FLOOR 21

by Jason Luthor

  “No. I mean, yeah, sure. I love stuff. We can talk about stuff all day. You just caught me off guard.”

  “Sorry, I do that to people.”

  “Well, that’s better than me since I just tend to weird them out. At least I’m really good for having around if you want people to leave you alone. I’m like an anti-people field.”

  He smiles as he passes his hand through his hair. Mike Chapman has the privilege of being able to do so. With me any such stunt would get your hand tangled in the multiple locks that spring out from my head. Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t trade my hair for the world. Mike’s hair, though, is like a bunch of brown silk all pulled back in a waterfall. It’s the closest thing to running your hand through a river.

  His eyes roll up to the roof of the library. “Well, this is going great. I make you toss an aisle of books over, and then we sit here awkwardly.”

  “You’re, like, describing my every friendship. I am routinely the cause of quiet discomfort. So, it’s really not a problem.”

  Mike laughs, and I get an irritatingly warm sense of happiness about that. “Well, I’m thinking maybe we can do this more often. I mean, no pressure. Just if you want. Maybe we can get together for one of those movie nights they throw once in a while.”

  “Oh. Right, that sounds great. I’ll try to scrounge up some chocolate bars.”

  “Hah, I forget you’re a Quad. Down on Floor 8, we don’t get as many of those. But, hey, I can maybe trade for a soda or something. I’ve got a few green dollars that one kid I know collects. He’d probably trade for them.”

  “This will literally be the most sugar I’ve ever had in a night.”

  “Well, at least that’ll make it a night to remember, right?”

  After that chat he didn’t treat me like a kid anymore. We weren’t necessarily adults . . . but we started actually having, you know, conversations.

  It was nice. And I nearly had a sugar high off all that candy we ate.

  I think what I was trying to say is that there aren’t a lot of people like Mike. He questions stuff. That’s why he loves scavenging so much, ’cause he gets to see what’s out there. I don’t, and won’t, no matter what I try to do. I’m a Quad, a Level 4 dweller. We don’t get to go out. So, yeah, you’ll excuse me if I’m worried about him, since he’s about the only person I can sit down with and talk to. I know he’s not going to answer any of my questions about what’s below Floor 21. You know what, though? At least he treats me like my questions are worth answering.

  It means something when a person acknowledges you. And if something happens to him? Well, then, the only thing that’ll remember me when I’m old is this recorder.

  Recording Eighteen

  I woke up today to something I’ve never felt before. It was . . . weird. I’ve heard of these things, and you see them in the movies sometimes. Earthquakes, I think they’re called. Whatever, all I know is that I had to jump out of bed before the ground shook me out of it. Like, when I say shake, I mean the glass of water I had near my bed was jittering around like a dying bug. There were maybe two seconds to grab it before it went flying off the nightstand.

  Don’t get me wrong. I caught it. Duh. I’m smooth like that.

  Still, I was worried. Obviously. I tried asking Mom about it, but she was in one of those really manic happy moods where she’s just, I dunno, dead to the world. To be real I’m not even sure she felt the quake. So yeah. Pointless. I kinda felt like asking some of the other kids, but, you know, I was scared this was one of those things Security’d be real angry with if they found out we were talking about it. So I kept my trap shut.

  Well, I did talk to someone about it today. Guess who.

  Yeah, Allison. She comes by around two with that saucy walk she totally doesn’t mean to have but that she manages to rock anyway. That’s what happens when you’re, you know, confident. Anyway, she tosses herself onto my bed like she owns it. I guess you get to do that when you’ve been friends your whole lives.

  She pops a piece of bubblegum as she leans back against the wall. “What up, Jackie O?”

  “Where the hell did you get that?” I demand, staring at her like she’s murdered someone. “Seriously, did you thief it off of somebody?”

  “What, this?” she asks with this despicably adorable grin before popping another bubble. “Nah, I got it from Tommy.”

  “Tommy?” I swear only a supernatural force prevents me from giving her the stank eye. “So, you’re hanging with doucherton now?”

