“It is, but let’s keep moving,” he answered, and passed her through the opening. Sammi lifted the earthy substance up once more, oddly delighted by the smell, and then met Declan inside.
Once they were back on their feet, she stared in awe at the room and its size. Ragged openings stretched across the decorated ceiling where the roof opened up, letting gray light bleed into the theater. Sammi wondered how many years the room had stayed closed off from the outside before the roofline finally ruptured. She watched the fog passing over the building like ancient clouds, yet none of the salty mist seemed to breach the openings—at least none that she could smell or taste.
A terrible thought came to her then. Could the boys have gotten on the roof? She briefly wondered, but then dismissed the thought, confident that she and Declan were safe. She only wished that she could as easily dismiss the pain gnawing at the middle of her back. She tried to stretch out the painful tension growing beneath her shoulders, then glanced over to see Declan’s grinning face staring forward.
Though his smile was sweet, the mess they’d been through had left a pulpy jumble of blood and dirt on his face. Sammi turned to him and used the cuff of her sleeve to wipe away the grime. When he winced, she pulled her hand back and offered a quick apology, promising to be more careful. As she continued to clean, Declan became quiet, and for a moment, she did nothing except return his gaze. Her knees became weak, and a warm flush crept over her cheeks while his eyes gazed into hers.
Declan leaned in, and before Sammi could say anything, he kissed her. She dropped her arms as his lips moved over hers. He placed his hands behind her, resting them on the small of her back. She didn’t know why, but she loved when he touched her there. She loved it even more when he opened his hands and tightened his hold on her. She let herself fall against him as his fingers gripped her, pressing tighter until she thought he’d pick her up into his arms. The skin on his face was hot, but it wasn’t from the excitement of the moment. Declan lifted his head just enough to break the kiss, and covered one of his bruised eyes. He shook his head, smiling, and raised his brow, as though apologizing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and gently rested her fingers on his. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He pecked her lips with his. “Just got a little carried away. How about we take a look around, and see what’s inside?”
Anxious to explore, Sammi hurried a nod of her head before turning back to the theater. Toward the front, she saw a long narrow stage with a broad yellowing screen that reached as high as the ceiling. It seemed to loom over the theater seats, like a fretful parent guarding its young.
“That’s where they showed the moving pictures. ‘Movies’, they called them,” she mumbled to him.
Sammi watched Declan follow the screen, turning his head, taking in the size. The huge canvas was torn and tattered, like the ceiling, but, to Sammi’s delight, it was still in place and standing. In the back of the theater, a balcony lifted high above them, a survivor of centuries of fog. A lonely set of stairs leading upwards stood against the far wall.
Row upon row of antique theater seats curved around the screen; the crescent pattern reminded Sammi of their classroom, only this was much larger. She imagined that, at one time, the seats had been plush and cushioned. But years had aged them, decaying the fabric until there were only strands of rotting cloth left to hang from the wooden frames. In large sections of the floor the chairs were missing altogether, leaving behind rusted metal posts that stuck up out of floor. The posts were tapered and sharp, like the stabbing ends of the spears that she’d seen dancing above the hunting teams when they gathered for an excursion.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Sammi asked, recalling Declan’s question. She laughed at the sound of her own voice as it echoed against the far wall. Declan jerked his head around, widening his eyes. He chuckled and motioned towards the entrance. “I think it’s safer in here than it is out there.”
Sammi thought that surely Harold and the boys had gone well past the theater by now, and maybe they were still running. But there was no predicting them, no understanding Harold and his meanness. He might have discovered that they were in here, and decided to wait outside. This last thought soured the moment, but Sammi shrugged it away. She took Declan’s hand and led him to the stage in front of the screen.
“Come up here and sit,” she offered, jumping onto the aged platform. The wood planks creaked and moaned under her weight. For a moment, she thought the flooring would give, but it held. Declan’s expression showed wariness as he fixed a stare at the stage.
