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by Johnny B. Truant

  “That,” said Cameron, “is what we’re here to find out.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I don’t like it,” Raj said.

  Lila was sitting at the kitchen table. It was a nice polished wood, surrounded by typical kitchen chairs. It seemed to have been modeled after the home they’d had a dozen years earlier, after her father had made his wealth but before he’d fully extricated himself from mediocrity. Just one more way her father had planned ahead to stave off the madness of confinement: a nice kitchen that was more familiar than luxurious. If Lila ignored the blood-stained floor and the complete lack of windows, she could almost imagine they were in that old house when they’d all been a family together.

  She looked at Raj. He was eating toast. Among the supplies had been a freezer full of bread — which, it turned out, thawed and toasted just fine. “What don’t you like?”

  “The way your mom and Piper have just accepted these people.”

  Lila craned back in her chair and looked out into the living room. It wasn’t from the same house as the kitchen’s model, but it had become plenty familiar over her months spent living here. There were times she hated not being able to go outside, but she must have moved past anger and into acceptance, or however that stepwise grieving process was supposed to work. Life wasn’t all bad. Despite being pregnant, she was actively encouraged to lie in the tanning bed for a few minutes each day to make Vitamin D. What the hell; it was better than school.

  Trevor was out there, clustered around a folding card table with their erstwhile home invaders. Vincent had rescued the table from some storage closet. The bunker had an endless supply of storage closets filled with twenty garage sales’ worth of miscellany. It wasn’t hoarding, exactly, but Lila supposed the only difference was that they kept finding uses for the hoard. She’d found Mad Libs in a box in one closet with no idea where it had come from, and the only person awake when she’d found it had been Christopher. They’d filled in the absurd (and often obscene) blanks for over an hour, playing with hands over mouths to dim the sound of their laughter.

  “Oh, relax,” Lila said.

  Raj shook his head. “These people drilled through the door. They poured gas into the generator exhaust and blew it up. Then they stormed in with guns and started shooting. Trevor got his nose broken. I nearly snapped my ankle.”

  Lila rolled her eyes. They’d been through this, but Raj wouldn’t let it go. Trevor’s nose had been broken by Morgan — the man whom Christopher had handily removed from the picture and the corpse that Vincent and Dan had later dragged up the stairs, once the cameras showed a clear path, to bury in the woods. And Raj’s “nearly snapped ankle”? It had been a sprain at the most, and he’d done it to himself by tripping over that end table. Sometimes she wanted to offer to put a Big Bird Band-Aid on it and kiss the boo-boo to make it all better, which it clearly had been for days — though Raj was still affecting a limp, just to show them all how much he’d been wronged.

  “What were they supposed to do? They needed to find out about Dad.”

  “And this is how they did it.”

  “If they hadn’t taken care of Morgan, we would have had to! Or maybe we wouldn’t have been able to. Maybe he’d have come in, killed us all, and that would have been the end of it.”

  “He never would have made it inside without their help.” Raj set his toast down then walked quietly forward to peer into the living room, trying not to get caught. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “And Christopher? Who can just casually blow someone’s brains out like that? You were screaming your head off, totally covered in blood and — ”

  “He did what he had to do!”

  “But not by hitting him, right? He had to shoot him. In the head. Point blank. With hollow point bullets, Lila!”

  Lila rolled her eyes again, making sure he saw her this time, then took her plate and set it in the sink. The bunker even had a dishwasher. Discharge from the toilets had to go somewhere, so why not put dishwasher water into the leach bed, too? They got their water from a spring and their heat from renewable electricity. There was no reason not to live like royalty. Mole people royalty anyway.

  “Look,” Raj said, following her, “they’re here. Okay, whatever. And maybe they’re fine. But it’s been … what … a week since they barged in here? And already, look at your brother. Do you think we should get them all matching tattoos?”

  At that exact moment, she heard a voice that sounded like Christopher’s, though she couldn’t hear what he’d said. Then Trevor laughed very loud. Her brother was a bit overenthusiastic and might want to dial it down, but Lila could hardly fault him. He was managing happiness while buried in the dirt. Good for him.

