Before the Nothingness

by Kevin George

  “I have to go,” she said, glancing beyond Horace at his ISU. “Hope you don’t get too lonely in there by yourself.”

  “Wouldn’t be so lonely if you came to visit,” Horace said, the words escaping his mouth before he had time to consider them.

  He quickly looked at the ground, hoping Carla assumed the red in his face had been caused by the cold. When he finally braved a glance in her direction, his stomach sank at the scowl on her face, though it slowly morphed into a smile.

  “I have to admit,” she said, stepping closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level. “As much as I love my parents, it’s tough being stuck in such a tiny space with them for hours on end. Might be nice to get away sometimes.”

  “My door is always open,” Horace said. “Well. . . not open. . . you’ll have to knock.”

  Carla chuckled but nodded before walking away, glancing back at Horace a final time as she disappeared into the storm. Horace suddenly felt a blast of cold again, his body shivering within the parka and his single layer of clothing. Still, he took a moment and turned in a slow circle, taking in the seemingly infinite whiteness of his surroundings. The world appeared as harsh as the survivalists had warned and he had no delusions about whether this life would be easier than his life within The Mountain. But as he inhaled long and slow—the cold causing him to cough—Horace felt alive for the first time in his life.

  TWO YEARS LATER

  MESSAGE FROM SAMUEL JONAS TO ALL INHABITANTS OF THE MOUNTAIN, ISU-VILLE AND THE CITY BELOW

  It is with great sadness that I announce the passing of my father, Charles Jonas. Just as in life, he fought to the very end, battling several serious illnesses for nearly a decade, refusing to let them stop him from providing all of us the opportunity to survive in this changing world. Please remember that Charles Jonas symbolized everything great about One Corp. and humanity. His contributions will continue to be felt by all of us for years to come.

  While my father may be gone, his vision for the future lives through each and every one of us. Our daily lives will continue as normal, even in his absence. With that said, my father had one final request: that his advanced model of ISU not be wasted. He asked that a villager be chosen at random to take possession of it and that villager has been selected. . .

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Step after step, Horace’s feet became buried in snow, each time harder to pull out and continue forward. Had his ISU not been so close—and had nobody been inside waiting for him—he may have been tempted to give up and collapse, to give in to the elements and become buried in whiteness forever. He had no desire to give up on life, but a part of him understood why some of the villagers—especially those who’d lived alone or who’d lost loved ones—had decided to walk out into the vast emptiness, never to return.

  The White Nothingness, as the villagers call it, Horace thought, an appropriate name for the lands beyond the village. For maybe the entire world beyond the village. . .

  Horace lifted his head long enough to take a gust of snowy wind to the face. He turned aside so quickly that he lost his balance and slipped, losing his grip on the large solar panel within his gloved hands.

  “Damn,” he growled to himself.

  Standing was difficult while wearing three layers of clothing; moving was just as tricky. Horace wouldn’t have minded the hassle had the layers kept him warm, but they didn’t. Instead, he struggled to pick up the solar panel and turn it to inspect for cracks. It appeared to be intact so he continued hobbling along the row between the ISUs, keeping his head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone nearby.

  For nearly ten minutes, he passed nobody; fewer and fewer villagers spent unnecessary time outdoors these days. Horace hated that the weather forced everyone to stay inside, but this occasion was different. With less than a dozen ISUs until he’d reach his, his pulse started racing at the thought of getting home before he ran into trouble. He clutched the solar panel as tightly as his bulky gloves would let him and he hurried forward, hoping to make it back to his ISU before—

  “Hey there!” a voice called out over the wind. “New guy, right?”

  Horace had a split second to decide whether to run or stop. Running was almost impossible in these conditions and being caught would certainly lead to trouble; even not being caught in this moment could prove troublesome since he’d already been recognized. He sighed, hoping to talk his way out of this. Horace slowly turned toward the voice, his stomach sinking at the sight of four shadows emerging from the storm, none of the men—or women, Horace reminded himself—recognizable within the hoods of their heavy parkas.