No trust there, Sammi thought, and then bounced her feet in mini hops to assure him that the stage was safe. She wasn’t completely sure of it either, and was relieved when she didn’t crash through.
As Declan looked on, studying the narrow platform, Sammi wondered what she must look like, standing atop the stage, bouncing up and down. She thought of the imagery that Andie had showed them, and of the great park where teens their age had played games: some running, some lying on the grass. She thought of all the different types of clothing, the many colors and styles, no two the same. She considered the coveralls she wore, and how she hated them. She loathed their drabness. Sammi reached up to pinch the lock of hair she’d pinned into a tidy bow.
“A little bit helps,” she mumbled.
An image came to her mind of one of the young teenage girls that had been playing in that park. The girl was around her age, but looked so different: so feminine, elegant. Compared to what Sammi wore, this girl’s clothes had been dreamy. Sammi liked the girl’s pink shirt, and how it was cut low in the front. She liked the girl’s short pants, and the braided belt that had wrapped around her waist. It was decorative. It was beautiful.
A pang of insecurity bit at Sammi, and she stopped bouncing on the stage. She thought about the girl’s long blonde hair, and how neatly it had been pulled back over her head. What if she could do something like that too? Sammi tried combing her fingers through her hair, grimacing at a few stubborn knots as they broke free. She tried to tidy her coveralls, wiping away the dirt and grime, as well as some flecks of blood.
As she continued playing with her hair, Declan turned a curious eye.
I’ll never look like those girls, Sammi thought, and wished that she and Declan were in a different time. She pinched the lock of red hair again, and felt a little better for having tried; but she also felt self-conscious, and hoped that Declan could see past what couldn’t be helped.
“You look beautiful up there,” Declan told her, taking her hands so she could help him onto the stage.
She let out a quiet sigh, embracing his words. Her self-conscious feelings settled, and then were gone. She loved that he could do that. When Declan was seated across from her, and she was certain that they were safe, she took from one of her coverall pockets a small candle, along with her father’s flint lighter. The candle had been a gift for her seventeenth birthday, given to her a few days early by her mother. Declan pitched his chin forward, his mouth open with surprise.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, reaching out to touch it. Sammi offered it to him, and he picked it up with care, rolling the candle to see all of it. He gently rubbed the glass holder and the waxy drippings. “I’ve never seen one up close.”
“I got it for my seventeenth birthday. It is a big birthday, don’t you think?” Sammi asked with a shudder in her voice. The butterflies fluttered awake, tickling her insides. I’m going to choose him. She felt the words inside, pressing against her lips, pushing to come out. “Declan, I’m going to be seventeen,” she continued. He set the candle down, and lifted her chin with his fingers. The butterflies played a fickle game, leaving her both nervous and excited.
“I know it’s going to be your seventeenth birthday. I’ve been watching the days for as long as you have,” he answered. She thought his voice sounded confident, and maybe a bit cocky, but she didn’t mind. “Are you going to tell me your secret, now?”
>
Sammi liked that he knew. She maybe even loved it. As she formed the words that she wanted to say, she peeked at her birthday gift, and remembered how romantic she thought the candlelight would be.
“How about a game, first?” she blurted, and then was quick to add, “It’s a good game.” Declan straightened, agreeing. With her father’s flint lighter, she brought a flame to the wick of her candle.
Bright glints of yellow and red bounced in their eyes and painted warm colors on their skin. Sammi carefully placed the candle behind them, so that they sat between the candlelight and the movie screen. The light formed giant shadow images of them on the screen. Declan laughed, and waved his hands. Sammi joined him, as the two mimed a shadow story. It was the first story to be played out on the big screen in what might have been centuries.
“How did you know to do that?” Declan asked, splaying his fingers in front of the candlelight.
