Sunscorched

by Jen Crane

  Nori held her stomach as the burst of laughter she and her father had tried to contain finally broke free.

  “Wait a minute,” she said when she recovered. “Did you say I slept three days?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Her mother nodded. “No wonder you were starving.”

  “Three days. No kidding. Well, I feel great.” At her parents’ dubious looks, she shrugged. “I do.”

  Her father patted the hand not occupied with scooping up food. “Good. That’s good. You up for playing cards? How about a little Rummy?”

  “I was really thinking of going out, Dad,” she said around a mouthful and hurried to head off his protest. “It’s dark out. There’s no sun, no harm. I need to get out of this house before I go crazy.”

  He looked to her mother for the final decision, who closed her eyes, relenting. “All right,” he said. “Let me get my shoes.”

  “No.” Nori’s objection was more forceful than she’d intended, and she said more softly, “No. Thank you. I just… I would rather go alone.”

  Muscles feathered along his jaw, but he nodded. “An hour. And no more. You know the sun’s rising earlier every dang day.”

  “I promise.” Nori pressed a kiss to his cheek and he smiled, but his eyes still held concern.

  “Why do you go to that old park, anyway?” he asked. “It’s so sad. A relic of what used to be.”

  Nori shrugged. “I dunno. But maybe that’s why—to imagine what life was like before the scorches.”

  “There used to be grass, you know. Lawns, we called them. Not the weeds you’ve seen popping up here and there. Thick, lush blankets of grass. You could walk—even lie down on it.” Nori shot her father a skeptical look. “It’s true,” he said. “But this you won’t believe: people used to put water on grass to keep it alive.”

  “Oh, Dad!” Nori rolled her eyes and turned for the door.

  “I swear,” he laughed. “There were whole systems set up to spray water onto lawns so they’d stay green. They irrigated grass you couldn’t eat—for looks!”

  She snorted and turned the doorknob.

  “Don’t forget your bug-out bag!” her mother called. Nori groaned at the reminder, and her mother’s fists flew to her hips. “Just because there hasn’t been a sunscorch in years doesn’t mean there won’t be one. You take that bag, or you’re not going.”

  “But it’s so heavy it weighs me down. Anyway, if there’s a scorch, water and protein bars aren’t gonna save me.”

  “No, but if you get stuck somewhere they might keep you alive until we can find you. And you never know when you’ll need matches.”

  “Or a knife,” her father added with a wolfish grin.

  “Fine.” Nori held her hands up. “I’ll take the bug-out bag.”

  Closing her eyes, Nori breathed in the night air. Some of the weight of worry, of stress, and of pain left her body in exhale. The medicine had helped. Doing something to take her mind off the pain helped, too.

  Slowly walking the perimeter of the abandoned park near her house, Nori stopped at the boarded entrance. Rusty metal contorted to form macabre sculptures from the old playground equipment. She couldn’t imagine children ever playing at such a desolate and dangerous place. She tried to envision the park as it had been twelve years before, with laughing children and swaths of green grass. Irrigating lawns, her father had said. Nori shook her head. She couldn’t imagine such a time, or such a waste. The city barely had enough water to irrigate its produce farms now.

  Nori groaned and slowly took a seat on a metal bench outside the gate with a perfect view down Frontage Street. The city’s buildings formed shadows onto dark pavement. There wasn’t a soul about, the people of Ralston taking advantage of the precious few dark hours to sleep. She felt a pang of regret that she didn’t have more friends. It would be nice to have company on her outings.

  Clearing the emotion from her throat took two or three attempts. Maybe tomorrow she would feel better. Maybe then she would explore the store windows and find a new book.

  She might even catch a glimpse of an alley cat. It had been a long time since she’d seen an animal. Between the far-reaching devastation and the depletion of food stores, few animals survived before the vegetable farms were up and producing again. Her father told stories of seasons, of temperate days and abundant food. His tales of eating meat from animals she’d only seen in books seemed like fairy tales. They might as well be.

  Though she’d always been homeschooled, her mother had taught her why the world faced such extreme weather. Earth’s polar ice sheets were destroyed during the first sunscorch twelve years before. The resulting change in water levels across the planet’s surface caused a greater tilt of its axis. Like a weighted ball, Earth fell heavily to one side before bouncing back up and balancing out—only at a forty-degree tilt, instead of twenty-three.

  The result was longer, hotter days on half the globe, and dark, tundra-like conditions on the other half. The North Pole leaned toward the sun, blistering land, animals, and people in Canada and Russia, and the northern halves of China and the United States. Millions of people in the northern hemisphere, where most of the world’s population existed, were killed in the first scorch. At the other end of the Earth, the South Pole experienced a complete cold snap, destroying everything there, too.

  Of course, even with its new axial tilt, the planet still revolved around the sun, so the areas with extreme heat only faced it half the year before suffering debilitating cold.

  There were only 25 degrees on either side of the equator considered temperate, livable: the 25th Parallel. Those who survived were early adapters, people who accepted the necessity of migration. Nori’s mother had described the post-sunscorch Earth as a volatile, treacherous mess, but it was all she’d ever known. They’d never made the trip because of her. Because of the uncertainty and her inability to suffer the sun.

