Burn Out (4 page)

Laughter echoed through the pod and her singsong voice sounded like it was coming from everywhere. “You’ll never find me.” I heard the click of the front door.

“No,” I yelled. “You shouldn’t go outside.” I shook off my fog and ran down the hall, but stopped short in the front room. There was no furniture, no anything. The room was completely bare. My pulse quickened and I hurried out the door, shouting her name.

Stark white pods lined the grids in neat rows. Bright light flooded the city through the dome. Though it consisted of a special substance that muted the sun’s damaging rays, the Consulate still discouraged people from going outside for long. They didn’t understand that my sister craved the outdoors the way my mother craved pain meds. A slight breeze stirred due to the main wind generator that continuously pumped recycled air through the dome.

I looked behind our father’s land cruiser, one of her usual spots. She wasn’t there. I called her name but was met with silence. Her girlish laughter had disappeared. My sister didn’t do quiet, and I began to panic. I turned around, looking in all directions to no avail. No one was there. Though it couldn’t yet be night, the sky suddenly dimmed, and the pod dwellings cast long shadows on the streets. I broke into a cold sweat, my heart hammering. The air went still, and the light faded to dark gray. I screamed her name into the night, my voice hoarse. Then everything plunged into blackness. I was alone.

My eyes flew open. I was back in the shelter, my body
curled into a fetal position and my face damp with tears. Don’t think about her. A large, dry lump had lodged itself in my throat. I flicked tears from my face; it wasn’t like they could bring her back. Plus, crying was a luxury I couldn’t afford given the state of my water supply.

I finally managed to swallow. The familiar burning sensation returned to my throat. Chronic thirst, my trusty companion.

The water situation hadn’t become life-threatening until the last few decades. Everyone became obsessed with water, as death by dehydration was not a pretty way to go. When the ponds, lakes, and finally, the oceans had boiled and evaporated, the Consulate scientists came through with technology allowing us to glean the precious water molecules from the atmosphere. You had to give them credit for that I guess.

The technology was termed Water in Air Recycling, W.A.R., and the acronym said it all. People fought and killed one another over these machines—not everyone could afford them but you needed one to survive for long. My father said it was all-out civil war in the early years. It didn’t stop until all of the have-nots literally died of thirst.

I padded across the small room and checked the W.A.R.: same level as yesterday. The water output had continued its gradual decline, yet I was still able to enjoy a whopping two and a half cups of water per day. My father’s murder had seen to that.

The machines worked great around the time when
everything had just evaporated—there were tons of water molecules in the air. As the years went on, the sun grew hotter and the molecules scarcer. Despite the shortage, my father improved the detection levels on our W.A.R., and though we were never in danger of it overflowing, we always had enough to drink. It wasn’t until I was about ten years old that we noticed the difference. We’d check the level in the morning and there would be an inch less water produced than the week before. We were forced to ration our drinking water until we were each down to one cup of water a day. It was terrible that on the day my mother and sister died, one of the first thoughts to cross my mind after the mind-numbing grief was “more water for me.”

Next up on my checklist was the oxygen rating: ninety-three percent saturation level. I exhaled slowly. Hopefully, it had reached a stable level after my repair job. If it continued going down, it would be a problem. I knew it would eventually decline over time, along with the H
₂
O molecules in the atmosphere, but I wasn’t sure how low it could get before I’d have problems breathing. Whenever it did happen, I’d take care of myself long before my lungs gave out.

I grabbed a gel-filled energy packet, one of my two “meals” of the day, and considered what to do. The options were underwhelming. For months, I’d constantly been on the GlobalNet trying to find other survivors and was grateful for my father’s Infinity. The Consulate had given it to him as a gift for creating the weapons; however, instead of
a thank-you note, my father took his guns and fled.

I still checked each day for signs of life on my GlobalNet page, Surviving Burn Out. I used to write a daily entry but had since been recycling my original post:

I had no subscribers and had yet to see a comment. If everyone weren’t dead, I’d take it personally.

I stared at the Infinity. It reminded me of the first and last time I encountered an actual Consulate member. We’d been living in the pod city and I’d begged Dad to take me with him to work one day. I must have been nine or so at the time, and needed a break from the monotony of the pod. Visitors weren’t usually allowed into his office building, but Dad gave in to my whining. We climbed in his cruiser and took off through the pod city toward the Consulate headquarters. All I could see aside from other cruisers were the rows of pods. Even though we lived in a city, I rarely saw other people unless they were going from their cruiser into their pod homes and vice versa. My sister was the only renegade who ran outside whenever she could.

I’d never been to the center of the city and stared wide-eyed at a large electronic billboard that flashed Consulate messages like “Pumping Air Because We Care.” We neared the main Consulate building and slowed at the gated entry, where a three-dimensional virtual keyboard popped out of thin air. Dad punched in a code and the gate swung open. We parked the cruiser and walked to the building entrance where another keyboard appeared.

I frowned. “Why do they need so much security?”

Dad punched in more numbers and pulled me inside. “It’s not safe to talk about it right now. Just don’t draw attention to yourself.”

I stared at him quizzically but kept silent. What wasn’t safe? I mean we were inside the Consulate building so I couldn’t imagine a safer place in the whole city. The Consulate protected us and provided air. Maybe they were worried about people breaking in to the building and stealing things—it would certainly explain their discouragement of visitors.

