The Girl Who Found the Sun Read online

  A moment later, she paused to look at a dust-covered metal sign on the wall bearing the words ‘Arcology 1409 - United States Federal Emergency Management Service. Authorized Personnel Only.’

  Considering how old it had to be, the sign appeared in remarkably good condition. Most likely because it sat in a little-used corridor safe from the elements and any disturbances. Seeing mention of ‘United States’ gave her a sense of witnessing history up close, even though she still hadn’t technically left the Arc. The teacher before Sienna, Mrs. Reed, taught the kids enough for Raven to know ‘United States’ had been what they called the land outside the Arc before the Great Death. Society had once created hundreds of different regions, all having different names. Some had been so far away the people who lived there didn’t even talk in the same words.

  And they’re all gone now.

  A thought hit her in the head hard enough to make her dizzy. That sign proved this corridor had been here from the beginning. It would have had to be on the schematics. Either the designers left it off, or someone modified the drawings. Neither scenario made any sense.

  Raven turned away from the sign and kept going. She had bigger problems than daydreaming about a world that had been gone for several centuries or wondering who told what kind of lies and why. Red and orange markings on the walls up ahead confused her until she got close enough to realize someone spray painted graffiti. The paint reminded her of the distance markings in the wire conduit, reflective bright orange. This hallway hadn’t been kept locked prior to the crazy man running topside and leaving the hatch open. Whoever had come down here before decorated the concrete with crude drawings of dead beetles as well as scrawled warnings like ‘Danger! Poison ahead!’ and ‘Turn back or die.’

  The dire predictions and dead insects further unsettled her already unstable stomach.

  If I die out there, what’s going to happen to Tins?

  When they’d asked her to help out by having a baby, she’d been happy to do her part even if it had been awkward, messy, and not terribly pleasant the first time. Her mother died when she’d been small, so she had no one to talk to about sex type stuff. Actually doing it with Chase ended up being nothing at all like what she’d read in romance books. She had intercourse several times over a week, but as soon as Doc confirmed her pregnant, Chase barely even looked at her again. Perhaps the worst part had been trying to get through the sex with a guy she barely knew and didn’t even like. She liked him much less now due to his indifference to Tinsley.

  More than any other factor, his attitude kept her from agreeing to get pregnant a second time by him. Thus far, they hadn’t matched her with anyone else ‘safe’ enough from a genetic standpoint.

  Chase Oakley… stupid, selfish white boy.

  She couldn’t even remember the last time she spoke to him exactly, but it had to be before Tinsley turned two. Naturally, they had an argument over his lack of interest in their daughter. He said something about a third of babies don’t survive past age three, and theirs had been born a little premature and underweight. Maybe he expected her to die within months.

  No way, asshole. Tinsley’s a fighter. Damn, I hope she throws it in your face if you try to involve yourself after she’s twelve. Somehow, Raven had kept her mouth shut. No one in the Arc except for her ‘sister’ knew how much she hated that man. Between him and watching those other people dump their kids off on Sienna, she’d made up her mind not to have any more babies no matter how desperately Noah asked her to. If ever she had another one, it would be with a guy who wanted to be with her, not someone who’d been ordered to. She couldn’t saddle another kid with a disinterested father.

  Before long, the end of the corridor came into view. Plain steel elevator doors hung halfway open, slightly bent.

  “Huh… so there really is an elevator.”

  Someone had spray painted ‘express elevator to doom’ on the doors and ‘this way to hell’ on the wall below an upward pointing arrow. The vacant shaft behind the relatively flimsy doors indicated the elevator cab had either gone up already or been cannibalized for spare parts like every other elevator in the Arc. People didn’t need elevators to go from one floor to the next, so a prior boss ordered them disassembled and used as materials to repair other more essential systems. In fact, her alarm clock’s frame had once been part of an elevator.

  Raven gripped the left door and stuck her head in, peering up. The shaft didn’t have any LED bulbs, so she unhooked her crank light—the replacement one Ben gave her that worked better—gave it a few turns, and shone it straight up on a steel ladder surrounded by nearly-black concrete. Total darkness beyond the reach of the beam set off a momentary sense of vertigo.

