“I’m glad Grandpa Joe believes me.” I know immediately I shouldn’t have said this.
Dad’s jaw flexes, and he tilts his head down like a bull ready to charge.
“Your grandfather has taken his hobby too far. I don’t like it, and I don’t want any more of it in this house.”
I hold my breath and glance at the prepper book on my desk. Dad follows my gaze.
Please don’t take it away. Please, I recite in my head.
“You don’t need this stuff.” He grabs the book. It’s full-on censorship in the Dross house.
“Don’t,” I mumble, but can’t say any more without crying.
He stands, still clutching my book, and then steps closer to me. He holds out an arm like he’s going to hug me. I turn away.
“I love you, Eleanor. Good night.”
I don’t speak. I don’t look at him. I hear the door close.
He’s cut me off from what I need most.
I shove my math textbook off my bed, no longer in the mood for homework. Bubbles flinches at the noise. When I sniff, she jumps on the bed to check on me.
“We can’t let him stop us.” I hug my dog. Then I grab my computer and try the website using three different browsers. I can’t get through.
I text Londyn.
ME: My dad has blocked me from the website
LONDYN: Why?
ME: He doesn’t believe.
And until he does, it’s up to me and Grandpa Joe and Londyn. We have to keep this going and not worry about the consequences. Survival is all that matters.
I’m in serious website withdrawal—it’s been over a week. Between classes, I corner Londyn in the girls’ bathroom and beg her to invite me to her house. Her family doesn’t practice censorship.
“Don’t you have to watch your brothers?” she asks.
“They don’t get off the bus until three-fifteen. I can still be home in time. I just need twenty minutes on a computer that isn’t locked down with parental controls.”
“I’m not really allowed to have people over.”
“Please. It’s important.”
“I don’t know. I should ask my aunt first.” Londyn chews on a fingernail.
“Then call her. Or text her. Now!” We have two minutes until our next class. There’s no time to waste.
“She sleeps during the day,” Londyn says.
“Do you not want me to come over?” I try to get her to look at me, but she’s focused on the mirror over my shoulder. “You’ve been to my house thousands of times.”
“Fine! You can come over!”
* * *
• • •
Londyn’s aunt is getting ready for her night shift when we arrive. She takes two seconds to say hello and then hurries off to make her lunch, which will be more like a late dinner.
“Where’s your mom?” I ask Londyn.
“Probably her room. She’s always in there.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Sleeping. Doing nothing. We leave her alone. That’s what she wants.”
I want to ask why. Is she sick? Is she mad? But it’s clear Londyn doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe she doesn’t know why.
“Is your dad here?” As soon as I ask the question, I realize she’s never mentioned him once.
“What’s with all the questions? I thought you came over to use my computer, not write my biography.”
Note to self: don’t ask Londyn about her family. It makes her more rabid than usual.
I follow Londyn down a hallway and into a bedroom. The walls are a light yellow. The bedspread has a sunflower design and a bunch of round lacy pillows. On the wall are framed landscapes. I spot a school copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn on the nightstand, a worn basketball near the bed, and the dual-band radio Grandpa Joe gave her in the corner. We’ve hardly used the radios since Christmas break.
“Is this your room? Because it looks like something my aunt Maggie would love. She has lacy towels in her guest bathroom, but you’re not supposed to use them. They’re for show only.”
“Shut up. And stop with the questions. This is not my room.” She turns away from me to power up her computer—it’s a huge old desktop. In the corner, there’s a hamper filled with black clothes. This is definitely her room. At least for now.
She opens the website and then gestures to the kitchen chair in front of the computer, which is set up on a folding table.
“Thanks.” I take a seat and start reading.
RUSSIANS EXPLORING TECHNOLOGY TO BLAST ASTEROID OFF COURSE
Scientists at the Russian Federal Space Agency have created a nuclear-fueled rocket that may be capable of altering the path of an asteroid or a meteoroid. Unfortunately, the range of this technology is not sufficient to clear us from danger. The gravitational pull from Earth and the sun will correct any temporary deflection caused by the Russian craft. Even if the rocket were fitted with missiles (nuclear or other explosive materials), the size of 2010PL7 and the space environment—or lack of environment—would not result in obliteration of the asteroid. A fragmented NEA would still be on a collision course with Earth.
The post went up only three hours ago, but already there are over one hundred comments. I scroll through them quickly. Most are supporting Dr. Cologne and offering to assist by writing emails and making phone calls. A few comments are insults. One stands out.
You’re an idiot. This program was announced three years ago and has NOTHING to do with YOUR asteroid. You’re a quack who’s spreading lies.
Dr. Cologne responded directly to the comment. He doesn’t do this often.
The research began years ago. If you took the time to read the article I shared, you’d know that the Russian government funneled an additional twenty million dollars into the program this week. Perhaps you think this a twenty-million-dollar coincidence.
