by Kevin George
Lights began to pop in front of his eyes. He shut his lids, hoping to clear away the bright flashes, forcing himself to inhale deeper to get enough oxygen to his brain, the cold launching him into a coughing fit that only made it harder to breathe. By the time he calmed his lungs and pried open his eyelids—which had nearly frozen shut—all the popping lights were gone, yet a single light remained farther in the distance. He immediately knew what it was.
“We’re almost there,” he whispered, shaking Artie, receiving the slightest groan in response.
Artie’s body went slack. With a burst of adrenaline, Isaac hoisted him over his shoulder and trudged forward, falling to his knees several times but always popping back up as the light grew brighter and brighter. When the familiar ISU came into view, Isaac wanted to cry out in relief. He didn’t have the chance before an old man emerged from the tiny home, a spear in hand.
“Stop right there!”
Old Minkus hadn’t changed since Isaac’s interaction with him last time. He remained as crusty and dilapidated as his home. His pelt was more gray than white, patchy in several spots.
“Please, we’re from the Dome,” Isaac said.
Old Minkus’s eyes narrowed. “How am I supposed to believe that?”
With Artie still slung over him, Isaac struggled to pull back his own hood.
“You know me, I was here last time,” Isaac said. “We were sent. . . by Louis.”
Old Minkus’s brow furrowed, but he lowered his weapon and took a step closer, craning his neck to see who Isaac was carrying. Artie’s head and face remained buried deep within his hood, hiding him from view.
“That a woman you finally bring me?” Old Minkus asked, standing up a bit straighter. “Only been asking for one for the last couple decades.”
Isaac shook his head. “Sorry, not a woman. My friend is injured.”
Old Minkus raised his weapon and swept it from side to side, scanning his surroundings. “Injured in the Nothingness?” he snapped. “Was it a beast? My alarm ain’t been working anymore, but I think I seen a few of them wandering around recently.”
“No, not a beast,” Isaac said.
He couldn’t think of a single believable explanation for what happened without Minkus learning about the battle at the Dome. He was wary of the old man’s distrust and felt his face flush at the thought of further questioning. But Minkus lowered his weapon and continued to search the falling snows for danger.
“What you doing out here in the middle of another storm?” Old Minkus asked. “You need more supplies already?”
Isaac nodded. “Yes, more fencing. The beasts haven’t been behaving,” he said, not a complete fabrication. “Gray and I didn’t get enough last time.”
Minkus’s eyebrows lowered and he looked beyond Isaac again. “Yeah. . . Gray. . . where’s he at?”
“In the Dome,” Isaac said, also not a lie. “He was finally accepted inside. Sent the two of us since I knew the way.”
“Gray sent an injured man?” Minkus asked. “Your friend there not any use at the Dome no more? You bring him here to finally replace me? To let me come back with you to the Dome?”
Isaac nearly blurted ‘yes,’ willing to promise anything to satisfy Minkus, but he realized he couldn’t have the old man returning to the Dome and telling Henry Jonas about where he and Artie had ended up. Instead, he shook his head and frowned.
“Sorry, I don’t know anything about replacements,” he said. “Can we come inside before my friend bleeds out or freezes to death?”
Old Minkus glared at Artie and shook his head. “If the ISU ain’t gonna be your new home, then you ain’t gonna come inside.”
“Please,” Isaac said, stumbling forward, Artie’s weight suddenly feeling twice as heavy. “We need your help.”
Old Minkus snorted. “I ain’t a heartless man. Suppose I can even offer you shelter, long as you stay back from my home. Wait right here.”
The old man hobbled into his ISU and slammed the door shut. Worried that Old Minkus was going to lock them out, Isaac struggled to shift Artie’s weight to his other shoulder, eventually lowering him to the ground. He started toward the ISU when the front door opened and the old man reemerged, his spear raised and ready.
“You didn’t hear when I said to stay back?” Old Minkus asked.
