Lost Horizon

by Michael Ford

  Kobi found himself nodding, caught up in Mischik’s inspiring words. He was right—but the little ice-box in his hands looked more pathetic than ever. Could they really win hearts and minds with four pints of blood a day?

  There’s another way, Kobi thought, thinking of the pages in his journal. The labs Hales had left behind, out in the Wastelands.

  “What about Hales’s research?” he said. Mischik’s eyes narrowed; he had to know exactly what Kobi was talking about. In the former GrowCycle Lab in Old Seattle, where Hales had carried out most of his research, Kobi had found two folders. The first, labeled 1.3, described testing on a chemical that sounded exactly like Waste. The second had been marked with 2.0 and his dad’s scrawled notes: Other Testing. Full Cure, Part Two. Send to Alex.

  “The notes he left on that folder—the folder marked 2.0—about a full cure and other testing, in the old GrowCycle Lab,” Kobi told Mischik. “There must be something there we can use. Hales wouldn’t have written that for nothing. Maybe he already found the way to make a permanent cure. Something that will do more than just temporarily cleanse the Waste until you’re exposed again.”

  Mischik watched him coolly. His pale eyes gave nothing away, but Kobi sensed a hardness behind them, a resoluteness that wouldn’t budge.

  Kobi’s voice faltered slightly. “So . . . think about it. . . . With a full cure you would need only one dose. It would be so much cheaper and faster to spread the drugs. And . . . we wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore. That’s how CLAWS stays in control. The fear of Waste coming back. But if everyone was immune—cured—that fear would be shattered.”

  Mischik frowned, taking in Kobi’s words before turning his head away slightly. “Hales was an optimist.”

  “If he thought the cleansers would be enough to defeat CLAWS, he would have come back from the Wastelands ages ago. He’d been using cleansers on himself for years, hadn’t he?” Mischik’s jaw clenched, but Kobi continued before the man could say anything. “Who better to go and find this cure than me—than the other mutated kids? We’re adapted for survival in the Wastelands. There were loads of labs marked on his map. I think I’ve remembered them all. We just need to go through them one by one.”

  “CLAWS will have cleaned out the GrowCycle Lab,” said Mischik. “And they took Hales’s map, so they know the locations of the other labs too.”

  Kobi shook his head. “I know my dad!” He paused, realizing his slip. “Hales, I mean. He would have been prepared. He would have had backups. He would have spread his research out. If he wanted to keep something hidden, it would stay hidden.”

  They locked eyes, and Kobi knew they were thinking the same thing. Hales had kept Kobi hidden all those years. Through lying and manipulation. Except they found us eventually. Maybe CLAWS has already gotten their hands on the research. But I have to try.

  From Mischik’s softening gaze, Kobi could see he was wavering, tempted by the possibilities Kobi was suggesting. A real, permanent solution to the Waste—one that would destroy CLAWS.

  “I agree with Kobi,” said Johanna quietly. “I don’t know if we can win this battle with a limited supply of blood. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news, but Waste contamination is getting worse in the city. Even if we had enough cleansers for everyone, people will only get reinfected.”

  Mischik sighed and bent down to place the cooler on the floor. He rubbed his eyes as if suddenly weary.

  “We might not win,” he said, “but for the first time in forever we’re not losing. Kobi—I can’t risk it. If we lose you, we lose everything. Surely you can see that? We need you down here, safe. Our revolution has only just begun.”

  Kobi wasn’t ready to let it go. “Maybe it’s being down here that’s stalling my progress,” he said. “Back in the old city, I was improving all the time, in every metric. Strength, speed, regeneration. I think it’s because Dad—Hales, I mean—he pushed me. I was . . . useful. I was learning, fighting every day. Here, it feels like . . . I don’t know . . . I’m going nowhere. Like I’m being suffocated.”

  “You have other kids like you,” offered Mischik halfheartedly. “And the game room.”

  “Throwing a baseball, playing pool, and listening to Leon’s movie rants are not the same,” Kobi said. “I’m going crazy. We all are.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Mischik said. “If you think I’m going to authorize a suicide mission sending our most valuable asset into the Wastelands . . .”