“My father showed me. When our dwelling was dark enough, he taught me this,” she began, and, with her fingers, she formed the shape of a bird. “This is what birds looked like… when they used to fly,” she added, flapping her finger wings. The shadow bird flew around the screen, avoiding the rips and gashes, and landed on the shadow perch of Declan’s head. He laughed some more, and put his hands together in front of the candlelight. He spread his hands, trying to mimic the shadow bird. When he couldn’t form the shape of the wings, Sammi took his hands into hers, and formed the wings with him.
“Like this?” he asked in a whisper.
Again, the butterflies teased her belly, but this time, she felt something more, something that tingled more deeply inside of her. She continued to feel anxious and excited at the same time. Heat lifted from under her coveralls, rising on her neck and face. Biting her lower lip, she set her eyes on his, and watched the reflection of the candle’s flame sway in a sultry dance, inviting her in.
Sammi placed Declan’s warm hand on her breast, and answered, “Like this.” Her heart pounded and raced when she felt his touch. Her nipple rose beneath his fingers, while his lips pressed against hers. She pushed his hand harder against her chest, squeezing it as their tongues touched.
When the distant sound of a bell reached their ears, Sammi dropped Declan’s hand and began to straighten herself. Alarm showed in Declan’s eyes when he heard it. Worry had replaced excitement.
The bell that had chimed was their Commune bell. It wasn’t ringing for half past the hour, or for the full hour, it was ringing for the daily check-in: the one that no Commune member was allowed to miss. Urgency doused the aroused feelings inside her as she snuffed the burning wick and packed the candle away. The distant bell rang twice more, and she saw the urgency catching, as Declan handed her the flint lighter and readied himself. If she was right, then they had maybe fifteen minutes before check-in to reach their dwellings. If the fog was thick, then they could fall prey to a late check-in.
“Declan, we have to go!”
“Sammi, I know,” he answered sharply.
She felt a pang of hurt from his tone. When she paused, he took notice. “I’m sorry… I know we have to go,” he said more softly. “I’ve been late once this month already.”
Sammi cupped her hand to his face, and before she could stop it, the words were out. “I love you, Declan.”
The bell rang again, but this time, Declan ignored it.
He held her hand. “I love you, too. I think I’ve always loved you.” He kissed her, then. “The secret… you have to tell me!”
But Sammi was already certain that he knew. The bell rang twice more, interrupting them as she drew a breath to answer.
“Meet me here, later, before the End of Gray Skies. I’ll ask then, and… well, maybe we can light my candle again,” she said, hinting with a wry smile. She thought from his expression that he understood.
As if in response, his fingers stroked the back of her hand. “An hour after check-in, meet me here. Okay?”
Sammi nodded, and he added, “That will give us plenty of time before the End of Gray Skies.” Sammi’s heart felt fuller. Within hours, her life was going to change forever. It wasn’t just the End of Gray Skies, either: it would be the beginning of the rest of her life with Declan.
They crawled back through the wall, meeting a heavy pocket of fog that quickly surrounded them. Sammi gripped Declan’s hand, linking their fingers together, and guided them back to the morse lines, then toward their dwellings. Though she thought they would make it in time without being late, they ended up missing the Community check-in by one ring of the bell. The floor advisors marked them for their tardiness; but to both Sammi’s and Declan’s relief, that only meant a little cycle time to support recharging the building’s energy cells. It was nothing compared to the bigger things that were on their minds.
6
Amid the bustle and commotion of their building’s courtyard, Sammi squeezed Declan’s hand and mouthed, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Hearing Sammi’s words aloud felt good. Declan pulled in a breath, preparing to share the fond thought, but before he spoke again, she’d let go of his fingers. Remains of her warm touch stayed with him as she started the walk across the courtyard—the yard, as they liked to call it. She turned back once, raising a single finger high above her, signaling for one hour. Declan nodded and waved. When she turned away, her figure melted into the crowd. If not for her red hair bouncing along with her graceful gait, he would have all but lost sight of her. He glanced around at all that was familiar to him: the people, the smells. He was home.