  “It’s sending the wrong message,” Raj said. “They bust in here then say, ‘Oh, our bad! We’re actually awesome, and this was all a misunderstanding. Sorry about the fire, by the way. The fire we set, not Morgan. And yeah, that was our idea and not his, but we had to get in. Not that we looked for cameras or tried to talk to you first. We figured we’d shoot our way in, knowing you’d understand.’ And then we all slap our knees and go, ‘Ha ha! You’re right; that was hilarious. Remember when Christopher sprayed everyone with brains? Classic. Ah, memories.’”

  “Raj … ”

  “And what does Cameron spend his days doing? Piper’s just like, ‘Oh, sure, Cameron. Definitely go through all of Meyer’s computer records. Building permits? Stored blueprints? All good. What about defenses? Weaknesses? Say, how many big weapons are in that room of death, and do you mind if I browse through it? Cool. Thanks.’”

  Lila spun. Her hands were wet, and Raj was closer than she’d realized. She left wet spatters on his shirt.

  “That’s enough!”

  Raj gave her a second then shrugged in a way that suggested surrender — it was her own stupid, bitchy, hormonal funeral. “Just seems like we’re too forgiving, too fast.”

  “So we should hold a grudge. For no reason. With someone who might — and yes, I know I’m ‘dumb and naive’ to believe this; I got that — be able to help us find Dad? I don’t want to have to be the one to tell you, Raj, but there’s an apocalypse afoot. Things are different now. Maybe you’d better stop holding onto all those prejudices from your youth. You know — from, like, four months ago?”

  “‘Apocalypse,’” he said, scoffing. “Everyone acts like cities are burning.”

  “Mom said Vegas was burning.”

  “Sure, Vegas. What do you expect from Vegas? But what did we see when the news was on? Just that one thing in Moscow.”

  “Moscow? Oh. I guess you’re referring to that insignificant little tiff they had over there. You know, when the entire city was obliterated.”

  “But where else has that happened? And besides, they fired first!”

  “Then it’s all good. The aliens are our friends. That’s why they took twenty thousand people. That’s why they took my dad.”

  “I’m not saying that’s not bad, but they did return most of those people.”

  Lila turned and met Raj’s eyes for a disbelieving moment. She slowly shook her head, mouth unhinged. It was one thing for him to be a shit to the five new people in the bunker — people who had all behaved like perfect gentlemen, even deferring to their own supplies rather than eating bunker food. But this was just bitchy.

  “You are unbelievable.” She turned away, headed for the living room.

  “I’m just being prudent,” Raj said, still following her. Lila wanted to swat him away like a fly. “That’s your dad’s personal shit that Piper and Heather are letting Cameron paw through.”

  Lila shook her head, not looking back or giving him the satisfaction of her response.

  “Do you think, if he were here, he’d want them looking through all that stuff? You’re betraying him. All of you. He might as well be dead for all the — ”

  Lila turned. Her tongue found the corner of her cheek and she felt her eyes harden. Raj clearly hadn’t expected another confront
ation, but this time he’d gone too far.

  “Why are you here, Raj?” A loaded question. Lila knew how she wanted him to answer, just so she could react in anger. She felt her heart rate increase, heavy in her chest.

  She wanted to claw his face. How dare he talk about her father? If Dad were here, she’d have to spend most of her time keeping him from ripping Raj’s head from his shoulders. He’d left before discovering her little baby secret, but the boy who’d knocked up his baby girl wouldn’t have had such an easy life if he’d known.

  Her mind drifted back to their cross-country escape. Meyer had tolerated Raj, but she’d always felt his grace would only last as long as Raj remained neutral. Dad was willing to let him ride along, but he’d have dropped him without remorse the second he’d become a liability — and never had that cold fact been clearer than the freeway exit outside of Chicago, when Raj had tried to play the racist card to take them where he thought they should go.

