“And what would you do if you found out one of the other laborers had been helping the terrorists?”
“Oh, I would tell one of your officers immediately, Mr. Coomy,” she said without hesitation. “No doubt about that. I don’t want to let someone like that stay around my friends.”
“Excellent,” Quilen said. “One last question.”
He allowed a long pause before saying, “Did you know that it really is safe to live on the surface?”
Reena looked at Quilen awkwardly for a moment, then a subtle smile spread across her face, followed by a belly laugh. “You had me really confused for a moment,” she breathed between laughter. “You are trying to be funny, right, sir?”
Quilen smiled.
“Humor is not something that goes with this purpose assignment,” he said smugly, “but I needed to be sure that you truly realized the ridiculousness of a claim such as that.”
Reena subdued her laughter.
“Oh, sorry Mr. Coomy,” she recovered. “I didn’t mean to laugh…”
“No, no – it’s okay,” he reassured her. “It really is quite funny that after all these years that someone might believe it could be a possibility. Though perhaps funny is not the correct word.”
“Yes, sir,” Reena agreed. “Crazy would be a better word.”
Quilen nodded his head in agreement and pressed his finger on a green circle on the desk in front of him. Reena’s information, which had been glowing in yellow against the black glass, turned green. The words Cleared by Chairman Coomy appeared at the top of the information before all of it disappeared.
“Next!” Quilen yelled without even looking at Reena as the black desk lit up with someone else’s information. The control officers behind Reena removed her restraints and led her through the unit door, passing another dirty face escorted by two more officers. The two laborers caught each other’s glance for less than a second.
She was guided back through the labyrinth of halls and vertical magnet trams. After getting off the magnet tram, the walls were no longer glassy and black, but rather made of dull metal. Every twenty feet or so there was a single pane of smooth glass that had information that would change as they passed.
The guards left her at the entrance of her dimly lit sleeping unit. Amongst the bunk beds, around twenty men and women with concerned faces gathered around her as soon as the officers were gone.
“You’re back,” one of them spoke up. “That’s a good sign, right?”
Reena smiled.
“Insecure men love to be flattered,” Reena said to the small group of laborers.
There was an obvious sigh of relief amongst the gathered individuals. Smiles and laughter broke out as many hands patted her on the back and shoulders.
“I don’t think they know any of the talk that is spreading through the Midlet,” she continued. “They assume that some of us were in contact with the two that they call terrorists. And I don’t think they’ll stop the questioning until they find what they want, whatever that is. But for the time being, the disgusting Mr. Coomy enjoys having his ego stroked. I think if we’re patient, they’ll leave us alone.”
“So we’re safe?” one of the voices asked.
“We’re as safe as usual,” Reena nodded confidently, knowing the term wasn’t ever really true for them. “Get to wherever you’re assigned now – we should be perfect citizens until the questioning stops.”
The small crowd agreed, exchanging smiles and knowing glances amongst themselves as they disbursed. A teenage boy hung back.
“Reena,” he asked.
“Yes, Azazel.”
“Do you really believe it’s true?” he said faintly.
“Do I believe what is true? That they don’t know of the talk spreading through the Midlet?”
“No,” Azazel answered. “That the surface— That the first videos are true and not the ones that came later.”
Reena lovingly placed her palm on the young man’s cheek, looking him directly in the eyes. Her own son would have been Azazel’s age.
“I know it’s true,” she said firmly. “And we will do whatever it takes to get us all there. We just need to be patient.”
Azazel’s face relaxed with obvious relief. He smiled, hugged her, then ran out of the room with renewed hope.
Reena calmly walked to her hard bunk bed and lay down to try to slow down her racing heart. She didn’t want anyone else to know it, but she wasn’t completely sure about the surface. A constant doubt lingered that the air past the Facility entrance doors were just as radioactive as the Leaders said. But either way, she hoped. For the first time in her life. And that was enough to keep moving forward.
She had no idea what she was doing, but she felt in her bones that she had to be a constant strength for everyone else.
She looked up at the hand drawn pictures she had pinned to the underside of the bunk above hers as a tear edged its way out of the corner of her eye.
.- -.-. -
Quilen Coomy pressed the glass on his desk and stared straight into the video recorder in the wall.
“Laborer questioning, day six,” he stated while rubbing his eyes out of exhaustion. He had been interviewing laborers for five hours with hardly any breaks, and his focus was strained. He had never worked such long days. No one had – all Facility purpose assignments were a maximum of four hours with mandatory rest breaks every hour, as well as frequent ones that were unscheduled.
That is, for everyone but the laborers.
“Still no sign of any laborers that might have helped the terrorists, but they are appropriately afraid.”
He had already accepted the idea of Talitha as an anonymous terrorist, and didn’t even think of her face when using the word.
“I’m confident that we will have suspects soon.”
