Blackout b-1

by Robison Wells

  “It looks like they’re making some mistakes,” he said, rubbing his hand through his hair to wring the water out of it.

  “Apparently,” she said softly.

  Nicole wrapped her long, slender fingers around the bars and shook the door as though testing it.

  Finally, Eddie spoke up.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Nicole,” she called back. “What’s yours?”

  “Eddie Shaw,” he answered. His voice seemed to have lost all of its anger. He didn’t sound like himself.

  “How long have you been here, Eddie?”

  “Four days.”

  “What happens?” Nicole reached up and touched the sprinkler on the ceiling, and then pointed at the water on the floor. Jack nodded.

  “We wait,” Eddie said. “They come and take us eventually.”

  “Take us where?”

  “I don’t know. Testing, I guess. Hey—what can you do?”

  Nicole looked around for a place to sit, but didn’t appear to like the idea of sitting on the wet, dirty concrete, or on the edge of the metal toilet at the back of her cell, so she leaned on the bars instead.

  “Can everyone in here do things?” she asked.

  “Everyone in here failed their test,” Josi answered.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Josi.”

  “What can you do, Josi?”

  There was a pause, and then Josi’s voice sounded embarrassed. “It’s weird. Just a brain thing. I’m good at remembering stuff.”

  “How about you, Eddie?” Nicole asked.

  “It’s . . . nothing,” he said.

  Nicole pressed her face against the bars, trying to look down the corridor. “No, tell me. I’m sure it’s great.”

  Jack watched Nicole with awe, wondering how someone could be so gentle and sincere. Had she always been like that?

  “It’s nothing amazing,” he said. “I mean, it’s amazing, but it’s not amazing, not like some of the others.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have hot breath.”

  Josi, who had been pestering Eddie the entire time Jack had been in the prison, laughed. “That’s it? You have hot breath?”

  “It’s more than just a little hot,” he said defensively. “It’s really hot. Like, I can blow into a cup of water and it’ll boil.”

  Josi laughed again, and Jack could hear the snorts and jeers of other prisoners. “You’re a human microwave?”

  “You don’t get it,” Eddie said.

  Nicole’s eyes met Jack’s, and she smiled warmly. She pointed, and then mouthed the words, “What can you do?”

  Jack shook his head. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He should be with the Negatives, with Aubrey.

  Or should he be here with Nicole? She seemed so fragile, so helpless. She needed his help here in prison more than Aubrey needed it with the Negatives, didn’t she? He could protect her.

  “How about you?” Eddie asked. “What do you do, Nicole?”

  “I’m here by mistake,” she said with confidence. “I think they have me mixed up with someone else.”

  “Well, good luck,” Josi said. “Half the people in here claim they’re Negatives, but the guards don’t listen.”

  Nicole stepped back from the bars and finally sat down on floor. “Maybe they’ll listen to me.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  A BULLETIN BOARD HAD BEEN erected outside Tent 114, a place where some of the higher-ranking soldiers had offices, and Aubrey and Betsy stood in front, poring over the information for news about home. The first day it had been newspapers, the Salt Lake Tribune and the New York Times, the front pages stapled to the corkboard. But since then there had only been internet printouts, with short summaries of news.

  Aubrey took it all to be a good sign—the army was trying to help. They weren’t blocking the Negatives from information about the outside world. On Aubrey’s second day in the tent they’d even been allowed to write letters home. Aubrey wrote one to her dad. She told him where she was, and what it was like, and how she’d never forgive him for trading her for beer. She’d signed her name, folded it neatly, and then crumpled it and threw it in the trash.

  She wondered where she’d go if she ever got out of here.

  “Hey Betsy,” Aubrey said, tapping a loose white paper that was thumbtacked in the corner of the corkboard. “From your place. ‘The Uintah and Ouray Indian Reservation reports that all previously missing children have been accounted for.’”

  Betsy moved to the paper and read the short paragraph carefully.

