Blackout (Darkness Trilogy)

by Madeleine Henry

  Of the twenty-four people left in Dark DC—and however many Shadows lurk around us—no one is here by accident. Harsh conditions kill the weak pretty quick, and everyone left has a special gift that helps them survive.

  My talent is with Magic. I can shoot a yellow-bellied sapsucker in its vital area from across the Mall. Aura can always find water, Burn can carve intricate tools, and Mrs. Brown can track every kind of game. Star’s gift is different: She makes everyone fall in love with her. More than her beauty, something about her essence—her soul, or whatever is at the core of who she is—draws people to her. DZs just want to help Star, and even if she couldn’t hunt or plant, no one would let her go hungry. The newest one to fall under her spell is Spark.

  He sniffles and hugs Star around her neck, burying his face into her shoulder. She nudges him kindly with her cheek, and he raises his head to look at us. Aura is closest to Spark and scoots even closer to him along the sofa. The tired springs groan beneath her. Burn has stopped skinning his kill and stands rapt behind the ironing board. Spark is about to reveal the holy grail of the Dark Zone.

  “We go away a lot,” Spark says. He rubs his watering eyes with the back of his hand. “Mom and Dad keep shelters all over because they say it makes us prepared. We spend time in Dark Arlington. In Dark Virginia.”

  I lean toward him, craning my neck.

  “The Frontmen came to our land there and told everyone they would give us electricity if we gave them people,” Spark says. He breaks down into tears. “So we gave them the people.”

  “Who did your family give them?” Star asks softly.

  “My brother,” Spark cries. His throaty sobs come out thick and full of pain. “Every family that gives someone to the United States gets electricity back to their house. Ask any Frontman. He’ll tell you.”

  Just yesterday, I was sure that the Frontmen were silent. That they always had been and always would be mute. But I heard three guards yell this morning, so I know now what he’s saying is possible. Strange—and unlikely—but possible. I have a hard time imagining Frontmen ever talking to DZs, but I’m starting to doubt my own judgments about them. Part of me believes everything Spark is saying is true.

  “Thank you,” Burn says solemnly to Spark.

  “You’ve been a good boy,” Aura adds.

  Star hugs him gently around his waist. Spark’s arms, still looped around her neck, hold her as if she’s his mother. Star takes his small hand with her mitten and stands. I can tell they’re about to leave, but there’s something else I need to know.

  “Hold on,” I say. Everyone pauses and Star looks nervous. “Spark, your parents said that they weren’t allowed to tell us that. Why not?”

  “The Frontmen told us not to,” Spark says, wiping his eyes. He sniffles again. “They only need fifty people. And they only told a few settlements about it. But I wanted to tell you. You’re much nicer than they are. I ran to the Frontier when I heard the crash and saw Star run out to see what happened and had to tell her. She just was so nice.”

  Star leads him outside, and I start pacing as Spark’s words echo in my mind. Give them people. I want that bright machine, but now getting it feels impossible. I’d never sacrifice a DZ. Not in a million years. Walking back and forth in front of the sofa, I can feel Aura watching me. I don’t meet her eyes and instead study the thin rug passing under my feet. If I look at her, I’m afraid she’ll see how much I want that power, for myself, for Star, for Wick. She would feel let down, maybe even betrayed, that I want so much more than what I have.

  So I stare at the rug. Its worn pattern of interwoven circles looks like the side of an old gray fish. I replay this morning’s events in my head and suddenly it occurs to me that the breach might be related to the electricity exchange. I have no idea how they might be linked, and I have no reason to think that they are, other than these are the only two strange things that have happened in Dark DC for as long as I can remember. At the very least, it’s something to think about.

  Star returns alone and her eyes are gleaming. She clasps her mittened hands excitedly in front of her as if she’s holding something precious. The last time she looked like this, we had just found a full vending machine in the basement of Adelaide Elementary. I took an axe to it, half-euphoric as I imagined downing the brightly packaged foods, but that’s not what Star wanted to do. She wanted to haul the stuff around Dark DC and give the deliciously crinkling bags to everyone else. So that’s what we did. I’ve never seen her more alive than on that night, being able to give such precious gifts.

