by Greg Boose
Portis stops chewing on his hand and finds Jonah’s eyes above the crowd. It’s as if he’s talking right at him when he says, “Well, that’s shitty.”
Jonah stares Portis down until the Third Year looks away with a grin. He’s never liked Portis, and he likes him less and less as the hours crawl by. Could he have done all this? Could Portis have slipped away at night and killed those two people and led the rest of the adults away? Is he working with Paul?
Michael sits down and puts his pointed chin in his hands. Jonah notices he doesn’t sit with anyone, and he tucks this information away in his memory, right next to the haunting voice of the faceless woman inside the fire.
The demics grow restless when day finally breaks. Many of them demand to use the bathroom. More than a few want to comb the wreckage for personal items.
A tall demic girl tries to walk past Vespa. “I don’t know why we have to be on this ‘lockdown’ of yours, but I need to see Dr. Z. I have a really bad headache. I feel awful.”
“Okay,” Vespa says as she steps in front of the exit. “We’ll start having bathroom breaks in a little bit, okay? There are just some things you need to know first before you, before we…” Vespa trails off as she looks into the faces of the twenty or so kids at her feet. “Here’s the deal. Last night, one of the cadets was trying to sleep in Module Two when he overheard the adults calling each other to a meeting. An all-adult meeting, apparently. The cadet didn’t know what the agenda was, or where they were going. All he knew was that he wasn’t invited, so he tried to go back to sleep, like I’m sure all of us would. A short time later, he heard people screaming down in the jungle.”
Rumblings rise from her audience. Two girls start crying. Jonah picks at his shirt and watches the kids huddle together. He feels sorry for them, that they’re about to hear it all for the first time. After all, he’s a trained First Year cadet, and he’s still paralyzed by the news several hours later, barely able to dive further than the surface of the situation.
“What kind of screams?” the redheaded, freckled Aussie asks from her knees.
North lifts his eyes from the ground. “It was a man’s scream at first. I don’t know what he was saying. And then there were more. But I was half-asleep, you know, and they sounded pretty far away and I…”
Vespa takes over. “The cadet grabbed his flashlight and ran after the voice, or voices, and followed them down the side of the cliff.”
“They weren’t just screaming, though. They were yelling about something. People were arguing, but I don’t know what about.” North’s voice cracks. “I thought I could handle it. I’m supposed to be this fearless Third Year, you know. That’s my training. I should have brought someone with me. It was stupid.”
Aussie stands up. “Who was screaming? Who was it?”
“I—I guess it was a demic guy. A professor.”
There’s silence, and then Rosa, the hysterical girl Jonah saved from the collapsing module with Aussie, stands and asks, “Which one? Who? Are they dead? They’re dead, aren’t they?”
North nods. “Yeah, he’s dead.”
Rosa crumples to the ground, and the sea of kids churns with fear. Michael jumps to his feet again. “Who? Who was it? Who died?”
Vespa raises her voice, trying to take back control. “We’re pretty sure it’s Professor Eck. And there was a woman down there, too. The cook with the bushy black hair. Mrs. Perlman. She’s dead, too.”
The demics cry out with questions. Some of the older ones point fingers at the cadets, demanding that North tell them everything from the beginning, and the younger demics simply cry, shiver, and hug each other, begging to go home.
“But what does Dr. Z say?” a girl yells. “Maybe they’re not dead and she can save them!”
“Dr. Z is gone!” Portis shouts from the other side of the module, his big mouth cupped by his dirty hands. “They’re all gone. And those two down in the jungle are definitely, definitely dead. I saw them myself.”
A wave of silence crashes down on the children, all of them turning and bobbing as this new current moves through the group. Vespa gets a syllable out before Portis calls, “Did you hear what I just said? All of the adults, every single fucking one of them, they’re gone. Out of here. They’re not here anymore and we’re on our own.”
Next to Jonah, a walrus of a boy—a clumsy, oafish eighteen-year-old with terrible acne and huge bushy eyebrows—rolls onto his knees. His right arm bends oddly above his giant head, his palm twisted up and out as if shielding his eyes from the sun. The boy tries to pull the arm down with his left hand, but the arm surprisingly springs back in place. “Why would they leave us?”