  “They’re accounted for,” she said with a frown. “That doesn’t mean they’re alive.”

  “It’s something,” Aubrey said. She stepped back from the board, getting a wide view. They’d come here three times a day for the last two days, and very little changed. There’d been no news out of Sanpete County other than a two-day-old mention of a skirmish at a roadblock near Manti. The article listed a few names, but they were no one Aubrey knew.

  Betsy turned to face Aubrey. “Ready?”

  Aubrey took a final glance at the board and then nodded.

  “They’re in a good position, I guess,” Betsy said as they turned and started back toward Tent 209. “There’s not much on the reservation that would be a target for terrorists.”

  “Any idea where everyone went?” Aubrey asked.

  “I think we had more time than most,” Betsy said, and then shared a wry smile. “This isn’t the first time the Utes have fought the government. And we know the backcountry inside and out.”

  “If everyone’s accounted for, they should be here. Right?” Aubrey had tried looking through the bunkers for people she knew, but it was hard. The army had strict rules about moving around the camp and you couldn’t go into any tent other than your own.

  “Maybe. A lot went down to the South Reservation. Maybe they had better luck. Or got sent to a different camp.” Betsy nodded and put her hands in the pockets of her jeans. It was the beginning of October now, and the winds were getting colder.

  “Did you grow up in Roosevelt?”

  “No,” Betsy said. “I’m from the middle of nowhere—Whiterocks. Ever heard of it?”

  Aubrey shook her head.

  “No one has,” Betsy said with a laugh. “When I was six, my father moved me up to Roosevelt to live with my aunt. Better schools. I used to worry so much about grades. Last year, I actually freaked out because I got a B in Trig. I mean, I thought my life was over. Now I wonder if any of that will ever matter.”

  “It will,” Aubrey said. “Wars end. Think of it: there’s more than three hundred million people in the United States. Even if Major Bowman’s estimate is accurate—180,000 people killed—then there’s still three hundred million who have to go on with their lives.”

  Betsy nodded, exhaling a reluctant laugh. “That’s kind of a callous way to look at it.”

  “It’s not callous,” Aubrey said. Somehow, talking about it—even if Aubrey wasn’t sure if she believed it—made her feel more confident. “It’s just true. You’ll still go to college. Life will get back to normal.”

  “But—”

  “Well,” Aubrey corrected, “it won’t go back to normal. But it will go back to better than this.”

  Betsy grinned. “It’d be hard to be any worse.”

  Aubrey laughed and looked out to the south. Several hundred yards away she could see the fence that surrounded the bunkers, and one of the many watchtowers. She’d been to the fence every day—fifteen-foot-tall chain-link, topped with razor wire. An identical second fence stood thirty feet past it. It wasn’t clear if it was intended to keep people out or in. Aubrey had heard rumors about antiaircraft guns somewhere among the tents, but she hadn’t seen them.

  She touched Betsy’s arm as they approached Tent 209. “I think I’m going to walk some more,” Aubrey said. “I’m really getting sick of being in there.”

  Betsy smiled and nodded. “Want company?”
/>   “Sure.”

  They turned away from their tent and headed south. Aubrey was sure that Betsy knew where they were going—Betsy had walked with her before.

  “Hey guys!”

  Aubrey turned to see Kara running from the tent. A guy was walking behind her.

  “Where’ve you been?” Kara asked. “We got new people in the tent next door. A bus came with eight newbies.” She lowered her voice to a whisper so only Betsy and Aubrey could hear. “And they’re all guys—cute ones.”

  Aubrey looked up at the approaching boy. He was tall, with blond hair and a thin face. One arm was in a cast and sling, and he had two black eyes. As he reached the girls he stretched out his hand.

  “Alec Moore,” he said.

  “Aubrey,” she answered.

  Betsy shook his hand. “I’m Betsy Blackhair. We were just going for a walk. Want to come?”

  Alec looked surprised. “They let you do that? I thought we were kind of confined to the tent.”