  And now she has that same look. I know before she admits it that she wants to go talk to the Frontmen.

  *

  The gate has already been rebuilt. I can see it in the distance, the shining new titanium cut into old concrete. Star and I hasten toward it past the stairway entrance to an old subway. I look down and see darkness obscure the bottom stairs, as if the staircase descends into an endless black pit. When the Blackout struck, I hear trains down there stopped mid-ride. What’s left of the commuters is probably still trapped in the underground cars, but I’ve never had the heart to check.

  Star jogs ahead, and I hurry after her. She’s gone into one of her dazes again. I know her well enough that I can tell she expects this exchange will save Wick. The part about having to hand people over clearly hasn’t hit her yet, but she isn’t rational when she gets like this. That’s why I have to protect her. Stop her if she gets too reckless. Closer now, I can see three Frontmen on the ground in front of the repaired gate, and their guns dangle threateningly from straps slung sideways over their shoulders. My eyes widen in surprise, and from Star’s gasp, I know she’s seen them, too. This is only the second time I’ve seen Frontmen standing in the Dark Zone. One green-suited guard holds a clipboard and points at the gate. The other two nod.

  “Hey!” Star calls after them. She breaks into a run. “What happened with the truck?”

  The Frontmen ignore her. I bolt after Star, fast. She can’t just throw herself in harm’s way like this. She repeats herself, yelling with her hands cupped around her mouth as we approach. Nothing changes. She slows to a stop just a few feet from them, and I position myself between her and the guards. I press my palm against her heaving chest, keeping her back. Containing her carelessness for as long as possible. The Frontmen continue to ignore us. They’re all bigger than I am, and Star shows no sign of letting up.

  “What about the exchange?” she asks. “Can you talk about that? Electricity for DZs?”

  The Frontmen stop talking to each other.

  “Carnival request,” one says into his black wristband. “Over.”

  All three of them turn slowly toward us. Their big jaws and broad chins jut menacingly beneath their black goggles. Star rests her hand fearfully on my forearm still pressed against her chest. I can feel her heart pound through her orange parka, but she’s not going to budge. The Star I know will stay here until she gets her answers.

  “Proceed,” a crackled voice orders from his wristband. “Over.”

  Staring at the Frontmen, I gulp.

  “Power will be restored to every residence that surrenders a DZ to the United States of America,” one guard says in a deep voice. “The resident must be between sixteen and twenty-one years of age. He or she may consent to be exchanged for electricity, or two co-residents may consent for him or her. All surrendered residents will be collected on the first day of the new year.”

  I shiver. That does not feel right.

  “What happens to the DZs on the other side?” Star asks.

  The Frontmen turn away from us without answering. Star steps toward them, but I hold her back. Her eyes dart around my head, looking anxiously to where the Frontmen are going. She pushes doggedly against my steadying hand until I catch her eyes and stare her down. This brings her back to reality. Remember yourself, Star. Remember me. I hug her and whisper in her ear that she did all that she could. Sure, we both want the power, but there’s no way we’d thr
ow anyone to the other side just to get it.

  “I love you, too, Phoenix,” she whispers softly.

  We walk back together, but something feels off. Her hand is limp in mine, and she doesn’t seem to hear me when I talk. I don’t mention it out loud, but I get the feeling that Star is holding something back. For now, I’ll let it sit. We can talk more when I see her tonight on the rounds.

  *

  I spend the rest of the day trapping porcupine. Now, it’s early evening, and the entrails need to be made into bait and the bones into tools. Standing over the ironing board at home, I pluck the thin brown-and-white striped quills out of its skin and set them aside in a pile. We’ll use them later as sewing needles. I pull the quills out faster as a wave of anger overtakes me.

  First the Easies abandon us in the dark. Now, they try to tear our families apart. Hatred for the other side heats my blood as I wipe my hands on a nearby towel. A new fantasy of pulling Magic out of my bag by the Frontier plays in my mind. I imagine how the Frontmen would feel if they saw me aiming at them. Maybe they’d finally understand the fear and uncertainty that we’ve put up with for decades on this side of the wall. Hell, if I ever find them again on this soil—they’re doomed.

