Endure: Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 2 (Caustic)

by Brian Spangler

Stupid insecurity, she thought, and felt silly. Before she could turn away, Sheila discovered Sammi’s eyes on her, and a question formed in her expression. When Sammi shrugged an empty response, Sheila scrunched her face, annoyed, and turned her attention away. Relief came, and Sammi’s concerns shrank. After a few more chants of Andie’s name, her worries were gone. This was Declan; her Declan. They’d been a part of each other for as long as she could remember. He’d never so much as looked at Sheila, let alone any other girl. But Sammi wasn’t the only girl turning seventeen soon, and she wouldn’t be the only one with a choice to make. This last thought remained with her.

  Declan wore a grin as he played with the children. Over the squealing and laughter from the first rows, he gave Sammi a faint wave of his hand that touched her heart.

  He’s the one, she thought firmly, and dropped any thoughts about Sheila Myers or other girls. She joined the class in the chant, and found herself leaning forward in her chair, excited to see Andie. It had been a while, and there was worried talk that maybe the poor old thing had finally gone the way of the other androids in the Commune: rusted beyond repair.

  Sammi recalled the day that the android had been delivered. Large men carried the crate into their classroom, and she remembered being afraid of them. But it wasn’t just her—the other kids sat motionless, too. Childish fears gripped all of them as the unfamiliar men approached. Their presence had been daunting and out of place. Though they’d worn the same gray-colored coveralls, each of them also wore a set of black bands circling his arm.

  The older gentleman wore two black bands. His face was tired, and aged, and maybe even sullen, as if he’d surrendered to the idea that his stature in their Commune was a life sentence. When Sammi was older, she’d come to know and understand that look. Her father wore the same two black arm bands, and had the same weary resignation in his expression.

  The younger man had worn only a single arm band: a feeble ribbon that appeared to have been pinched on haphazardly with a few fasteners. His face and expression had looked much like those of the older kids in the class: lively, still wanting things from life. His brown eyes had taken in every corner of the room as he’d helped to carry the crate.

  The men wasted no time. Digging into the top panel, they’d pried the boards apart, even cracking one in half. The loud splintered explosion bounced off the classroom walls and seemed to strike Ms. Gilly from the side, sending her pitching forward, grabbing at her chest, and laughing at her own overreaction. When the front panel of the crate crashed to the floor, the little android was revealed to the class. “It’s an Andie-roid,” one of the children declared, and in unanimous agreement, the class named him Andie. Since that day, they’d loved every minute with him.

  “Come on Declan, get Andie. We wanna see Andie!” a young voice lifted from the second row. Soon, more voices were added, tempting a change in the chant. “We wanna see Andie! We wanna see Andie!”

  When Declan reached the nook where Andie was stored, he motioned to the kids and teased in a goading voice, “Do you really want to see Andie?”

  The kids roared a single response, and went back to chanting, “Andie! Andie! Andie!”

  “Are you sure?” Declan taunted. Sammi joined in, pumping her hand in the air.

  The children roared louder, and stomped their feet faster. Sammi leaned forward until her middle was pressed hard against the lip of her desk. Declan swung the door of Andie’s nook open wide, and pushed the large graying button on its front panel. The child-sized android sputtered, shook, and whistled a loud mechanical yawn as it came to life. The children clamored another cheer, loving every bit of it.

  Sammi could see the evidence of how long it had been since Andie had last visited with the class. As the old android powered up and struggled to move forward, he turned, bumping into the side of the nook until Declan repositioned him. Sammi recognized the failed motor sensors and the glitchy programming. But despite its struggle, the children ate up the dreamy technology, and clapped as Andie sputtered again and inched forward from his nook.

  The sounds of aged, pitted metal and plastic belts joined the children’s enthusiastic hollers. Andie circled, and stopped, and then circled once more before rolling forward to the front of the class. Andie’s chassis was mottled with heavy rust; more than Sammi remembered seeing before.

  Too much salt in the air. Always too much salt, she thought, shaking her head. Although it was just an android, Sammi couldn’t help but feel sorry for Andie. She pitied the android, as though he were a sickly classmate. It wouldn’t be long before a resin coat or plastic replacement would be needed. Anything but metal, Sammi thought.

