Race the Night

by Kirsten Hubbard

  Eider nodded. “Sure.”

  Just a piece of junk, not anything useful. But at breakfast the next morning, Eider saw Linnet’s fingers moving in her side pocket. As if she had something special hidden there.

  THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, Eider fell asleep early and dreamed of cement ships riding huge, crashing waves. Except the sea stank of dead fish. And it was wrong-colored. She knew she had to find the real sea, the blue one with the mermaids, but she had no way of steering. She was stuck going wherever the waves wanted to take her.

  “Eider.”

  Her eyes shot open. The trailer was dark. She squinted and scanned it, but only saw Linnet and Avis, asleep in their beds.

  “Eider!”

  The second hiss made her sit up. Then she saw Finch’s pale face squished against the trailer’s window. She pushed back her sheets and opened the trailer door a crack.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered. “You’re messing up my circadian rhythms.”

  “I’ve finished the radio,” he said.

  “The what?”

  “The radio. I built one.”

  Eider paused as his words sank in. Then a jolt of excitement tightened her chest.

  Finch continued, “If you want to come with me, I’ll show you.”

  A real-life radio? Of course she wanted to see it! But she didn’t want to get in trouble. “Is anybody awake?”

  “I saw the light in Teacher’s trailer. And I waited for it to turn off.”

  Eider hesitated only a second longer. If anybody could bring to life something he’d only read about, it was Finch. “Okay. Let me get my boots.”

  “What’s going on?”

  It was Avis, sitting up in her bed. Linnet slept on.

  “Nothing,” Eider said.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing. Tell me.”

  “I don’t think you’d want to—” Eider whispered.

  “How do you know what I want? Whatever you’re doing, I’m coming along.”

  Eider sighed. Avis never wanted to talk about Beyond. She barely even seemed to wonder about it. Eider doubted she’d be interested in a radio, let alone approve of one.

  But then again, she was Eider’s best friend. She’d always kept Eider’s secrets—about the fairytale book, her explorations, and more. And, anyway, Eider knew from experience Avis wouldn’t let this go.

  “Do you mind?” Eider asked Finch.

  He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Fine.”

  Eider had never thought much about radios.

  She’d been interested in music, though. Music, and dancing. She even remembered the Circle Time when it all began, years ago.

  “Before,” Teacher had told them, “there were objects called radios that captured music sent from other places. The music was played with musical instruments: drums, banjos, pianos, guitars. And the instrument of one’s voice.”

  She’d hummed music, low and sweet. Teacher’s voice was formal, usually, but the humming had been beautiful.

  “Did you dance to the music?” Eider remembered asking.

  Teacher hadn’t waved away as many questions back then. “Everybody danced Before,” she replied. “Dancing is just moving one’s body to the beat of music. Anything from slow swaying to stylized dances, like tap or ballet.” For a moment, she’d closed her eyes. “We loved ballet the most.”

  Eider hadn’t known who we meant—probably Teacher and Nurse, although the idea of Nurse dancing made her snort.

  But after that, Eider had been obsessed with ballet. She’d memorized the poses described in a book and practiced them over and over. She’d had no way of knowing whether they were right. But they’d felt right.

  One day, Teacher had pulled Eider aside. “You’ve been working very hard,” she’d said. “I have a reward for you.”

  She’d pulled out a pair of ballet slippers, the pale pink color of a kit fox’s tongue.

  “Now you’ll be able to dance better. Even if you’re not able to dance on your toes like a proper ballerina.”

  Breathlessly, Eider had accepted the slippers. They’d been in remarkably good condition, with only a few scuffed patches. She remembered wondering who they had belonged to Before.

  She also remembered refusing to let Robin wear them.

  “They’re way too big for you. You’ll trip and fall flat on your face. And break your nose. And then you won’t be able to smell anymore.”

  “I don’t care about smelling.”

  “Obviously. Because you stink!”

  Shrieking with laughter, Robin had chased Eider under the twin windmills, then all the way up the rise. The ballet slippers had ended up even more scuffed, but Eider hadn’t really cared.

