by Summer Lane
“Thanks,” I say.
I stand up and wander back into the cabin. Margaret Young is sitting in the back, Isabel asleep on her shoulder. Elle is playing tic-tac-toe with Cheng, and Vera and Andrew are still arguing.
I sigh and plop down in the chair beside Uriah.
“Lonely?” he asks, ghosting a smile.
“Restless,” I reply. I touch the collar of my jacket. I want to tell him about the information that Arlene gave me. I want to discuss the burden with him, the knowledge. But I cannot, because I can’t break the trust. I can’t tell the secret.
“We’re taking a big risk here,” I mutter.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says. “Let’s focus on getting to Yukon City, and finding some recruits.”
“Right.”
Uriah playfully nudges my shoulder.
“Don’t look so depressed,” he says.
“I’m not depressed. I’m thinking.”
“Same difference.”
“Shut up.” But I smile. “I’m glad you chose to come with us.”
“I know.” He tilts his head. “You needed someone other than Vera to talk to.”
I laugh.
“That’s very true.” I lean back in the seat. “I hate leaving California, but at the same time, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders already – not being there is freeing.”
“You’ll always be tethered to California,” Uriah observes, “as long as Chris is there.”
I frown.
“But you’re doing the right thing,” he goes on.
“I’d like to think so.”
The cabin shakes and shudders. I inhale and grip the seats.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Manny announces over the intercom, “please fasten your seatbelts. We are experiencing a little turbulence. Let’s hope we don’t all crash and die.”
He cackles.
Click.
“You know,” I tell Uriah, “my dad used to be terrified of flying. He was kind of claustrophobic. Didn’t like being locked in.” I smile wistfully, thinking of my father. “I miss him.”
“He was a good man.” Uriah shifts in his seat. “He was a great commander.”
“He was.” I look at him. “Do you ever wonder what you would be doing if the Collapse hadn’t happened?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “That kind of thing is deadly. You start getting nostalgic. Nostalgia doesn’t do me any good. It just makes me weak.”
“It does not. It makes you remember what we’re fighting for.”
“It reminds me that everything I was – everything I knew – is gone.”
I drop my gaze to my feet.
“I guess.”
I stand up and go into the small restroom in the back of the plane. I stand in front of the mirror and stare at my face – so much sharper and older than it used to be. I pull the envelope out of my jacket and slide the papers out. I read the cities to myself, over and over again, until I have memorized it.
I set the papers in the sink and pop a packet of matches out of my pocket. I strike a match. The tiny flame glows brightly in the dim light. I hold the fire to the edges of the paper. The flames seize the documents and consume the pages, disintegrating every scrap.
I watch the fire eat the words until there is nothing left but a pile of ashes. I flip the sink on, and a stream of cool water washes the mess away.
I put the matches back in my pocket.
Done.
Chapter Four
Alaska.
It’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon, but the ground below is cloaked in a wispy twilight.
“Why is it so dark?” Isabel asks, alarmed.
“In Alaska, they have long periods of time where it’s completely sunny or totally dark,” Andrew answers, leaning into the aisle. “It’s the winter solstice. They’ll have about sixty or so days of darkness before the sun starts to make a reappearance.”
“But it’s not totally dark,” Vera points out. “It’s like a twilight darkness. You can still see in it – it’s just shadowy.”
“Exactly,” Andrew agrees.
Looking down on the world below us, I can make out the outline of the coast, different shades of black, blue and gray.
“People here like living in darkness?” Isabel remarks.
“There are worse things,” Elle points out.
“I guess.”
Manny has begun our descent. In the far off distance, I can see tiny, twinkling lights. Lights meant specifically for us, to help us land the aircraft in the correct spot. The lights are blue from this angle, branching in multiple directions, patterns that Manny can read.
“Prepare for landing,” he says into the intercom.
I sit straight in my seat.
“I hope he can land this thing without killing us all,” Cheng comments. “I would like to live until at least Christmas.”
The plane rumbles a little, quaking with the force of the wind outside.
Manny is talking into the radio, throwing back comments to the passengers in the cabin. For the most part, I tune him out, watching the dark earth below us loom closer and closer. As we descend, I notice a slight tinge of orange and pink light over the horizon, past what appears to be a rocky mountain range.
“I thought you said it doesn’t get sunny this time of year,” I say.
“It’s called civil twilight,” Andrew replies. “It lasts for a short amount of time, lights everything up like a nightlight, then disappears.”
Bump, bump, bump.
The wheels of the plane make contact with the runway. I feel that familiar sensation of weight in my chest, pressing me forward and backward all at once. I take a deep breath. We are coasting, now. We are on the ground again.
I close my eyes.
Step one, complete. We made it in one piece.
“Easy, easy!” Manny yells from the cockpit. “Everybody stay seated. I see a welcoming party on the tarmac.”