“Please, I don’t know how much longer my friend can—”
Old Minkus jabbed his spear but not exactly at the two young men. He pointed it to the side and Isaac turned to see the bunker’s entrance ramp lowering into the ground, granting them access. Isaac frowned.
“I think it’d be better if we—”
“You’d rather be out here? In the snow? On constant lookout for the beasts?” Old Minkus asked. “Look here. You ain’t coming in my home, so it’s the bunker or nothing. It’s shelter, and it’s got everything you need to survive and take care of your friend.”
“But—”
“No buts!” Old Minkus yelled, crazed spittle flying from his mouth. “You claim to be a Herder, but you don’t follow our rules. The last time you were here, did you hear Gray argue with me? You think I’ll believe who you say you are when your friend obviously got himself hurt in a fight? You think I don’t recognize a stab wound?”
Isaac opened his mouth but no words came out, only a silent gasp of steamy breath, a weak denial that made Isaac’s deception all the more obvious. Old Minkus slowly backed toward his ISU, aiming his spear at Isaac the entire time, shrugging.
“Stay outside then,” the old man said. “I set that bunker door on a timer. Only a few more minutes till it closes. If you don’t head in now, you better remember how to get back to the Dome.”
Isaac looked toward the dark hole in the ground, desperately trying to come up with another option but knowing one didn’t exist.
“Tick tock,” Old Minkus said.
Isaac’s last trip to the bunker had been a blur, but he was fairly certain it held more than just building materials. He couldn’t recall seeing medical supplies but hoped there was something he could use to stop Artie’s bleeding. Either way, it wouldn’t be so cold down there and finding shelter from the storm was their most immediate concern.
And weapons, he thought. Anything we could use or make to help attack the Dome and fight anyone stopping us from boarding the elevator. . .
Isaac hobbled toward the ramp, hoping Minkus was bluffing about the timer. The old man followed closely, his spear leveled at them the entire time, not once offering to help carry Artie, who no longer made a sound beyond his wheezing, labored breath. Isaac made it to the entrance and slipped his way down the ramp, finally losing balance and falling once he reached the bottom, Artie dropping from his grasp. Isaac was numb to the pain and remained sitting on the floor for several seconds, appreciating the slightly less cold temperature and being away from the wind. He looked to the top of the ramp, where Old Minkus remained standing. Seconds later, the ramp began to grind and raise, slowly cutting off Isaac’s view of the outside world.
“Now I’ll just head on out to the Dome to check on your story!” Old Minkus called down.
“No!” Isaac called out, scrambling up the rising incline, knowing he’d never make it before the bunker closed. “Please!”
Isaac’s eyes locked on Old Minkus, who sneered down at the two men trapped in his bunker. Isaac was certain that next time the bunker was opened, a squadron of killer teenagers would be coming to destroy him. He immediately thought of ways to defend the bunker and—
A moment before the bunker’s ramp closed all the way, Isaac spotted a blur of white crash into Minkus, the spear jolted so far out of the old man’s hand that it rolled down to Isaac’s feet. The last thing he heard before the outside world was cut off was a frantic scream, the crunch of bones and then utter silence.
CHAPTER NINE
The Comm HASS listed sharply to one side. From afar, Carli was surprised to see how small it looked against the backdrop of the white ground below. Once Wyatt
and she had flown beyond the buried city, the landscape had returned to snowy nothingness. They sped toward the HASS, its descent fairly slow but only a thousand feet from reaching the surface, hopefully slow enough so its inevitable crash wouldn’t be catastrophic. Carli slowed as she approached it, more than happy to stay back and watch it land. Wyatt still sped ahead, apparently with a different plan in mind.
Carli watched him getting closer and closer, and knew right away what he intended to try. She had a split second to either let him go or try to stop him; she chose the latter, mashing her power button as far as it would go.
“Wyatt! Don’t!” she screamed.