  Atop the rise, they’d danced together, their arms reaching toward the sky. They hummed the same music, low and sweet, their voices blending as one.

  Could Finch’s radio capture music?

  Eider was dying to find out. But she had to walk slowly, since Avis was latched onto her arm. During Physical, Avis was the most agile. But at night she kept losing her footing on the uneven ground. She didn’t have much experience venturing off the desert ranch’s same old paths, like Eider did.

  “This better be worth it,” Avis said, aiming her penlight at Eider. “What’s the deal, anyway?”

  “Turn that off! You’ll see when we get there.”

  “I didn’t even fix my hair. Also, it’s freezing out. Why didn’t you make me bring my jacket?”

  “I never said not to,” Eider said.

  “But you should have told me….”

  As they approached the cement slabs, Eider couldn’t help thinking of her dream ship and the dead-fish sea. When she inhaled, she could almost smell it. She rubbed her nose.

  Finch was there already, his radio sitting beside him. Or what Eider assumed was his radio. It looked like a small heap of metal parts, barely connected. She tried not to reveal how disappointed she felt.

  Avis wrinkled her nose. “What’s that, a broken robot?”

  “It’s a radio,” Finch said.

  “Obviously,” Eider said, even though it wasn’t obvious at all. “How did you know how to build it without the Radio section, Finch?”

  “From memory, mostly,” he replied. “We used to have a book called The Way Things Work. Then I found stuff about batteries in World Book B, and circuits in World Book C. The rest was trial and error—”

  “Yeah, yeah, we know you’re a genius,” Avis said.

  “How does it work?” Eider asked.

  “Well, the receiver collects electromagnetic energy—”

  “Not in Finchspeak!” Avis protested. “Talk like a normal person.”

  Finch huffed. “Fine. Radios capture sound waves in the air that are broadcasted—sent—from other places. So people can listen to things from far away. Like music. And news reports.”

  “News reports?” Eider repeated. She’d only thought about music. But news reports sounded just as intriguing.

  “About what’s going on in the world. People could sit in their homes and learn about everything going on, all over the—”

  “Before,” Avis said, jumping in. “People could, Before. Nobody’s out there sending anything now.”

  “Do we know that for sure?” Finch said.

  Eider stared at Finch, a strange feeling in her middle. She wished she’d been able to talk about this without Avis around. “Do you really think there might be something out there?”

  Finch nodded. “I do.”

  “What?” Avis scoffed. “Come on, you guys! That’s silly. We know there’s nothing left. Nothing and nobody.”

  “I think what’s silly is assuming we’re the only ones left,” he said. “Do you know how big the world is?”

  “Sure. It’s big. So?”

  “I mean, do you really know? Have you done the math?” Finch’s eyes, typically squinty blue, seemed to double in size. “Have you ever pictured how big a foot is? Or a hundred feet? How about five thousand of them,
to make a mile? Do you know how big a mile is?”

  Eider nodded.

  Finch glanced at her, then went on. “The world is thousands of miles around. Imagine all that world. Somebody else has to be out there. Maybe lots of somebodies.”

  “Cities!” Eider said breathlessly.

  “Other People, at least.” Finch paused. “But whether they’re broadcasting anything is another story.”

  “But if they are…”

  “If they are, and they’re not too far away…I think my radio will capture it.”

  Eider’s strange feeling blossomed into flower. She sat beside Finch on the cement slab. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s turn it on!”

  Avis remained standing. “You guys,” she said again, shaking her head. Her braids wriggled like rust-colored snakes.

  “I think I’ve almost got it,” Finch said.

  He wiggled a wire. Poked at it. Swiveled a dial. Then all three of them leaned in involuntarily—Avis, too—as the first tinny hum shivered through the speaker. The only sound in that desert night.

  “Do you hear it?” Finch broke into a grin.

  Eider and Avis couldn’t help grinning, too. “It’s working!” Eider exclaimed.

  “Is it?” Avis said.

  “Yeah, obviously!”

