Storm (10 page)

Tori was limited by her injury, so there wasn’t much she could do that was physical, but she found a perfect job anyway. The cowboys had scrounged up gas-powered generators from around the city, and not all of them were in great shape. Using her knowledge of engines, Tori tuned them up and had them humming perfectly. Their main function, now that it was getting colder, was to power the heaters that pumped warm air into the buildings. Thanks to Tori, the people at the Hall would be warm throughout the long winter.
Though she was going along with the program, her gym bag was never far from her side.
I did what I did best: garden. In this case it was a vegetable garden. Winter was coming, so planting anything outside would have been a waste. Instead, I cleared an unused section of one of the buildings that had a skylight and set up rows of planters that we scrounged from a nearby gardening center. In no time I had several rows of tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, and onions growing in the improvised greenhouse. If all went well, there would be enough plants to provide fresh vegetables throughout the winter.
The only one of us who didn’t do much to fit in was Kent—no big surprise. At first he was asked to wash windows, but that job didn’t last more than a minute. Kent didn’t do menial chores that were more suited to the lower classes—which in his opinion was everybody but him. Once he blew off that job, he would disappear for hours on end. Nobody knew where he went or what he was doing.
One time I saw him strolling across Faneuil Hall in deep discussion with Chris Campbell. When he saw that I was watching, he walked away from Chris quickly, as if he didn’t want me to know that they were talking.
When I would ask him at night what he had done that day, he’d get evasive and say, “Whatever they ask me to do.”
He didn’t even confide in Olivia—unless she was being secretive about it too.
I didn’t press him on it because I didn’t want to start a fight. It was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about whatever he was doing, and to be honest, I didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t getting into any kind of trouble that might hurt the rest of us.
The rest of us settled into our jobs and the day-to-day routine of making the best of what we had. New people arrived all the time, but our numbers never seemed to increase, which meant that just as many were leaving. Every day I’d hear about somebody who knew somebody who was no longer there. I’d guess that about ten people left every day. For a group that only numbered around two hundred, that seemed like a big chunk of people who didn’t want to be there. But everyone had the right to do what they wanted.
It wasn’t a horrible way to live, but the real reason for our being there was never far from anybody’s mind. The fear of another attack wasn’t our only worry. There was real concern over what our lives would be like once the war was over. It was like living in limbo, waiting for the next phase of life to kick in.
The guy in the cot next to mine, Jim, fully believed that we would be living in the Hall for a long time.
“Whoever did this has got to have big plans,” he’d tell me. “We could be waiting around for months until we find out what they are, so make yourself comfortable.”
Jim gave Chris Campbell all sorts of credit for pulling the Hall together and keeping the people safe and well fed. He got no argument from me. Chris was one of those guys who ran toward problems instead of away from them. I don’t know where the people of the Hall would be if he hadn’t taken charge.
Besides Kent’s secret activities, the only odd part about life at the Hall were the busloads of people who left every morning, like clockwork. Most days I got up early and went to observe the daily bus as it was loaded up with people I’d probably never see again. Many of them I recognized from working around the Hall. None of them had mentioned that they planned to leave, yet there they were, loaded up and headed out.
Other than that, there were no problems. The marauding planes didn’t return, the abundance of food didn’t slack off, and we all had jobs that made us feel as if we were contributing. We had settled into a new normal . . .
. . . until the tenth night we were there.
It started out innocently enough. Better than innocent, in fact, because of Olivia.
She decided that simply surviving wasn’t good enough. Her point was that if we were all stuck together in this forced community, then there was no reason that we shouldn’t have a little fun every once in a while. To that end, she organized a dance. Yes, a dance. Under her direction, a group of guys arranged strings of outdoor Christmas lights to create a festive atmosphere between the two buildings. Jon scavenged a couple of iPod docks with speakers from somewhere in the city, and Tori’s people brought generator power to a makeshift DJ booth. A few people loaned iPods that probably hadn’t been used since the day the city was attacked, and the stage was set.
At eight o’clock, music returned to Faneuil Hall.