He turned his head to let her know he’d heard, but then he shook his head. They cut the distance between themselves and the HASS to less than a hundred feet, at which point Carli’s will to live kicked in and she eased off her power button. Wyatt sped forward, finally slowing as he approached the HASS, cutting all power to his jetpack once he grabbed hold of the railing.
Carli watched in horror as one of Wyatt’s hands slipped off the railing. She mashed her power button and positioned herself to catch him, but he somehow held on and pulled himself up and over the side. Carli may have sighed in relief had she not glanced down and seen the ground looming, coming closer and closer. She watched Wyatt try to stand, immediately stumble, fall down, and eventually begin to crawl toward the Comm HASS’s entrance. He moved slowly and carefully. Too slowly. Carli had no doubt Wyatt was clueless about the HASS hitting down within the next few minutes.
And if something happens to him, I’ll be alone in this world. . . alone in this nothingness. . .
Carli was beginning to think her job would be to keep Wyatt safe. With that in mind, she sped forward, reaching the Comm HASS seconds later, only cutting her power once she cleared the railing. She hit down hard, trying to land on her feet but failing miserably, lurching forward until her shoulder crashed into the Comm HASS’s entrance a few feet from Wyatt. Carli heard him calling her name, but she tumbled onto her back—her jetpack rattling beneath her—and slid along the HASS’s outer platform. Ignoring the pain her body was becoming all too familiar with, she flailed her arms, trying to grab hold of anything to stop her slide.
Wyatt called her name over and over, his voice louder with each yell. She looked back and saw why. He’d released the HASS door and slid toward her, reaching his hand in her direction though he could do nothing to help if he grabbed her. Carli crashed into the railing and so did Wyatt, the entire HASS dipping just enough so they were nearly thrown over the railing. Carli hugged a post and Wyatt did the same, his eyes going wide when he finally looked over the side at the approaching ground.
“You have to fly out of here now!” he yelled over the rushing wind.
“We both have to!” Carli yelled back. “We’re going to hit down any minute!”
Wyatt frowned as he stared over the railing, shaking his head. “I messed up stopping on top of that building! I have to go inside and get the GPS system before the HASS crashes! I can’t risk it breaking!”
He turned and started to crawl up the inclined platform floor, only able to move a few inches at a time without sliding back. Carli grabbed his wrist before he could get far.
“And I can’t risk you breaking!” she yelled.
Wyatt frowned but nodded. Together, they struggled to stand and grab hold of their respective jetpack’s controls. They leapt over the side, freefalling for a few long seconds before pressing their power buttons and skimming less than fifty feet above the surface, turning away and landing in time to remove their goggles and watch the Comm HASS hit down.
It didn’t make as loud a noise as Carli expected. The ground shuddered beneath her feet for only a moment, followed by the high-pitched squeal of twisting metal. A hollow pop erupted from above the HASS, its air lifting sacks having ruptured. A large hole was blown through the metallic envelope holding the sacks, causing the envelope to collapse and cover the actual structure of the Comm HASS. Carli and Wyatt stood in place for nearly a minute, waiting for the next disaster that never came. When they finally turned to each other, they raised their eyebrows and rushed toward the HASS without saying a word.
The collapsed metallic envelope was heavier than it looked, digging down several inches into the heavy snow. They struggled to lift it and had difficulty squirming beneath it, the metal blocking out all light. Carli had never felt such claustrophobia as being beneath the envelope, which pressed in on all sides of her, feeling as though it could swallow her whole or drill her into the snow. Only Wyatt’s calm whispers and proximity calmed her enough to keep following him in the dark.
When they finally reached the HASS, their feet crunched on snow and broken glass alike. Wyatt no sooner found the door than he clicked on a flashlight, another object he’d been wise enough to pack in his supply bag. The beam was thin and didn’t allow them to see much. The HASS remained warm and inviting, despite the hallway being littered with everything from discarded clothing to torn books.
“This is where you lived?” Carli asked.