  “Hi, everybod-dy!” Andie sang in a playful tune. The children responded with another cheer, pounding their feet and clapping their hands. They all waved to Andie. Their fervent eyes were large, and fixed on the android.

  “Almost a full room! I love, love, LOVE a full ROOM!” Andie sang, and trilled his words. As he elevated his perfectly round head a half meter above his body, Sammi could hear the soft purr of his motor. Andie turned left, and then right; his two silvery eyes reflected warped, oval-shaped images of the class as he studied each student.

  “We are missing someone. Re-calculating. Re-calculating. We are missing a few?” Andie asked, lowering his bulbous head, and turning his face up to Declan. Three classmates were missing: Harold Belker and his two sidekicks, Peter and Richie. Sammi studied the empty seat next to her. Thinking of Harold, she shuddered.

  He has the face of a hog. Images of Harold’s sunken, beady eyes and his upturned nose reminded her of the hogs on the farming floors. There was an ugliness, a meanness, that seeped from his pores, violating everything that he touched.

  How many times had he put his hands on her? How many times had his cronies held her down in the corner of the classroom, hidden away from everyone? This last thought left her to want to just vomit right there on his chair. Deep down, she wanted to. She wanted to throw up her morning soy crackers and goat milk, making a puddle of her own foulness for him to sit in.

  But what scared her—what doused the anger and the disgust, and woke her in the middle of the night covered in sweat—was the last exchange of words she’d had with Harold.

  “You will be mine,” he’d told her at the end of the school day. “Your time to choose someone is coming up.” He’d lifted his piggy nose, sniffing at the air around her. “I know you’re ready; I can smell it,” he’d said, and then snorted a piggy laugh. “Nobody will have you but me. You’re going to choose me.” Sammi felt revolted, and when she’d scoffed at him, his lips had thinned into a menacing sneer. Before she could get away, he’d reached across from where he sat, gripping her arm, pulling her closer to him. Sammi’s body lurched downward, hard and violent. She’d let out a soft cry that was loud enough to turn a few heads in their direction. But the fear that Harold held over the class turned their faces away, as he’d challenged them with a firm look.

  “You will be mine. You will carry my babies, and nobody else’s. And if you choose someone else, someone like Declan, I’ll hurt him. I’ll hurt him bad. And I might just want to hurt you, too.” When Harold let go of her arm, springing her free, he’d laughed an evil sound that had stayed with Sammi for days after.

  As Sammi watched Andie and Declan, she felt the place on her arm where the bruises were still raised and sore. “Ugly boy,” she mumbled, wanting to dismiss his threat as nothing more than his bullying ways. But she was afraid of him.

  “Very good, Andie,” Ms. Gilly answered. “It seems that Harold and his two friends won’t be joining us,” she continued. Sammi thought she saw a hint of relief on Ms. Gilly’s face, and maybe heard a little lift in her voice.

  Declan stepped forward. “Andie, would you please show us what the world used to look like?”

  “Do you mean Earth? Our Earth? Or do you mean another Earth?” Andie hooted and beeped as his head bounced up and down. The younger kids ate it up.

  “Yes, our
Earth,” Declan answered, playfully nudging Andie. A metallic thwack echoed through the room, and all eyes peered forward when the crown of Andie’s globular head began to open. When the opening grew large enough, Andie revealed to the classroom a glassy, dark orb.

  “It’s Andie’s brains!” one of the children screeched. Sammi let out a breathy laugh. She knew it wasn’t Andie’s brains, but she held her words.

  The glassy orb lifted up and above Andie’s head, pointing at the ceiling and the skylights. Then there was silence, except for the low hum that was emanating from somewhere inside Andie. Almost unnoticeable at first, a tiny flicker of light appeared from inside the orb. A few of the children flinched at the lively sight, quieting a moment later when the intensity of the light increased. Over the anticipating chatter of young voices, a low hum crossed the room, and Andie began groaning. Sammi let out a sigh, disappointed and concerned, thinking that maybe it was too much for him; maybe his orb projector was broken. Andie groaned again, and the glassy orb’s light grew brighter. He coughed out another groan, louder than before, and the orb’s light flashed into an illuminated ball of yellow and white, floating inside the glass. A very faint image started to appear above Andie. The electronic photograph was marred with black crevices and covered with scratches and holes.

