by D. L. Orton
Like a walk in the picnic, as Mindy would say.
Because no one else knows how to do it, Peter says we’re safe in here. So for the past week we’ve been sleeping on separate piles of blankets inside the west airlock. With a foam pad on the bottom, a blanket in the middle, and a sleeping bag on top, it’s warm and safe.
We haven’t tried the external door of the airlock, but if need be, I’m pretty sure we could get out that way. We do have my biosuit and the rebreathers—I just wish we could come up with a way to test the masks before we have to use them.
I guess we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.
Peter says they used to have a zoo here, sort of like Noah’s Ark with two of every animal, but when the power failed, people started eating them. Still, a lot of the creatures must have escaped because the biodome is full of weird noises at night. When I asked Peter what kind of animals are out there, he just shrugged—but he won’t let me go exploring by myself.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t really mind.
The Wilds are creepy even in the daytime, but after the sun goes down, they’re downright terrifying. When I was little, I was afraid of the dark, but I’ve never lived anywhere it was actually dangerous at night. Even though I told Peter if I wasn’t rescued, I was going to walk back to the Bub, I can’t imagine being Outside after dark. The whole idea gives me the creeps.
I take a deep breath and continue drying my hair.
You’re safe for now, Shaz.
The air in the Wilds doesn’t seem much worse than it was in the Compound. The fire that was burning when I first arrived has gone out, and the smoke has dissipated—filtered out by whatever environmental controls are still working, I assume. I asked Peter if he knows how the fire got started in here, but he just shook his head. He’s hard to read sometimes, and I couldn’t decide if he was telling me the truth—or hiding something from me.
Peter says there are more people living here in the Wilds—the Others, he calls them—but I haven’t seen anyone. He showed me some trash that hadn’t been there the day before—which, as he was quick to point out, could have been left by the wild things.
Very clever wild things, if you ask me.
One of the wrappers we found was folded into a perfect isosceles triangle. When I showed it to Peter, I had to explain who Isosceles was and what his triangles are, but we both knew it wasn’t made by a rat—or any zoo animal.
It’s funny how Peter knows so much about living in the Wilds, but almost nothing about the past.
Sometimes, he asks me about how things used to be. About how we ended up in biodomes, and what the world was like before Doomsday killed almost everyone.
I tell him about the movies I’ve seen and the books I’ve read, but I don’t think I’ve done a very good job of explaining things, because all he says when I’m done is, “That doesn’t sound so smart.”
I know Peter is worried about something—especially at night—and I think it’s the vigilantes looking to avenge his father’s death. But every time I ask him about it, he just shrugs.
I want to get out of this failed biodome more than anything, but if I leave here now, Mom—or whoever shows up to rescue me—won’t be able to find me. I told Peter that, and all he said was, “They better hurry.”
We spend our days exploring what he calls the ghost town—the area with old buildings and houses with broken-in windows. When we find food, tools, or other valuables, we haul them back inside the airlock for safekeeping. I’ve been making a map using a pencil and a piece of cardboard. I mark all the buildings where we find boxes of food, clothing, tools, and such so that we can go back if we need more.
I’ve also started marking the map with the places where we find signs of the Others. Today we found cans opened with a jackknife, so I know it wasn’t the zoo animals eating the baked beans. There are definitely other people hiding out here—and probably watching our every move.
Peter never mentioned it again, but I can tell it worries him too.
Now that we’re on our own, he’s teaching me how to make traps to catch vermin—whatever those are. Once we actually catch one, he’s going to show me how to skin it and roast it. It sounds kind of gross, but useful.
Even without power, the taps are still working, and we’ve been taking hot showers in the changing room next to the airlock. Peter says the water comes from underground wells and is heated by solar panels, but all I know is, it’s divine. He’s also teaching me how to shoot using his compound bow, and that’s totally awesome.
Just the thought of it makes me all tingly inside. Not because I’m Pocahontas or anything, but because of… other stuff.
I’m not very strong yet. So Peter has to help me get the bowstring started. He stands with his arms around me, and I lean against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as I watch the muscles in his arms flex. Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine kissing him again—but he never seems to notice.
We’ve been practicing every afternoon, and it’s my favorite part of the day.
Well, that and the hot showers in the evening.
Water at the Bub was always rationed, and showers there were tepid, short, and rare. Mindy would be so jealous—of Peter and the hot showers.
That’s the one thing I’m going to miss when I finally get out of here.
Peter brought the tubes of sealant with the masks, and the same day we found the camping supplies we also found a huge box of rebreathers. We’ve set up another workshop in a room full of broken-down machines and are fixing more masks. I assumed we’d add the new masks to our store of things for Outside, but Peter said we should give them to the Others. I asked him what they were going to do with rebreather masks if they never go Outside, and he shrugged—and then insisted that we already had three each and could always make more for ourselves later. So, every morning we fix two new ones, leave them in a vise to cure overnight, and then set them out when we find signs of the Others. They’re always gone the next day, and in their place are carrots and potatoes. I think that’s a good sign.
