Talitha nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it was gross that your mom sewed his knee. I’d just never really seen blood in the Facility. Before coming here, I just assumed that machines did all of that stuff.”
“You had never seen blood?” Lillian asked, surprised.
“I don’t think so. Not before Jonah got hurt.”
“Wow,” Lillian said with her eyes open wide. She proceeded to hold up her arm, pointing to a scar and saying, “I was six when I got this one. I was playing and ran into a fence. I fainted because there was so much blood.
“I got this one,” she said, barely lifting up her shirt to show a tiny scar above her hip, “because a rooster attacked me. We ate him later that night.”
She smiled, and continued going through several more scars. Apparently, getting hurt on the surface was fairly common. Talitha listened, but tried to keep the images from the stories from entering her mind. She pictured Jonah, bloody and bandaged, when he pulled her out of her prison unit right before they made their escape. Blood was not something she enjoyed thinking about.
Out of nowhere, Lillian asked, “So when are you and my brother getting married?”
Talitha snickered at the lack of transition from blood and scars. She assumed that it was a question that Lillian wanted to ask for a while, but simply didn’t know how. Apparently, she quit worrying about the proper way to bring it up.
“I don’t know exactly when,” Talitha answered, “but soon. Your parents and Doc Thorton said they think we should wait until after I’m not getting sick all the time.”
That was indeed the main reason, but Helen had pulled her aside to talk a week before. It sounded like there were other things that they were waiting for, but she couldn’t be sure. But she was thankful for the time of waiting. She wanted to make sure she could contribute – not only to her husband, but also to the town. Secretly, she was worried that Jonah would feel obligated, now that she was proving to be helpless on the surface.
“Jonah said that people don’t get married until they’re really old in your town,” Lillian said, looking down at her stitching.
Talitha smiled.
“Well, it all depends on your perspective,” she responded. “If the people from my town knew I was getting married at my age, they would all make fun of us for being too young.”
“But you’re not too young,” Lillian said, defending her. “Almost everybody here gets married after they get done with the schoolhouse.”
“I know,” Talitha smiled again. “Our towns are very different. Did you know that I had never met a single person who could sew before you and your mom? Or even someone who could cook?”
Lillian laughed.
“Really?” she said in disbelief. “How can you not know anyone who cooked? How did you eat?”
“Everything was done for us by machines and computers,” Talitha said. “Well, and people called Laborers. I never met any of them or saw them, though. But I’m not even sure of what all they do.”
“Your town is weird,” Lillian said through a grin.
Talitha smiled and nodded. She could see how anyone from here would think that her upbringing had been weird rather than the other way around. At least Talitha knew of history, and of what life was like before the technology she grew up with. She didn’t understand it or know how it was possible to live the way they did on the surface, but at least she was aware. The only technology these people knew was piled up in a junk yard gathering rust, possibly untouched for centuries.
Talitha thought about all of the faceless citizens in the Facility who apparently made it possible for families like hers to live in the comfort that they did. The way that Mr. Gisk had talked, the entire underground city would fall apart without their work. And yet, instead of being praised, they were ridiculed and cut off from the rest of the society. She wondered if those people were a lot like Jonah’s town.
The whole time that she was in the Facility, her people would use the term “laborer” with disdain. Parents would threaten it to their unruly children as a fate worse than death. Actual labor on the surface gave these people purpose. Is that what it was actually like for the Laborers in the Facility? Should she have taken her parents up on the threat, and worked alongside them?
She hoped the message she sent before leaving the Facility would reach the Laborers, but wondered if they wanted to leave like she did. Perhaps that’s why no one had breached the surface since they’d been here – because everyone was happier than she was, including the Laborers.
“We’re gonna be sisters, you know,” Lillian said, snapping Talitha back from her thoughts.
“That’s true,” Talitha said. “I’ve never had a sister before. What will we do?”
Lillian laughed. “I’ve never had a sister before, either!”
“Well, then we can learn that part together, then,” Talitha said, happy that she could perhaps be equal in at least one task.
“I’m really glad you’re gonna be my sister,” Lillian said, her cheeks a bit flush.
Without realizing it, Talitha moved over to Lillian and hugged her. Her eyes watered, but she swallowed hard to keep from tears gathering. Why was everyone here so nice to her?
“Me too, Lillian. I’m really glad, too.”
.- -.-. -
Jonah’s axe split through wood in one fell swoop. The air had turned cool, and they were preparing for the oncoming winter. His father tossed the ready firewood into the bicycle trailer as quickly as he could, almost keeping up with Jonah’s pace.
The two of them had spent the day sawing logs to the length of their woodstove. Thomas had put as much effort into the two-man crosscut saw as he could, hoping to save some of Jonah’s strength for this part of the work. Now that he was merely loading the wood that Jonah was splitting, he felt a little less useful.
“Have you told her that the hatch is sealed yet?”
Thomas knew that talk would slow the task down, but he didn’t want his son to bear the weight of the current events by himself.