  The air smelled stale and dry, untouched by the Arc’s ventilation system. Obviously, some air moved in and out of this corridor via the door at the end, but she didn’t want to spend a lot of time in a dead hallway. Like Doc said, if the air didn’t have enough oxygen, she could fall unconscious so fast she’d not be able to save herself.

  Question being, would that be better or worse than what awaited her topside?

  I could die if I go out there. Everyone could die if I don’t.

  She clenched her jaw, not sure if relying on external wind power had been smarter or dumber than building a nuclear reactor in the Arc. A reactor wouldn’t have been vulnerable to damage from the conditions outside… but it also would have introduced the possibility of a nuclear accident, not to mention storage of spent fuel. Also, after two, three, or maybe even four hundred years—no one remembered exactly how long ago the Great Death happened—they’d certainly have run out of fresh fuel rods. If the wind ever ‘ran out,’ humanity would have far bigger problems than lack of electricity.

  She reattached her flashlight to her poncho and gripped the ladder in both hands. According to every other adult in the Arc, going outside would be about as dangerous as walking into the core room of a nuclear reactor. Did Noah expect her to go out there, fix the turbine, and drop dead? She couldn’t believe topside remained that dangerous. Not after hearing about her father exploring so many times. Topside clearly had its dangers, but instant death by melting into a puddle of goo wasn’t one of them.

  A downed turbine will most likely cause another one to fail within a few days or a week at most. That will set off a cascade, and everyone suffocates in the dark. She closed her eyes, shaking from dread at the thought she might never see Tinsley again. But… if she didn’t do this, her daughter would certainly die, along with everyone else. The last humans on Earth.

  Maybe I should have more babies.

  Grumbling, she used her anger at Chase for motivation, and began the climb.

  The wire conduit had a slight uphill angle that put the L-bend at the same elevation as the first—uppermost—level of the Arc, ninety feet under the surface. The emergency escape on the third level hadn’t angled up or down. Another two stories of ladder didn’t make much difference. Climbing a long ladder in a wide elevator shaft definitely beat crawling 200 feet down a cramped conduit.

  She neither rushed nor dawdled on the way up into the dark. Once it felt like she should be nearing the top, every three rungs, she stretched an arm up overhead in search of the ceiling. At least climbing in a complete lack of light prevented looking down from being scary. Eventually, her hand made contact with a solid surface. She hooked an arm on the ladder for a better grip and used her free hand to crank the light. In a few seconds, a weak, yellowish glow appeared on the dry concrete wall in front of her.

  Angling the beam upward revealed a square metal hatch that looked quite thick. A dinner-plate sized metal wheel stuck out on a post from the center, connected to a series of gears that extended or retracted four locking bars securing it shut. She clipped the crank light to the side of her filter mask so it pointed wherever she looked, and grabbed the wheel.

  One-handing it didn’t work. No matter how hard she tried to twist it in either direction, the wheel refused to turn.

>   Dangling by her hands 110 feet over a solid concrete floor did not sound fun. It took her a moment to find the courage to release her left hand from the ladder, relying on leg strength alone to keep her in place. Jaw clenched, she strained to turn the wheel counterclockwise, expecting a sudden unstick to practically throw her off the ladder.

  The wheel still didn’t move, so she paused to study the twist on the threads circling the shaft. Yeah. Definitely counterclockwise. I’m just not strong enough. Or I’m hesitating. Screw it. I don’t weigh much… if I slip I can hold myself up.

  After taking a few preparatory breaths, she braced her feet on the ladder, tightened her grip on the wheel, and wrenched it counterclockwise using her entire body. Seconds later, the mechanism broke free from crud, a loud metallic pank echoing into the depths. Surprisingly, she didn’t lose her footing.

  As soon as the spike of dread from risking a fatal fall faded, she faced only the fear of being one steel hatch cover away from to the outside world, a world everyone regarded with absolute dread.