The halls and floor shone as if everything had just been polished. I stepped carefully, afraid I might slip, but my shoes held their grip on the glossy surface. We passed several others in the hallway who wore badges similar to my father’s. A few nodded at him, and passed cursory glances in my direction.

“There sure isn’t a lot of chitchat here, is there?” I observed.

“Shhhh. We’re almost there.” He guided me around a corner.

The feminine voice seemed to come from everywhere. “Please keep your badges visible at all times. Help the Consulate help you to stay safe.” It took me a second to realize it was an automatic recording projected through a sound system.

We stopped at a small door and Dad waved his hand over a lock. The door slid open and we stepped inside a
small, perfectly square room. It was as blindingly white as the hallway. The door closed soundlessly behind us.

I stared at the stark walls. “They’re not big on color here, huh?”

Dad sighed. “They don’t want people distracted from their work. Color and artwork is a violation of code 203b.”

“Geez. That seems like a dumb rule.”

Dad put a finger to his lips but smiled as he pointed at a small device in the ceiling. “All the offices are monitored to ensure adequate compliance with assigned work duties.”

I stared at the small object above us. “So they can see me anyway. They know I’m here.”

“Yes, having outsiders in the facility is a violation of code 417c. I’m sure I’ll get a documented warning about this.” He didn’t sound very upset.

I hadn’t realized the codes were so strict or that he had risked a job warning. “Dad, I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble.”

Dad pulled up a three-dimensional keyboard and logged in. “No, it’s time for you to see this … see how things are.” He waved a hand in my direction. “I need to get a few things done and then I want to show you something.”

I paced around the bare room for a while as he typed away. A strange pent-up energy overcame me and I hopped up and down several times.

Dad looked over with a frown. “What are you doing?”

I kept running. “I feel weird … like overly energetic or something.”

Dad’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, that. Must be the extra oxygen they pump in here.”

I stopped running. Oxygen was a rare commodity. I stared at Dad.

“They think additional oxygen keeps employees more energized and alert during the workday. Based on your spontaneous workout, I’d say they’re onto something.”

His eyes stopped me before I asked the obvious:
Where did they get extra air?

The voice appeared out of nowhere again. “Mr. Reynolds, please report to Mr. Davis, and bring your guest with you.”

Crap. They’d definitely noticed me. It couldn’t be good that they wanted to see us.

Dad stood and motioned for me to join him. I realized I was sweating and not just from my run.

I gripped his arm. “Are we in trouble?” I whispered.

“Don’t worry. We’re fine.” He waved his hand over the lock and the office door slid open.

Why did he sound so sure of himself? Didn’t he realize that they could fire him? Without a job, we couldn’t afford to stay in the pod city. We could be kicked out like the others, which would mean certain death.

I stuck by his side as we moved down several more hallways before we came to the end of a hall with an oversized door. The door slid open without any help from us.

“Come in, Micah, come in.” A large man sat behind an equally large desk and waved my father in. A thin woman
with frosted hair and dark lipstick sat in a chair to his side. She had the air of an entitled assistant. She gave me a tight-lipped smile and folded her hands in her lap. They both wore bright orange badges with
Consulate
stamped on them in dark black lettering. It contrasted with Dad’s small white employee badge.

Dad sat in one of two empty chairs in front of them, so I parked myself in the other one.

The man’s booming voice rang out again. “And who do we have here?” His eyes appraised me and something about his look made my stomach cringe.

My dad laughed. “Allan, you really don’t see the resemblance? This is my oldest daughter, Tora. She is very interested in the work I do and wanted to see it firsthand.”

“Yes, sir,” I chimed in. “It’s my dream to work for the Consulate one day.” The lie came easily.

“Well, we don’t normally allow visitors but I’m always happy to hear that someone wants to serve our great cause. It’s nice to meet you, Tora.” Allan extended his hand in my direction.

I hesitated but leaned over and shook it. His moist, meaty skin clung to mine and I fought the urge to rip myself away. He gave me a good strong squeeze, then released me. When he turned his focus on Dad, I wiped my hand on my pants.

“So, Micah. I was quite impressed with the weapons demonstration you did for us yesterday. I assume the timeline is still on schedule.”

My father smiled. “Absolutely. In fact, the timeline is better than expected. I haven’t been down to the weapons lab today, but will double-check some of the gun capabilities tomorrow.”

“Excellent. So everything will be ready by the end of the summer?”

“Yes, sir.”

I glanced over at the assistant and the same smile was pasted across her face. She looked almost frozen until her mouth moved.

“Do you think it might move along even faster if we brought in some help for you?” She managed to speak and smile at the same time.

Dad’s jaw clenched but he recovered quickly. “No. As you know, the work I do is highly sensitive. I couldn’t promise the same level of confidentiality if others were involved. I’d hate to think what would happen if this sort of information leaked out….”

“No, no, that would have terrible implications,” Allan said and threw a piercing gaze at the woman. “Our original deadline is fine. Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

It was the first time I realized that Dad’s weaponry work was of the top secret variety. He’d mentioned making peacekeeping weapons, and it had crossed my mind that weapons and peace didn’t seem to go together but who was I to question him? I also realized how valuable Dad was to the Consulate. No wonder he didn’t seem concerned about being fired.

Allan opened a drawer in his desk. “Micah, I want you to know how much we appreciate your years of tremendous service to us. We’ve taken the liberty to add additional funds to your currency chip. I hope you will find it to your satisfaction. We would also like to give you this as a small token of appreciation.” He held out a device to my father.