The sound brought people out of the buildings. They gathered slowly and a bit cautiously around the small area where lights dangled from the trees. I understood their concern. It was night. It was dark. That’s when the invading Air Force planes were the most powerful. But nobody had seen a plane in a few weeks, and the sound of music was way too tempting to ignore.
Jon played some old-time song I didn’t recognize. It was a bigband jazz thing that he must have thought would appeal to all ages. It didn’t matter to me. Hearing music for the first time in weeks was like a drink of cold water after having walked a hundred miles through the hot desert.
I couldn’t help but smile, and I wasn’t alone. The music was magically melting away the tension that had been gripping us all. People circled Jon at the DJ table and stood there swaying, letting their minds go to another place and a better time.
It was all pretty mellow until Kent jumped up onto a bench and shouted, “Enough sleep! Let’s have some fun!”
Jon took his cue and changed the laid back jazz to a thumping, club-mix dance tune.
A few of the older people cringed, but the younger people loved it.
“Whooo!” came an exited cheer from a girl in the crowd. It could have been Ashley. Or Gigi. Or Madalyn.
Kent ran to Olivia and said, “This is your party, let’s dance!”
With a coy smile, Olivia went along. Kent pulled her out into the circle of light that was intended to be a dance floor, and the two danced as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Most of the people drifted away from Jon to ring the dance floor and watch them while bouncing to the music themselves. The receptionist girls jumped to the center and danced with one another. They were followed by a few guys who danced with them, and soon the place was packed with people, all jumping and bouncing to the music. Even a few older people joined in. They looked awkward, and they couldn’t have cared less. After what they’d been through, nothing would ever embarrass them again.
Jon kept the songs coming, switching from one iPod to another. It wasn’t the smoothest of mixes, but nobody seemed to care. He kept the energy up and the people jumping as more and more joined in. I caught a glimpse of Chris Campbell dancing with the receptionist girls. Even the boss was letting loose.
I looked across the crowd of dancing bodies to the far side to see Tori standing there with her arms folded and a disapproving frown on her face. I circled the group and slid my way over to her.
“Man, how bad does this suck?” I said.
Tori gave me a quick glare, then stared back at the dancers as she answered.
“I’m not an a-hole,” she said curtly. “I get that people have to blow off steam, but they’re living in denial.”
“Maybe, but at least they’re living. Let’s dance.”
“I don’t dance,” she said.
“Me neither. We can just jump around to the music.”
Before she could argue, I pulled her into the group of now sweating bodies. Jon changed the tune to another upbeat song that was all over the radio a few weeks and a lifetime ago as I faced Tori . . . and danced. I don’t have any moves, but I do have rhythm, so all I did was jump a little and pump my fists into the air, and I became part of the pulsating, joyous mass.
Tori didn’t move. She was looking for an escape route, but there were too many people crowding her in. She was trapped . . . and getting knocked around.
“Your shoulder,” I said seriously and stopped dancing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”
“My shoulder’s fine,” she said.
“You always say that.”
“This time I mean it,” she replied.
As if to prove it, she started to dance. She raised her arms in the air, even on the injured side, and started to spin and sway to the music. Unlike me, Tori could dance, and she proved it.
“Are you serious?” I called over the music. “You’re okay?”
She shrugged and spun around. Her long, wavy, dark hair was loose, and it flew around as if it were dancing on its own.
For the first time in a long while, she smiled. Like everyone else, she had gotten lost in the music and the pure joy of letting go.
I was happy to join her and started moving to the beat again.
“Now we’re talking!” Kent said and jumped in between us.
He danced with Tori while Olivia settled in front of me. Dancing with her was a whole different experience than dancing with Tori. While Tori spun and bounced and let her arms go like a wild little kid, Olivia had her eyes locked on mine as if she used dancing to share another kind of energy. It made me sweat, and it wasn’t because of the jumping around. I turned my back to her, but she grabbed my shoulders, pulled me close, and began moving in rhythm with me.
I really hoped that Kent wasn’t watching.
Suddenly, the music downshifted into a slow song.
Uh-oh.
Olivia spun me until we were facing each other.
“Perfect timing,” she said.
I didn’t agree.
She put her arms around me, pulled me close, and rested her head on my shoulder.
I was trapped, so I loosely put my arms around her, and we started swaying to the music.
