There were those who wanted to live right there, who were reticent to venture any further. They had seeds and more soil than reckoning, and the storerooms could be turned into apartments. It would be a good home. Juliette listened to them debate this.
It was Elise who settled the matter. She opened her book to a map, pointed to the sun and showed them which way was north, and said they should move toward water. She claimed to know how to gather wild fish, said there were worms in the ground and Solo knew how to put them on hooks. Pointing to a page in her memory book, she said they should walk to the sea.
Adults pored over these maps and this decision. There was another round of debates among those who thought they should shelter right there, but Juliette shook her head. “This isn’t a home,” she said. “It’s just a warehouse. Do we want to live in the shadow of that?” She nodded to the dark cloud on the horizon, that dome of dust.
“And what about when others show up?” someone pointed out.
“More reason not to be here,” Rickson offered.
More debate. There were just over a hundred of them. They could stay there and farm, get a crop up before the canned goods ran out. Or they could carry what they needed and see if the legends of unlimited fish and of water that stretched to the horizon were true. Juliette nearly pointed out that they could do both, that there were no rules, that there was plenty of land and space, that all the fighting came when things were running low and resources were scarce.
“What’s it going to be, Mayor?” Raph asked. “We bedding down here or moving on?”
“Look!”
Someone pointed up the hill, and a dozen heads turned to see. There, over the rise, a figure in a silver suit stumbled down the slope, the grass at their feet already trampled and slick. Someone from their silo who had changed their mind.
Juliette raced through the grass, feeling not fear but curiosity and concern. Someone they’d left behind, someone who had followed them. It could be anyone.
Before she could close the distance, the figure in the suit collapsed. Gloved hands groped to release the helmet, fumbled with the collar. Juliette ran. There was a large bottle strapped to the person’s back. She worried they were out of air, wondered what they had rigged up and how.
“Easy,” she yelled, dropping behind the struggling figure. She pressed her thumbs into the clasps. They clicked. She pulled the helmet free and heard someone gasping and coughing. They bent forward, wheezing, a spill of sweat-soaked hair, a woman. Juliette rested a hand on this woman’s shoulder, did not recognize her at all — thought it was perhaps someone from the congregation or the Mids.
“Breathe easy,” she said. She looked up as others arrived. They pulled up short at the sight of this stranger.
The woman wiped her mouth and nodded. Her chest heaved with a deep breath. Another. She brushed the hair off her face. “Thank you,” she gasped. She peered up at the sky and the clouds in something other than wonder. In relief. Her eyes focused on and tracked an object, and Juliette turned and gazed up to see another of the birds wheeling lazily in the sky. The crowd around her kept their distance. Someone asked who this was.
“You aren’t from our silo, are you?” Juliette asked. Her first thought was that this was a cleaner from a nearby silo who had witnessed their march, had followed them. Her second thought was impossible. It was also correct.
“No,” the woman said, “I’m not from your silo. I’m from… somewhere quite different. My name is Charlotte.”
A glove was offered, a glove and a weary smile. The warmth of that smile disarmed Juliette. To her surprise, she realized that she held no anger or resentment toward this woman, who had told her the truth of this place. Here, perhaps, was a kindred spirit. And more importantly, a fresh start. She regained her composure, smiled back, and shook the woman’s hand. “Juliette,” she said. “Let me help you out of that.”
“You’re her,” Charlotte said, smiling. She turned her attention to the crowd, to the tower and the piles of supplies. “What is this place?”
“A second chance,” Juliette said. “But we aren’t staying here. We’re heading to the water. You’ll come with us, I hope. But I have to warn you, it’s a long way.”
Charlotte rested her hand on Juliette’s shoulder. “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ve already come a long way.”
A Note to the Reader
In July of 2011, I wrote and published a short story that brought me into contact with thousands of readers, took me around the world on book tours, and changed my life. I couldn’t have dreamed that any of this was about to happen the day I published Wool. Two years have passed, and now the publication of this book completes an amazing journey. I thank you for making that journey possible and for accompanying me along the way.
This is not the end, of course. Every story we read, every film we watch, continues on in our imaginations if we allow it. Characters live another day. They grow old and die. New ones are born. Challenges crop up and are dealt with. There is sadness, joy, triumph, and failure. Where a story ends is nothing more than a snapshot in time, a brief flash of emotion, a pause. How and if it continues is up to us.
My only wish is that we leave room for hope. There is good and bad in all things. We find what we expect to find. We see what we expect to see. I have learned that if I tilt my head just right and squint, the world outside is beautiful. The future is bright. There are good things to come.
What do you see?
Epilogue
Raph seemed unsure. He held a branch in his hand, weighed it purposefully, his pale face a dance of orange and gold from the flickering fire.
“Just throw the damn thing in,” Bobby yelled.
There was laughter, but Raph frowned in consternation. “It’s wood,” he said, weighing the branch.
“Look around you,” Bobby roared. He waved at the dark limbs hanging overhead, the wide trunks. “It’s more than we’ll ever need.”
“Do it, lad.” Erik kicked one of the logs, and a burst of sparks buzzed in the air as if startled from their slumber. Finally, Raph threw the branch in with the rest, and the wood began to crackle and spark.
Juliette watched from her bedroll. Somewhere in the woods, an animal made a sound, a sound unlike any she’d ever heard. It was like a crying child, but sonorous and mournful.
“What was that?” someone asked.
In the darkness, they exchanged guesses. They conjured animals from children’s books. They listened to Solo recount the many breeds from olden times that he had read about in the Legacy. They gathered around Elise with flashlights and pored through the stitched pages of her book. Everything was a mystery and a wonder.
Juliette lay back and listened to the crackle from the fire, the occasional loud pop from a log, enjoying the heat on her skin, the smell of meat cooking, the peculiar odor of grass and so much soil. And through the canopy overhead, stars twinkled. The bright clouds from before — the ones that had hidden the sun as it set behind the hills — were parted by the breeze. They revealed above her a hundred glittering pricks of light. A thousand. More of them everywhere the longer she looked. They glittered in her tear-filled eyes as she thought of Lukas and the love he had aroused in her. And something hardened in her chest, something that made her jaw clench tight to keep from crying, a renewed purpose in her life, a desire to reach the water on Elise’s map, to plant these seeds, to build a home above the ground and live there.