When Stars Go Out
Copyright © 2018 Ransom Grey
(Defiance Press & Publishing, LLC)
First Edition: June 2018
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author or publisher. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed in Canada
ISBN-13: 978-0-9987704-3-7 (Hard Cover)
ISBN-13: 978-0-9987704-7-5 (Paper Back)
ISBN-13: 978-0-9987704-5-1 (eBook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017963495
Published by Defiance Press & Publishing, LLC
Editing by Janet Musick
Cover design by Nathaniel Dasco
Interior designed by Deborah Stocco, MyBookDesigner.com
Distributed by Midpoint Trade Books
With deepest gratitude to my family for helping me all along the way, and especially to Jennifer who taught me the love of writing.
Chapter 1
February. The drab mantel of winter buried the Virginia terrain in snowless folds of gray and brown. Leafless forests huddled beneath the frozen skies, and a heavy layer of dead sod smothered the hills, frowning up at the sullen clouds. The bleak landscape below did nothing to improve Reed’s spirits. He hated coming to the East Coast. He’d fought hard to stay in southern California, where he’d been born and raised. But what could he do against national laws? There were hundreds of thousands of other teens in the same plight, deported from their homes and shipped all over the country.
Shipped, Reed thought bitterly, like cattle for market.
He stared out the small window as the plane circled down toward the airfield. The government had declared America’s youth should experience the world for themselves—get out on their own and gain some life experience. “Re-education” and “conditioning” were the terms they used. Their solution: seizing anyone between fourteen and twenty and relocating them across the country. “The Great Reorganization Operation,” or GRO, they called it—the greatest federal program of the century.
As the plane taxied into position at the gate, Reed prepared to disembark. He jammed his flat brim down further over his jet-black hair and felt under the seat for his carry-on. Thanks to his sudden departure, he hadn’t been able to bring much luggage with him; the light windbreaker lying on the seat was his only jacket. One glance out the window told him it would not be enough. He shouldered his bag and joined the other passengers exiting the plane. A handful were deportees like him, with the same red tag pinned on their shirts. None of them seemed any older than him. All were silent, many with their eyes fixed on the navy carpet as they moved up the aisle.
As they filed out of the jet way into the terminal, they were met by a group of men waiting on either side of the gate. Clad in black suits and long black overcoats, they did not look like typical airport staff. Their clean-shaven faces were expressionless as they scanned each passing traveler. One of them spotted Reed and motioned him out of the crowd with a jerk of his thumb. Reed’s jaw tightened, and he narrowed his blue eyes. He obeyed but stood with his arms crossed among the growing group of teens behind the men, scowling.
When the last passenger filed past, the agents turned without a word and, motioning the group of perhaps twenty young people to follow, strode through the airport. They reached the lobby before one of the men, tall with a shaved head and a bundle of papers under his arm, held up his hand to stop.
“Welcome to Virginia, your new place of residence,” he said curtly. “You have the privilege of being part of a great program for your country. You are here to further your education and ensure the quality of your development with the help of the governing authorities. Here you will be able to think clearly for yourselves and re-start your lives under careful guidance and watchful supervision.”
It was a canned speech and, though his words sounded nice enough, something in the man’s tone and the way he studied them sent a shiver down Reed’s spine. The rest of the group was silent.
“A bus is waiting outside to convey you to your accommodations. You have been assigned work positions in the city; an official will give you further information later tonight.” With that, he stepped aside and waved them out the door.
Outside, the cold and damp hit them in full force. Reed shivered and zipped his jacket up to his throat. As the man had said, a large blue bus waited at the curb, hissing and rumbling in the drizzle. The officer had not mentioned the uniformed guards posted on either side of its door. One by one, the deportees slipped between the motionless figures and found seats along the narrow aisle. Once they were all aboard, the guards and officers climbed in, and the door slid shut. The bus jerked into motion, pulling away from the curb and onto the street. As it gained speed, the passengers settled back in the gray cloth seats; no one had mentioned how long the drive might be.
Reed ignored the boy next to him and stared out the window as his new home whizzed by. The view from the ground was even less inviting than from the air—a dull cityscape of dead landscaping and dripping buildings huddled under a leaden sky. He eyed the uninspiring strip centers, empty malls, and cheap restaurants, comparing them to the modern, bustling city he left behind. A mere handful of people scurried along the sidewalks, collars turned up against the wind.
The bus turned into a residential area where darkened neighborhoods and cheerless apartments replaced the stores and parking lots. The few people disappeared altogether. The Colonial brick buildings stared blankly at the passing bus with shade-drawn windows and dark doors. Reed thought of very different houses far away, bathed in balmy, Pacific breezes and sunshine. Home. He turned away from the window.
Out of the corner of his eye, Reed studied the young man next to him. He looked about eighteen, Reed’s age, with close-cut blond hair and a thin, alert face. He stared straight ahead, arms folded across his chest. Reed eyed him for a minute before venturing in a low tone, “Hey, where’re you from?”