She knew it was a foolish question but somehow the darkness didn’t feel so creepy when it wasn’t quiet. It didn’t help that Wyatt continued forward slowly, as if he’d never set foot in the HASS before.
“The view will never be the same, that’s for sure,” he said with a snort.
He turned the flashlight from side to side, showing a few walls slightly bowed but no major structural damage.
“Seems to be in decent shape,” Carli said. “Should we check on food? Make sure there’s enough to sustain us?”
Wyatt shook his head and marched down the hallway, Carli rushing to keep up with him—and to keep up with the light. He tried to pull open a large door at the end of the hallway but found it jammed. He handed Carli the light and pointed toward the door. She was far more interested in searching for food and shelter and clothing, but she aimed the beam where Wyatt wanted and watched him wrestle the door. With a heavy grunt, Wyatt pulled the door out of its track and dropped it to the floor. He rushed into the room, not bothering to wait for Carli and the light.
Carli followed him into the main Communications room, glowing red from several emergency lights. A stack of overturned equipment—some of which sparked—rested in a pile in the corner, while most of the room was littered with as much junk and broken glass as the rest of the HASS.
“Power systems have gone offline,” Wyatt muttered, giving Carli the impression that he talked to himself frequently. “Hopefully they can be turned back on. . . as long as we clear off the solar panels. . . though who knows how much sun will reach them down here. . .”
Wyatt dug through the junk, finding his work table overturned and dented, finding some of his tools intact and others broken, finding most of his former life a scattered mess. He was careful not to damage anything, but with each minute he couldn’t find what he was looking for—with each broken piece of equipment he removed—he grew more and more frantic, tossing things aside without a care for what was broken or what he might be breaking.
“It has to be here,” he said, rushing through the rest of the room in a panic.
“What does?”
Wyatt turned to Carli, his eyes wide and blank, completely lacking the spark of recognition when he stared at her. Blinking hard, he soon looked over her shoulder and smiled, rushing to the opposite corner of the room, picking up a small box and dusting it off. Carli approached slowly, aiming the flashlight at it.
“Is that the—”
“GPS,” Wyatt said with a nod.
He hurried across the room and flipped his worktable onto its legs, placing the GPS on its dented surface. He removed the small device from his wrist and took a deep breath before pushing its button. After several seconds with nothing happening, he pushed the button again, and then several more times with increasing frustration. He eventually sighed and put down the device, hanging his head. Carli reached a comforting hand to him but stopped, uncertain how he’d re
spond, further proving how little she knew the young man with whom she’d left her entire life.
“Can it be fixed?” she finally whispered.
Wyatt lifted his head, turning just slightly to the side to address her.
“The GPS has no power so I don’t know,” Wyatt said. “We’ll need an energy source for it. . . the solar panels can provide that. . . we’ll have to get them going first. . .”
He started toward the pile of junk, rifling through it with an urgency that Carli couldn’t decide was panic or excitement. Each tool he found he slammed atop the table, creating a semblance of order within minutes, the entire time muttering to himself about what needed to be done. Lastly, he shrugged the jetpack off his shoulders and plopped it on the table, causing it—and everything on it—to rattle and clatter.
“If I disassemble the jetpack, I can use its parts to reassemble the GPS and fix anything damaged,” he said. “Hopefully, the GPS information from the last transmission—from the only transmission—is still stored in the system.”
“How long will that take?” Carli asked. “A few hours?”
Wyatt snorted and shook his head, his eyes flitting among the supplies on his table. Carli swallowed hard.
“A day?” she asked anxiously. “Or two?”
The walls suddenly felt like they were pushing in around her. The flashlight’s beam flickered and the red emergency lights no longer seemed to glow so brightly. She didn’t look forward to the freezing cold outside, but the air in the HASS was stuffy and Carli didn’t feel like she could take a deep breath. Wyatt ran through the list of things he needed to check first—the solar panels, the HASS’s wiring, the condition of the parts holding the jetpack together—before he finally made a prediction for their timetable.