“No,” Jonah said, letting the axe fall to the ground and catching his breath. “I’m still trying to figure out if I should tell her or not.”
“I understand,” Thomas said. “It’s not an easy decision.”
“What would you do?” Jonah asked.
“I don’t know her as well as you,” his father answered. “And I don’t really know about where she came from besides just what you two tell me. On one hand, you shouldn’t keep anything from her. But on the other hand, telling her might make her feel trapped. Kind of funny – the thought that she could feel trapped when she’s locked outside of a prison.”
“So I shouldn’t tell her?” Jonah questioned.
“Oh, I definitely didn’t say that,” Thomas blurted back. “If you’re going to be her husband, you’re going to have to make a lot of hard decisions just like this one; when to hurt her with truth rather than just letting it go. Every once in a while it doesn’t matter that much. But if your pattern is to always keep your mouth shut, then eventually it’s a lot worse than the pain that comes with truth. You just have to ask yourself if you’re legitimately protecting her from something or if you’re just afraid of making her upset.”
“Hmmm,” Jonah frustratingly mumbled. “I don’t think that this is the kind of thing that doesn’t matter. And she’s going to find out eventually, I’m sure. Especially since so many people were with me when I found out. I think I’d rather that she heard it from me.”
Thomas patted Jonah’s shoulder with the hand that wasn’t holding on to his cane. “I’d say that’s a wise choice,” he said.
Thomas grabbed another piece of split wood and tossed it into the trailer. Jonah looked around at the work that remained and picked up the axe, swinging it above his head.
The post near the edge of the Deathlands had been completed, and at least two people were there at all times staring into the expanse. Almost everyone had gotten to spend time with Talitha personally, and
Jonah was quick to answer any questions that arose. The townsfolk had seemed to calm a bit in the previous month or so, but the thought of an underground army still put everyone on edge.
Jonah wasn’t officially on the regular rotation of watchmen, but he would still ride a horse to the post every few days to make sure everything was normal. He would help bring supplies or simply talk with whoever was scheduled to be at the post in order to put any fears at ease. On some of these trips he would ride into the middle of the Deathlands and check the hatch, just in case. It still would not open.
There was no part of him that wanted Talitha to go back, but he at least wished she had the option. If there came a day when she realized she couldn’t stand the surface, he had previously thought the two of them could slip back in and create new identities. It had been fairly easy for him to live among the citizens without being noticed before, so he was confident that they could do it again. Perhaps in a different sector, or with the laborers that seemed so mysterious.
When he found that the hatch was sealed, his first thought was the Leaders simply wanted to keep them out – that they didn’t want them to come back and cause any more trouble. Jonah and Talitha had not intended to burn any bridge, but it was definitely a possibility of why they were locked out.
But the longer Jonah thought about it, and after a few conversations meant to casually pull information from Talitha, he started to realize it might not be about them at all. It could be that the Leaders wanted to keep everyone inside. Especially after the message that Talitha sent out, the Leaders might have been doing what they could to prevent anyone from finding out that the surface was indeed inhabitable. She was convinced that Mr. Gisk would stop at nothing to keep the Facility citizens in the dark.
Either way, his town was her home now, and he felt it was his responsibility to create an environment she would not want to leave. That was quickly becoming harder to do than any manual labor he’d done in his life. But he realized it wouldn’t be fair if he kept the truth from her. That she never could leave.
CHAPTER SIX
“Have you talked to Kestra in a while?”
Quilen looked at Gabet, who was engrossed in her wristile. It was one of the seldom moments when he was home for dinner with his wife and son, but he still felt as if he were alone.
They sat around their dining table, which was much larger than before, even though they were now only a family of three. Where they once consistently had beautiful scenery surrounding them on their walltiles, Gabet presently insisted on a simple blue glow. She said that anything else distracted her from her wristile.
Dawkin wore his eyetiles, which hadn’t been allowed at the table until they moved into their new family unit. Since that point, he rarely took them off. Quilen thought about asking his son to remove the object covering his eyes and face, but he realized that they would have nothing to say once he did so.
He had tried talking about his day, but neither of his family members seemed interested. When he mentioned the laborers, their conversation somehow trailed back to the execution that he oversaw. Almost anything else about his purpose assignment seemed to leave breadcrumbs back to the girl that was no longer sitting at the table.
They never spoke of Talitha, but Quilen thought about her more as time went on, and he knew that Gabet did as well from her many sleep induced outbursts. The perks of his new purpose assignment no longer seem to be satisfying any of them.
“Gabet?” Quilen asked a bit louder. “Have you talked to Kestra in a while?”
Gabet looked up from her wristile with a frown.
“I heard you, dear,” she said, adding a bit of distain to the end of her sentence. “And no, I haven’t talked to Kestra. I haven’t talked to anyone from the old sector for weeks.”
She looked back down at her wristile. Quilen scooped a bite of Food Substance into his mouth, slightly chewing it before swallowing.