No one has an answer. Three demic boys are accused of driving the adults away with their on-ship antics, hacking into the gravity controls too often during meal times. Rosa says that one of the dead girls in her module was flirting with Professor Eck too much and he and the other professors were tired of it, and tired of all them by association. The tall girl who tried to get past Vespa marches over to Rosa with tears in her eyes, demanding Rosa take back what she said about her dead friend.
One of the boys from the hacker group, a lanky teen with a birdlike face and long black bangs twisted in front of his eyes, yells matter-of-factly, “Looks like we’re all going to die!”
“That’s highly unlikely,” Michael says. “Statistically speaking, I mean.”
“Shut the hell up, Michael!” the hacker yells back. Jonah notices a faint, thin mustache above his lips. “Just shut up, Pissy! Go piss your pants somewhere and just shut up!”
The other two hackers snicker at this, the middle one catcalling, “Pis-say! Pis-say!”
Jonah’s insides bubble with rage, and he almost jumps at the group of hackers, but he lets it go on without saying a word. He doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself. Even at his height, he knows it’s possible to go unnoticed. And that’s just what he wants right now.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Aussie yells. “You’re picking on Michael right now? Right now? With all that’s going on?”
“Pis-say,” the middle boy says with a cough. The other two bounce with held-in laughter.
“Enough! Everyone just shut up!” Vespa barks.
And then, just like that, Jonah is outside, barreling past Steph and North. So much for staying unnoticed, he thinks. But he can’t listen to the fighting and crying anymore. His temples throb and he feels dizzy. He leans hard against a burnt tree trunk, remembering he’s sick and going to die regardless. If some maniac hijacker doesn’t kill him in the middle of the night, then his disease will take him in a month. He checks his fingernails to see if they might be blue, and when they’re not, he studies his toes, feet, ankles. Not yet, he thinks. But maybe soon.
The plain is wet with dew and everything glistens, even the bloodstains and charred debris. He looks at the remains of the Support Module; a couple cadets sifted through the ashes last night and found just the four bodies of the flight crew inside. The adults are still missing. Whoever was crying last night is still missing.
Vespa’s voice carries out of the module as she goes over the details of last night, asking if anyone saw anything. Nobody has an answer, and then the hackers start laughing about something. Someone exits, and Jonah spins around to see Michael. Tears sit in the corners of his eyes.
A bolt of empathy shoots down Jonah’s spine. “Hey. Um. You okay? I mean, can I help…with anything?”
“It’s just ridiculous, you know? It happened five years and two months and thirteen days ago, and they still won’t let it go,” Michael says, parting his long brown hair with shaking fingers. “Pissy. That’s all they say, and I don’t know how to make them stop.”
“It’ll stop.”
“Yeah, when that tough cadet girl is around, sure.”
“When I’m around, too,” Jonah says softly. He’s surprised to say it, to promise something to someone he hardly knows, but it feels good. And it’s nice to feel something go
od for a moment.
Michael doesn’t respond, but his head lifts toward the pale gray sky.
North, Vespa, and Steph exit the module cautiously, and the rest of the kids cluster behind them. Vespa gives Jonah a suspicious look and he feels his face grow hot. Maybe she thinks he could be the traitor. He’s angry with himself for putting even the smallest target on his back.
Cadets and demics emerge from the module piece across the way, and Vespa meets Paul in the middle of the valley, alone, while both their camps look on. Sean waves at Jonah and he nods back.
The two unofficial leaders separate, and when Vespa returns, she pulls the cadets aside. “Your mission is to find weapons and food while the demics try to piece together a working communication device. Paul and his cadets are focused on finding some kind of energizer, like a battery or generator thing, so we can have some power around here. We’re going to stay in pairs, or in threes. That way if someone around here is a killer, if anything happens to someone’s group, then our list of suspects grows very, very short. So whatever you do, do not let any member of your group out of your sight. And keep your eyes on these demics. They’re smart enough to surprise you and all of us. Who knows what they’re capable of? So use your heads and your training. Two of Paul’s cadets—that Malix kid and Christina—are already hidden at both ends of the wreckage, watching for suspicious behavior, and for any signs of the adults.”