He went through the list of laborers, mentioning any that might need to be questioned further after the initial sweep. They were generally the ones that didn’t pay him what he considered to be the proper respect.
He finished his update, uploaded it to the Central Facility Computer, and pressed several buttons on the surfaces in his office. The various screens turned blank.
As he stood to leave, one screen lit up.
“Quilen,” a voice boomed in the dimly lit office unit.
“Yes, Mr. Gisk,” Quilen quickly reacted. He was afraid that his already long day was going to be extended.
Mr. Gisk’s heavy breath created an awkward pause before asking, “Anything useful today?”
“I just uploaded my notes to the CFC,” Quilen said, “nothing out of the ordinary, sir.”
“I don’t have time to wade through your reports, Coomy,” Mr. Gisk said condescendingly. “Did you find any potential terrorists?”
“No, sir,” Quilen said without confidence. “But I’m quite sure the laborers will give them up soon. They are afraid.”
“Not good enough,” Mr. Gisk spat. “Give me one tomorrow.”
“Sir?” Quilen asked.
“Pick one tomorrow,” Mr. Gisk answered. “At this point I think the boy and your daughter really did act alone.”
Quilen winced a bit at Mr. Gisk’s reference to his daughter. As if he wanted to remind him of a noose hovering near his neck if his loyalty changed.
“I don’t really care who it is, but we have to show the Facility that we have things under control,” Mr. Gisk continued. “And we should remind the laborers that they need to fear far more than just our talk.”
With that, the glass on the wall turned black.
Quilen stared at the blank surface, realizing where his loyalty would take him, and the things it would require him to do. Even though he despised the laborers, he wasn’t fond of simply picking one at random.
Quilen slowly walked vacant halls to his spacious family unit, then ate dinner in silence by himself. Dawkin stared at his eyetiles in an adjacent room, not even aware that his father was home. Gabet flicked her finger on her wristile through recorde
d surveillance of one of her friends. She occasionally snickered, most likely because she found a particularly incriminating subject for gossip.
After slipping into bed, Quilen fell asleep thinking about Mr. Gisk’s command. He pictured an anonymous face that would fulfill it.
.- -.-. -
Reena squeezed her body alongside a large, restless pig in its cage. She watched its eyes transition from afraid to distant. She had reattached the anesthesia tube into its skin and it was finally as calm as the others. Methodically reattaching the feeding tube, then inserting the waste tube, she stepped back to check her work. If any of the lines were disconnected, she would be the one to find it again later – so it would benefit her to do it correctly the first time.
Anytime one of the animals disconnected their anesthesia tube, it wouldn't take long for them to gain a sense of awareness. That resulted in panic, with flailed movements that would rip out the other tubes and needles. When such an incident occurred in this sector, Reena was the one that would be expected to remedy the problem. It wasn't her only purpose assignment, but it was her least favorite. Not just because of the filth, but because she felt sorry for the animals.
More than that, she saw herself in their position.
Caged. Numb. Simply waiting until her usefulness had ended.
She grabbed a fluid hose from the wall and sprayed the pig down, cleaning off the feces that hadn't made it into the waste tube. She spot cleaned other animals, trying not to make eye contact.
She stepped into a neighboring sanitation unit and removed the suit that kept out everything but the smell. Washing the scent from her skin as well as she possibly could, she paused to stare into her reflection in the glass wall.
What do my eyes look like, she wondered. Afraid? Distant?
She would maintain strength for the others, but she was nervous that her eyes would give her away, just like those of the animals.
As she toweled off, yellow panels appeared on the walls lining the sanitation unit. A silent video played, showing Quilen Coomy speaking at a podium while reading a tile, with Mr. Gisk over his right shoulder. Near his left shoulder stood a shackled thin teenage boy with his head down.
“Azazel!” Reena cried out, dashing to the wall to enable the audio.
“...which was a terrible day for all of us,” Quilen said. “And my family was affected more than anyone else’s. But I'm very relieved to announce that after an extensive search, we have found one accomplice amongst the laborers. He has admitted that he conspired with the other terrorists – Jonah and T, who were also laborers – to create an unrest by posting the fake videos about the Surface's End. Their hope, as we now understand, was to inspire citizens to open the surface ducts in order to flood the Facility with radiation, killing all who live inside.
“Apparently, their motivation rests in one of their religious books, which again confirms the wisdom of our Leaders and of the Forefathers to destroy such material. We will continue to search the laborer population to find any others who hold similar beliefs or books.”
He paused for just a moment, then motioned towards Azazel.
“As for this terrorist, he will be executed by being exiled to the surface.”
Reena's hands covered her mouth, stifling the whispers that were barely escaping.
The video continued, but she couldn't hear anything. She simply stared at the boy who was a constant reminder of the son she had lost so many years ago.
The son she lost because of men like Quilen Coomy.