“We could have her family here,” he suggested. “Have them over for dinner or something.”
Gabet forced a laugh.
“They wouldn’t come here,” she snapped, still looking at her wristile. “She would assume we’re trying to flaunt our new family unit to them.”
“No she wouldn’t,” Quilen disagreed. “You two were great friends, and I’m sure she would enjoy seeing you, too.”
Gabet laughed again.
“I know for a fact that she resents us,” she said. “She talked about us quite a bit for the first several weeks. How we were exploiting Talitha’s death so that you could get a purpose assignment with the Leaders. Did you know she told her husband that she wished their daughter was killed by the terrorists so that he could have your assignment?”
“What?” Quilen said in bewilderment.
“Yes, dear,” she continued. “As it turns out, most of our friends are quite jealous of our new reputation.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, still amazed.
“If you think that is ridiculous, then you should hear some of the other things they say about you,” she said. “They’ve suggested that you somehow baited the terrorists to come to our old family unit, because you were tired of her always talking about the surface. And because you had ties to Mr. Gisk, you knew that you’d be able to convince him to give you a subcommittee if he felt sorry for you.”
Quilen stood quickly, knocking his chair over. He slammed on the dining table, causing more Food Substance to squirt out of the tube beside his plate. Dawkin stirred, raising his eyetiles for just a moment before slipping then back over his vision.
“Well, the next time I see them,” he yelled, “I’ll show them what kind of influence I have with Mr. Gisk now. I’ll reassign him to—I don’t know, to something terrible. Something that will make him regret ever thinking anything bad about us.”
“Oh,” Gabet said through a fake smile. “I thought you wanted to have them over for dinner?”
.- -.-. -
Jonah and Talitha walked hand in hand across Miller’s hill, where just a month ago flowers covered the ground. He brought Talitha with the intention of telling her about the sealed hatch but was quickly losing his nerve. He felt the news would not be easy to handle, even if it was unsurprising. But she seemed as if she already had a great deal on her mind.
She gripped his hand and arm tightly as they stepped a familiar path. Soon after she was well enough to get outside, Jonah brought her to the hill to enjoy the floral arrangements that nature graciously provided, and to share the story of how his parents first started courting. They frequented this spot mostly because Jonah knew how much she loved the flowers, but also because he wanted her to share in the history of the surface.
However, the flowers had faded. The grass was browning and many of the trees were bare. Much of their walk had been taken in silence, which was unusual. He was preoccupied with his own thoughts, wondering how he would broach the subject of the Facility and hadn’t really noticed her reaction to her surroundings.
“Jonah?” Talitha asked with concern in her voice.
“Yes?” he responded, preparing himself to explain why he was being so quiet.
She stopped walking.
“The flowers,” she began, the concern still hanging heavily in her words. “They’re gone. The grass isn’t as green as it was, and the trees are… Different. Naked.”
Jonah surveyed the landscape, confirming what she observed.
“Yeah,” he said simply, agreeing with her.
She let go of his hands and knelt down, stroking the grass as if were fragile. She looked at the ground.
“Did I do this?” she timidly asked, as if she had been caught in the middle of committing a crime.
“What?” Jonah said with a surprised reaction. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know how many times we’ve come here,” she replied. “But I’ve noticed it changing. At first, it was completely covered with flowers. But each time we’ve come back, there have been less and less. I thought maybe I was just i
magining it, but now they’re gone completely.”
Jonah knelt in the grass beside her.
“I don’t understand,” he said as he gently pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you saying?”
“Am I the reason the flowers are dying?” she asked. “Is it because we opened up the hatch to the Facility? Did we release some sort of sickness to kill the plants, like when the citizens got sick because of you being around the Food Substance? Am I killing the surface by being here?”
Jonah smiled and suppressed a bit of laughter.
“No, no,” he said. “This is completely natural. It happens every year.”
“What?” she asked, surprised.
“Yeah, we’re nearing the end of autumn, and this just happens,” he explained. “Every year around this time, most of the trees lose their leaves and a lot of plants die. It’s going to get much colder, with snow. That’s why we’ve been chopping wood – so we can burn it to stay warm. After that comes spring, and different flowers and plants will grow. Then the summer, which usually gets much hotter than it was when we first came out of the Facility. And then it starts all over; autumn, winter, spring and then summer again.”
She narrowed her eyes, looking at all of the dying vegetation.
“I don’t understand,” she said, staring at the ground. “How will the flowers come back if they die?”
Jonah stood and tugged Talitha’s hand to get her to do the same. They started walking back towards his family’s homestead.
“I don’t really know why it happens the way it does,” he began. “There’s a cycle to everything, and for some reason that’s how it has to be. Brother Philip has said something in the past, but I don’t remember it exactly. He said that if a plant were to live forever then that’s all it would be. But if it dies and goes to seed, then that single plant can turn into a whole bunch of other plants.
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