So far, no one’s tried to hurt us or steal our things, and as long as the men don’t come after Peter and me, I think we’ll be okay for a while.
I hope Mom gets me out of here soon…
Peter steps through the airlock door, bringing me back to the present.
He watches me run a brush through my hair—another of our daily scavenging finds—and then turns away. “Anything else you need before I seal the door?”
“No,” I say. “I’m good.”
“Is your mask in your backpack?” he asks, same as he does every night.
“Yes,” I say, just like I do every night, and then add, “I know we’ve been handing them out to the Others, Peter, but we really should test one sooner rather than later. That sealant we’re using is different from what I used at home, and it could be totally useless against the virus.”
“It’s not.” He finishes closing the airlock and starts arranging his pile of blankets on the other side of the room.
“You don’t know that,” I say, a little annoyed that he’s not more concerned.
“Yes, I do.” He looks up, watching me divide my hair so I can braid it.
I’m a bit surprised when, this time, he doesn’t turn away.
“Would you like me to do that for you?” he asks. “Braid your hair, I mean?”
“Um, sure. My mom used to do it before… you know.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, it’s much easier if someone else braids it for me.”
He sits behind me on my bed and runs his fingers through my hair, gathering it into his hand.
“Have you ever braided hair before?” I ask.
“No, but I’ve been watching you for almost a month, and I think I can do it.” He picks up my brush and runs it lightly over the long strands. “And anyway, if it’s bad, you can always undo it.”
I laugh. “You’re the one who has to look at it, Peter. If you don’t like it, you can always try again.”
I shut my eyes, enjoying his touch. “So how do you know the masks work?”
“After you told me about using Wilson to test them at the Bub, I glued two of them together—with a mouse inside.”
“Oh my God! What happened?”
“They worked fine.”
I turn and look back at him, pulling the hair out of his hands. “I mean to the mouse?”
He smiles. “It was fine too. I let it go once I got it back inside.” He stares at me for a moment. “Because I knew that would make you happy.”
I let my gaze move across his face, coming to rest on his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He takes my hair in his hands again and pulls my head back around so I’m facing away. “You never asked.”
I try to turn back around, but he doesn’t let go of my hair. Instead, I cross my arms. “So you only tell me things if I ask?”
He laughs. “Of course not. I told you about my mother, didn’t I? And the Wilds. I tell you a lot of things I never told anyone else.”
“So why didn’t you tell me about the masks?”
“I don’t know, Shannon. Sometimes I just don’t, okay?” He starts braiding my hair, tugging on my head a little as he works the separate strands together.
The mood is spoiled, and I chastise myself for always asking so many stupid questions.
Why do you always have to know everything?
We sit in silence until he finishes—which is very quickly.
I hand him the rubber band, and he wraps it around the end of my braid and releases my hair, done with me.
“Thank you,” I say, wanting to be closer to him—to stay close to him—but not knowing how.
“I was afraid you’d leave if you knew the rebreathers worked,” he says. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
I turn around to face him.
Peter is a weird combination of strength and humility, and when I’m with him, he makes me feel both powerful and protected—often at the same time.
No one has ever made me feel that way before.
“Oh, Peter,” I say. “Just the thought of being without you is enough to make me miserable. In fact the whole time you were braiding my hair, I was trying to figure out a way to keep you from ever being done.”
He blinks at me, looking totally surprised by my revelation.
I shake my head. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“You’re not?”
“Of course not, silly.” I use my hand to check the braid—and just like everything Peter sets his mind to, it’s perfect. “When we leave,” I say, “we’ll go together.” I take his hand and form his little finger around my own. “Pinkie promise.”
He gets a goofy look on his face, but I can tell he likes it.
“You have to say it out loud, or it doesn’t count.” I wait for him to speak.
“I love you, Shannon.”
I stare at him, my heart stuck in my throat. “You do?”
He nods and then rummages around in his backpack. “I have something for you.” He places a small box in my hand.
“What is it?” I ask, half-smiling.
“Just open it.”
Inside is an exquisite silver arrow mounted on a hairpin.
“Oh my God, Peter, it’s beautiful!” I swallow, my eyes filling with tears. “Where did you get it?” I take it out and hold it up in the last rays of sunlight coming through the west-facing window.
“It was my mother’s,” he says.
“Oh, Peter, I can’t…”
He takes the arrow out of my hand and kneels down next to me. He wraps the braid around my head like a crown and pins it with the silver treasure.
I turn toward the gangly, muscled, secretive boy who makes my heart race.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his jaw twitching but not looking away. “But then you always look beautiful.”
I throw my arms around him, pushing him over onto the blankets—and then I kiss him right on the lips.
29
See You on the Other Side
Diego
After lunch the following morning, they let me out of jail—except now I have a 24/7 shadow.
More like a lunar eclipse.
Dave’s goon, aka The Hulk, outweighs me by fifty pounds, all of it muscle. The superhero escorts me back to the hospital and lets me know that I’m not allowed out of the building without Kirk’s approval—no exceptions.