For the next fifteen minutes, I read as fast as I can, trying not to miss anything important. I need hours (and a faster internet connection), but I’ve only got minutes to learn the fate of Earth. My heart races like I’m an undercover agent defusing a ticking bomb.
When I click a link about the difficulties of making orbital calculations, the computer freezes, and I bang the mouse against the table in frustration.
“Whoa, take it easy,” Londyn says.
“Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” She lies on her sunflower-covered bed, tossing the basketball in the air.
“I just don’t get how this isn’t on the front of every newspaper in the world.”
“Is there a location for impact?”
“Not yet.” I twist in the chair to face her. “If the asteroid’s target is here, there’s not much we can do. If it’s farther away, a basement can be pretty secure. But it won’t make a difference if Hamilton is the bull’s-eye. The craters from other strikes are miles wide and thousands of feet deep.”
“Are you trying to comfort me?” She stops tossing the ball and stares out the window.
I shrug.
“Well, don’t. Because you’re bad at it.” She hugs the ball to her chest. “And I’m not worried about me.”
“Who, then?” I know she only wants to scare the kids at school.
“No one. Never mind.”
I narrow my eyes like I can figure it out if I focus hard enough.
“Don’t you have to go?” She motions with her chin to the clock on the nightstand.
Londyn is obviously uncomfortable with me in her room. Or maybe she’s just uncomfortable with herself in this room. I show myself out.
I decide to change up things for the next Nature Club meeting. We’re heading outdoors and away from the comforts of Mrs. Walsh’s classroom. I send a group text message.
ME: bring 2 empty milk jugs to nature club
&nbs
p; ME: gallon size
ME: don’t ask me why
ME: I’m not telling
And everyone but Londyn (and Brent, who’s not on the chat) asks. I ignore them. They’ll find out tomorrow.
* * *
• • •
“And what will you be doing outside?” Mrs. Walsh asks as the rest of the group files into the room. It’s February and about forty degrees out. I don’t think she’s eager to stand in the cold and babysit us.
“We’re going to exercise,” I explain.
“And that’s part of ‘Nature’ Club how?” She does air quotes around the word nature. My stomach drops. She’s onto us.
I shrug. “Humans are part of nature. We’ll do a few exercises and then check our pulse. Then drink some water and do it again.” I try to make it sound like a legit science experiment.
“That’s a very loose interpretation of nature, but okay.” She nods. “Stay in the track area so I can see you from here.”
“Thanks.”
I join the rest of the crew. I didn’t warn them to wear sneakers or dress in sweatpants, because running in our regular clothes might be a good lesson.
“Hey, Eleanor,” Jade says. “What are we doing?” She’s wearing cute black boots that have a little heel and a denim skirt with leggings. This is not going to be her day.
“Why do we need these?” Wyatt holds up his jugs.
I wave everyone over into our usual huddle. They’re used to it by now.
“Today we’re going to talk about one thing that every prepper should be doing, but most don’t.”
“Building a bunker,” Spencer says. Then he pushes up the sleeves on his sweatshirt like he’s literally about to start working.
“No. And every time you talk about bunkers, I think you should give each of us a dollar.”
“I like that idea,” Jade says.
“We’ll be rich,” Londyn adds. “Do you have a college savings account? Because we’ll be taking it.”
Spencer crosses his arms and pretends to be mad.
“What we need is to be physically ready. We need to be in shape. Because AI—after impact—we won’t be spending our days staring at teachers and doing worksheets. We’ll be on the move.” I pump my arms like I’m running.
“Elle,” Mack says. “Are you actually suggesting we exercise?”
“Yes.” He knows my three least favorite things are sweating, pain, and coconut-flavored snacks, and exercise involves two of those.
“Why did you tell us to bring empty milk jugs?” Ajay asks, holding one in each hand.
“You’ll see. Fill ’em up, grab all your stuff, and then meet me on the track.” We line up at the sink in the back. I go first, and then Mack. We say goodbye to Mrs. Walsh and head to the school’s back door.
Soon as we step outside, my teeth chatter. The sky is gray, and the clouds are low. Wind blows my hair straight back. I pull on my hood and tie it.
“Wow. When did we move to the North Pole?” Mack asks.
“Get used to it. We could experience years of impact winter.”
“I’m beginning to think this asteroid might be bad news.”
When everyone gets to the top of the track, I give them the next instructions. “Zip up. Put on your backpacks. Grab your water. One gallon in each hand. And run two miles. Go!”
No one moves. They all stare at me.
“But two miles is eight times around the track,” Ajay says, in case I didn’t know.
“You can’t be serious,” Londyn says. “You hate running and almost strangled Mack when he suggested doing a 5K.”
“Guys, this is important. It’s not going to be like gym class, where you carry nothing, wear the right clothes, and only go outside if the weather is nice. You’re going to be running for your lives!”
“Running from what? The asteroid?” Jade puts down her gallons of water and blows into her hands.