A workman yelled, pulling Declan’s attention to the upper floors. Some of the workers hung from balconies—tethered for safety—busily adding a new coat of resin. The End of Gray Skies didn’t alter their routine: sun or no sun, the protective coating was put on. Even from where Declan stood, he could smell the hot resin. He clutched his upper arm where the sleeve of his coveralls was still bare. By this time next year, he’d be wearing his first arm band. That meant it could be him hanging up there, applying the resin. After all, their building had survived centuries, but only through the accumulation of resin-coated concrete and steel.
Declan’s stomach jumped into his throat as he tried to imagine himself hanging up there. He shook his head, knowing that he’d have to find some other work. Maybe he’d work in the lower levels, managing the communications, or he could work the Commune’s energy distribution. He wiped his brow, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed about his future… about their future. Sammi’s secret. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be starting a family.
“I’ll find something, Sammi,” he mumbled, stretching on his toes to catch a glimpse of her. When he couldn’t find her, he dropped back down, and chuckled then, thinking that he could always work for the bureau that recorded births and deaths. Suddenly hanging from the balconies didn’t seem all that bad. “Whatever it takes, Sammi.”
But, while there was a thrill in knowing Sammi’s secret, at the same time there was something that concerned him. Couples were struggling to get pregnant—for many, their time to conceive was ending without a child. There were fewer babies in the Commune, with some stolen, still wearing the swaddling blankets they’d been wrapped in. Declan knew the story about one baby being fought over on the infirmary floor after the death of another infant; both couples had tried to claim the surviving child. There were even a few couples that had been exiled from the Commune, banished to live among the Outsiders, for taking a child that wasn’t theirs.
In the past year, Declan had often heard his father and mother talk about problems with the Commune’s population. He’d heard them speak about pregnancies that had abruptly ended, leaving couples grief-stricken and heartbroken. They’d also talked about the shortage of pregnancies, as though there had been some unreachable number that had been set generations before them. Declan clearly remembered one evening when his mother talked of a report that she’d developed. The Commune’s population was dropping, she said, and the discrepanc
y was large. And she claimed that within the next couple of decades, there wouldn’t be enough of a younger generation to sustain the Commune.
Declan wiped his brow, ridding his face of any worry. Sammi didn’t need to know what he’d heard his parents talking about. She didn’t need to worry, either. Instead, he thought of past celebrations: the announcements and the births. A birth in the Commune was always celebrated. On the rare occurrence of the birth of twins, the news even reached as far as the end of their region. He hoped that one day it would be Sammi and him celebrating.
A chaos of children’s footsteps thundered past him into the yard. Squealing and playing, free of tether straps and of parents guarding over them, the kids ran in circles, kicking off a game of fast-tag. Small hands wrapped around Declan’s legs when two children decided to use him as an obstacle in their chase. He cringed when a hand pushed off from his knee, but was still quick to laugh at the collection of happy feet pattering against the slate floor.
The yard was filled with traders and market sellers, pushing their crafts and wares onto anyone who was willing to swap goods, or make a purchase using food vouchers. Every worker received a weekly stipend, and most of it went toward food. Declan’s mom had been masterful at the art of buying and trading. Fond memories warmed him as he pictured her moving from table to table, haggling over prices and making deals.
He recognized some of the folks behind the tables. They came from different floors, and spent part of their days working the yard. At one table, a worker from the engineering floor showed off fluoro-phosphor lamps; a nearby toddler tethered to his father giggled and clutched his fists at the air, trying to grab a glowing lamp, while the engineer juggled it up and down out of his reach.
Another table sold fresh vegetables and fruit. Declan sought out the red apples from the table, and his stomach grumbled. He was hungry. Declan’s eyes lifted when he saw the goat cheese: a massive chunk, ready to be served. He could almost smell it from where he stood. Another gnawing turn in his belly spurred a hunger pang and his mouth watered at the sight. It wasn’t often that cheese was available, and he was sure that it would be gone by the End of Gray Skies.
Endure: Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 2 (Caustic) Page 6