  There were others who’d stood their ground. Those too stubborn to leave their homes and migrate. They’d formed a reluctant community of survivors.

  Pulling a thick book from her backpack, Nori was reminded of another—the one she’d thrown that night in the alley. Looking up at the night sky, glittering stars were visible even through the constant overhead haze. There was time, and she was feeling up to it. She should get that book back. It was one of her favorites, after all. Slipping on her backpack, Nori went in search of it.

  Okay, if she was being honest, it wasn’t the book she wondered about most. As they had over the last couple of days, her thoughts turned again to the man. Cooper. Who was he, really? Why was he out that night, and who was chasing him? Where was he now? And what had happened in his life to pollute his eyes with such a bottomless pit of sadness.

  Oh, God, she thought. What if I run into him again? Her stomach seized at the prospect, but she walked a little fraction faster. He was probably a couple of years older than she was— twenty max. She’d seen a hint of stubble along his jaws, but the smooth skin around his eyes was the only part of his face not smudged and dirty. What did he look like under all that grime?

  Nearing the corner she’d ducked around to throw the book, her steps slowed. Dread pushed her heart into her throat. She slowed her breathing to better hear, and scanned the alley. Nothing. No one. The pile of trash Cooper hid behind was still there. She vividly recalled the determined set of his face as he crouched behind it. What would he have done if she hadn’t created a diversion? Fight? He didn’t seem the type to go down silently.

  She caught sight of her book half-beneath the dumpster. The cover was bent back, the top few pages blowing in a slight breeze. Nori bent on hands and knees, grunting as some of her still-tender skin stretched.

  Her heart raced as she picked it up and flipped through the pages. Had he come back? Did he leave a note? Her shoulders slumped as it came back clean. Ah, well. It was a nice daydream.

  At her father’s voice in the distance, Nori’s head snapped up. Sighing, she shut the book and stood. The side trip h
ad cost her. She’d have to move quickly to make it home in time. Though she didn’t feel up to hurrying, it was preferable both to the agony of more burns and to the isolation of another long recovery. As she rounded the last corner, she caught sight of her father, whose body sagged with relief. His eyes closed for the shortest moment before he smiled.

  “There she is,” he said. “There’s my night owl.”

  “Hey, Dad.” Nori squeezed his clammy hand. “Ready for that card game?”

  6

  Impending Doom

  The grating, high-pitched alert Nori instantly associated with disaster blared through the old box-set television in the basement. Her parents gathered behind her and together they waited.

  Scientific experts from across the globe have gathered at the Climate Research Center today to make a special announcement. As we reported last month, these professional forecasters suggest nightfall may cease within the month. Let’s go live now to an exclusive announcement.

  “Since the first sunscorch almost twelve years ago,” a woman with long, curly hair said in a voice almost too low to be heard, “we have worked to develop and refine a system to detect sunscorches before they happen.” Her eyes bounced nervously around the room before she continued. “I’m pleased to tell you we have perfected such a system.” The woman swallowed and glanced at a man scowling on the sidelines. “We at the Climate Research Center are confident in the ability to predict the next time this eco-devastation threatens our world.”

  Nori and her parents’ reactions mirrored those on TV. An excited murmur ran through the crowd, and scattered applause broke out. “Please,” the woman giving the press conference said, her eyes wild. “Let me finish.” She surveyed the room again and cleared her throat. “Un—unfortunately, we can now predict that the next sunscorch will occur in a matter of days. One week at a maximum.”

  Nori’s stomach plummeted and hollowed out, and her mother gasped. Her father moved in behind them and laid a hand on their shoulders, which Nori reached up to clasp.

  Back on television, the enthusiastic murmur soured. The medley of voices became even louder, the tone fearful and anxious. Hands flew into the air, but others didn’t wait, peppering the woman with questions. “How certain are you?” and “Do you know how extreme the scorch will be?” Reporters abandoned their chairs and crowded close to her. “Should we go to ground now?” someone called out.

  She opened her mouth to speak, eyes filled with the wide panic of a hunted rabbit. She opened her mouth, and it stayed that way. She stood at the podium, mouth agape, as her gaze flicked from one side of the room to the other.

  With an irritated grunt, the man who’d been standing off to the side crowded the woman at the microphone. She closed her eyes, as if relieved, and removed her papers from the podium with trembling hands.

  “Thank you, Amy,” he said, but didn’t look back at his colleague. “Dr. Hansen and her team have worked tirelessly to get this system up and running, and it’s going to save lives. But only if the public uses the news to prepare for the impending danger, to protect their families. Though it’s been twelve years since the last sunscorch, it’s vitally important to take precautionary measures now. Stay indoors until the threat is over. Due to the risk of being caught in a car during the scorch, it is not advised to travel at this time.”

  The man grunted and directed sleep-deprived and reddened eyes into the camera. “I’ll repeat that,” he said. “It is not advised to travel to the 25th Parallel—or anywhere—at this time. Act now to move your family to designated shelters, basements, or bunkers. And if you don’t,” he shook his head, “may God preserve your immortal soul.” He stared meaningfully into the camera one last time and left the stage.