Most of the people weren’t coupled up, so the dance area thinned out pretty quickly. There would be no hiding. I glanced over Olivia’s shoulder to see that Kent and Tori were wrapped up in each other. I wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad news.
“I needed this,” Olivia said. “I haven’t had any fun in forever.”
“I know what you mean. Nice job. Seriously.”
“Thank you,” she said and snuggled in closer to me. “Let’s pretend like this is going to last.”
I glanced over to Kent and Tori to see that they were dancing just as close. I decided to stop being so nervous and tightened my hold on Olivia.
She responded with a giggle.
“We rely on you, Tucker, you know that? Even Kent. He acts all alpha, but he always waits to see what you think before making any decisions.”
“I don’t know if that’s so smart,” I said.
“Maybe not, but you take everything in and make your choices without bringing any of your own baggage.”
Olivia had no idea what baggage I was hiding, and that was fine by me.
“You aren’t like Tori,” she added. “She’s trying to prove something.”
“She’s angry about her father,” I said.
“We’re all angry,” Olivia snapped. “That’s no excuse to be dumb. I think we’re right where we belong, and we should stay here for as long as we can. If she wants to leave, let her.”
I didn’t respond. What was the point?
“I like you, Tucker,” she said, holding me closer.
That crossed over the danger line, and I loosened my hold on her.
“I like you too, Olivia. You know that. But you and Kent are—”
“Oh, stop,” she said petulantly. “Kent doesn’t own me.”
“But he really cares about you. I’m not going to get in the middle of that.”
Olivia looked up at me, and with a flirty smile she said, “You may not have a choice.”
“Tucker!”
I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me away from Olivia. I expected to turn and see Kent, or Kent’s fist. But it was Tori . . . and she looked pissed.
“Dance with me,” she commanded.
It wasn’t like I had another option. She put her arms around me, not as tightly as Olivia had done, and I followed her lead. Seconds later, we were swaying together as Olivia melted into the crowd.
I felt the tension in Tori’s body. There was more going on with her than just dancing.
“What’s wrong?” I asked
Her answer was to grow even more rigid.
“Talk to me, Tori,” I pressed.
“He tried to kiss me,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Oh. Oh? Did you kiss him back?”
“No!”
I let out a short, relieved laugh.
“Why is that funny?” she asked angrily.
“It’s not. I’m just relieved. I thought it might be something more, more . . . I don’t know. You know?”
If I were being honest, I would tell her that I was relieved because she wouldn’t let Kent kiss her. But that might make her even angrier.
“Such a pig,” she said. “He hangs all over Olivia, and then tries to kiss me? Seriously?”
“He probably just got caught up in the moment. It’s not like we’ve had a whole lot of chances to act, you know, normal.”
Tori pulled back and looked me straight in the eye. “There’s nothing normal about Kent Berringer trying to kiss me.”
We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment and then both started to laugh. Getting bent up about who should be kissing who felt like we were paying a visit to our old lives, where things like that mattered. It felt good. I think it did for Tori too. In spite of her anger.
She pulled me back close as the dance continued. I didn’t mind.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“For giving you such a hard time about not going to Nevada. You were right. Being here is good.”
“Does that mean you want to stay?” I asked.
She hesitated for a few seconds, then said, “I don’t know. I don’t want to get comfortable.”
“Why not?”
“Because this can’t last.”
The song changed to another slow tune. Tori and I didn’t miss a beat and kept swaying.
“At least being here gave your shoulder a chance to heal,” I said.
I felt Tori stiffen again, ever so slightly.
“It is better, right?”
“It is,” she said. “But . . . I don’t know. It’s strange.” “That you healed up?”
“No, that I healed so quickly. Luna said it would take weeks before I felt better. But after I went to see that knob doctor, the wound started to heal incredibly fast. Like . . . impossibly fast. It’s nothing more than a small scar now, and I have total movement of my shoulder with no pain. It’s like it never happened. There isn’t even a scar.”
“And you’re complaining?” I asked, incredulous.
“No, I’m totally relieved. But how could that be? I mean, he put some kind of antibiotic on it, but that wouldn’t make me heal, like . . . instantly. Would it?”