CHAPTER TWO
Jonah sat beside Talitha's bed in Doc Thorton's log cabin. Her skin was still very pink, but the doctor made several salves out of plants not naturally found in the region, supplied by Olivia Nansing. These medicines seemed to help, and at the very least gave Talitha some relief.
Their main concern for several days was not her skin, but the fact that she could hardly keep any food or water down.
It wasn't until she and Jonah had both described how the citizens of the Facility ate and drank that Doc Thorton started forming together ideas.
“It sounds like everything you've been eating has been treated with medicines or cleaned in some way that I don't understand,” he had said. “And I'll bet the same is true for your water.”
The townsfolk always simply drank water drawn from wells or nearby creeks and streams. Their food had generally come straight from the field to the table. It had run under water, and spices were often added for flavor or preservation before cooking, but nothing like what the pair described in the Facility. Doc Thorton concluded that Talitha's body was not accustomed to bacteria that everyone in the town had been exposed to since the day they were born.
He soon started filtering and boiling water, and Talitha drank without sickness. He would cook basic fruits, vegetables and meats in filtered water until they were mush, and then she could finally hold certain meals down.
“A waste of a good slab of beef, if you ask me,” one of the townsfolk said when this was explained.
Jonah stayed by her side as often as possible, sleeping in a small room adjacent to hers for the first several days. Doc Thorton had ordered Talitha on bed rest for the next few weeks. She was very disappointed at first, feeling like she traded the Facility for an even more restricted space. However, she was weak, and realized she didn't really want to get out of bed.
On some evenings, Jonah would walk her over to the window when the stars came out. Looking at the real stars, breathing real air, embraced by someone who truly loved her – she never felt so free.
Thomas walked into Talitha's room, followed closely by Lillian and Harrison. “Time to go, bud,” he said. “Town meeting at the chapel, and you need to be there.”
“But I can't leave Talitha—” Jonah started to resist.
“Talitha will be fine with Lillian and Doc Thorton,” Thomas said firmly as Jonah's sister sat at the edge of the bed.
Jonah knew that whatever the town was meeting about was serious by the tone of his father's voice. He wasn't an angry man – quite the opposite – so when he was firm, it meant something.
The three Whitfield men made their way to the town's chapel. The doors were open wide, spilling candlelight out against the dark horizon. Some people were entering and others were grouped together outside, but everyone watched the Whitfields as they walked. They found Helen inside and sat next to her on the pew.
“Alright everyone,” Brother Philip said as he stood at the front of the church. “Grab a seat and we'll get started.”
The folks who had been milling about found spaces throughout the chapel to sit. Usually in a situation such as this – when the entire town was together – the faces were happy and there was laughter in the small conversations. Tonight, however, everyone seemed to be very concerned.
“As many of you have heard, our town is experiencing a bit of unusual… Drama, I guess you could put it,” Brother Philip continued. “We're holding this town meeting to let the Whitfields share their experiences with everyone at once so that gossip does not overtake us. And we will all get a chance to share our concerns and ideas once they're through.”
Jonah swallowed hard. He seemed to recall his father telling him that this meeting was going to happen, but it still caught him off guard. He had shared his story with multiple people in the town, but speaking in front of all of them at the same time was completely different. He could deal with individual questions, but was unprepared for any sort of riot that could ensue.
The Whitfields stood, making their way to the pulpit with Brother Philip.
“Just remember,” Brother Philip implored the crowd. “We all know the Whitfields. There is no reason for any of us to get excited.”
He said this last word while looking at Raymond Cowel, who was rarely seen without a bottle in his hand. Raymond snorted, turning up one side of his lip.
“Thanks Brother Philip,” Thomas said as the minister sat down in a pew with the crowd.
“As most of you alre
ady know, my son recently went into the Deathlands.”
Jonah expected a murmur of surprise to spread through the chapel, but the crowd remained hushed. If this had been the first time that anyone had heard the news, there would at least have been one shocked reaction. Everyone was already aware.
“But more importantly, he went under the Deathlands and found a whole town living beneath it. Not like our town, though. I don't know how to explain it but to say that it's nothing like I've ever heard of before. Even all of the stories of our history, and the possible wars and great machines and such, and even the ghost stories… The things that Jonah has described sound like— Like something from another planet. But the folks in that town are people just like you and me.
“Most of you also probably know that one of those townsfolk came back with Jonah.”
There was a slight murmur in the large room. Not out of surprise, but of disapproval.
“Jonah met a girl in that town, and he brought her back here. From what she has told us, the people that live under the Deathlands think that it isn't safe to live on the surface. They think that the air is poisonous and that the ground is on fire. I mean… Literally, on fire.”
The comment was met with some laughter in the chapel.
“How do they think we can survive up here, then?” a voice from the crowd yelled out.
“She said that they don't know we're here. What I meant was that they believe that they are the only people alive in the world, and that anything outside of their town died a long time ago.”
“Maybe not before – but Jonah told them we're up here,” another voice yelled.
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