  “No,” Kara said, laughing more than the situation warranted. “As long as we’re back by six o’clock. They shut the tents after dark, and they have a roll call to make sure we’re there. I heard about a boy who was out past curfew and they sent him to some detention or something.”

  Alec looked at his watch. “Then I guess we have a little time. Where are we headed?”

  Aubrey turned and began walking. She hadn’t really wanted so much company.

  “The fence, I bet,” Kara said. “It gives a gorgeous view, especially this time of night.”

  “Sounds good,” Alec said.

  They walked for several minutes, and Aubrey let Kara and Betsy do most of the talking. Alec was from a private school up in Salt Lake and was thinking of joining the Air Force Academy. He said that he’d been talking to the soldiers earlier—even the guards at the warehouse—about life in the military. Listening to him talk, you’d think that nothing had ever happened—that they hadn’t been torn from their friends and families and imprisoned with no chance to appeal.

  “How were you caught, Alec?” Aubrey asked, her curiosity about his injuries finally overcoming her.

  “Caught?” Alec said. “I wasn’t caught—I was rescued.”

  She looked back at him and saw that Kara’s arm was slipped into his. She was positively beaming.

  “Rescued?” Aubrey said, not trying very hard to mask her annoyance. “You just got here. Were you running from the police?”

  “Oh no,” Alec answered. “I was camping. We’d been up there for a week before an avalanche chased us off the mountain. We didn’t even know about the evacuations until search and rescue found us.”

  “That sounds scary,” Kara said.

  “We all made it out okay,” Alec said, winking his black eye. “Kind of exciting, really.”

  Aubrey frowned. “How were you camping for a week? Weren’t you in school?”

  “Private school,” he answered. “Year round. I was off track.”

  They cleared the last bunker and reached the fence. The ground sloped to the south, taking a sharp decline just after the second fence. In the distance, Aubrey could see where they came from—a large collection of buildings all connected by fences and watchtowers. From this distance she just couldn’t tell which one had been hers. One of them, she had to hope, still held Jack.

  Aubrey remembered her promise. She wouldn’t do anything stupid. But she also remembered Jack’s desperate plea—if she was going to get him out, she couldn’t let anyone find out she was a Positive, a Lambda.

  She looked at the fence in front of her. There was no way she could cut it—she hadn’t seen anything like cable cutters in the tent, even in the supply station. And one glance at the razor wire was enough to tell her that she couldn’t climb it. Even with being able to disappear, this fence was impossible to cross.

  Maybe she could go back to the decontamination rooms, she thought. They’d be guarded, but guards were easier to avoid than razor wire.

  Of course, the fences weren’t her only problem. The buildings were surrounded by armored vehicles, tanks, watchtowers, and there always seemed to be hundreds of infantrymen nearby—drilling or working or patrolling.

  Aubrey tried to picture Jack, tried to guess where he was and what he was doing. He’d be safe, she thought. Eventually they’d realize that he wasn’t a Positive. Maybe he was already released, back in one of the tents and trying to find her.

  She lost her train of thought for a moment—as she stared at the buildings she couldn’t remember what she was looking for. It had been too long since she’d had a normal life—too long since decent food and a good night’s rest.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Aubrey turned and looked up at Alec. “Aren’t you . . .”

  It was hard to picture. She could see his face. She knew that she’d seen him somewhere before. But where? On the bus? In the warehouse? Or was it longer ago than that?

  Alec looked equally confused.

  “Alec Moore, right?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Oh my gosh,” she said with a laugh. “Did you go to Mount Pleasant Elementary? Third and fourth grade?”

  Alec’s face brightened. “You’re from Mount Pleasant?”

  Aubrey felt a sense of elation—in all of this camp she’d finally found someone that she knew. Granted it was years before, but she knew him. “Aubrey Parsons,” she said happily. “I’m Aubrey Parsons!”

  She jumped forward, throwing her arms around him. He hugged her back.