  “Not sure I’m still considered new,” Horace said with a friendly chuckle. “Been out here more than two years already.”

  The four shadows slowly separated from one another, forming a circle around Horace.

  “What you got there?” their leader asked.

  Horace didn’t need the leader to remove his hood to know who it was. He could almost sense Zwier’s bald head, long beard and cruel eyes.

  “Solar panel,” Horace said. “I clear mine of snow and ice every day—no matter how bad the weather is—but I still haven’t been able to prevent cracks. I’m sure you guys know what that’s like.”

  Zwier nodded, his hood slowly bobbing up and down.

  “Who’d you bribe from Bunker One? Was it Chambers? Or Cooley?” he asked. Horace started shaking his head, but the man held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t care who it was. Like you said, you’ve been here long enough to know the rules. Bunker One is mine and anything you need requires my. . . approval.”

  “This isn’t from Bunker One,” Horace said. “I would never try to obtain supplies there without your permission.”

  “Then where’s it from?”

  “Six,” Horace said. “I heard they had some. . . extras. A lot of villagers from their sector are no longer there.”

  “And what did you give in exchange for it?”

  Horace wanted to lie—he’d come up with an entire story just for this instance—but realized how much trouble he would find himself in if caught.

  “Nothing,” Horace said. “It remains run by the honor system, how One Corp. intended. The bunker was unmanned.”

  “Is that so?” Zwier asked, turning to two of his followers, pointing off into the distance. They took off toward Bunker Six without needing to be told. “So, you feel the bunkers should remain on the honor system? As—like you said—intended by One Corp.? Do you realize some people might try to take advantage of such a system?”

  Horace shook his head, suppressing the urge to point out Zwier’s hypocrisy. “I meant no disrespect to you or Bunker One. It’s just that resources are limited and I didn’t have anything to trade.”

  “That girl still lives with you?” Zwier asked, stepping forward. “I’m sure she could’ve figured out a fair exchange.”

  Horace’s arms tensed and he imagined swinging the solar panel at Zwier’s skull. Had the bunker leader sent all three of his men to Six, Horace may have taken his chance. But even if Horace connected with the bulky panel, he knew Zwier’s other follower would strike him down. Carla would suffer the consequences, whether Horace was left alive or not.

  “She doesn’t live with me,” Horace said. “She. . . hangs out in my ISU sometimes, but her residence remains with her parents. Her father was very important in One Corp.’s acquisitions department. He helped with—”

  “Yes, Ronald Corrigan,” Zwier said, his voice oozing with disdain. “My father told me how ruthless he was. . . how he stomped on the careers of so many to get where he did.”

  Horace shook his head. “He’s a nice man, a good man, a good father. His past life no longer matters.”

  Zwier chuckled. “Exactly,” he said. “So, should we go for a visit with Carla? Or are you going to hand over that solar panel?”

  When Horace didn’t answer, Zwier snapped his fingers at his other follower. The man approached Horace and reached for the panel.


  “Please,” Horace said. “My ISU dipped beneath 50% power last night. Two of its panels aren’t working at all, and the others are being overworked to make up for it.”

  “Not my problem,” Zwier said.

  “But I told you about Bunker Six,” Horace said. “Imagine how much more you’re going to control now. Can’t you just let me keep this?”

  “Wouldn’t have as much control as I do if I went around giving things away,” Zwier said. “Come see me when you find something—or someone—to trade.”

  Zwier’s high-pitched laugh joined the howling winds as his follower yanked the panel out of Horace’s hand. The two headed off into the storm. A blast of anger heated Horace’s body for the first time since leaving his ISU more than an hour earlier.

  “Mountain security won’t stand for this,” Horace called after them. “We were all warned about the consequences of looting.”

  Zwier laughed again, not bothering to look back as he called out, “We both know nobody in The Mountain cares about ISU-Ville.”

