by D. L. Orton
“Yep. Trained him myself.” She ruffles the fur on his head and then picks up a couple of empty plastic jugs and hooks the handles on to the bungees.
“For gas,” she says, picking up a metal bucket and securing it to the trailer as well. “And water.”
“Smart woman.” I give the scooter a quick shake to make sure the tank is full—it is—and then climb on and start it up. It coughs, chuffs out a cloud of black smoke, and sputters to life. Bearhart barks, but doesn’t jump off.
I swing my leg over the scooter and rev the engine.
Bella hops on behind me and wraps her arms around my chest. It’s not an unpleasant experience.
“Let’s go!” she says.
I notice that she’s still holding the gun—and that it’s pointed right at my crotch.
That is not going to end well.
I ease the Glock out of her fingers, checking that the safety is on, and stick it in my jacket. I turn my head to make sure she hears me. “If you need it, it’s in my pocket.”
She nods and loosens her hold a little, her head resting against my shoulder.
I release the kickstand. “Hasta la vista, baby.”
The dog barks, and I gun the engine.
The scooter lurches forward, weaving and sputtering like a drunken sailor.
Bella lifts her head, looking back at the biodome—which is not getting smaller as quickly as I’d hoped. “I found David’s Humvee,” she says.
I steal a glance back.
The massive black SUV is parked by the west loading dock, and camo biosuits are pouring out of the airlock all around it.
“Shit.”
I spot the security gate on the other side of a huge percolation pond. The road leading up to it curves around the lake like a big U. I head in that direction.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Bella asks.
“Not unless you want to jettison the trailer,” I say and then get an idea. “Hold on! I’m going to take a shortcut!”
I make a hard right off the road, Bearhart barking as we crash through the weeds.
“I knew I should have driven,” Bella says.
I gun the engine and we shoot up onto the raised levee that surrounds the pond. It’s made of hard-packed gravel and it doesn’t look like anyone’s been on it in years because the place is crawling with snakes.
“Oh, God,” Bella says, lifting up her feet.
I lay on the horn, and hope to hell the big ones aren’t poisonous.
“We’re not going to make it,” she says, glancing back at the SUV.
“Don’t be a spoilsport.”
I do the calculation in my head: If we’re doing 20 mph, and they have to drive three times as far… it’s going to be close.
“Can you shoot out their tires?” I ask.
“Are you serious?” She leans sideways, staring at me. “I couldn’t hit the broadside of a dirigible from this distance, let alone a tire. People only do that sort of thing in James Bond movies.”
“Well, you could at least try,” I say.
She holds up her fingers like a pistol, aims them at the SUV, and says, “Pow. Pow.”
“Very funny.”
She puts her arm back around me. “At least this way I don’t have to worry about killing someone by accident.”
“You do have a point,” I say. “You got any better ideas?”
She lets out a squeal as I run over a particularly large snake.
“Sorry, buddy.” I hit the horn and then shout, “Get your asses out of the way, will you?”
“Snakes lack the anatomical equivalent of an ass, Mr. Crusoe. Perhaps that’s why they’re ignoring you.”
“Hah. And will you stop calling me that?”
“This is a shit plan, Diego.”
I laugh. “Can you get the gate opener out of my pocket, please?”
“Which pocket?” she says.
“Jeans. Front, right.”
She holds on with her left arm and slides her other hand down my chest, searching with her fingers for the pocket. I swerve to avoid some sort of huge toad, and she grabs on to my crotch.
“That costs extra, madam.”
“Sorry!” she says. “Why didn’t you put it somewhere easier to get?”
I stand up a little on the running board of the scooter, and she manages to slip her hand into my jeans and retrieve the opener.
“Press and hold!” I shout, hoping the signal will reach from this far away.
Nothing happens.
“Did you press and hold?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, her voice testy. “Despite my excessive age, oppressive personality, and lack of a Y chromosome, I am not an idiot.”
The SUV is coming around the far side of the lake, going way too fast for the curve.
“That’s not going to end well,” we both say at the same time.
We watch the driver slam on the brakes and then struggle to keep the massive thing on the dirt road. It fishtails and then disappears over the embankment.
We both cheer.
I head down the embankment at the end of the lake, across a dry concrete culvert, and back up onto the road, the trailer bumping and groaning behind us.
I glance in my rearview mirror—and don’t see the damn dog. “Where’s Bearhart?”
“Stop the bike!” Bella says, pounding on my back with one hand.
“But we’re almost—”
“Stop the damn bike!”
“Okay, okay.” I brake to a stop, and we scan the raised embankment behind us.
No dog.
“There!” Bella points at the lake.
Bearhart is paddling his little heart out across the lake, scaring up ducks as he splashes toward us.
“Beats running through all those snakes,” I say.
Bella bends over and claps her hands together, encouraging the pooch. “That’s it, boy. You can do it!”
On the far side of the lake, I see the SUV scramble back onto the road.
“You might want to pick up the pace there, hun. We’ve got company.”
