Mr. B focused on physical and mechanical training—running, shooting arrows, rock climbing, fixing engines, self-defense. It's why I'd been exhausted for nearly all of the past year. I was looking forward to someone new for my final term, though I had no idea who that would be.
“And,” he continued, “though I could get in trouble for it, I think you guys are old enough to know the truth today.”
He looked us over. I'd learned to read his bearded and pockmarked face. There was pride there. I was sure of it. “Though you'll probably go running around the Complex snitching like whiny babies.” He sniffed and curled his lip. One of the many involuntary twitches he displayed when he insulted us. Like an exclamation point.
I fell back to a sitting position. The hard rock below me had no give, so it was uncomfortable. I knew better than to complain. About the rock, or his insult. I swear he saw it on my face because he flashed a rare smile. But, I should have known he wasn't happy. He never was.
“Now go run the course, think about what I've just said, and I'll meet you at the roach coach when you get done.” He began walking away, but he added one more item: “Try to keep your feet dry.”
I wanted to scream at the turn of events. We learned something interesting for once, and we were being sent off to the Ring as payback. And he knew staying dry was almost impossible these days. The deeper halls leaked like crazy, and the puddles often became little lakes.
We rose and nodded in respect for him—the Old Worlders always demanded that—and took off running. We wove through the tables of the dinning area, and the chairs near the eternal fire of the arcade, then out of the Great Hall.
“Well that was fun,” Reba whispered once we were together and far enough away from Mr. B.
“I think he's getting sentimental,” I said with a laugh. “Us leaving him and all.”
“Um, yeah. He's so emotional he just can't stand to see us move on. That's why he always sends us into the dark tunnels for six-mile runs.” She and I laughed at our bad fortune. A couple other girls joined us.
It usually took us an hour to make a circuit of the Outer Ring along with our side trips into various chambers to add a little mileage. We'd gotten adept at finding the high ground to keep our shoes dry as long as possible, but we all knew we'd finish the day with sloppy feet. The floor nearest the inner wall of the loop was especially furrowed and soaked. The four-legged mechanical “mules” used that side of the hall to endlessly carry supplies to all the chambers. Their feet had worn troughs in the rock over the years.
We always rested in a large chamber at the half-way point. It was a smaller version of the Great Hall tucked way toward the back of the Complex, and no matter how much water saturated the other rooms, it seldom felt muggy. The big excavators responsible for making the tunnels had been grouped and parked there, waiting for the day they'd be needed again. Large bundles of wires hung down from each of the sleeping beasts, connected to a rust-covered central generator. From time to time sparkies were in there checking them. We were told the wires kept the engines from dying completely. The whole place had an air of mystery, which was exactly the sort of place we teens sought out.
We stood there catching our breath, content for the moment to endure the silence. At least I was.
“I'm going to get in one of these and break through to the surface, someday,” Alex said while huffing from the exertion.
“You'll kill us all, so thanks, buddy,” said one of the other boys with similar strained effort. They both easily laughed.
“You heard what Mr. B said, didn't you? I think he was serious. We wouldn't die. We don't have to worry about the sun.” I loved arguing with Alex most times because he usually said the dumbest things, but I realized after I'd said it I'd come out defending him.
Alex turned around with a smile. His blonde hair was soaked. “Thanks, Bells.”
“I didn't mean to agree with you,” I replied lamely. I almost stuck out my tongue like a child, mostly because he'd started calling me “Bells” to commemorate how close I'd gotten to the top. I might have liked it if I'd actually rung the bell, but he mocked my failure each time he uttered it.
“No. It's okay. I get it. When I get to the surface, I'll leave you all down here and never look back.” He looked to the ceiling, though there was nothing up there but a few metal grates covering the air ducts.
When no one responded, I took the bait. “Where would you go?”
Alex looked at his running partner with a smile, then took off to resume our jog. He waved to the rest of us to follow, like he was going to teach us a lesson on the way. The route he picked was directly under and through dozens of the big machines.
I flinched at his sarcastic grin, but relaxed as I caught on he was only making sure I was near him. “Well, Bells, it's uphill both ways, so I might as well go big. Check this,” he paused with flair as we jogged along. “A Sky Dancer will fall in love with me, and I'll live up there in one of the tallest trees,” he pointed straight up, “snuggling up with her as we watch the real stars streak over our heads. I'll sleep soundly knowing you all are enjoying the pure black of this tomb.”
He laughed, making me wonder if he was serious. He was known for storytelling—or, as I called them, lies. But there was a bit of pride, too, as if he'd had time to think through that particular dream many times before. I couldn't decide if it was the ravings of an idiot or a serious idea about a better life.
I found it odd that he, of all people, would have faith in the Sky Dancers. I assumed a tough guy like him would take no stock in fables. I was sure there were no winged people watching over us, though late at night while we all were in bed Alex loved to tell kid's stories he remembered from his youth—and the subjects of angels and sky people were very common. Along with beanstalks, sleeping princesses, and little pigs. That is, fairy tales.
How he could have contemplated falling in love with a fairy made me giggle. Reba, on my right, did the same. She also pretended to stick her finger down her throat and gag.