  Horace knew that was true, but wondered what his father actually knew about how quickly village society was breaking down. It might’ve been worth revealing his true identity just to see the look on Zwier’s face; on the other hand, Zwier might use Horace as a hostage to demand more from The Mountain. And what would he do with me when nobody from The Mountain listened?

  Horace had heard whispers of a few other supply bunkers not yet taken over, but the snows were worsening and he couldn’t take the chance of Zwier having him followed. He passed several people from his sector climbing atop their units, changing solar panels and other parts, and wondered what they’d given up to get them. By the time he spotted the final ISU at the end of the row, Horace was exhausted and freezing. Both of those feelings disappeared the moment he saw the silhouette of a large person lingering outside of his ISU.

  Horace ran forward, collapsing several times to the ground, snow and moisture creeping into his clothing.

  “Get away from there!” he yelled. “Leave her alone!”

  He lowered his shoulder, ready to smash into whoever was threatening his home, when the large man turned around, a solar panel clutched in his hands. Horace stopped so suddenly that he nearly slipped.

  “Mr. Corrigan,” he said.

  “Here,” Carla’s father said, shoving the panel at Horace.

  “How did you. . . thank you,” Horace said, turning to make sure Zwier and his cronies were nowhere to be found. Luckily, he saw only bad weather. “Thank you so much, sir. You have no idea how much this will—”

  “Don’t thank me,” Mr. Corrigan said. “It’s for my daughter. She certainly spends enough time here and mentioned how cold your ISU was becoming. I was lucky enough to procure two panels the last time I needed them. I haven’t needed this second one yet. You see, I make sure to keep my panels clean every day, whether it’s snowing or not.”

  “I do the same,” Horace said. “I’ve just been having bad luck with them.”

  Mr. Corrigan snorted. Horace wanted to insist he was telling the truth, but didn’t see the point of arguing.

  “You tried to get one yourself?” Mr. Corrigan asked.

  Horace nodded. “Had nothing to trade at Bunker One so I went all the way to Six.”

  “Lucky you didn’t get yourself lost or killed out there,” Corrigan said. “Been hearing some nasty things about Sector Four.”

  “Almost made it back with a panel when Zwier stopped me and took it,” Horace said. “I wanted to fight, but. . .”

  “And get yourself killed?” Corrigan said, shaking his head. “My Carla doesn’t need that heartbreak. Don’t be a hero, kid, it’s not worth it. Still, that Zwier kid is getting out of control. He’s a punk, like his father. I promise you, there’s going to be a fight—a deadly fight—at these bunkers soon enough. Security from The Mountain better show up and set them straight before the entire village implodes.”

  Horace had watched the same gradual degrading of village life since first arriving. He’d heard countless tales from Carla about how great the village had once been, how there’d been a true sense of community as more and more people were brought from The Mountain. But the temperatures continued to suffer extreme drops and the behavior of many villagers mirrored the worsening conditions.

  “I’ll see what I can do about the gangs,” Horace said, his mind so cold that he didn’t consider the ramification of his words before speaking.

  “And how exactly will you do that?” Mr. Corrigan asked.

  “Oh,” Horace said. “I can write a message to Mountain security explaining what’s happening.”

  “And you think others haven’t already done that?” Corrigan said. “I’d suggest you spend your time more wisely, like by installing that solar panel before Zwier or one of his thugs shows up to take it. Unless you need me to install it?”

  Horace shook his head. Though he wanted nothing more than to go inside and warm up for a few minutes, he headed toward the ladder attached to the side of his ISU. He placed the solar panel down gently and brushed the snow and ice from the nearest rungs. Mr. Corrigan started to watch but soon lost interest and headed back to his own ISU. Horace no sooner reached his roof when he heard a voice calling from below. He hurried to the edge and looked down to see Carla waving at him from outside of the door.

  “Come here, quickly!” she called up.