  “Troublefields!” a shrill voice calls. “It’s Mrs. Campbell!”

  She crosses the porch and enters the living room. My hands are fidgeting with the porcupine, so I can only shrug awkwardly. She sets down her bow and leans against the doorframe. Mrs. Campbell is a tall woman with broad shoulders and a nose like a bird beak. She tends to purse her lips and bob her head up and down throughout conversations, as if every sentence she hears is a sip of precious juice.

  “Did you hear?” she asks.

  The Campbells live farthest away from the center of Dark DC. They should be the last to hear everything, but Mrs. Campbell’s gift is for gossip. DZs tend to be private people, but Mrs. Campbell is a little different. She asks the questions that make you squirm.

  I nod and draw my mouth into a tight line.

  “A breach in the Frontier!” She gawks, shaking her head. “Well, I never.”

  “Yeah,” I say. I pluck a quill.

  “Did you see it?” she asks, leaning closer.

  “No,” I lie. I don’t want to get into anything right now. “I was with Star.”

  “I see,” she says. “How are you two? Happy as always?”

  I pluck another quill. “You know,” I say ambiguously. “The same.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says. “So are you two keeping each other warm at night?”

  Not going to answer that.

  I pluck two quills at once and stab my thumb. A bright-red droplet of blood pools, the brightest thing I’ve seen all day. I sigh in frustration, but not loudly. Sure, she pries too much, but I still can’t hurt her feelings. She’s on the good side of the Frontier after all.

  “Hm, not yet?” Mrs. Campbell digs deeper. “Don’t worry. One of these days, you two will drop all of this romance and just rip each other’s clothes off.”

  This is too much. She doesn’t understand us at all.

  “I kind of have some work to do,” I say gently, hiding my annoyance.

  “Of course,” she says generously. She reaches for her bow. “And when you two get started, I’m happy to answer any questions. You don’t even have to tell Star. It could be our little secret.”

  “Thanks for the tip, Mrs. Campbell,” I say.

  She winks and leaves, considering her news delivered. I jiggle my shoulders to shake off the lingering discomfort. Her scrutiny felt like a collar. It’s almost dusk now, and I can see the dim light fading to black through the cracks in our walls. I pack up the quills in anticipation, wiping my hands on my pants. Soon, everything will be better.

  Darkness settles as I make my way to Silk. It’s always some shade of dark here, always some degree of cold, but everything is worse at night. I stride steadily toward her, fast enough to keep warm. I don’t mean to be early again, but I’m just eager to see her. She seemed pretty shaken this morning, so if she needs me, I want to be there to hold her. You’re warm, I’ll tell her. You’re warm. Maybe she’ll laugh when she hears what Mrs. Campbell thought we were doing last night. Then, when she’s calm, we’ll talk about what’s really on our minds: the reason for the breach and the exchange.

  I’ve arrived. Already, there’s a faint smile on my lips. The strangeness of today has only heightened the pleasure I’ll feel when I see her. My heart beats excitedly against my chest as I imagine kissing her ear and breathing in her smoky scent. I pace outside her door and check for her with every turn.

  I wait longer than usual.

  And she still isn’t here. I pull my wool hat farther down over my ears and stare at her door. Come on, I keep thinking. Come here. Muffled voices rise inside, and it almost sounds as if they’re arguing. The door to Silk is an inch ajar, as always, but there is still no sign of Star. She’s never this late. Something is wrong.

  The outline around her door suddenly flashes yellow. It flickers until the light is steady. I block the beams with my hand and pivot to look away—until I realize what I have seen. My head whips back to stare, and it’s true.

  6

  My jaw drops. I can’t breathe, and my belly caves without air. Numb. That’s all I feel. Numb and hollow. As if this isn’t my life. It’s a dream.

  I’m speechless. I can only stare.