  “Andie, the photographs are all grainy, and scratchy-looking,” Declan said.

  “Might be some d-dust on my projector lens? Could you please clean me?”

  Declan leaned over and blew on Andie’s glassy orb. A storm of dust particles circled up into the vortex of his breath before falling out of the path of projected light.

  “Oh my, that feels so g-good. Again, again, again!” Andie sang, begging for more. The younger kids laughed. Their eyes fixed on Andie with mesmerized awe. Laughing, Declan blew once more, clearing the remaining dust.

  “Thank you, dear Declan. Now, let me try that again. Here we go!” Andie said, and began to cough and groan, much louder this time. A few of the children covered their ears at the unfamiliar sounds. The light grew brighter, and all eyes widened as their hands fell from their ears.

  Seconds later, a glorious eruption of colors flooded the classroom. Mouths fell open, and all of the children, even the older teens, hushed, except for the sounds that accompany reverence and wonder. It was the same electronic photograph show that Sammi remembered from years before, the one with the butterfly. She searched for the butterfly in the mural of animated light, finding the winged miracle almost within reach of her hand. A sentimental joy and tenderness fluttered inside her. Today was special, for more than a few reasons.

  I feel the butterflies in my belly, Momma.

  With the floating dust pushing in and out of the light atop Andie’s head, the electronic photograph covered the entire room. Sammi focused her eyes past the light, and to Declan. He stood next to Andie with his arms to his sides, hands open and fingers splayed, as though he were supporting the illuminated world enveloping him. He wore the same expression as their classmates: amazement. Even Ms. Gilly had a face of wonder, and stood motionless, taking it all in, enjoying every bit of it.

  With eyes wide, Sammi sat back in her chair and immersed herself in the deluge of vivid, and almost magical, imagery. So much color, she thought, and wondered if it was actually possible to have a world that was so vibrant.

  Sammi found herself holding onto her desk as she viewed an enormous valley in front of her; her perspective was like a bird’s. The sides of the classroom were lined with rocky slopes and hills, leading up to rolling mountains that rose high above Sammi and her classmates. The space in front of her was filled with deep green fields and lush trees. Birds of every feathered shape, color, and size flew across the valley, landing on bowing limbs and leafy branches that stretched in all directions. A tapered creek wound through the curvy hills and into the valley, and Sammi thought that she could almost hear the sounds of rushing water. Sunlight twinkled from the surface of the creek in a feverish dance, causing her to squint a little. She couldn’t remember the last time that anything had caused her to have to narrow her eyes. Puffy white clouds, as considerable as the mountains, slumbered weightlessly, as if by magic; they crossed the rich blue sky, creating terrific shadows that seemed to swallow everything in their path. What Sammi saw next caused a pang of despair, and a feeling of want inside her: she saw the maker of the shadows. It was the sun. Just a hint of it at first; but then, as it slowly emerged from behind a cloud, the brightness filled the room, shimmering in the eyes of the enthralled faces in the classroom. The sliver of orange and white fire grew to a half moon, and then was whole. She didn’t know why, and she couldn’t explain it, but immediately she wanted to cry. It was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen.

  The next electronic photographs were just as powerful. The classroom saw a city. It wasn’t like their city, though. While the remains of their buildings were caked in heavy resin to protect the concrete and the supporting iron from the looming salty fog, the city in front of her had towering glass sculptures, like upright mirrored fingers touching the sky. It was an amazing city, with highways threading in and out, like the spun sheep-yarn in her mother’s knitting basket. There was no ugly, foul-smelling fog. There was no concern for mordant salts invading everywhere and everything, eating at the metals and flattening what had once stood tall.