  Johanna cleared her throat and said softly, “Kobi’s body could be failing to produce more antibodies because of this lack of stimulation.”

  Kobi turned back to Mischik, feeling a surge of triumph. “Let me prove it to you,” he said. “That we can handle ourselves.” An idea hit him. “Maybe we should start with something smaller. We could help with one of the Horizon deliveries?” Kobi had been allowed to sit in on some of the mission debriefs. It was just a case of visiting the clinics in the slums and dropping off the drugs.

  “No,” said Mischik. “Unnecessary risk.”

  “How many times have they even run into trouble?” Kobi asked, frustration building again. “I bet none.”

  “That’s not the point!” Mischik said. He was almost shouting. “You’re safest staying underground.”

  Kobi stood up to face him. “And what if I won’t stay underground? What if we decide to leave?” Mischik’s race reddened. He could see Johanna looking anxious too. But Kobi persisted. “Look, I’m not saying we’re going to run away—I don’t think anyone wants that. But you have to let us do something. We’re not asking to go out and have a party. Just a short journey, in an almost completely safe environment. I handled the Wastelands for thirteen years—where everything around me was trying to kill me. I can handle this city. I was raised to survive! It’s what I’m good at!”

  “There are CLAWS drones out there,” said Mischik. “They’ll be programmed to detect Waste contaminants—and that includes you, Kobi.”

  “We had Snatchers in the Wastelands. There are ways to hide. If anything goes wrong, we can abort the mission.”

  Mischik took a deep breath. “All right, Kobi. I’ll discuss with the team.”

  “Is that a yes?” asked Kobi, grinning.

  “It’s a maybe,” said Mischik. “You know, you’re almost as stubborn as Jonathan was.”

  Like father like son, thought Kobi ironically. He wondered for a moment how much of Hales had been passed on to him. How much of his character. I knew him better than anyone. I can’t deny that. And I know this cure is out there. I just know. He felt a rush of hope and excitement like he hadn’t experienced in a long time. All we have to do is prove ourselves on this mission and I know we can convince Mischik to let us go back to Old Seattle.

  “I’ll tell the others,” Kobi said.

  Mischik flicked his eyes to the ceiling. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  For a second, Kobi was reminded of his dream that morning; how he’d convinced Hales to let him go out on a mission before he was ready and the almost fatal consequences. He felt a shiver of doubt, but he squashed it quickly. That had been years ago.

  I can do this. I’m ready.

  3

  TWO HOURS LATER, KOBI was gathered with Asha, Rohan, Leon, and Yaeko in a briefing room on C-Level, a dingy office space that had once been used by management at the hydroelectric plant. There were old, shabby, padded seats and a whiteboard. Old blueprints of the hydroelectric tunnel network remained visible where they’d been stenciled directly over the chipped paint of the walls. The hum of the strip lighting made Kobi uneasy; it reminded him of insects, a constant danger out in the Wastelands. A mutated wasp had once tried to nest in the school—that hadn’t been fun. He tensed all his muscles. It was a technique the Sol psychiatrist had taught him to relieve anxiety: tense his whole body, then release each muscle. “Can we start already?” he said as he let his body relax, trying to ignore the humming.

  Mischik was standing at the fro
nt of the room. Despite all the questions Rohan had fired at him since they sat down, the Sol leader was keeping quiet. He tapped his watch. “A few minutes. General Okafor always arrives precisely on time.”

  “General Okafor is running the briefing?” said Rohan excitedly.

  “He is,” said Mischik.

  Rohan turned back from the row in front of Kobi and Asha. Leon was slumped next to him. “You know Okafor’s story, right?”

  “No, but something tells me you’re going to tell us,” said Leon. “Have you ever met a bigger gossip?” he said to Asha and Kobi. “You should see him getting the lowdown from the cafeteria staff.”