I had a half hour to think about what he'd said. Getting out of the complex was something I'd wondered about many times, but only in the sense of “What’s the fastest way to die? Oh, yeah. Go outside.” The funny thing was that I'd recently learned the sun wasn't the enemy of humanity. And someone had thought of a plan to go Outside that could work. Of course, I wasn't going anywhere with him, but those big machines represented a way out.
What am I saying?
My brain ran its squiggly course while my legs carried me directly toward the finish line. I was ready to wrap up the run with the final sprint.
The last corridor was thirty feet wide and thirty high variously nicknamed "Standing Quarter Mile," the “Big Q,” or just “Q” for those in a massive hurry. I never thought to ask why. Like most things in the Complex, it just was. But people rarely stood in the Q. Most times, at least lately, we ran the quarter-mile length as fast as we could. Since it was attached to the Great Hall, it seemed to have fewer puddles than the rest of our route so we could make some speed. Mr. B said the hard sprint to finish the long run was how we found our limits.
“1320 feet of pain,” he'd once called it.
Many days it was how classmates lost their lunch.
As usual, the boys in the front took off like Mr. Bracken was personally prodding them on. Us girls generally kept a more measured pace, then sped up at the very end like we'd been trying hard the entire length. But I felt something in my belly. Talk of the Outside, no matter how silly, had inspired me. I'd come close to ringing that bell and I felt like pushing it.
“I'm going for it, Reb,” I said while staring at the distant square of light at the far end.
“Seriously,” she asked, unimpressed. “Knock yourself out.” I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. She always did fine on the runs but didn't enjoy them.
“Wish me luck,” I replied, not waiting for her to respond.
“Luck!” She'd mustered a fair amount of enthusiasm once
she saw I was for real.
The boys, I discovered, hadn't maintained their racing pace. They'd slowed back down after they got away from us girls. I caught right up. They were as surprised as I was when I closed ranks.
“Girl back!” Tom shouted. He was a tall, dark-skinned boy. His long legs made it appear he wasn't even trying to run. But, I noted, his voice sounded tired.
“Oh ho,” Alex said as he caught sight of me. “Think you can hang with us big dogs?”
I ignored another of his long list of words that made no sense to me and got to the core of his statement. “I did on the rock wall.”
Several of the boys said “ooooh” in a playful manner as if I'd said something hurtful. It was all part of their act. I knew there was no way Alex was going to live that down.
“We'll see,” he said under his panting breath. To my disappointment, he didn't sound overly winded.
There were four of them, and they let me into the middle as if I needed an escort. We passed light after light on the well-lit corridor. The builders used actual lighting hardware this far to the front of the Complex, rather than the dimmer organic kind in much of the back part of the tunnel system. It felt like waking up from a dream as the light grew brighter. Our run was frantic, though no one sprinted yet. We avoided maintenance workers and the odd motorbike hurrying along to more distant locations. The boys made no effort to outpace me, nor did they speak. Every once in a while I could hear the girls giggle or yell to each other far behind. The smooth rock walls in the quarter mile carried voices back and forth.
The entrance to the Great Hall was getting close when Alex finally made his move.
“See ya, girlie.”
His head dropped, and his speed increased as he switched from a fast jog to a full-out sprint. I'd been waiting for it, but it took me a few seconds to recognize it. I dug deep and jumped ahead of the other boys—
No, they were waiting for it, too. We all tore through the corridor—dodging an increase of traffic as we neared the doorway. It became as much an obstacle course as it was a simple footrace. I watched in begrudging awe as Alex put more distance between us all, at times jumping over boxes or under lumbering mules. The yelling and cursing of the old workers did nothing to slow him. The other boys were slightly less enthused about the challenging traffic and angered citizens so took extra time to go around rather than over or under the blockages. I was unable to find a good line and ended up shadowing Tom as he cut through the crowd.
I'm going to lose.
It wasn't even close. All four boys crossed the threshold several seconds before I could get there. Tom turned out to be the slowest of the boys, though I couldn't even hold my pace with him.
Mr. Bracken was at the finish, as I knew he would be. I could see him out of the corner of my eye as I hunched and caught my breath. I summoned the energy to turn to him and wouldn't you know it he was looking right at me. He shook his head like I'd just clogged the mechanical toilet.
Dang it. I really wanted that.
4
I pulled at the choker around my neck. Every citizen had to wear one, all the time. The boys' looked like a thin aluminum band. Us girls got to wear one that looked like a darker cross-hatched wire about an inch wide. I almost never messed with it, but sometimes my hair found its way in between the metal and the skin of my neck. The sprint had done exactly that.
“No bell today, L,” Alex said with as much sarcasm as gloating.
I expected as much, though I caught some approving glances from the other three boys. Even Pug—Alex's running partner—seemed to have a gleam in his eye as if I'd made things interesting by trying something new. Though I admit, he was more likely just happy he made it in before me. He was huffing harder than any of the others, myself included.
“Have to want it more to beat a boy,” Mr. B added without a touch of condescension. He spun on his heels and walked toward the cafeteria.