  “He’s not such a bad guy. Besides, he told me you two made up.”

  “Yeah, well . . . too early to tell.”

  “C’mon, Jackie, you know he’s not so bad. I mean, he gave me gum.”

  “You know why he gave you your gum, Allison, and it’s not because he wanted you to have some fresh flavor.” I stop a second, mulling that over. “Well, maybe he did, but that’s only because he wanted in on it.”

  “Little harsh, don’t you think?”

  “God, I don’t know anymore.” I look back toward the door of my room, which is closed but still doesn’t feel like a sufficient barrier between me and the outside world. “With the parents acting consistently nuts for the last few years and Mike’s trips down into the Deep Creep, I guess I could use a few more friends. But that doesn’t give you an excuse to start lip smacking Tommy before I verify he’s not just a skeez.”

  “Oh my God, Jackie, would you lighten up? It’s bubblegum.”

  “It’s sugar, Allison. It costs a lot. Maybe a movie. Maybe a CD. I don’t know, but it’s not cheap.” She huffs as she glances away. It’s fairly obvious my habitual tendency of overwhelming people with my objections is rearing its ugly head. “Allison. Sorry.”

  She turns with a look of shock so impressive you’d think I’d told her I’d saved humanity. “What did you say?”

  “I’m just saying that, you know, maybe you’re right. Maybe whatever Tommy is, he’s not what I remember. I mean, can he really be the same guy that made my life living hell when we were nine?”

  “Hopefully not, geez.”

  “Exactly.” I toss my hands up. “I’ve been trying to do some thinking, and it’s just got me wrapped up in my feels. I’m stuck on this question about why everyone acts differently than what I expect them to. Mom and Dad were supercool when I was young, and now I don’t even know who they are. Tommy used to be the biggest tool in the bag, and now he’s giving you bubblegum. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “People change, Jackie, that’s just, like, the way things are. You can’t get hung up on it.”

  My glare at her is lined in frost and ice. “Easier to say when you can meet new people anytime you want.”

  “You know you could, too, if you’d just stop harshing everyone for not being into the same things you are.”

  “Like surviving being trapped in a tower when we have no idea why we’re here.”

  Allison sucks wind and lets out a sigh. She hates these talks, but I’m glad she indulges them. Usually. “Jackie, I worry too. Seriously. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. We’ve already had the discussion. You know I just don’t want to break any rules that could get me in trouble.”

  “I mean, neither do I, but—”

  Her eyes turn to knives. “Jackie. You don’t?”

  “Just . . . I dunno. It can’t be wrong to be worried. Right?”

  “Right. We’re different people, though.” Her voice drops, and I hate when she does that, because it’s all the proof I need that she really does get scared about getting caught by Security. “You’re a Quad, Jackie. You don’t think about it much, but you get, you know . . .”

  She looks away like she’s ashamed to say it, and it’s like I can’t stop myself from demanding more. “No, Allison. What? What is it that I have?”

  “You know . . . privileges. Your parents are assigned here because, well, they’re important. Security’s not as tight up as it is down where I live.”

  I ca
n’t help but fall back against the wall, my head hammering it as my eyes roll to the ceiling. “Yeah. Sorry, I . . . You’re right! You’re right. I don’t think about it that way.”

  “Well, keep doing what you’re doing, Jackie. I’ll always listen. And I’ll help, if I can. Don’t know what I could do, but . . .”

  “No, no, you’re fine, Allison. You’re the only person I know that acts like the same person I remember from years ago.”

  “Guess I should take that as a compliment,” she says as she winks, her lips smacking her gum.

  “Duh. Anyway, I’m in a vortex of frustration at the moment. I’m sure you can tell.”

  “No, that was completely undetectable,” she says with a laugh. “You worry too much about the Tower is why.”

  “Uh, maybe because reasons? I mean, didn’t you feel that earthquake this morning?”

  “Earth what?” She shakes her head, obviously uninformed. “I didn’t feel anything.”

