“What if I just wanted to save my friend?”
“Unless you act fast, you have a better chance of escape.”
Lucy sighed. “You’re a really crappy motivational speaker. I thought you didn’t want this life either. You got my hopes up that it doesn’t have to be like this.”
“The difference,” Cass replied, pulling away, “is that I know this isn’t the life I want after years of careful thought. You think this isn’t the life for you because you’re comparing it to a life that doesn’t exist.”
Her honesty stung.
“Then just tell me what to do,” Lucy said, defeated.
“No.” Cass shook her head firmly, her braids waving against her back like two black pendulums. “Never. I brought you up here because you needed something special today…to remind you that even though this place is dark and confusing, you are not alone.”
Lucy’s heart pounded. She could feel the blood rush in her ears. “I’m leaving this place. And I’m leaving with Grant. If you don’t believe I can do it, then I am alone,” Lucy said and she took a backward step back toward the elevator. She felt flustered; she blushed. For every ounce of Cass’s charm, Lucy felt inadequate and blundering. “And…and…I want to get the dog back inside,” she added stammering, grasping. “He shouldn’t be punished for Blair’s mistake. I’ll do that first.” She punctuated her last request by pointing to poor Frank, who still sat against the glass, now barking—although the glass obscured the sound and she couldn’t hear him, only see his mouth open and close, his head turning to follow some unknown sound.
Then Lucy began to cry; she felt the sharp pang of emotion creeping up, pushing its way out. If Cass said anything to her, anything at all, she knew she would burst into sobs. Being underestimated always made her cry harder than anything else.
But if Cass was going to reply, she didn’t have a chance.
Startling them both, an alarm began to ring—loud and clear in the tiny space—an incessant beeping of warning.
“Is there a fire?” Lucy asked, covering her ears. “Is that a fire alarm?”
Cass shook her head. She walked over to the wall and flipped a switch. The beeping stopped. Still, Lucy thought she could hear it ringing upward from deep within the belly of the System. She looked frantically to Cass for answers.
“It’s the alarm for a meeting. If that goes off, we have to gather, by pod, in the Center. As fast as possible.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Only once. On Release Day.”
“What could it mean?”
Cass walked over and opened her faux wall; she pushed the elevator button and the doors swung open on command. Then she rushed into the tiny space and motioned for Lucy to follow.
“Huck is summoning. Missing it is not an option. It means we better hurry and sneak back in…before we’re missed…or before we’re caught.” Her eyes scanned the glass and then she closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, for the first time, Cass’s confidence wavered and she looked afraid.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dean moved in. After helping restock the patio with their supplies, he climbed back into his truck, sat for a few minutes, and then came back to the house with an offer: he’ll move closer and they could pool their resources. The agreements outweighed the dissent.
Ethan, who missed the entire journey to the Trotter farm and the bonding that ensued, met the new houseguest with blatant contempt. In private, they tried to pass it off as a tactical measure: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But after time it became apparent that no one thought of Dean as an enemy. While they were enjoying his company, Ethan inwardly seethed about the implications of adding one more person to their group.
It was one more mouth to feed, one more strong personality to contend with, and one more person to worry about when his family came back to get him. While Spencer and Joey seemed to appreciate what Dean brought to the household—an old school hardness combined with all the qualities of a fun-loving extrovert, especially after a few rounds—Darla communicated that she too was wary.
“I don’t know, Ethan. I don’t trust him.” And after he pressed further, she looked at him and admitted, “I think there’s something wrong with a man who doesn’t seem to care about whether or not his son lived or died.”
It was a valid point.
And their worries hung visibly whenever he entered the room.
They wanted to embrace their fondness for Grant while exercising their right to dislike his father. After all, he had made off with a six-month supply of meals and never seemed remorseful.
“I used to think that when the world ended, all these macho hero types would survive. Battling off the evils and looking out for the little guys. That is an inaccurate depiction of our current situation,” Ethan mused to Ainsley and Darla while spinning around the den in his chair. Doctor Krause had given the okay for Ethan to start spending some time out and about. No longer confined to the couch was liberating. He moved the wheelchair right and left, and appreciating his newfound mobility. “Who knew? You try to kill the planet and you get high school principals and gas station attendants battling for a top seat.”
“Darla’s bad-ass,” Ainsley said and pointed to her friend.
Darla gave a non-committal look. “Glad to know I’m winning the power-rankings for most-least-likely-person to lead a group of people after the apocalypse. My mother would be so proud.”
“Let’s just remember that none of us are supposed to be alive, though,” added Ainsley. The sobering thought settled on the room and she frowned. “Sorry.”
“So then,” Ethan replied, adjusting his body on the couch, “if I saved all your lives, then maybe one-legged undeclared former college sophomore takes first place.”
“We are doomed,” Darla deadpanned.
Ethan threw a pillow at her and she batted it away with one swipe.
“What’s happening in here?” Dean called as he entered the room. Ethan thought he recognized the plaid shirt Dean was wearing as one of his father’s; he added it to an ever-growing list of things that annoyed him about his houseguests.
“We’re just talking,” Ethan answered.
“I’ve got something to talk about then,” Dean exclaimed, powering forward with dauntless ambition for ruining conversations. “Spencer and I were having a little chat. Seems like there’s dissention in the ranks about what to do when the killers come back to collect one of their own. Right?”
Ethan cringed. The killers. Now there was no room left to entertain the idea that the people in Nebraska could be friendly. He shifted uncomfortably and watched as Dean walked the perimeter of the room, examining the spines of books, pulling some out to look at further, and pushing them back. At least he didn’t march in with a presentation.
“Let me guess,” Darla said. “You think Spencer’s plan is great. Arm ourselves and wait.”
“I do. Yes.” Dean replied without even looking at them. “I don’t mean to burst anyone’s bubble here, but this guy,” he jabbed his thumb toward Ethan, “isn’t exactly on the same level as us. I actually wanted to add to the plan. I think we have room to negotiate. Make some demands. Food. Water. Shelter. Protection from further attacks.”
“What if they don’t come?” Ethan asked.
As the days passed by, non-arrival seemed more likely than rescue. And with Ethan’s fever returning sporadically and Doctor Krause mumbling worries about infection, everything about his future felt tenuous.
“Or what if they don’t negotiate?” Darla added.