  Rohan grinned. “Denise and Frank are my best sources—they overhear everything. Just compliment their mac and cheese, and they pass on all their info. Missions, meetings, who’s who in Sol, the code names of moles working at CLAWS: juicy stuff.”

  “Suck-up,” said Leon, giving Rohan a playful shove.

  Kobi felt a little jealous that Rohan could make friends with the Sol workers so easily. Except for Spike, of course.

  “Go on, then. Get on with it,” Yaeko called to Rohan from where she was lounging with her feet up in the back row, looking bored.

  “Okafor led the rescue operation when the Waste first hit,” Rohan said. “It was before anyone knew what they were dealing with. His para squad dropped right into the heart of the old city—people infected everywhere, animals already mutating and going crazy. He lost his legs to a mutant crocodile that escaped the Seattle zoo.”

  Asha leaned back in her chair, looking unconvinced. “Are you sure Denise and Frank weren’t making that up?”

  “They overheard some of the Sol agents talking,” Rohan said. “And I heard from this Intel guy who likes the same comics as me that ten years ago, when Okafor was high up in the military, CLAWS tried to sell him what they called ‘augmented bodily weaponry’—giving people superhuman abilities to create super soldiers. Remind you of anything?” He glanced pointedly around at the seated kids. “Anyway, Okafor took the story to the press. He didn’t know that CLAWS already had people high up in the army and the government. They squashed the story and got him fired, and that’s why he joined Sol.”

  Kobi shook his head. He hadn’t been living in the real world long—if you could call this place the real world—but he was no longer surprised by the power and efficiency of the CLAWS PR machine. Every news channel he watched or newspaper he read was pro-CLAWS. They had the most powerful lobbyists in government. When your products were the only means to protect humanity against the Waste, you made a lot of friends and not many enemies.

  Rohan continued. “Apparently, after he’d recovered from his legs being amputated, he led a bunch more missions into the Wastelands, looking for survivors. He even found the alligator and killed it. He’s got a necklace made of its teeth!”

  Kobi laughed. “Sounds like you’ve been reading too many of those comics.”

  “I thought you said it was a crocodile,” Leon said.

  Rohan raised his hands. “Crocodile, alligator . . . Who cares? The point is he’s a hero.”

  “Well, thank you for the compliment,” a voice rang out.

  Everyone turned around as one. Mischik was chuckling as General Okafor wheeled himself into the room. He was a stocky man with a buzz cut. A faded pink scar cut across his temple, puckering the surrounding dark brown skin. One half of his face sagged a little, and his shoulder sloped sharply downward too. He wasn’t wearing any prosthetics today; the stumps of his legs protruded from a pair of camouflage shorts.

  “So what was it?” Leon asked Okafor. “An alligator?” Rohan looked embarrassed.

  “No,” said Okafor. Leon shot a triumphant look at Rohan. “It was the Waste. CLAWS was only in its infancy back then. There were no anti-Waste drugs when we first went in. We had only biohazard suits and masks. We weren’t expecting the hostility of the mutated organisms. I lost a lot of good men and women, but the docs managed to save me. A contaminated ant bit through my suit, caught both legs. Painful, I can tell you. But they amputated the legs before the chemical spread too far through my body. Sorry to disappoint you.” The room went quiet, then Okafor broke into the smallest of smiles. “And I don’t wear necklaces.”

  “An ant?” said Rohan, mouth hanging open.

  “Don’t worry, they’re scary enough,” said Kobi, slapping Rohan on the shoulder. “Mandibles like samurai swords.”

  “Right,” said Mischik. “We’d better get started. Where’s Fionn?”

  “We haven’t seen him for a week,” said Asha, concern spread across her face. “I wanted to tell you, actually. I’ve been able to sense him before, but I can’t now—he’s blocking me out.”