I bolt out of my seat anyway. I step into the cockpit, peering out the windows. The runway lights are shedding just enough of a glow on the small tarmac to illuminate the small building sitting on the left. In front of the edifice, a group of people have gathered to watch our plane. Around us, the Chugach Mountains loom into the sky, capped with pure white snow, dark and ominous – silent and powerful accolades to the sheer might of the terrain of Alaska.
Eventually Manny takes the plane to a docking area on the side of the building. The engines slowly cut out. I walk into the cabin, grab my backpack, button my jacket, and keep my rifle close to my chest.
“You and me go first,” I tell Uriah.
He nods, understanding.
“Margaret,” I say, “stay here until we give the go-ahead.”
Elle and Cheng rise. Bravo gets to his feet, sensing the anticipation for the moment when the plane door hisses open and we’re greeted by the men outside.
God, I hope Arlene is right about this place, I think.
Manny stands silently in the doorway of the cockpit, nodding.
“It will be okay, my girl,” he says. “These people can be trusted.”
“I hope so,” Elle whispers.
Cheng squeezes her hand. They share a secret glance. The door opens. I keep my finger hovering above the trigger of the rifle as it does, standing just to the side of the opening. My first instinct is to find cover. The steps roll down, and I feel a rush of cold, pure air blow into the cabin.
Alaska.
I take the first step outside, Uriah behind my shoulder.
Fifty feet away from the foot of the steps, militiamen are gathered, dressed in dark fatigues. There are ten. In front, a young woman with chocolate skin and cool, intelligent eyes stands with a working dog on a leash.
I descend the steps, stomach tight, mouth dry.
Uriah follows me, and then Elle, Cheng and Bravo. Vera, Andrew and Manny emerge next. I stand, motionless, mimicking the expression on the dark woman’s face.
A
t last, she breaks the silence.
“Welcome to Alaska,” she says. “Are you the commanding officer?”
“I am,” I reply. “Commander Cassidy Hart.”
“Nice to meet you, Commander.” She bows her head. “I’m Commander Em Davis, and these are my men. We’re here to act as a greeting party.”
The group of men standing behind her is silent, but they issue a sharp salute when she introduces them.
“We come on the word of Arlene Costas,” I go on.
She raises an eyebrow. Her dog looks up at her. “This is your team?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Lieutenant Uriah True, Sergeant Elle Costas and her partner Cheng, Sergeant Bravo, Lieutenant Manny Costas, and Lieutenants Vera Wright and Andrew Decker.”
Em’s eyes widen.
“Sergeant Bravo?”
“You know my dog?” Elle asks.
Bravo huffs.
“He and India trained together, once,” Em says, gesturing at her dog, a beautiful German Shepherd with a fair coat and dark speckles of color near her nose. “God, this apocalypse has made the world a lot smaller than it used to be.” She shakes her head. “Who else is with you?”
“We have two civilians on this plane,” I say. “And I’ve got a transport of thirty men coming this way.”
“Good,” she announces. She crosses the distance between us and offers her hand. I shake it. Her grip is firm. “President Bacardi sent me. My job is to get you to Yukon City safe and sound.”
I say, “Thank you.”
I tell Uriah to get Margaret and Isabel out of the plane. Manny stuffs his hands into his pockets, an agitated expression on his face.
“Take us inside,” I command Em. “The rest of our troops will be arriving shortly.”
She nods.
We follow Em through the wispy darkness. I feel strangely disoriented. The darkness is similar to the dusky light of the early morning – I can see everything around me, but it feels as if no time is passing, because of the lack of sunshine.
The building is a small, squat edifice with two double doors and large windows facing the airfield. We walk inside. It’s warm, lit with orange lights that flicker slightly as the generator pulses. The interior of the building is little more than an empty room with benches.
“This is our terminal, if you will,” Em explains, grinning slightly. “We periodically process incoming refugees and survivors from out of state here before taking them to Yukon. Usually, we put them through a lengthy interrogation to make sure we’re not letting any Omega plants into our safe zone.”
“Have you ever had any trouble?” Andrew asks. “With spies, I mean?”
“Let’s just say we’ve never had an Omega spy get past this terminal, as far as we know,” Em replies. “Yukon City is the most valuable asset the militias have left. We do everything we can to protect it.”
I can only imagine the fate that awaits an Omega spy once they are found out here.
“What’s the status of California?” Em asks, furrowing her brow.
“California’s coastline has fallen to Omega,” I reply. “I’m here on a mission.”
“And what mission is that?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s classified information.” I ghost a smile.
Em tilts her head.
“We have the space and supplies to support your men,” she says, “but President Bacardi will want to speak with you once we arrived at the colony.”
“I’ll be happy to talk with her.”
“Last time I was in California, everything was hitting the fan,” Em replies. “It was bad. I came up here to escape – it was the best thing I ever did. I can help more people up here than I could down there.”
“That’s the conclusion I came to,” I say.
“We have vehicles for you and your men,” she continues. “We’ll move you to Yukon City through the tunnel – we call it Maynard Tunnel, because it runs through the Maynard Mountain.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
“You can wait here until the rest of your men arrive,” Em tells us. “I need to have a word with the Sky Watchmen.”