“Missouri.” The other boy spoke in a whisper without turning his face. “When you talk, don’t look at me. The guards are watching. How ’bout you?”
“California. The name’s Reed.”
“I’m Hunter.”
Silence. Reed counted the red diamonds in the carpet for a moment. “Do you know what they’re going to do with us?”
Hunter shrugged slightly. “Give us a new start in life, supposedly. From what I’ve heard, we’ll live in barracks and work in the city.”
“Work?” Reed glanced toward the nearest guards. “What kind of work?”
Hunter shrugged again. “Depends on your grades in school, I think. Higher GPAs get jobs in offices and stores; the rest get the factories. ‘Vocational education,’ they call it. At least we get paid.”
Reed felt a twinge of remorse for his own grades. But, before he could say anything else, the bus downshifted with a rocking shudder and began to slow. It had been climbing steeply and now crested a low hill. Glancing out the window, he saw the city spread below them in a large, flat valley. On his right, a group of buildings crowned the high ground. The bus stopped directly in front of them.
They were long, narrow buildings, red brick and three stories high. More than a dozen of them marched in straight lines that ran back from the road. Trees dotted the spaces between them, and a large bricked area was just visible in the center
of the group. In the light of a summer’s day, with leaves shading the green grass between the cement walkways, it would have been lovely, but the winter dusk was dismal as the weak light faded from the sky.
Reed eyed the buildings suspiciously. Though a few windows were lit, most were dark and empty, and not a soul could be seen. But then a man stepped out of the closest building and approached the transport. The tall agent from the airport got out to meet him and, after a brief conversation, handed him a packet of papers. The man leaned in through the open door, muttering to one of the guards.
“Unload!” bellowed the guard.
The passengers gathered their luggage and obeyed hurriedly. As Reed stumbled out of the warm bus, the chill struck him in the face again, cutting through his jacket and t-shirt. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and tried to draw deeper into the thin folds of material.
After the last teen climbed out, the agents reentered the bus, and the door slid shut. With a final hiss, the bus swayed into motion and roared out of sight. The huddle of teenagers stared after it. The man who remained drew himself up and cleared his throat.
“Welcome to the Dorms.”
Here we go, thought Reed.
“I am Director Connors, superintendent over all the dorms and the residential director for Dorm One.” He spoke in a deep, measured voice that snapped each word like a whip. “I will be assigning you to rooms; you will each have two roommates who are already here. Each dorm has its own residential director who lives in the building to maintain order and enforce rules. Those RDs answer to me, and you will answer to them.”
He paced in front of them as he spoke, hands clasped behind him. “I am going to make a few things clear. First, Dorms One, Three, Four, Seven, Nine, Eleven, Fourteen, Sixteen, Nineteen, Twenty-One, Twenty-Three, and Twenty-Four are men’s; Dorms Two, Five, Six, Eight, Ten, Twelve, Thirteen, Fifteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Twenty, and Twenty-Two are women’s. No one will ever enter a dorm of the opposite gender without permission. Ever. Is that clear?”
The man glared at the group as if to pound his words into their memories with his stare. They all nodded quickly.
“Second, a ten o’clock curfew is strictly enforced. If, for any reason, you must be out later, you will apply to your RDs for permission. They will explain further rules to you. Line up—two lines!—and I will give you your room assignments.”
While Director Connors worked his way down the first row, Reed sized him up out of the corner of his eye. He appeared to be in his early forties and wore black-rimmed glasses that he peered over when scrutinizing one of the teens. He was tall and shaved bald, and his large hands dwarfed the pencil he held. He worked his way down the line, demanding each teen’s name, checking their tags, and assigning room numbers. He reached Reed. “Name.”
It was not a request. Reed felt his chin go up instinctively. “Reed.” Venom packed the word. “That’s two e’s and a capital R, sir.”
The eyes fixed on him over the glasses, piercing and ominous. Reed hadn’t realized before how broad the director’s shoulders were. For a dreadful second, the superintendent said nothing. Then he grabbed Reed’s tag from his outstretched hand and checked his name off the list.
“Dorm Four, third floor, room 316. And I suggest you watch yourself very carefully.” Raising his voice, he added, “That goes for all of you! We have our methods of discipline here.” He threw the tag back at Reed with a parting glare and continued down the line. It was only then that Reed realized he was shaking all over, and it wasn’t because of the cold.
When Director Connors reached the end of the second line, he snapped the file under his arm and wheeled on the group once more. “Proceed immediately to your assigned dorms. Your RDs are waiting for you.” With that, he turned on his heel and stalked toward Dorm One, the few unfortunates who had been assigned there following timidly behind. The rest scattered, looking at the painted numbers above the glass doors on each building for their assignments.
After trying two wrong dorms, Reed stopped in front of a building directly to the left of the bricked area, its long side running almost the full length of the paved yard. The door was on the front side, and on the glass panel above it was printed a large, white “4” with the word “Male” directly under it.