“Whatever happened to Module Eight?” North asks.
“No one knows yet,” Vespa says.
“What happens if we find weapons?” Steph asks.
“You bring them to me, and before nightfall Paul and I will figure out the lucky ones who’ll go down into the jungle to help us bury the professor and the cook and look for some clues. The weapons were supposedly locked in the lowest level of Module Three, but Module Three is absolutely everywhere. So the weapons could be anywhere.”
The demics surround Vespa the moment the cadets set out. Jonah walks off with Steph and Portis, and when he’s not busy keeping track of everyone in the valley, his eyes search for his sheaf. He could really use a moment with his parents’ photo right now.
Jonah’s group heads for the very tip of the crash site. A carpet of rubble lies underfoot: cooking pots, vent coverings, and a shattered fish tank with several suffocated tropical fish amongst the glass. Jonah climbs into a crushed land rover that’s missing both its axles, but it’s empty. Its dashboard dangles from wires, as if someone has ripped it apart. Fifty yards away, another rover sits helplessly upside down.
Most things they come across are broken and charred beyond recognition, and yet Jonah finds a shining ten-inch kitchen knife. And by the time they reach the farthest part of Module Three—the first two-and-a-half levels on its side, black with smoke damage—he finds a mismatched pair of sneakers he can wear.
“I’m telling you guys, I think that North kid did all this,” Portis mumbles before taking a quick bite at his forearm. His skin is pocked with red circles and teeth marks. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something really off about that guy. And seriously, why the hell would he go down there by himself? I’d be scared shitless and bring every cadet I could wake up.”
“Who set the fire while we were down there, then?” Steph asks. “If he was with us, who started the fire?”
“Maybe it started on its own.” Portis shrugs. “Or maybe it was one of the adults.”
Steph overturns a refrigerator-sized container. Its doors are still closed, its corners dented. “What do you think, Jonah?”
Jonah wants to say it could be her. It could be North or Portis or Paul or Vespa or the hackers. Or the adults could have just simply left them behind, killing the two that rebelled. “I have no idea,” he mutters.
“You’re such a Firstie,” Portis says, laughing. “Grow a pair and have an opinion. Christ.”
Jonah’s skin grows hot as he listens to the boy laughing. “Screw off, Portis.”
A smile crosses Portis’s face. “What did you say to me? What was that, Firstie?”
It suddenly hits Jonah. Just because they didn’t make it to Thetis and he’s about to die, it doesn’t mean he can’t still start over. It doesn’t mean he has to wait to earn anyone’s respect. Shit, Jonah thinks, I’m dying. I don’t have time to be pushed around anymore. He marches over to Portis and stops inches from the boy’s huge nose. Jonah has over eight inches on the Third Year. “I said, screw off.”
Portis blasts Jonah backward with two open hands, causing him to trip over a bloodstained launch seat. “Now that’s what I’m talking about, kid. Get pissed! Show me. Show me what happens when the Firstie gets pissed.”
Jonah grinds his teeth and marches back over, ready to throw his customary second punch, when Steph sticks her spear into one of the door handles of the container and stomps on its other end. The door flies open and she gasps.
“Guns?” Portis walks away from a fast-approaching Jonah, who is both relieved and disappointed the confrontation seems to be over. He stands there and lets the adrenaline drain. He’s proud of himself. For a change.
“No,” Steph says, digging around inside. She pulls out a thin box wrapped in gold foil. “But we have food.”
“Excellent.” Portis grabs one and rips the foil away with his teeth. A burst of steam blows in his face; the meal has just been cooked. He sits with his back to the large container and stuffs his mouth with warm tofu and black beans, broccoli, corn nibs, and a vanilla cupcake. Steph and Jonah watch for a second before they tear open their own boxes.