  “But it’s only, like…buzzing.”

  They listened harder. Avis was right—all they heard was an electric crackle. It was a stormy sound, like wind and rain tickling the desert floor. From time to time, there was a sharp, low pop, but that was it. No voices. No music.

  “Hold on…” Finch said.

  He swiveled the dial again. Back and forth. Slowly, then more quickly as his frustration seemed to increase. The sounds didn’t change: nothing but the same dull hum.

  “I’ll keep working on it,” Finch promised. “Maybe I just need a different battery. Or a better wire. If there’s anything out there, we’ll hear it.”

  Unless there’s nothing out there after all, Eider thought but didn’t say. She didn’t need to. They were all thinking the same thing.

  “VERY GOOD,” TEACHER SAID TO LINNET, who’d just finished reading the Racing section in World Book R. On the wall behind her, the cardboard names still hung in yesterday’s arrangement:

  FINCH

  JAY EIDER LINNET

  AVIS

  Eider figured it meant some of the kids were tied. But she didn’t want to ask, since it might draw attention to Avis—ranked last, for the second time.

  “That’s about all the time we have,” Teacher said. “I need to take care of some important work in my office.”

  Jay raised his hand. “Free Play?”

  She nodded. “I think so. It’s cooler today—how about you all play together outside?”

  The kids knew better than to groan audibly, but Eider suspected they all were groaning inwardly. Even before the rankings, they’d always had trouble agreeing on a group activity. Jay would want to play something rough-and-tumble. Avis would tell everyone what to do. And so on.

  Obediently, the kids filed outside and crowded into the shade under a mesquite tree. “Anybody have any ideas?” Avis asked. “How about follow the leader?”

  “Who’s that, you?” Jay said.

  Avis’s cheeks went pink. “Not necessarily.”

  “Hopscotch?” Linnet suggested, doodling in the dirt with the toe of her boot. When she saw Eider watching, she stopped.

  “Or four square,” Jay said.

  “Four square is boring,” Avis said.

  “You’re boring.”

  Avis kicked a pebble at him.

  Same old bickering, Eider thought. Same old everything. Without even the hope of Finch’s radio to break it up. She wished she could hide in the storage room and reread her fairytale book. Sometimes, there was nothing like a good story to—

  “Bang!” Jay yelled in her ear.

  Eider yelped. “What the heck, Jay?”

  He clasped his hands together with his index fingers pointing out, aiming them her way. “Bang! Bang!”

  “Are you being a gun?” Avis asked, eyes narrowed.

  “I’m not a gun,” Jay explained. “I’m a soldier holding one.”

  “That’s nothing. Dream bigger.” Avis slung back her arm and aimed at Finch. “Laser gun! Zap, zap, explode!”

  Involuntarily, Finch covered his head. Eider couldn’t help laughing. “What in the world is a laser gun?” she asked Avis.

  “It’s for shooting lasers, obviously.”

  Eider had no idea where Avis had gotten that from. One of the old books, maybe? The Guns section has been missing from World Book G. And they hadn’t gotten to World Book S yet, for Soldiers, or World Book W, for War—which it seemed like they were playing. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Teacher had always said war was very serious, after all.

  “Luckily, I’ve got one for you too,” Avis said. “Catch!”

  Avis pretended to throw a laser gun at Eider. Eider sighed and pretended to catch it, staggering under its imaginary weight.

  “Bang!” Jay yelled. “Hey Linnet, get out your rifles already! They’re strapped to your back.”

  “I have more than one?” she asked.

  “The other one’s for Finch.” He jumped from the slab boat. “I hear horses—the cavalry is coming! Run!”

  All five of them ran, their boots crunching through the brown-baked sage. They hadn’t played pretend games together in a long while. Maybe they’d each suspected the others had outgrown them.

  “Spaceships overhead!” Avis yelled. “Duck!”

  “From what?” Finch asked.

  “Bombs, obviously.”

  “You can’t duck from a bomb.”

  “Well duh, not if it falls straight on you. But if it falls nearby, you should duck to avoid the things, the pieces—”

  “The shrapnel,” Finch said.