I tried not to broadcast how disappointed I was in myself. It didn't help when Reba and the other girls came to congratulate me. I didn't want to push them off, but I was a loser. It had nothing to celebrate.
“That was a thing of beauty, Elle,” Fortuna said with awe. “I thought you'd beat them.”
Until I didn't.
“Yeah, girlfriend, you rock,” added Reba.
I was content to let it slide it all off, but Wen said something as we walked toward the food line. She patted me on my sweat-soaked back as she said it: “Well, at least you beat him in rock climbing.”
A part of me chafed at the simplification of the truth. I didn't beat him at all. We both lost because neither of us rang the bell. Sure I made it higher, or so I'm told, but without touching the prize, I might as well have stopped climbing at the bottom. No, I'm sure she didn't mean it that way, but that's how my mind took it.
Could I beat him at anything?
I stewed through lunch and the rest of the day. I took some comfort when Tom touched my arm with a kind smile and a thumbs up. I'd at least gotten his respect.
Running toward the finish line ignited something inside me. The next day I used my free time to try the course again by myself. I pushed harder than I'd ever run in the past, but my energy and zest pushed me right into exhaustion rather than victory. I was in the excavator room, feet soaked from not caring enough to avoid any water, when I had to stop. I'd tried to pretty much sprint the whole six miles...which broke me half-way through. It was an utterly stupid thing to do and amplified my growing anger at my failures.
I walked under one of the great machines and took a seat up against a giant tire. A nearby puddle of oil and grease gave off an odor of mechanical malfunction, and the hardware above me glistened where the oil had smeared before it dripped down. I'd need a service ladder to get up there. If I stood and jumped, I still couldn't reach the underside. I felt tiny.
Mr. Bracken's painful physical pursuits were more annoying than anything. I'd done them because my body cooperated. I happened to be good at physical sports and was better than most of the girls whenever I put my mind to it. More often than not, they seemed content to roll over and lose. That doubled when boys were involved. Individually I knew each of the girls desired to do their best, but rarely did they venture out and actually do their best. It called into question whether I was doing my best. Did I give up too easily when facing the boys?
That last word darted around in my head like something not designed for it. I wasn't a quitter. I'd shown that on the climbing wall. Even going so far as to hurt myself to prove I had the “right stuff” as Mr. B would often say. For a short time, I tasted it. I basked in that feeling of almost ringing that bell—at least beating Alex—and was quick to discover it was a potent drug. Winning was contagious.
Waves of doubt and failure lapped at my legs the more I thought about how I'd run myself into exhaustion just because of a boy. And, even worse, I was wading in pity while imagining how I'd somehow failed myself for not succeeding at doing the impossible. I reached behind my head with both hands and banged on the tire. Instead of relief, I felt the dull pain of my injury.
Ug. I can't even have a temper tantrum properly.
I stood up, intent to get out of the dank chamber, but a strange light caught my eye reflecting from the pool of oil on the rocks. First, I looked up, assuming one of its safety lights was on, but it wasn't coming from there. Upon brief investigation, I found the gigantic machine had been backed into the parking space and had struck the wall and broke the rock. The brighter light came from there.
Next to the oversized vehicle, the crack looked small, but as I walked up to it, I judged I could easily fit through the jagged wedge into a well-lit passage beyond. The relevant question was whether I should.
The Complex had a big set of rules each of us had to follow known as the Bible. The biggies were listed as the Ten Commandments. At the top of the list were prime rules, such as prohibitions against killing your fellow humans or stealing mates. Stuff I'd never do in a million years. Bu
t toward the bottom was one tailored to this situation: always tell someone where you're going. It was a simple rule designed to prevent people wandering off alone and getting lost in the endless tunnels.
That rule is only for dumb people.
Anyway, Reba knew I was running the Ring. It was hard to do anything alone when you lived in close quarters, a fact I never appreciated until times like this, when it was possible I could go out of contact with everyone. I could be the first—and only—person to go inside the mysterious chamber.
Screw it.
My foot squished as I jumped over the rubble and slid through the crack in the wall. What I saw on the other side was, up until a few days prior, the kind of thing I only experienced in my darkest nightmares.
I saw the sun.
###
If you would like to follow Elle on her (so far) two-book adventure, please click here to buy from Amazon. Below is a little blurb from the book.
What good is immortality if you can't remember yesterday?
Elle is a typical doomsday bunker teenager, living under the crush of routine. She attends classes, tries to follow the rules, and endures the same petty jealousies and anxieties teens have endured since fire was used as the first hangout. But a crumbling section of tunnel exposes a big lie about her world, and Elle’s life quickly spirals downward.
She’s harassed by the enigmatic Commander. She must ward off unwanted advances from older male survivors. And, as the ultimate insult, everyone seems to know more about her past than she does. Elle seeks freedom in the plague-ravaged wasteland outside her home, but discovers the true threat to her people, and her own future, lies coiled inside the dark tunnels she left behind.
Can Elle uncover and expose the secrets buried with her underground home? Or will they fade away like the memories of everyone who thinks to oppose the Commander?
Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 13