Suddenly, Reed felt very small and very cold. The gathering gloom of the strange place pressed down on him until the brick walls seemed to tower over him. This was to be his new home. He didn’t know anyone, and he would be living with two strangers and an RD as terrifying as Director Connors. He swallowed and glanced back quickly over his shoulder. Several other boys had turned and were walking in his direction. Reed took a deep breath, opened the door, and entered Dorm Four.
Chapter 2
In front of him, a closed wooden door led to the first floor hall. To his left, two flights of metal staircase crisscrossed upward. Reed climbed them to the third floor. The wooden door at the top was propped open, and he peered through.
Before him, a hallway stretched for perhaps a hundred yards of white tile floor and beige concrete walls before ending in another door. Dozens more doors lined both walls. Down this hall, a man was walking, swinging a bunch of keys in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Reed liked him immediately. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, shorter than Reed, with coppery hair and a short, well-trimmed beard. He wore a navy hoodie and khaki cargo shorts. His face was friendly and his walk quick and confident as he whistled his way down the hall. When he saw Reed, he waved. “Hello!” he called. “Are you the new one?”
Reed shrugged. “I guess so.”
The man reached the doorway and flipped back a few pages on his clipboard, scanning the pages. “Ah, here we go. Reed, from California? Pleasure to meet you. I’m Michael, your RD.” He stuck out his hand. Reed shook it tentatively.
“It’s not ‘mister’ or ‘director’ something?”
Michael chuckled. “Well, it’s Mr. Ryan around Connors, but the rest of the time, just make it Michael.” He winked. “I was just getting your bed ready. Come on, I’ll show you your room.”
Reed picked up his bag and followed Michael down the hall. The RD chatted all the way. “Everything’s kinda empty right now since all the guys are still at work. They’ll be back in half an hour, and you can meet your roommates.”
Reed felt a surge of anxiety. “Um, who are my roommates?”
Michael pursed his lips in thought. “One is Reagan from Florida; the other’s Riley from New Jersey. Reagan’s kinda awesome, and Riley’s pretty quiet, but I think you’ll get along fantastically.”
Reed hoped he was right. “So how many guys are on this hall?”
“Seventy-two now. You filled our last opening. You’ll get to meet most of them during free time in the evenings.”
“Will there be much free time?”
Michael didn’t seem to notice the bitterness that crept into Reed’s voice. “A fair amount. Most of the guys have to leave by seven-thirty in the morning and get back around five-thirty. Until ten is free time. Dinner’s served in the cafeteria from six to eight.”
“Oh. So what do they do with it?”
“Dinner? They eat it.” Michael flashed a grin. “But if you mean the free time, it depends. When it’s nice outside, they play games on the Square or go into town if they like walking. A few have laptops or game consoles, but most just hang out.”
They reached room 316. Michael unlocked the door and threw it open. “Here it is!”
The room was large for a dorm room, perhaps twenty feet square. Like the hall, it was white tile and beige-painted concrete. A single window was opposite the door. There were three beds: a double bunk along the right wall and a loft with a desk underneath on the left. Two desks and chairs stood in the middle of the room. There was a nightstand by the window and a sink against the wall at the foot of the double bunk. Shelves on either side of the door reached three or four feet shy of the tall ceiling.
Reed entered and set his bag on the
floor. Judging by the unmade covers, one of his roommates slept on the bunk over the desk and one on the bottom of the double bunk. The desks were cluttered with items, and a clock blinked on top of the nightstand.
Reed took off his cap and tossed it onto the top bunk. “I guess this is mine.” He walked over to the window and looked out. Though it was beginning to grow dark, he could tell his window overlooked the bricked area, or the Square, as Michael called it. A leafless tree directly outside partially blocked his view, but he could make out a few people on the sidewalks. He turned back toward Michael, who stood watching him from the doorway.
“Come on,” the RD said, “I’ll show you around.”
The tour was short. Michael showed him the bathroom, the fire exits (the same as the regular exits, but regulations are regulations), and the custodial closet where he could get soap, toothpaste, and other supplies. “Have to come get me, though,” Michael said, jingling his keys. “It’s locked. My door’s outside on the right at the front of the dorm.”
He took Reed back to the room and pointed out the general direction of the cafeteria from the window, down a slope on the opposite side of the dorm, invisible from their point of view. “We call it ‘The Mushroom,’ like the fungus,” Michael informed him. “You’ll see why in the morning. Breakfast is served from seven to eight. It’s not home cooking, but be there early or the best stuff’s all gone.”
The door at the head of the stairs slammed, and footsteps echoed up the hall. “Ah! The guys are back. Stay here and get settled in; Reagan and Riley’ll be here soon, and they can take you to supper and give you the extra room key.” He shook Reed’s hand again. “Nice to meet you. I hope you’ll be comfortable here, but feel free to come see me if you need anything.”
He turned to leave. Halfway through the door, he turned back. “Just remember, Director Connors is always watching. Try to behave.” With a quick wink, he disappeared.
Reed stared at the closed door for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he turned and kicked his bag toward the closest dresser. “I guess I can start unpacking.”
When Stars Go Out Page 1