  “You should duck to avoid the shrapnel.”

  “That wouldn’t do any good either. Shrapnel is like bullets. That’s why soldiers hid in trenches.”

  “Is a trench like a ravine?” Linnet asked. “We have lots of those.”

  “Jay!” Eider called. “Don’t just jump in there, you’ve got to check for rattlesnakes first. Seriously—”

  “Zap!” Avis exclaimed in her ear.

  Eider pushed her away, laughing. “You’re my best friend! Aren’t you on my side?”

  “You’re no good to me if you’re not paying attention. Look, Jay’s back is turned. Let’s blow him into hyperspace.”

  They ran at him, hollering wildly, imaginary laser guns blasting potholes into the sand. Eider lost all track of time. She’d always pictured war as a scary thing. But it was also a game, wasn’t it? Or at least a kind of sport. Strategy, planning, running, playing.

  Then Jay’s boot came down on the wrong kind of earth and he slipped, skidding a few feet on the seat of his pants. Avis shrieked in laughter, dodging the dirt clod Jay threw.

  “You tripped me!” he yelled, lumbering to his feet.

  “Oh, she did not,” Eider said.

  Jay turned his red-cheeked glare her way. “How would you know, cloudface? Your brain’s totally M.I.A.”

  “Your face is totally—” Avis began. “Wait, what does M.I.A. mean?”

  “Missing in action,” Jay said. “Like when a soldier runs off and abandons his platoon. And nobody ever finds him again. You know, like Robin.”

  Eider froze.

  “Jay!” Avis punched him in the arm. Hard. “What’s wrong with you? Shut your oaf mouth.”

  “Did he say—”

  “Nothing. Don’t listen. He’s just being mean.” Avis tugged on Eider’s elbow, pulling her away.

  “But he said she ran off.” Tears pricked at Eider’s eyes. “That’s what—”

  “It’s just a game, Eider. And obviously Jay knows he’s not supposed to bring up—He’s just a jerk. We should tell Teacher on him. Come on.”

  “Wait…”

 
; But Avis was already running. They hadn’t gotten far when she stumbled to a stop. Eider nearly crashed into her back.

  “I’m not sure we should—” Eider began, but Avis’s expression interrupted her. She followed her gaze to the top of the rise, where Teacher stood.

  Arms crossed. Shoulders tense. Mouth firm.

  Eider’s stomach dropped. How long had Teacher been watching? She’d seen them pretending to shoot each other, duck from bombs, fall down dead. War was very serious, and the kids had made it a game. All thoughts of telling on Jay scattered in the face of Teacher’s disappointment.

  “Uh-oh,” Avis said under her breath.

  As the kids trudged up the rise to join her, Teacher remained where she stood. She looked more than disappointed. She looked betrayed.

  “We’re sorry,” Eider blurted. “We were only—”

  Before she could finish, Teacher turned and walked away.

  Teacher didn’t like to talk about how the world had ended.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she’d said time and again. “The important parts are what happened Before and After. Not what happened in between.”

  She’d told them a little, of course. Even if they hadn’t gotten to World Book W yet, they knew about wars from the old books. Civil. I and II. There’d even been a book about the star’s wars, fought in outer spaces.

  Teacher claimed the end of the world had been different, though. It hadn’t ended in any big, scary way. Just a long, slow taper. Everything growing worse and worse until, suddenly, it was all gone.

  “Poof,” Jay had shouted.

  The kids had been much younger then. But even though the topic was scary, they’d all stifled a giggle. Just to think that everything they’d heard about and read about—narwhals and puffins and great white sharks, music and automobiles, soaring gold-colored bridges and buildings that scraped the sky—all those amazing things had just disappeared with a poof! Like a magic trick.

  “But why?” Eider remembered asking. “Why did it all go away?”

  “Because the world was going rotten,” Teacher had explained. “Too many people were born with ill in their hearts. Like a sickness, they spread it. Until the good people were outnumbered by billons. The world had to end—there was no other choice.”