  Another electronic photograph showed groups of people and families gathering in a vast park. Large blankets made of luxurious materials were laid with care on the groomed lawns. She noticed that some of the blankets bore flashy red colors that matched her unusual hair. Smiling, she reached up and rolled a strand between two fingers; she unexpectedly felt a little less lonely. The blankets were covered with baskets of food. There were mothers and fathers of different shapes, sizes, and colors; a few even resembled her, with the same pale skin, bright eyes, and sun-colored hair. They watched their children, who were running about freely. There was no hesitation when they moved; nobody was afraid to walk or run. There were no worries of stumbling over something, no fear of falling, or of crashing into obstacles that were hidden by the fog. There was just blissful freedom to move.

  The open expanse was greater than any distance that Sammi could ever have dreamed of. Her dreams were always the same as her reality, with fog-laden walks that slowed her step to a mere crawl. She thought of how they measured distance here: by the number of hands you could see before your fingers disappeared into the fog.

  It would take a million hands to cover the distance of that park. As she considered this, the elation she’d felt earlier suddenly drifted away, and she was left saddened by their circumstance. Sammi cast her eyes down at her desk. She’d seen enough. When the sound of crying reached her ears, she knew that she wasn’t alone in what she felt.

  “Thank you, Andie. I think that is enough,” Ms. Gilly said in an anxious tone. As quick as a blink, the world in front of Sammi disappeared, and they were back in their classroom.

  Tabby Wetton held her palms to her face and sobbed.

  “Tabby? Tabby, what’s wrong?” Declan asked, kneeling down so that his face was even with hers. Tabby paused for a moment, but then shook her head, reluctant to lower her hands.

  “Tabby,” he started, and then put his hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “Tabby, it’s okay. Those were images of our world a long time ago.” She lowered her hands, and turned to face Declan. Sammi could see that she’d probably been crying since the beginning: her eyes were swollen, and her cheeks were wet.

  “It’s so big,” she said, her voice shaky and choked.

  “What is?”

  “That world!” she cried. “It’s too big! If the VAC-Machines work today, then how could we ever live in a world that big?”

  Declan consoled her, rubbing her shoulder. Sammi could tell that he was considering what Tabby had said. She was considering it, too. Ms. Gilly, who was tapping a finger to her mouth, must have certainly been considering the profoundness of the little girl’s words. Generati
ons removed from the past, they’d only ever known their world as it was today. What would happen later that afternoon? It would be like lifting a blanket that had covered Earth for centuries. The thought of what might be revealed was frightening.

  “I’m scared, too,” Sammi said, jumping up as questions exploded in her mind. Heads turned. “Tabby, you’re right to be afraid. We don’t know what the world is going to be like when the fog lifts. We don’t know if it can ever be like the world that Andie just showed us. We just don’t know.” She felt the stares and thought they were all feeling it, too: uncertainty.

  Sammi looked to Declan, and he gave her a nod. She turned back to Tabby and continued. “But, Tabby, think about what we could find, and what we’ll be able to do! Think about being able to run, to actually run as fast as we want! Or to look up into the sky! Our sky! Who knows, but maybe the birds will come back? Maybe butterflies? Maybe we can grow our food outdoors, and plant our fruit trees outside. Just maybe we can do better than we’re doing now.” More of the class was nodding, their eyes sharing her enthusiasm.

  “And we’re going to see the sun!” Declan cheered, and began to clap his hands together. The classroom joined in, as did Ms. Gilly. More importantly, Tabby started clapping, too.

  “Okay, class,” Ms. Gilly began, yelling over the raucous cheers, while she thumped her hand against the top of her desk. “We’re calling it an early day so that you can all prepare for this afternoon. We’re about seven hours from the End of Gray Skies. That leaves plenty of time for you to go to your dwellings and do your check-ins with your floor advisors. They won’t mind that it’s early—not today, anyway. But, keep in mind, in seven hours, you’ll want to be with your families and friends, and…” Ms. Gilly stopped mid-sentence. The interruption pulled Sammi’s head up. Grabbing at her mouth, Ms. Gilly seemed overwhelmed by what she was about to say.

  “In seven hours, you’ll want to be with your families and your friends when the sun comes out,” Ms. Gilly finished with a shudder in her voice. Sammi wondered who Ms. Gilly would be standing with. She wondered whom she called family. Surely she had friends, but she had missed her time; she’d never have children of her own.