised, I give the man a better appraisal. He has a bigger build than I’d imagined from what Leah’s told me about him, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and impressive height. Even though he’s laying down, I can tell he would tower over me. His hair is dark, and cut short—the exact opposite of Leah. But though their build and coloring is different, they’re unmistakably related. Her dad has the sam
e short, slim nose and rounded chin. He’s got worry lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, but I have a feeling he’s energetic and agile when he’s awake.
I look at Leah again. She’s grinning, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“One down.” She smooths her dad’s hair across his forehead with a gentleness I’ve never seen from her.
I study them for a minute. “You look a lot like your dad.”
She quirks an eyebrow and picks up her dad’s hand to illustrate the huge differences between them. His skin is deeply tanned, and his hand is almost twice the size of hers.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say you look exactly like him. But you have the same face.” Without thinking, I reach out to touch her face, to illustrate my point.
Suddenly I’m staring into Leah’s green eyes, my hand cupping her jaw, my thumb laid across her cheek.
I feel her catch her breath, but she doesn’t move—just stares up at me, the intensity of her gaze keeping me from moving at all. Then, almost without realizing it, my other hand moves to join the first.
Before it reaches her face, there’s a crash nearby and we both jump.
With her gaze unlocked from mine, I take a quick step back, heat climbing my neck even as my heartbeat struggles to steady its rhythm.
I look toward the sound of the crash. Stewart had been carrying a box of books to Abby, but it was too large for him to see around. He’d misjudged the width of the aisle and walked into one of the empty beds, tumbling to the floor and spilling the books.
“I should go help him,” I mumble.
I don’t dare look at Leah’s face, and I hurry to help Stewart put the books back in the box. I reach him in time to pick up two books, and then they’re all back in the box.
“Thanks, Jonas.” He gives me a toothy grin. “I guess I need to watch where I’m going a little better.”
I smile, though it’s a bit forced. I glance over my shoulder at Leah. She’s still standing next to her dad, facing the other way.