  “Allison, I had a glass of water on my counter shaking so bad I had to grab it before it hit the floor.”

  “Oh, that! Yeah, no, I slept right through it. Woke up this morning to see my lamp broken all over the ground.”

  “You slept through that? What did you do, load up on sleeping pills last night?”

  She frowns, that boy-winning puppy lip of hers jutting from her mouth. “No, I’m just a heavy sleeper. Always been like that. Why do you think I always used to miss morning classes?”

  “I presumed because you were lazy.”

  “Nah. Extra-heavy sleeper is all.”

  “Damn.”

  “Anyway, feel like heading to the lounge? Heard they had that game system set up.”

  Allison. I love her to death, and she really does get my mind off things. Which is good, since so much has been weird lately. Especially today. I don’t just mean because the Scavenging’s been going on for almost three weeks now, which I mean, what? That’s totally not supposed to happen. Seriously, though, something’s up. I mean, think about it.

  One, Dad’s been gone. A lot. I know I get angry at him, but . . . he’s my dad. And yeah, he’s typically gone a lot during the Scavenging, because he’s responsible for making all the weapons and repairing stuff. I get that. This time of year he’s usually off making replacement weapons for Security to use, but he’s been spending way too many late nights on Floor 3. Like, a lot more than usual. Then when he comes around, he’s even more quiet than he normally is. Doesn’t even read his tablet, and that’s one thing he never used to skip on. Even on our worst days, I like to think that we get along, but lately it’s like his body’s here but nothing else. He’ll barely say a word when he gets back from work, and he hides himself in his study. Mom’s been antsy about it, too. She’s always nervous when she’s not nutso happy anyway, but it’s been worse than normal. It’s got to be because of something going on with Dad. Her moods normally come in waves, but right now her anxiety’s like an ocean.

  That’s not the only thing, though. Later on, Allison mentioned that her father’s been gone a lot more than normal, too, and not for usual stuff like hallway patrol. According to her they’ve been tightening up security on the lower levels. You know, below Floor 11. They’re making sure everyone’s in bed by curfew and making it harder to use the stairwell. I can back up that point. I tried going down to Floor 12 the other day, and they were being real tools about it, asking me why I was going there and what business I had. Uh, excuse me, I know we’re supposed to follow certain rules, and as far as I knew, I wasn’t breaking any of them. So care to back off, Mr. Cop?

  It was irritating at the time, but now it’s scary. Increased security. Dad’s been gone longer. Scavengers have been gone a lot more than usual. And before I forget, Allison also told me that Security was thinking about going real deep into the Tower. Like, Scavenger level deep. Below Floor 21.

  If they’re thinking about doing that, then there has to be a reason. Maybe they’re trying to push back the Creep and reclaim a few floors, or maybe they’re considering going after the Scavengers. How should I know?

  What I know is that this is all happening at the same time, and that creeps me the hell out.

  Recording Nineteen

  I’m worried about Mike. Yeah, I said it. So what? The sorry part is that he’s three years into his term as a Scavenger. After three years they rotate you out and into the reserves; that way they only use you if, like, we lose a bunch of Scavengers at once. Most people that hit three years ride out the last four years of scavenging as backups that never go back down to the lower floors. A few actually choose to stick with it, so they get bumped to lieutenants and eventually commanders. There aren’t a lot of them, but they get mad respect.

  Actually, come to think of it, people from the lower levels do try to stick it out on the active list for the entire seven years more often than anyone else. Want to know why?

  So, I’ve said before that people on the lower levels don’t get as much food, and they don’t get free access up here, to the higher floors. Now, if you’re born on the lower levels, it sucks to be you. Right? Well, that’s where being a Scavenger can help. If you do an entire seven years as one, you and everyone living in your apartment are moved up to Floor 11. Talk about a perk, am I right?

  Thing is, have you ever heard of anyone finishing seven years as an active Scavenger and moving to the higher levels? I haven’t.