Bella glances at the car and then the closed gate up ahead. “Shit. We’re not going to make it.”
“Come on, buddy. Paddle faster,” I say, watching the SUV pick up speed.
Bearhart is almost to the shore.
I grab a handful of the rocks and start tossing them out into the water, aiming for the ducks.
The dog looks like he’s going to turn around and chase the splashes, but Bella shouts, “Bearhart, come!” and he continues swimming.
I throw more rocks, aiming at the huge flock of birds in the middle. A few take off, and then few more, and a second later, the sky is filled with honking, panicked ducks heading right toward the SUV.
Bearhart wades out of the water and shakes off.
“Nothing like a little fowl play to liven things up,” Bella says.
We hear the car horn blaring and more tires skidding.
“I was just winging it.”
“Hah.” Bella tells Bearhart to get on the trailer. “And stay there this time.”
The dog barks and jumps right back on, his tail still wagging.
“He’s a keeper,” she says, and I have to agree.
“Hold on!” I wait for her to comply—and then gun the engine.
The scooter lurches forward.
She holds the gate opener in front of me, her cheek nestled against mine, and presses the button.
The twelve-foot barbed-wire gate starts rolling open.
“Woo-hoo!” she says and kisses me.
I turn my head, our lips almost touching, and stare at her for a moment, feeling that… pull we have.
Bearhart barks and I turn back to my driving, my heart still in my throat.
She wraps her arms around my chest and kisses my shoulder. “Thank you. Even if we don’t make it.”
I let go of the handlebars and squeeze her hand. “You’re welcome. We’re gonna make it.”
When we’re
almost to the gate, I glance over my shoulder at her. “See if you can get the gate to shut.”
The gate starts closing, and I lean forward, trying to make the scooter go faster.
“Oh, shit,” she says. “We’re not gonna make it.”
“Have a little faith, woman.” I manage to get the scooter and trailer through with a couple of feet to spare, Bearhart barking the whole time.
I put on the brakes and turn the scooter around.
The SUV is bearing down on us, but it’s not going very fast.
“One of their tires is flat!” Bella says.
“And you said you couldn’t hit a dirigible.”
She rolls her eyes, and I laugh.
I hop off the scooter, wrench the shovel out from under the backpacks and start wedging it into the wire mesh of the fence so that it’ll jam when the SUV tries to open the gate.
Bella walks up behind me, takes the gun out of my pocket, and aims it up at the motor housing.
“Cover your ears,” she says, pointing at the plugs in hers.
I do.
She fires three shots, all of which hit their mark.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” I say.
She pulls her earplugs out. “What did you say?”
“Nice shot.”
“Thanks.” She presses the button on the opener.
Nothing happens.
She tosses the opener over the fence, sticks the gun back in my pocket, and dusts off her hands. “Let’s go.”
We hop back on the scooter and head for the second gate.
It turns out to be manually operated, but there’s a chain with a padlock holding it shut.
“Ax,” Bella says and hops off the scooter. She pulls it out from under the backpack.
“May I?” I ask.
“Be my guest.”
I take it out of her hands and swing it down on a rusted link.
It takes only a couple of tries before the chain slithers off the gate.
I push the gate open while she returns the ax to the trailer.
“How’d you know we’d need an ax?” I ask her.
“Read it in a book.”
The SUV pulls up to the first gate, and we hear the doors slam as five or six biosuits pile out.
And then I hear a gunshot.
“Get down!” I shout and drop to the pavement. “Bearhart, come!”
The dog jumps off the trailer, lopes over, and licks my face. He’s still dripping wet and smells like stale pond water. “Down!” I say, and he flops over next to me, soaking my shirt.
I hear a couple more shots and see Bella still standing by the trailer.
“What are you doing?” I shout. “Get down!”
She walks back to the scooter, completely unconcerned about those goons firing at us.
“Well?” she says. “Are you coming?”
I zigzag over to the bike, keeping low and trying to be unpredictable, Bearhart on my heels.
Bella watches me, an amused look on her face. “No need to panic, Mr. Nadales. They’re firing blanks.”
“What?” I get on the scooter. “How do you know that?”
Bella convinces Bearhart to get back on the trailer. “David never gives out live ammo—doesn’t want some trigger-happy noob shooting holes in the biodome. Besides, do you actually think they’d try to shoot us? You’re Miracle Man, and I’m the boss’s wife.”
“Now you tell me.”
She laughs and gets back on the scooter. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”
Me neither.
I ease the scooter into high, Bella waving back at the lads and singing “On the Road Again” as we follow a double yellow line into the future.
36
Heart of Darkness
Shannon
When I awaken, the warm memory of kissing Peter floods back into me, filling me with a sublime sense of contentment.
You have Peter now. Everything’s going to be okay.
I lie there in the half-light, thinking about falling asleep with his arm wrapped around my waist, the soft tickle of his breath against my cheek.
And then I remember what he told me last night about the Culling, and an icy fear pushes out my euphoria.