She takes her dog and leaves the building. I turn to Uriah.
“Well?” I say.
“She seems trustworthy,” he replies.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Why would anybody want to live where it’s dark all the time?” Vera mutters, frowning. “It’s just not natural.”
“Vera,” I say. “Shut up.”
“You know what, Hart –”
“No. Just stop. I don’t want to listen to you complain the whole way to Yukon.” A slight smile touches my lips. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re not twelve years old.”
Vera’s cheeks fill with color and she stalks away, to the window.
I remind myself that Vera has been through a lot of trauma in the last week, too, and it is only natural to complain a little bit. On the other hand, she is a lieutenant, and as such, it’s her job to perform in a mature manner – especially in front of young soldiers like Elle and civilian refugees like Isabel and Margaret Young.
She will adjust.
I don’t like the darkness, either, but it’s better than being in California.
Chris is in California.
I shake myself.
Two months. Two months. Two months.
Isabel sits quietly next to Margaret on one of the benches. I watch her closely. I remember the days when Isabel was full of uncontained energy – when her bright sense of humor and vitality would light up a room.
Ever since her adoptive father was killed and Omega dropped their first nuclear bomb on the West Coast, she has been quiet – morose. She clings to Margaret like someone clings to a life preserver. Not only that, she seems to have drifted away from me, too. In her eyes, I am someone to be feared.
Somehow, I have become something I never knew I could.
I have become a symbol of fear. A symbol of rebellion.
“What if they don’t want us there?” Elle whispers, leaning close to me. “What if Yukon City sees us as a threat?”
“They won’t,” I tell her with confidence I don’t feel.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am.”
I walk to the windows and look across the airfield, the twinkling, bluish lights pointed toward the sky. I wonder if they are always lit, or if the Sky Watchmen only turn them on when they are expecting visitors.
“If we get to Yukon,” Uriah whispers, “and they turn us away, we should stay anyway. We’ll make it work. What are they going to do if we refuse to go, anyway? Kill us?”
I give him a sharp look.
“They’re going to accept us,” I say. “We’re all on the same side, you know.”
“I’m just saying. It’s a possibility. We should be prepared for it.”
“I know.” I trace my finger on the cold window pane, drawing a circle. “This place has supposedly been made for people like us – if they turned us away…well, that would be almost immoral. They have a duty to perform, and so do we.”
The words roll off my tongue, but I don’t have a lot of faith in them.
Yukon City could be everything we dreamed of – or everything we fear.
We find ourselves sitting on the benches, tired and jet-lagged from the long flight, nervous about what waits for us at Yukon City, and missing what we have left behind.
***
My detachment of men arrives in the cargo plane. I step outside with Uriah as Em Davis and her men evaluate each and every one of the troops. They are lined out the door with their duffel bags and gear, tired and weary.
Inside, every soldier is briefly interrogated. So far, nobody has been booted.
Not one. Not yet.
“We’re going to be here all night,” Uriah mutters.
“Actually, it’s only a little after lunchtime,” I remind him. “It’s just dark here.”
“Well, speaking of lunch,” he goes on.
“Let’s go grab some.”
“I don’t think so, Uriah. Not right now.”
“We got nothing better to do.” A devilish smile appears on his otherwise dark face. “Come on.”
I tap the holster on my belt.
I am hungry.
I turn and follow him back toward the plane Manny flew to get us here. We climb the steps and slip inside the cabin. Uriah drops his backpack on the seat and pulls out his supplies – beef jerky, vacuum-sealed cheese and water bottles. I sit down on the floor, my boots propped up on the armrests of the seats, and pull my own food out. I unwrap the homemade beef jerky and tear it with my teeth, feeling the rubbery, salty grit of the meat on my tongue.
“Remember when you could just walk out the front door and go grab a sandwich for lunch?” I say, wistful. “Or a large order of french fries? Those were the days.”
“I never ate fast food,” Uriah answers.
“What? Are you serious? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Uriah replies, half-laughing. “I just thought it was gross.”
“Gross, maybe. But delicious? Absolutely.”
“I have to remind myself that you grew up in the city. Country people like me just made our own dinner at home. Butter from our own cows, eggs from our own chickens –”
“And clothes from the wool of your own sheep,” I grin. “Whatever.”
Uriah shrugs.
“You know that whatever happens here,” Uriah says, “I’m with you. All the way.”
“I know.” I touch his hand. “Thank you.”
He squeezes my fingers between his – fingers long and slender, twice the length of mine. I look at our hands, reminding myself that before all of this madness – before the end of the world – Uriah was a young man in a small town, a hotshot rookie cop.
How would his life be different if the Collapse had never happened?
“Do you ever think about what you would be doing if this hadn’t happened?” I ask, quietly. “I mean, if the Collapse had never happened and everything was normal again?”
“I told you, I don’t think about what was or could have been.”
“Do you think you would be married? Or maybe living in a big city?”
Uriah shakes his head.
“I really don’t care,” he says. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”