  “Well, Dad. You kept coming back home… until you didn’t.” Raven closed her eyes, holding back a tear. “The air didn’t kill you, did it? Something else did. I’m gonna be fine. It has to be okay out there. I believe you. You weren’t nuts.”

  She patted around her filter mask to check the seal against her face, steeled herself, and spun the wheel until the four metal prongs retracted fully out from the rim. Only the hatch’s weight kept it closed.

  Moment of truth. Last chance to chicken out. Raven grinned to herself. No way. Here I come, Dad.

  6

  The Endless March

  Going topside is like sex. First time’s painful and confusing. Second time, you’re a little more used to it. Then you end up loving it. – Ellis Wilder.

  Raven scooted up one more rung and gave the hatch a hard upward shove.

  Unexpected blinding light filled the passage, stabbing her in the eyes like hot knives and startling a scream out of her. Some dry, crumbly material fell all over her, but she couldn’t see it… or much of anything. Too worried about falling to care about anything else, she grabbed the edge of the opening and hauled herself up and out onto the ground. Now it made sense why her father had the tinted goggles. As a kid, she’d gotten into his kit and found them, but had no idea why he’d have something that made it impossible to see.

  “Ow. Shit.” She cradled her face, waiting for the burning sensation in her eyes to lessen.

  It stung more than if someone snuck up on her with a sunlamp from the hydroponic farm, shoved it in her face, and turned it on.

  After a moment, Raven shielded her eyes with both arms, tentatively opening them to a narrow squint, but flinching closed at the painful brightness. Soft rustling came from everywhere around her, shifting in time with gusts and ebbs in a fairly strong breeze. She knelt in place, trying to stay low in case the Plutions might be close by. Hopefully, she’d hear them coming and be able to scurry back into the hatch without slipping and killing herself.

  Over the course of several minutes, she acclimated—somewhat—to the intense light. At first, she had to squint, then little by little, she forced herself to open her eyes more as the discomfort lessened. Tears streamed down her face, flowing involuntarily in response to such bright light. Never before in her life had she seen anything like it. Not even the farm came close to this level of illumination.

  The blurry mess around her resolved into shades of green, brown, and grey—mostly green. She knelt in a swath of grey dirt, not far from a square hole in the ground and a thick metal hatch door. It hurt to peer straight up, but she did anyway, wanting to see the sky. It didn’t look like she’d pictured it from the books she’d read, being all grey and smoky.

  It’s supposed to be blue. With white stuff. Wait… is this bad weather? Like, a rainy day? Oh, crap! The sun gets brighter than this?

  The crumbling remains of structures surrounded her on three sides beyond the edge of the bare dirt field, all thickly engulfed by vegetation gone wild. Here and there, she spotted rusting metal amid the foliage, but couldn’t tell what it had been aside from some manner of machinery. The density of the forest prevented her from seeing too far in, but she suspected the debris mounds might have once been houses. Still squinting at the oppressive brightness, she wobbled to her feet. Steady wind pelted her with sand, making her thankful for the goggles and the filter mask.

  But… plants.

  They’re everywhere! The Earth isn’t a dead planet!

  Overcome with giddiness, Raven almost pulled the filter mask down to sniff the air, but didn’t quite have the nerve to go that far. She clearly hadn’t disintegrated upon exposure to the outside world. And, with so many plants growing everywhere, it didn’t seem possible for the atmosphere to be poisonous anymore.

  Still, out of a sense of obligation, she closed the hatch. The top didn’t have a wheel, only a small staple-shaped handle. No one from the outside could open this passage unless it had been unbarred from below. Probably a good idea.

  Raven surveyed her immediate surroundings. The dirt around where she stood had a few depressions that might have been footprints made years ago, or simply wishful thinking on her part. Considering the wind, it didn’t seem possible for her father’s prints to still be visible. Of course, the people in the Arc were the only humans left on Earth, so it couldn’t have been anyone else.

  Plutions?