  “I’m … ” But Raj seemed unsure of how to answer. The fire had left him the minute he’d been challenged. Just like a coward. Meyer Dempsey had been a man, and he’d raised his daughter to be … well, not a man, but a woman, and to respect those who possessed all those very male traits: decisiveness. Determination. Even arrogance and stubbornness, when he knew he was right. But Raj, unlike the new guys, could only whine and complain.

  “It’s a real question, Raj,” Lila sniped, feeling as if her father’s spirit had occupied her bones. She could be like him. She was the daughter of an industry titan and a sarcastic bitch. “Why are you here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t mean literally. We all know ‘you’re here’ because you hopped into the car with Piper and Trevor in Central Park. And we know that ‘you’re here’ beyond that because we didn’t have time to detour and drop you off. I suppose you could have stayed in Jersey, but we know ‘you’re here’ because my father — who, I’ll remind you, I know better than you do — apparently decided to extend his well-prepared mercy instead of forcing you to try and make it on your own.”

  “Now hold on, Lila.”

  “And really, that all boils down to the fact that ‘you’re here’ because I wanted you to be. But even that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Lila heard how she sounded but pushed on anyway. Like father, like daughter. She could run a boardroom with an iron fist, too, when the time came.

  “The door’s open. Why don’t you ask Vincent or Terrence to unlock it for you then just get the fuck out if you have a problem with the way things are going down?”

  Raj looked stunned. “I don’t … I mean … I’m just saying that they’re taking a lot of liberties with — ”

  “With my father’s house? With the house and supplies that he decided to let you share?”

  “Look, I didn’t want to fight about it or anything, I’m just saying that — ”

  “You’re the only one, Raj. The only one who has any problem with what’s happening here. So either we’re all idiots and we need you to protect us, or you’re the asshole. And maybe we are idiots! But listen to me: For the fiftieth time, we trust them. We even like them. And one more? We think they’re an asset, that we’re actually better off with an engineer, a big, strong military man, two guys who are good with guns, and one guy who seems to know a whole hell of a lot more about what’s going on with the aliens than any of us do.”

  She took a breath.

  “Now, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that’s stupid. It sure doesn’t sound wrong to me, but maybe you’re right, and it is somehow. But I’m tired of arguing. Do you hear me? I’m tired of having this argument with you. Your objections have been noted. But this is how it is — and honestly, it’s none of your fucking business. This isn’t your family, and this isn’t your house! So you can stay here with us, as our guest, or you can leave!”

  Lila’s chest was heaving, as if she could feel her baby’s heart pumping double time along with hers.

  Watching Raj’s face fall, her first instinct was to apologize. A lot of what she’d said — about why he was here anyway — was untrue and clearly unfair. She’d wanted Raj with her. And he was part of the family now, bound to the Dempsey clan by unborn blood for better or worse. But he wouldn’t listen. He’d raised the same arguments day in, day out for the week their new visitors had been in the bunker. Every innocuous moment, Raj had been warning her of doing wrong, of not seeing the truth, of turning a blind eye to the ill intentions of others.

  But they didn’t have any ill intentions. Raj had been having crises the entire time they’d been in here. This was about him, not anyone else. He was maybe jealous, maybe feeling inadequate. But the truth was that Meyer would have accepted the attitudes and ethos of the new men much more easily than he’d accepted Raj … and they both knew it.

  Still, she thought Raj might retort. He might even run off and pout. But he surprised her. His jaw hardened and he said, “Fine. You’re right. I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”

  Cameron entered the kitchen then looked at Lila and Raj. They must have looked like two fighters preparing to square off. “Everyone got a minute?” he said.

  Lila turned toward Cameron. Past him, she saw that the living room had filtered into a group, as if to prepare for an announcement. Had they heard her rant? Probably some. She felt a blush but held it in.

  “What’s going on?” Lila asked.

  “It’s time for me to head out,” he said, “to try and find your father."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Images roll past Heather’s line of sight.

  She understands and doesn’t understand at all.

  Meyer is beside her, but they, the two of them, are nowhere in particular.

  Like many times when they were together in this place, space doesn’t matter. There were times when they lay on couch cushions and pillows on Heather’s floor — in what was once their house — and times when they met the shaman in other places. It never mattered.