  That’s because most people die before their first three years are up.

  Which, for those of you keeping track at home, is why I’m worried about Mike. People have a bad habit of dying in their third year. Mike lives on a pretty good floor so he’s just doing this because he likes helping the tower out. Plus I mean, the whole chance to learn more about the Creep thing. Point is, he didn’t have to do this. He chose to, and this was the last year he was going to have to be down there.

  Now I don’t know if he’s coming back.

  Recording Twenty

  Dad didn’t come home today.

  Mom’s going crazy.

  I can’t cope, man. Nobody’s saying anything about what’s going on.

  Mike’s gone. Security’s everywhere.

  I need to get some answers.

  Recording Twenty-One

  The speaker says, “Day twenty of the Scavenging has begun,” and it forces me out of bed. That’s not a bad thing, since I have garden duty today. The light outside is bright enough that there are slits of it cutting across our gray carpet. Most days it’s choked out by black clouds, so it’s nice to actually see some real sun for once. It’s usually doing its best to play hide-and-seek. It usually wins.

  Gardening sucks, and this is a well-known fact. At least, I hate it. The gloves they make you wear have been used by, like, a hundred other people. You’re shoving your hand into a leather container full of other people’s bacteria and dead skin. That’s gross. You put up with it, though, since you’d rather wear them than use the garden tools without them. The shovel we use has all these splinters jabbing out that try to stab you. We’re talking life-threatening levels here. You could kill a vampire with those things.

  That might be an exaggeration.

  I walk around the apartment and put together a few things. Mom is already gone. I’m not sure where, but everything’s pretty quiet. I’m still pretty agitated, though. Think about it. With everything going on, who wouldn’t be? Dad didn’t come back. Again. Even as weird as he’s become over the last few years, he’s not an absent father. That’s just not him. Also, tomorrow is Sevenths Day, and he always makes it a point to attend.

  Which reminds me, the food drop is tomorrow. We need it. I check the fridge to see what we have to eat, but it’s a total downer. The cold light inside leaks out into the kitchen, and the sad part is that the dingy fridge light is about all we have at this point. That, cold air, and a few vegetables that are blacker than usual.

  Have I told you the most depressing part about gardening? Looking at those sad vegetables. Even whe
n you yank them from the dirt and they’re fresh, their skin is already kinda brown. It doesn’t take more than two days before they start going black. I mean, I know they’re still safe to eat, but they look like yesterday’s bathwater. I cut up a few of them and dump them into a bowl to make soup. The worst part about that is what happens to the water. It doesn’t take more than, like, a minute before the soup goes black. The changes they’ve made to our vegetables mean they last longer, but they also look like junk. It’s not because they’re rotten; just, it’s the chemicals in them. Or something like that.

  So after the water turns black, I grab some coloring from the cabinet, which is the only way to make soup look even remotely appealing. We use glass vials so we know what type of color we’re using. Today I choose red. I open the top and let a few drops into the water. Soon I’ve got a rich crimson soup that looks like tomato sauce. Well, watery tomato sauce, but at least it’s something you can eat. Must suck to live on the lower floors and not have coloring.

  I’ve been thinking. Tomorrow is Sevenths Day, almost twenty-one days since the Scavengers left. They’ve got Security everywhere right now. Thing is, Security’s always doubled on Sevenths Day, so I’m pretty sure that tomorrow most of them are going to be around Reception Hall. I cleared my plan with Allison, who’s going to cover for me. So, I’m going to tell Mom I’m going with Allison to service, but you know that’s not what I’m really going to do.

  I leave to do some assertive sleuthing, and as I go up the stairwell to the rooftop, I notice the vents. Yeah, those things run everywhere. I’ve never caught it before, but I see that, high above the door to Floor 1, there’s a vent there, too. That means the vents connect everything in the Tower. I’ve always used them to go down to the lower floors, but never up. Tomorrow I’m going to do something about that.

  I wonder if I’ll get put into Reinforcement if I get caught. Hah.