  The scientist, Hansen, who’d stood rigidly off to the side, tripped toward the microphone as reporters repeated their questions with a desperate sense of urgency.

  Neither Nori nor her parents spoke. The television was still on, but after the bomb the scientist dropped, she tuned out, her mind racing.

  Her father’s hands dropped to his sides, and he tapped fingers restlessly against his thighs.

  “No.” He paced from the television to the table across the room. “No. I won’t let this happen.” A worn chair creaked beneath his weight as he sat, and again when he shot up.

  “Daddy.” Nori followed him and ran her arms around his wide shoulders. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll be careful. I already know how to protect myself. We’ll all stay in the basement. It can even be fun. We can pretend we’re snowed in at a cabin in the mountains. We’ll buy supplies for s’mores.” She looked at her mother, who still held her own cheeks with shaky hands. “Right, Mom?”

  Her mother raised her face and sniffed, putting on a smile that didn’t fit. “Yes. It’ll be fun.”

  “You know damn well what this means, Ana.” Norm’s voice boomed through the small space, causing both Nori and her mother to jerk. “Nori was too young to remember, but you know. You were there.”

  Her mother’s voice was so thin Nori barely heard it. “I know.”

  “What?” Nori looked to them both. “What does it mean?”

  Her father’s pent-up breath came out shaky, strained.

  “Tell me, Dad.”

  She could almost see the thoughts scrambling inside his head. He’d protected her from the truth for so very long. He gave her a long, sober look, and then he gave it to her straight.

  “With your sensitivity, there’s no way you can make it through another sunscorch, Nori. Not even if we dug you a bunker.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she scoffed. “I survive in this house every day. And we’ve prepared the basement. Worse-case scenario, we hibernate for a few days and watch old movies until the player runs out of batteries.”

  He shook his head as if she hadn’t spoken. “A sunscorch is different than your sensitivity to the sun, Nori. Deadly different. It took your sibl—it took people in a matter of seconds. Staying in this house—even in our basement—is not an option for you. Scorches are so pervasive they can burn right through roofs.”

  “But we’ve taken extra precautions with the basement, Norm,” Ana said. “We’ve worked to make it safe for her.”

  He scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “It’ll protect us, but I can’t guarantee it’ll protect her. And I can’t,” he sucked in an uneven breath, “I can’t take that chance. We have to find another way.”

  Her mother nodded soberly. “What about the Mayflowers? Brooke would let us stay with them until it’s over.”

  “Their house is even more susceptible than ours. Don’t you remember? Last time, it seared right through the basement door.”

  “That was twelve years ago. They’ve replaced it with something stronger.” Her father opened his mouth to argue, and she held up her hands. “But I get the point. Surely, we know someone else with a subterranean room. We just have to think.” Her mother’s eyes lost focus as she considered other options.

  “Subterranean,” her father repeated, his voice faint. “Subterranean. That’s it.”

  “What’s it?” Nori and her mother asked at the same time.

  He turned to Nori and his blue eyes, so much like her own, were heavy with remorse. “I should’ve planned for this,” he said. “I should’ve already prepared a safer place for you than a basement.” His face was pale and desolate, and then his eyes shot wide with panic. “I won’t let this happen. Not again.” He turned on a heel, snatching his hat from the pegs near the door.

  “Daddy? Where are you going?” Nori asked softly, afraid to spook him further.

  “To see a man about takeout,” he said cryptically, and left Nori and her mother staring after him.

  7

  A Way Out

  The soft ding of the grocery store’s door alert sounded when Norman pushed inside. A fit, dark-haired man looked up from the counter, which was covered with boxes of energy bars, lighters, sunglasses, and emergency SPF ponchos.

  “Hey, N
orm,” he said.

  “Nate.”

  “You here to visit, or shop, or both?” The store owner’s smile was easy, friendly.

  Norman looked at the long line of people waiting to check out, arms heavy with canned goods and bottles of water. “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Sure. The news today’s brought in a rush. Come around here to the side, and we can talk while I ring up these customers.” Nate turned from him to a mother with a baby in one arm and a big can of powdered formula in the other. “That’ll be $55.50.”

  Norm fidgeted with a box of liquid protein pouches and said in a low voice, “I’d rather talk in private, Nate. Can we go in your office?”

  “This about my books? Let me check out these customers so I can afford to keep this place open…and pay you for accounting services.” Nate smiled at the woman as he made her change.

  She tucked the money into her pocket and left the store through a door held open by an entering customer.

  “No, it’s about something else.” Norman’s gaze shot nervously to the back room. “Do you have a minute?”

  “You can see I don’t. Everybody’s stocking up on necessities before the scorch hits. Deanna’s in the back now restocking the shelves. Can’t it wait?”

  “No.” He took a step closer to his friend. “It can’t.”

  At his sharp tone, the grocer huffed out a breath. “What is it, Norm? Just tell me.”

  “It’s about takeout.”

  Nate’s gaze shot to Norman’s, searching for meaning, for what he knew. Whatever Nate saw, he took seriously. “All right,” he said and cupped his hands to yell through a swinging door. “Deanna! Come take the front for a minute.”