  For Meyer, it was about the depth of his dream.

  The dream showed him understanding.

  Like Heather almost has now.

  “It’s a beacon,” Meyer says. “But at the same time, it’s an inductive charge. A way of providing power without requiring them to keep that power source aboard.”

  He’s pointing. Heather sees the pyramid — common enough imagery for her in these dreams, which most of her mind is aware enough to know is floating through a haze of artificial reality — but this time something is different.

  She usually she goes where he leads her, but for Heather it’s always been like taking a tour with Meyer as the guide. For her, it has always been about a shared experience. She’d never say it in their usual version of reality, but in the ayahuasca dreams she used to feel that the places they went — or the places he went, while she tagged along — didn’t matter as long as they traveled as one. It’s a curiously vulnerable idea for the wakened Heather, but her defenses always soften in this place.

  Except that she shouldn’t be here. Meyer is gone. And Heather — the corporeal Heather, in a bed in a room — has taken none of the medicine.

  She’s about to ask what Meyer means about beacons and power sources, but then she sees it. They’ve often visited symbolic places, her higher self somehow was aware that Meyer was traveling and she was only seeing what he wanted her to see.

  But now the image is in her.

  She’s never been to Egypt, and has no interest in the ancients or the structure of their monolithic buildings. But now she understands that there are two main passageways inside the structure itself, fluted up at an angle like vast vents, converging on a place at its heart called the Queen’s Chamber. Looking at the pyramid now, she sees the beacon Meyer means: a thin line of light emanating from one of the ascending passageways, lancing the atmosphere. Beyond it, at the beam’s end, she sees the moon. Only it isn’t a moon. It’s a large sphere, tied to the beacon, receiving the power generated in the earthbound bui
lding.

  Other images shuffle past before she can wonder.

  A hole in the ground, going down forever, booby trapped and unreachable.

  Lines of stones. Monoliths. Perfect precision from supposedly imperfect instruments.

  Primitive networks. Nodes.

  And points of power — nine of them — where dormant secrets lie hidden.

  Meyer is still beside her as the images flit past. “Do you understand?”

  Heather does not, and says so.

  “But you do. You do.”

  She turns to him. None of this matters. And none of this is real.

  The days when they would lock themselves in a room with Juha and purge into buckets then travel for hours are long gone. The days of facing their darknesses before finding this place, this togetherness, this space — long gone. She’s dimly aware that she is only dreaming. But the dream is so real, so deep in its understanding. Unlike any dream she’s ever had.

  “I miss you,” she says.

  Their surroundings change in an instant, as if a switch has been flipped. There are no more scenes of spiritual cliché. No pyramids, no Sphinx, no Incan ruins, no supposition, on the part of the dream, that she should imbue the old places with meaning. Now the background is hard and metallic. Lights. Panels and tables and wires.

  “Then protect it for me, Heather,” he says. “Protect what will allow me to return.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Heather awoke to a gentle shaking. Her eyes blinked away sleep’s haze, her mind slowly coming around to the realization that she’d been dreaming. She was suddenly sure that the dream was important, and she rushed to hold it close, but it was already slipping away. She’d dreamed of Meyer and a very important task he’d assigned her. But as seconds ticked by, her certainty faded. Why couldn’t it just have been a dream?

  “Mom.”

  She rolled halfway over beneath the sheets. What time was it? Living underground had shifted her perception of day and night. Clocks no longer mattered. Daytime bled through the skylights and reflectors, but the way it filtered down, never direct, made it feel like just another bulb. Lila and Trevor seemed to be settling into a circadian rhythm that was just under twenty-four hours whereas she (and Piper, Heather guessed, and who the fuck cared about Raj?) wanted to stretch hers to twenty-five or more. If any of them had been sealed away alone, time would probably pass slower for Heather than for her daughter, and in a few weeks they’d disagree on how many days (how many cycles of sleep and awake) had passed. But because they were all trapped together, their schedules blended. Heather was tired more often than she had been topside, and had solved the mismatch by joining her children’s schedules and taking naps. Like the one, she now realized, she was rousing from.