  Kobi raised his eyebrows. Fionn was a Projector, a type of telepath who could transmit his thoughts and emotions to plants and animals affected by Waste contamination. In the Wastelands, he had tamed a mutated wolf, held back a pack of flesh-eating rats, and even controlled a Chokerplant. Fionn had been mute since undergoing a traumatic CLAWS experiment when he was young, and now he only “talked” telepathically with Asha, whose Receptor abilities made her particularly astute at understanding Fionn’s thoughts and emotions. If Fionn had found a way to prevent himself from being sensed telepathically by Asha, it was a step up in his powers. “He hasn’t attended his testing today either,” Johanna added. Kobi raised his head, feeling a clench of concern in his chest. What if Fionn had gotten injured or lost in the tunnels?

  “The kid can’t have gone far,” said the general. “He doesn’t have clearance for any of the exits.”

  “I suppose so,” said Mischik. “Still, it’s not good. I’ll put together a search team to track him down.” Knowing that Sol would be searching for Fionn made Kobi feel a little better.

  “If you can’t keep track of your people in here I’d say that bodes poorly for a mission outside,” Okafor said.

  A tiny flicker of annoyance passed across Mischik’s face. But he nodded. “For what it’s worth, I’m inclined to agree. Which is why I wanted you in charge. This will be a limited-scope, tightly controlled excursion. In and out, low risk.”

  “You got it, chief!” Rohan said, cutting through the tense exchange.

  Mischik smiled, but Okafor still looked deadly serious. He placed a metal capsule on a long table at the front, and an image projected up from it in a widening beam of light. Okafor put his hands together in a prayerlike gesture before gradually pulling them apart, making the screen enlarge. It depicted an aerial shot of the New Seattle slums. Miles of ramshackle housing covered the mountainside, narrow streets winding between. Overlaid were several red circles.

  “Listen up. What you see here are the various secret access points from the Sol base into the slums.” He pointed a laser pen at the screen and clicked a button; a green cross appeared on the layout of the city. “And that’s the clinic. The plan is to send an advance party—you—on foot. You’ll be in disguise. Your job is to get to the clinic, confirm it’s free of drones and CLAWS operatives, and then call in the delivery van with the Waste cleansers. If anything goes wrong—if there’s anything even slightly suspicious—you call it off and we’ll send in an extraction team. Understood?”

  “Will we have time to do any sightseeing?” asked Rohan. Okafor and Mischik both fixed him with a stare. “Just kidding!” he added.

  “This really isn’t a time for jokes,” Mischik said.

  Okafor pointed to Kobi. “You’ll be the point man up front. Leon and Rohan will follow and keep you out of harm’s way.”

  “Like bodyguards,” said Leon, turning back to Kobi. “We’ll keep you safe.”

  “You’d better,” retorted Kobi, but he was glad his friends seemed as excited as he was. He felt the same swell of hope as the one he’d experienced in the medical wing when Mischik had agreed to the mission. It was just like before, whenever he’d gone on a mission into the Wastelands with Hales. Every part of him was on edge, preparing for danger. It felt good
.

  Okafor pointed toward the back of the room. “Yaeko, you take the rooftops. Stay hidden, and keep your eyes on the sky for drones.”

  “Sure, whatever,” said Yaeko, looking at her nails. She was the only one of the Healhome kids who didn’t seem excited. But then she never seemed excited about anything.

  “Now, does everyone understand?” said Okafor.

  Kobi nodded.

  The general raised his voice. “I need to hear it.”

  “Yes!” said Leon and Kobi. Yaeko muttered something. Rohan saluted and barked, “Yes, sir!” Kobi and the others laughed. Okafor’s eyes narrowed. It seemed pretty straightforward to Kobi. Walk to the clinic, scope it out, call in the delivery. But he’d been in the slums just once before, when they first arrived at the Sol base. They were a maze—chaotic and busy, full of noise. But it would be a walk in the park compared to traveling through the Wastelands. Which I might be doing soon, if this goes well. The thought made Kobi’s adrenaline surge even higher.

  “What about me?” asked Asha, an edge to her voice.

  “You’ll be in the van,” Mischik told her. “We want you to keep track of the thoughts of the others. The team will have earbuds and mics to speak with each other. But you can report on their state of mind and what they’re thinking. In a high-pressure situation, untrained operatives can forget to communicate accurately.”