“What happened to global warming, Jade?” Dominic asks, pulling his hood so it covers everything but his nose.
“We’re not running from the asteroid. This is AI. We’re running from the aftermath.” I jog in place, and no one else moves.
“I’m going inside,” Wyatt says. “This club has gotten too weird.”
I need to find a way to motivate them. “Wait! Imagine this. It’s a week after. You’ve been in your house the whole time. You can’t go out at first because the acid rain would eat through your skin.”
Ajay gasps. And Dominic fake gasps.
“But the rain has stopped.” I hold up a hand. “This is your chance to go out and get water for your family. You don’t know when the acid rain will start again, so you have to move fast. You’ll need to run like your life depends on it because it does. Now give me one lap!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Londyn says, and she’s the first to take off. Her two water jugs pull her arms down unnaturally.
Jade and Izabell follow, and then the rest except Ajay and Mack.
“I have a question, Eleanor,” Ajay says. “If it’s been raining acid, where are we going to find clean water? Where are we running to?”
“I don’t know. A well. Just run, Ajay.”
“Okay.”
I offer Mack my arm, and he grabs my puffy coat above the elbow. We jog, each of us carrying only one container.
“I can’t believe you’re running when you don’t have to,” he says.
“What do you mean, I don’t have to? Of course I have to.” I just shake my head. How does he expect me to be ready if I don’t train?
Mack and I are the last to get back to the starting point. We’ve run only one lap, not two miles like I wanted. My lungs ache from the cold air, but now is not the time to quit.
“This time…” I pause to suck in some more oxygen. “It’s a month after and someone has broken into your supplies and stolen your last box of beef jerky.”
“I hate beef jerky,” Jade says.
“I don’t eat meat,” Ajay adds.
“Whatever,” Londyn says. “Just go with it.” She doesn’t sound out of breath at all.
I put down my water jug and motion for everyone else to do the same. Except Londyn; I tell her to keep one.
“You need to catch that person or your family won’t eat. They’ll starve. They’ll die.” I pause to look everyone in the eyes, and to catch my breath. “And that thief who has stolen from you and who has put your loved ones at risk is Londyn Diggs.”
“What? Me? Why me?”
I lean close to her and whisper, “Start running.”
“Oh.” And she does.
“Get her!” I yell. “Get the thief. Feed your family.”
Spencer yells and sprints after Londyn likes he’s storming a castle. Everyone else follows and screams like we’re a crazed mob, which I guess we kind of are.
Mack is on my arm again and laughing. We have no chance of catching Londyn. Even with her carrying the water. She’s fast and determined.
When she gets back to the top of the track, she doesn’t stop. She’s got us doing laps, which was what I wanted to begin with. I’d smile, but the cramp in my side is forcing me to clench my teeth.
“Breathe, Elle,” Mack reminds me.
“I am!”
We are running at a pace that’s barely faster than walking speed. Soon, Londyn is more behind us than in front of us.
“I don’t think we’re getting our beef jerky back,” Mack jokes.
I grunt my agreement. My side hurts. My lungs are frozen. My toes are throbbing. I wish this had been someone else’s idea so I could scream at them.
Londyn comes up behind us. “So what torture do you have planned for the next meeting? Maybe we can throw javelins at each other.” She seems to be the only one in shape.
“Don’t do a
nything too fun,” Mack says. “I won’t be there.”
“Swimming?” I can only manage a one-word question.
“No. I’m visiting the Conrad School.”
It feels like a punch to the gut. He hasn’t mentioned that school in forever. It was before Christmas at least.
I stop running and yank him back. “Why?”
Londyn shrugs and keeps moving. She’s not going to let anyone catch her.
“I’m going to end up there eventually. If not next year, at least part of high school.”
I get in his face. “What are you talking about?”
“What?” He tries to step around me. “Dude, we should be running. We need to set a good example.”
“Mack, stop. You aren’t going to the Conrad School.” My lungs, feet, and side no longer hurt. But my face burns.
“Are you forbidding me?” He forces a laugh. “Will you kidnap me? Lock me up?”
“The asteroid!”
He stops laughing. “I know about the asteroid.”
Jade and Spencer pass us. They slow down. I know they’re trying to hear what we’re fighting about.
“Then why are you looking at that school? It’ll be closed down after SHTF. If it is miraculously open, it won’t have electricity or clean water. There’s no way your parents are sending you.”
“But what if it doesn’t happen? We should be prepared for that too.”
I flinch. Where is this coming from? If he doesn’t take it seriously, he’ll never survive.
“You don’t believe Dr. Cologne?” I ask.
“I totally believe him. Like with ninety-five percent certainty.”
“Ninety-five? How is that totally believing?” My voice catches in my throat.
“Okay. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s right.”
More kids run past. From the corner of my eye, I can see Londyn at the top of the track.
“Elle, I have to visit the Conrad School. I have to do it for my parents. Doesn’t matter what I believe.”
The World Ends in April Page 14