  The hatch surface didn’t show any signs of damage. If the Plutions had found it, they either didn’t try to get in or didn’t recognize it as an entrance to a hiding place where vulnerable humans cowered away from the destruction outside.

  A few broken posts jutted up from the ground in the forest to her right, one suspiciously similar to an image she’d seen on a book cover—a traffic light. In a slow turn, she gazed out over the ruins of what had to have been a small city or town. Finally, she spotted the reason she’d been allowed out of the Arc—the turbine farm, directly opposite the ruined residential area.

  Eighteen metal towers stood in a grid pattern about a hundred yards away over mostly open dirt, only a few scattered weeds sprouting from it. Each tower supported a turbine generator with three ten-foot blades. From here, they reminded her of enormous fans. She hadn’t expected them to be white. Granted, they weren’t so much white as they had once been. After so many years, they’d become a rust-mottled dark grey. Small patches of still-white paint among the corrosion suggested that long ago, they’d been beautiful and pure. Not so much anymore.

  Being out here surrounded by all the green growth lessened her sense of urgency. She no longer felt like she had to rush to the busted turbine, fix it as fast as she could move, and run back to the hatch to stay alive. Experiencing topside for herself confirmed what she’d hoped to be true for years of listening to Dad. He never hesitated at the idea of leaving the Arc. No fear at all. He’d known all along what she knew now.

  Maybe the air is safe?

  She looked around as if someone might be watching her to scold her for misbehaving, then tugged the filter mask down enough to get a sip of direct air, lush with the essence of vegetation but also a funny smell she couldn’t quite place. Not unpleasant, merely alien.

  Is that what it smells like not to be re-breathing the same air over and over? I’ve gotten so used to scrubbed air, maybe not smelling those machines has a scent of its own.

  Not quite fully ready to trust the world, she re-seated her mask and strode across the dirt field toward the towers. Based on the distance between the bottom of the blades and the ground, she estimated the turbine cores to be thirty feet up. Not too much of a problem as the towers had ladders. Eight-inch thick metal pipes ran from every turbine to a ten-foot-square metal plate at the approximate center of the windmill farm. Those pipes had to contain wires, shielding, and padding.

  Awestruck at seeing the windmills for real as well as trees, grass, and plants she had no name for growing all over the ruins of whatever town the Arc
had been built in—rather under—left her standing there, staring for a while.

  “There couldn’t be this many plants without bugs to pollinate them.” She bounced in happiness. “If bugs have come back, maybe there’s hope.”

  Raven hurried in among the windmill farm, mesmerized by the giant machines. Most had holes rusted into their housing. Miraculously, none had lost any blades, though a few had broken partially off, shorter than they ought to be. Turbine fourteen rather obviously had a problem—its blades didn’t spin at all.

  At a sudden crunch under her right foot, she stopped, finally peeling her stare away from the graceful windmills to look down—and gasped at the sight of a mostly disintegrated environmental protection suit. A naked skull peered back at her, shrouded in the remains of a melted helmet. The suit had suffered so much damage, it entirely exposed the skeletal remains of the person who’d been wearing it. Not far off on the right lay another body. Two more slumped against the base of a turbine tower farther ahead on her left. A bony arm stuck up from a dirt dune she’d walked past. All the suits looked as though they’d been doused in strong acid, enough to eat into the person. It called to mind the stories of how people would melt into slime puddles.

  “The Saints,” she whispered. “It’s true… they really did die out here.”

  It took a moment for the shock of her discovery to wear off enough that she could do more than stare at the remains in horrified reverence. Collecting herself, she crouched to examine the corpse she’d stepped on. No trace of flesh remained on the bones, and nothing offered any clue if they had been a man or woman. Perhaps someone with medical training could’ve figured out how long ago they died, but she assumed it had to be quite a while. Most stories about the Saints claimed they’d gone out to repair turbines over a hundred years ago.

  “Gotta be longer than people say… plants couldn’t live in air that melted these suits… unless the Plutions shot them with some alien gun.”