  “Aubrey,” he said. “Holy cow, you’ve grown up. Man, it’s been a long time.”

  “Yeah,” Aubrey said, stepping back to look at him. “You’re so . . . tall.”

  Kara looked a little peeved that Aubrey had a connection with Alec, but Aubrey didn’t care. She’d spent the last four days searching for some sign of home, and here was someone right in front of her. Aubrey couldn’t remember much about Alec—it had been a long time—but they’d been friends. They’d been friends back when Aubrey had friends.

  “Oh, wow,” she said, feeling happier than she had in a long time. “This is great.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  NICOLE DIDN’T LAST LONG IN the prison. Before the soldiers had even brought in anyone new, Jack watched as two guards and an officer came and took her away.

  The cells seemed to be getting colder, though Jack wondered if that was just because he’d never been able to get fully dry. The other Positives couldn’t seem to keep their mouths shut, and the sprinklers were turned on at least twice a day. Jack was able to keep time for the first two days, but eventually water got into his watch and it stopped. He wasn’t sure how many more hours had passed—there were no windows, and the lights were always on—but Jack tried to keep track of how often the guards brought food; he guessed he’d been in his cell about three days.

  By his count, three more people had been brought in to the prison and four had been taken away. Eddie and Josi were gone now, but Matt Ganza was there. He hadn’t said a word since he’d been brought in, and he was too far down the row to have a private conversation with Jack.

  The boy who had been brought in unconscious never woke up and was carried off by medics.

  The only thing that kept Jack’s spirits up was the hope that Aubrey was working on getting him out—maybe trying to get him retested. Part of him doubted it. He didn’t want to doubt. He wanted to sit confidently in his cell, certain that she was harassing the guards day and night.

  But she’d abandoned him before.

  A metallic clank sounded as the far door opened. The kids still argued, but without the same enthusiasm they’d had before. They’d been here too long, and knew it wasn’t doing any good. The newer prisoners weren’t talkers, and the old ones were tired of getting soaked all the time.

  The guards appeared in front of Jack’s cell, putting the new prisoner into Nicole’s former cell. She thanked them, just as Nicole had done, and they left her with a bottle of drugged water.


  “Hi,” Jack said, as the girl inspected her tiny cell.

  “Hi,” she answered, turning to face him. She was short, probably just over five feet tall, with light blonde hair that fell just to her chin. Like most of the prisoners who’d been brought in, she looked tired.

  “I’m Jack,” he said.

  “Laura,” she answered.

  Another girl from somewhere down the corridor shouted out the same question she did of all new prisoners. “Any news from outside?”

  Laura sat down on the concrete cross-legged. She was probably short enough that she could lay flat on the floor, and Jack envied that. “I’ve been in the warehouse for two days,” Laura answered. “No new people have been brought in since last night. The last one to come in said that the TVs aren’t broadcasting anymore. He said that there’s a draft now.”

  “Do they know who the terrorists are yet?” Jack asked.

  “No,” Laura said, picking up the water bottle and peering at the yellow specks floating in it.

  Jack leaned against the cinder-block wall and stared at the ceiling. Could it be that he was actually safer in prison?

  “What do you do?” Matt asked. He was in a cell to Jack’s right—Jack couldn’t see him.

  Jack looked back at Laura, who seemed surprised by the question.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What’s your power?” Matt said. “You’re a Positive. That means you can do something.”

  “Oh,” Laura said. She balled her small hand into a fist and punched the cement floor. With no more apparent effort than if she was squashing a bug, the cement splintered and cracked.

  The corridor suddenly erupted with noise.

  “What was that? What did she do?”

  “She punched the freaking floor! Like a jackhammer or something.”

  “Don’t drink the water! It’ll mess with your head!”

  “Get the bars! Get us out of here!”

  Laura, with a contented smile on her face, didn’t move. Her eyes met Jack’s, and he moved forward to his door so he could talk over the noise.