  Cold creeps through my down jacket as I stand immobile on the sidewalk. My shoulders start to shiver. I notice my teeth are chattering and, slowly, I understand that this is real. It’s not a dream. Star actually has electricity, and someone inside Silk will be sent to the United States. There’s only one person it could be, because only one girl in the entire goddamn Dark Zone is selfless enough to throw herself blindly into America. Sure, they have power, but who knows what awaits DZs on the other side. My darker feelings emerge now. Wrath. Intense rage. I sneer at the light and bare my teeth, punching air from inside my pockets. The Easies can’t take Star. I won’t let them.

  I swing the door open so hard it almost rips from the hinges. The same contraption we saw at the library stands in the center of her first floor. I recognize the glowing sphere the way I would something out of a nightmare. If the device were anywhere else, I might be ecstatic, but not here. Not here. It illuminates every corner of the room with light so bright it seems harsh. Almost malicious. This particular metal pole slants slightly, as if it got damaged on the way here. As if the Easies couldn’t care less, and this is all some goddamn joke. Either my anger or the glare has become disorienting, because I’m starting to see red spots, and I have to look at the floor. I can’t let her go.

  I step callously toward the pole and feel the air get warmer. Bending to my knees, I extend my gloves and feel the pole expel hot air through hundreds of pinprick holes. Looking up to my left, I see the Lounge’s door is ajar. Star paces there in and out of shadow. I withdraw my hands, wipe the Easy off on my jacket, and race toward her.

  Even with spillover light, the Lounge is largely dim. Mrs. Windsong sits rigidly on the bar top cloaked in shade, with her thin legs dangling over the edge. She’s always been a fearful woman, quiet like her daughter can be, but she looks different now. Her mouth forms a very thin line beneath cold and beady brown eyes. She grips her bony knees with locked arms, firm and inflexible. As if to say her mind is made up, and there’s no going back. I clench my fists. I won’t back down so quickly.

  “How could you let her?” I demand.

  “The heat will save my son’s life,” Mrs. Windsong says tersely.

  “You don’t even know what he has,” I spit. “None of us do.”

  “I know it gets worse the colder he is,” Mrs. Windsong says defensively. “You don’t know him like I do. This heat is his only chance.”

  I scorn her desperation. She isn’t thinking clearly. She and Star have lost all reason, and I want to flip over the bar. Wick interrupts us with a cough so hard that I worry he might throw
up a lung. His whole body shakes under a thick mound of quilts at Mrs. Windsong’s feet. I can’t see his face, and I doubt he’ll show himself at all tonight. He must be humiliated. He knows how weak this makes him look, and he knows what I think of weakness.

  “He’s suffering,” Mrs. Windsong pleads.

  And now I’m suffering, I think, imagining the agony I’ll feel without Star. But I can’t say any more. It will hurt Star more than she is already.

  Star. She stands off to the side of the room with her back as straight an arrow. I turn to face her and finally meet her eyes. She looks strong and stoic in her parka, but I know her better than that. Inside, she is sobbing. I lunge to embrace her, and she pushes me weakly away. It’s the kind of push that says she doesn’t actually want me to leave. I shove gently past her arms and hug her. Touch her hair. Love the home I am about to lose.

  “You’re making it worse!” Mrs. Windsong cries. I shoot her my darkest look and fill silence with hatred. Wick coughs again as Mrs. Windsong stares me down without blinking. She sits so tensely that it looks like she’s on the verge of breaking. As if that’s all she can do to keep herself from falling apart. I know she’s had to sacrifice one child to save another, but I can’t let myself pity her. She is sending Star into the unknown—and away from me.

  “Phoenix,” Star whispers into my ear, “I’m so sorry.”

  That gets me. She shouldn’t feel bad. My eyes flicker over her shoulder to a strange box behind the bar. In the dim glare, it is glossy and white. The top lies open to reveal mounds of black tissue paper. Something Easy. Probably came with that electric thing, but I can’t care about that now. I look back into her blue eyes and see that there is no changing her mind. Even though it means parting with me, she feels compelled to leave. I can feel the determination behind her sadness. I swallow a lump in my throat and accept that I can only love her until they tear us apart. I don’t know what else I can do.

  “How long do you have?” I ask her. We fixate on each other, our noses just three inches apart. I hold her small chin in my hand.