He wordlessly accompanies me to the Vampire Lounge, not looking happy about the assignment.
Later that afternoon, when they take the needle out of my arm and give me grapefruit juice that tastes like it’s been in a metal can for twenty years, Soleil walks in. It’s the first time she’s made an appearance, and the staff is clearly surprised to see her.
And so am I.
She acknowledges my shadow with a nod.
“Dr. Nadales,” he says and gives a crisp salute—which Soleil awkwardly returns.
She sits down on the chair next to mine. “Good to see you back in the thick of things, Mr. Crusoe. Thank you for agreeing—”
“Dr. Nadales!” Nurse Sweet hurries into the room. “You’re needed in the radio room immediately.”
“Can’t it wait until I’ve finished my rounds?”
“No. The Bub has collapsed, and they’re evacuating now. Ted says once they leave, they won’t have radio contact—and he asked me to bring Dr. Kirk and Mr. Crusoe too. The Bub is standing by to speak to all of you.”
“Oh, shit,” I say and start putting on my shoes. “Did they lose anyone?”
“They’re checking now,” Nurse Sweet says. She turns to Soleil. “I’ve sent someone to round up your mother, but she’s…”
“Yes, I know.” Soleil stands and hands her clipboard to a tech. “Has Mr. Kirk been informed?”
Nurse Sweet shakes her head. “Ted’s been trying to contact him all day, but he isn’t responding.”
“Damn it.” She nods at me. “Let’s go.”
The Hulk steps in front of us. “I’m sorry, Dr. Nadales, but Mr. Kirk gave me strict orders not to let Crusoe leave the building.”
Soleil doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Who’s in charge when Mr. Kirk is away, Mr. Erikson?”
The Hulk looks confused.
“Well?”
“You are, ma’am.”
“That is correct. Mr. Crusoe will be accompanying me to the comm building. Is that understood?”
You can almost see the smoke coming out of the guy’s ears, but he doesn’t protest further. “Yes, ma’am.”
We hurry out of the room and down the hall into the elevator, the Hulk right behind us.
“Where can they possibly go?” Soleil asks as the doors close, her face ashen.
The Hulk jabs his hand between the doors and then squeezes in beside me. The elevator groans as we all crowd into the tiny space.
“There’s no room for them at KC,” Soleil says, bringing her hand up to her throat. “And no way to get them to Salt Lake.” She looks at me. “What am I going to tell them?”
“According to Ted, they got inside the Magic Kingdom.” Nurse Sweet eyeballs the Hulk, her forehead wrinkled. “The Bub folks are going there.”
“I thought the place was full of carbon dioxide.” Soleil says. “Is it safe?”
“A small section is on emergency backup,” Nurse Sweet says, “and the air in that part is okay—at least for now.”
“If they get the main power back on,” I say, “it’s simple to restart the filtration system. Christ, if you’d just—”
Soleil raises her hand and shakes her head.
“Okay, right,” I say. “Now is not the time.”
The elevator doors open, and we exit the hospital and hurry across Central Park.
When we get to the door of the radio room, Soleil stops and turns to my shadow. “As soon as I’m done with Mr. Crusoe’s services, I will return him to you. In the meantime, I suggest you g
et a cup of coffee.”
He glances over his shoulder, like she’s talking to someone else, and then hesitates, the cogs turning. “Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I’ll wait right here.”
She nods and I follow her through the door.
The moment Ted sees us, he hails the Bub. “Kirk Biodome, this is C-Bay. Madders, are you there?”
We wait for three or four seconds, and then Ted repeats his call out.
“I’m here,” Matt says, sounding out of breath. “Ignore the background noise. I’m packing up as I talk. Are the others there?”
“Diego here,” I say and sit down in front of the microphone. “And Dr. Nadales is with me. What’s up, Matt? Is everybody okay?”
“We don’t know yet,” he says, “but we have our fingers crossed. We all knew it might come to this, and everyone was carrying a mask, just in case.”
“Good,” I say. “What do you need from me?”
A red light starts flashing in the glassed-in radio room next to ours.
“That must be Mr. Kirk,” Ted says and gets up. “I’ll be right back.” He walks through a door into a separate soundproof booth, and we watch him put on a headset.
There’s some noise on the radio, and then Matt comes back on. “Damn piece of shite. The bolts are rusted on.” He exhales. “Sorry. Things are a bit topsy-turvy at the moment, but I think we’re okay. It’s going to be a bit dark and cramped in the trucks, but we should have enough diesel to get to the mountain—assuming the trucks can make it through the snow.”
“When do you expect to have the power back on?” I ask.
“Kirk assures me he’s working on it,” Matt says. “In the meantime, Lani thinks there’s enough air for the short term—but adding all those warm bodies isn’t going to help the air quality any….”
Ted steps back into the room. “Tell him that Mr. Kirk will be out as soon as he’s done at Catersville. He estimates it may take him a day or two to get to the mountain, but he’ll bring men and supplies.”