“You know what I really think?” Portis asks between bites. “I think we’re all dead and this is like, the in-between. Like purgatory. Or maybe I’m just dead, just me, and this is a bunch of bullshit I have to work through to get to heaven or hell or whatever. Those who died are innocent, and they’ve already been yanked up into heaven, and those I see as still being alive—like you two assholes—are the souls still trying to figure some shit out.”
“You’re an idiot,” Steph whispers.
Jonah takes a large bite of veggie lasagna and considers Portis’s idea; he never thought that this might actually be hell, like Sean had said to Dr. Z the night before.
In the distance, groups of demics jump out of module pieces and sift through the rubble. Two cadets stand high up on top of the truss with their hands shading their eyes. Paul’s head pokes out of a module and he motions for Sean and someone else to join him. It takes a while for Jonah to locate her, but he finally spots Vespa standing directly under one of the rugged electric cycles still attached to the truss. She’s looking up at its wheels.
“Who am I kidding? We’re not dead. We’re not that lucky,” Portis says with a mouth full of broccoli. “We’re just screwed.” Then, after a moment of silence, he asks, “But we’ll get out of here, right, guys?”
“Maybe,” Steph answers. “Probably. I mean, I hope.”
Jonah opens the other two doors of the container, and to his relief, there are hundreds of meals and dozens of jugs of water and synthetic milk.
“Jackpot,” Portis says, pulling out a water jug. He places it to his lips and takes a long drink before passing it to the other two. As Jonah sips, he watches Vespa leap almost ten feet high and grab a rung of the truss. She pulls herself up, and after a series of acrobatic jumps and twists, she stands above the cycle. Then she stomps twice, and the vehicle plummets to the valley floor, where a giant blue and yellow parachute blasts out of its back and falls limply to the ground.
Before anyone else can touch it, Vespa is back on the soil, cutting away the parachute lines. Sean helps her pull the cycle onto its wheels. She then swings a leg over its back, and after fiddling with its controls, a headlight comes on. The three cadets hear applause, and then Vespa is off, heading straight for them.
Jonah raises a jug of water as Vespa gets near, and she pumps her hand in response. He sighs a breath of relief. She must not hate me completely. Vespa skids to a stop and turns the engine off. Step
h runs a finger down the length of the black cycle before slapping Vespa’s open palm.
“Now, if we can get the other two down, plus that big tank thing, we’ll be in some sort of business,” Vespa says.
“Want some breakfast?” Jonah offers her one of the foil boxes, and with it, a dozen unspoken apologies for being such a pain in the ass.
Vespa nods and takes the meal. After ripping open the foil and smelling the steam, she says, “What’s your real name again, First Year?”
“Jonah Lincoln.”
“Good to know, Firstie.”
Jonah breathes a little easier. And he makes a vow never to hesitate again when she needs his help.
“And now what?” Portis asks, before chewing on the webbing between his fingers.
Vespa balls up the foil and throws it over her shoulder. “Now we get everyone some food. Immediately. Get morale up.”
Portis takes his hand out of his mouth and climbs on top of the cycle. A grin stretches across his big brown face. “My dad used to have one just like this. You mind if I round up the troops?”
“You’re goddamned lucky I’m hungry, cadet. Otherwise, I’d beat the shit out of you for the way you were acting earlier.” She puts a steaming turkey leg in her mouth and sits down. “I still might.”
• • •
Almost half the day passes. Everyone hopes for a ship from Thetis to somehow arrive, and they eat and drink until Paul tells them to stop, to ration and get back to work. A group of demics gathers clothes, and soon everyone finds a moment to change. To his surprise, Jonah finds one of his old green jumpsuits in the pile, and he’s glad to be rid of his burnt shirt and torn pants. Griffin discovers a large cache of weapons wedged under the end of the truss, and each cadet now carries a long LZR-rifle. The other two cycles are dropped from the truss, but only one comes to life. Vespa works diligently on the tank-like truck for over an hour, but she can’t get it to budge from the metal. They locate another large container of food. A couple of Second Years are put in charge of guarding everything they’ve found.