  “Is everything okay?” Horace asked, scanning the nearby area for any sign of Zwier or his thugs.

  “Yes!” she called up, excitement in her voice. “Well, also not really. There’s bad news but also really good news.”

  Horace knew how hard it would be to come back outside and finish the panel replacement, but he carefully descended the ladder and circled his unit, where Carla waited to help him inside. When she shut the door behind them, Horace was amazed—as always—about how much quieter it was inside than out. He pulled the hood back on his parka and felt the warm breeze—though not quite as warm as it had just been yesterday—blowing from the vents.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Charles Jonas,” she said, the excitement in her voice dipping, just as Horace’s heart did in his chest.

  He knew what she was going to say before her words came out. She pointed to the monitor against the far wall of the ISU’s small living room. It was the first time Horace had seen the screen lit up with a message from The Mountain.

  “He’s. . . dead?” Horace asked.

  A part of him wanted to turn and rush out of the ISU before learning the answer, but his feet felt frozen to the floor. Carla frowned and nodded.

  “I’m very sorry,” she said. “I know how much you admired Mr. Jonas for everything he did for One Corp.”

  Horace swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat as it tightened.

  “I wouldn’t be here without him,” he said.

  “None of us would,” Carla said.

  She reached for his glove, taking it off to squeeze his hand. Her grip felt so warm and she didn’t complain how cold he was. Horace felt tears welling in his eyes, as much for the loss of his grandfather as for the support Carla gave him. He’d never felt so lucky in his life to have somebody care about him so much, a realization that flooded him with guilt. In two-plus years at the village, he’d only sneaked away to see his grandfather twice. . . he’d given up on leaving One Corp.’s lands to search for his mother. . . he’d lied—and continued to lie—to Carla about who he really was. . .

  Carla squeezed his hand tighter and her lips began to curl in a smile, her eyes lighting up.

  “What is it?” Horace asked.

  “The Mountain didn’t waste time deciding what to do with Charles Jonas’s ISU,” she said. “They announced that a lottery had already taken place for who’d get to live there.”

  “It was me,” Horace whispered.

  “It was!” Carla said, throwing her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. “Can you believe the luck? Last person i
n the village and you still get the Jonas ISU. I’ve heard there’s so much more space inside and the. . . you’re not excited?”

  Horace forced a smile but couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes.

  “It’s just that. . . I haven’t seen Charles for months,” he said. “I knew he was sick, but I didn’t know it was that serious.”

  “My father said Charles should’ve been dead years ago,” Carla said, “that anyone else with the same illness wouldn’t have survived longer than a few months.”

  “He was a fighter,” Horace snapped. “Is it his fault he had access to the best medical treatment available?”

  Carla’s brow furrowed and she stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. Horace rarely saw her upset, but he had little concern for her feelings in this moment.

  “And if my mother or father became that sick? Would they be afforded the same levels of treatment? Would I? Or you?” she asked.

  Horace shook his head, refusing to look her in the eye. He also refused to apologize, allowing the silence to linger. Carla eventually sighed.

  “I don’t know why we’re arguing about this,” she said. “I already started packing some of your stuff and some of mine, but maybe I jumped the gun about joining you.”

  Horace shook his head and finally looked at her. “Don’t say that. You know how I feel about it. It’s just this has been such a shock. I’m sorry I can’t take enjoyment out of Charles’s death.”

  “I’m not enjoying that part,” Carla said, though her tone lowered just enough for Horace to recognize shame.

  Before they had a chance to continue, they heard a knock at the door. Glad for any sort of distraction—yet nervous about possible visitors—Horace hurried to the door and opened to a small crowd of people gathered outside. At first, he worried an angry mob had come to attack him; worse, he wondered if Zwier’s people would insist he hand over the Jonas ISU to them. But plenty of hoods were pulled back showing smiles and the muffled clapping of gloved hands interrupted the wind. A few people called out words of congratulations and Horace waved to them.