Where is he?
I blink, trying to clear my head.
My internal clock says it’s morning, but the room is still shrouded in gloom. I roll over, panic starting to rise, and force my eyes to focus.
Both the inner and outer airlock doors are closed—and Peter’s in his bed right next to me.
Thank goodness.
One glance out the window tells me why it’s so dark in here: It’s raining Outside.
I imagine snuggling close to Peter and putting my head against his chest. I listen for the soft rhythm of his breathing, but the rain is too loud. The drops hitting the biodome fill the airlock with a deep thrumming. I lie there, listening to the soft hum, trying to decide if I should wake Peter. He’s always up before I am, so I know he must be exhausted from all the work yesterday—and last night.
I smile at the thought of spending tonight with him, kissing him and touching him and having his hands on my skin. I sit up and stretch, finally understanding what Mindy means when she says you can want someone so much, it hurts.
Like the whole universe is there just so he can put his arms around you.
And then I see the note by my pillow.
Shannon-
I went to help the others.
STAY HERE !
I’ll be back as soon as I can.
Peter
“No!” I grab the blanket off his bed.
His backpack is underneath, but his clothes and shoes— and his bow—are gone.
I rush to the inner door and press my face against the glass, looking out into the Wilds.
The air is heavy with smoke. The whole southern part of the Wilds—the area containing our archery range and our workshop—is lost in the gray haze.
Oh, my God, Peter is out there!
I dress, put on my shoes, slip my whistle around my neck, and look for my bow.
But it’s not hanging on the wall where I left it.
Peter’s hidden it somewhere—so I don’t try to come after him.
I search behind the jugs of water and sacks of grain until I find it tucked behind stacked boxes of pasta and mashed potatoes. I wrench it out, put the quiver of old arrows over my shoulder, and grab a rebreather from my pack. For a moment, I stare at the two others still in there—and then pull them out and hook the straps around the quiver.
How many more did we need? I do the calculation: Eighteen minus the twelve masks we already gave them and the two smaller masks we made yesterday, leaves four. With my two extras and Peter’s two, we’ll have enough.
I check Peter’s backpack. All three of his masks are gone.
He probably went to the workshop to get the two for the kids.
It takes forever to get the inner airlock door open, and when I finally manage to slip through, the smoke is terrible. I put on my mask, trying to decide if it would be better to leave the airlock door open or shut it.
I decide to close it but not seal it. That should keep out most of the smoke—but only require a minute to get it open again.
Once I finish, I move as fast as I can toward the workshop, keeping to the cover and staying away from the main areas. I hear gunfire and shouting from the Barrier, but don’t stop moving until I’m inside the building with our workshop.
I rush into the room, hoping to find Peter, but he’s not there—and neither are any of the repaired masks. I spend a second looking around. The vises and sealant are gone too!
He must have taken the ones that were ready, along with the supplies to make more, and gone… where?
To find the Others.
Yeah, but where the hell are they?
I hurry toward the maintenance tower—the one we spent our first night in—keeping an arrow notched in my bow. The smoke is getting thicker, but my
mask seems to be working. Even though I can’t see far, I’m not coughing. When I get to the tower, I climb up six flights of stairs, but by the time I get to the top, I realize it’s a mistake. The cloud of smoke is so thick I can barely see my feet—let alone Peter.
I race back down the steps and out the door and almost crash into Grizzly. He’s got some sort of rag over his nose and mouth, but it’s definitely him.
His eyes get big when he sees me.
“Sorry!” I try to step backward, but he grabs my arm.
He smiles. “I’ve missed those nice manners of yours.” He has a large knife on his belt, but he doesn’t take it out. “Where’s Peter?”
I shake my head and pull away. “Let me go!”
“Don’t worry, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you—but I can’t speak for the rest of ’em, if you get what I mean?”
I stop struggling, and he lets go of me.
“You tell him they convicted him of murder and sentenced him to burn at the stake, now, will you?”
“Burn at the stake?” I can barely breathe. “Like they used to do to witches?”
He glances at the bow in my hand. “The Giver has brainwashed folks into believing Peter’s father was weak—and that God has punished him for it. She has ordered the Garden of Eden to be cleansed of those who desecrate it. The men aren’t here today for amorous congress; they’re driven by bloodlust. Those who refuse to submit will be killed—and everything on this side of the wall burned.”
The magnitude of what he’s saying leaves me cold.
He inclines his head. “You best find that hero of yours and skedaddle while you can.”
“Peter is a hero,” I say, my voice wavering. “He saved my life.”
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” He turns and walks away. “Tell him I said good luck.”
“I will,” I say. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t look back but raises his hand in acknowledgment. A minute later, he disappears into the smoky half-light.
I walk around the tower, trying to think. And then I remember the whistle around my neck. I know it’ll alert the men that I’m here, but I don’t know what else to do. The smoke is pretty thick, and I decide as soon as I blow it, I’ll move so they won’t be able to find me.
At least I hope they won’t.