Chapter 17
Forty-eight bells—hours—was entirely too much walking.
My feet ached constantly. The pain barely subsided when we reached the next outpost to eat and sleep, only for it to return with increased vigor when we began the third day.
I welcomed the physical abuse as we journeyed across the gray earth; it was preferable to the nights.
The outposts were comfortable enough, being beneath the surface comforting.
Outpost Two had been identical to Outpost One.
They told me Outpost Three would be less outfitted.
It had been built recently as they expanded their efforts to find whatever resources they claimed to be out there. That wasn’t what sat heavy on my chest.
Damien had been right to be concerned with nightmares.
The first night, Rumi’s question about regrets unleashed terrors that left me tossing and turning, straddling the line between sleep and consciousness.
A vicious game of tug-of-war erupted between my demons and the beast I had become, leaving my stomach in knots and my heart racing.
I almost gave up on sleep completely, ready to volunteer to keep watch, but something shifted and sleep finally blanketed my tired body.
I slept hard and deep, only to be woken up to move out again after a quick meal.
The cots on both sides of me were empty.
That day, I watched how the others each reacted differently to above, yet remained tethered to their partner as if they were a lifeline. I wondered what demons they battled, which ghosts haunted them in the vast wasteland.
Last night, at Outpost Two, was just as restless.
We took off before the sun even crested the horizon, heading west, the group ready in record time.
We trekked on, an intensity in the air as we made our way to Outpost Three.
Conversations moved slowly—everyone seemed distracted.
I didn’t miss that Rumi, Ingrid, and Patrick had decided to walk with their weapons in hand.
I couldn’t fathom why when we all wore an exoskeleton that seemed indestructible.
Maybe the suits weren’t bulletproof. I had never asked, but then I wasn’t concerned about any enemies above. Who would be hunting us out here?
“We should have met Unit Five by now. I haven’t seen them on the nav once,” Patrick said into the helmets, breaking the silence as the sun started its slow descent.
“I know,” Tristian responded from the front of the group.
“Maybe they learned some hocus-pocus shit and poof,” Damien joked half-heartedly.
“Be logical,” Levi drawled.
“Look around us—the whole world has gone poof. What’s one unit disappearing?” Damien countered.
“They wouldn’t have gone into the Abyss instead of heading back, right?” Isla asked.
“Kaleo is incredibly determined,” Rumi muttered.
“It would fuck us on provisions, compromise the entire mission,” Patrick stated.
“What were Burdon’s orders?” Ingrid asked.
Levi snorted. “When has Kaleo ever given a shit about anyone’s orders?”
Rumi glanced back at us as Ingrid shifted her weapon.
“You’d think he’d care about Burdon’s orders with how far up her ass he’s slithered since Hayes…” Patrick stopped as five helmets all swung in his direction. Tristian stared straight ahead. “Since Kaleo’s become intent on finding the supplies first,” Patrick finished lamely.
“McFumbles,” Damien scoffed, shaking his head.
“Kaleo’s an opportunist. Always has been,” Tristian said, unfazed. “If he found something to give him a leg up, he’ll exploit it. We stick to our mission.”
“Is he acting alone?” Isla asked. “How much do you think his unit knows?”
“I don’t know,” Tristian told her.
“Would Burdon give Kaleo orders and not tell you and Henderson?” Ingrid asked directly.
Tristian was quiet. I wondered if he would avoid the question altogether, but it wasn’t in his nature. “It wouldn’t be a first for her. She thinks dividing the information gives her more power.”
“If she knows what’s at stake, why do any of this?” I asked. Why would someone who pitted the Force against one another be their leader? Time was of the essence.
“Because she’s a conniving—”
“She’s paranoid and—”
“A bitch,” Rumi supplied.
“Then, why is she your Force commander?” I asked.
The others all went quiet. Levi switched to our channel. “Just us. Careful. It’s not the place for that topic.”
The rest of the unit returned, Tristian mid-sentence.
“Burdon was the best available choice at the time,” Tristian informed me.
I couldn’t agree with him. My short time in the Force was enough to tell me that the best choice currently walked ahead of me.
There was a history between Tristian and Burdon, that much was obvious. A part of me wanted to ask.
“Maybe they trekked back during the night?” Isla proposed.
“Without stopping at Outpost Two for oxygen?” Patrick mused. “They would run out before they hit One. Even if they ran back, Kaleo would be risking his entire unit’s health with radiation exposure.”
“Did you see anything during second watch?” Ingrid asked Rumi.
“I didn’t,” Rumi said, hitting different buttons on her suit.
“You don’t think they’d, you know…” Patrick paused, looking around like he was ensuring no one could overhear. Unless the dead earth was eavesdropping, we were utterly alone. Even so, he practically whispered his next words. “Execute a mutiny.”
The silence that followed his question was almost choreographed, too in sync, like the unit shared something I didn’t know.
“Of course not. Who would ever plan something like that?” Damien drew his weapon as well.
The group fell into a rough silence; there was no comfort to it as we continued. I hit my partner communication. “A mutiny?”
Levi walked ahead like I hadn’t said anything, but his response chilled my blood. “Everyone needs a backup plan.”
A small mound appeared as the sun graced the horizon. Ingrid held the door as we descended once more.
Several minutes later, I stood in my thermals.
The outpost was bare compared to the other two.
The only thing that was the same were the three flags representing Haven’s only hope.
A faint light filled the space. Two glowing lanterns were the only light.
No lockers sat along the wall, just rough hooks for the helmets.
Everyone’s gear was piled beneath them. There wasn’t a hot plate or a bathroom.
A closet-like space sat where the other kitchens had been, made of rough plywood.
Patrick made his way in as Ingrid grabbed a lantern.
“Anyone else?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Rumi said, coming up to her.
“Might as well make it a girls’ trip,” Isla said, grabbing a small bag by the door. “You coming, Sasha?”
My hands stilled in my hair as I undid the tight braids. Rumi’s doing. Each morning, without a word, she appeared beside me, braiding my hair before moving to Isla’s long red hair. Ingrid opted for a purple scrap of fabric that she tied around her head like a bandanna.
“Coming where?”
“Bathroom trip,” Rumi informed me.
“No bathroom in Three. We have to go above,” Isla told me.
“Welcome to the edge of the Abyss, partner,” Levi told me as he laid his pack and the med bag on a huge mat by the wall. Our giant communal bed, I realized. There were no cots.
“No secrets in Outpost Three,” Damien told me, winking as he ran a comb through his tangled, matted hair.
He made his way to the closet, where Patrick stood holding out items. I brushed the taunt away; it was hard to find any of it embarrassing.
War and survival had a way of changing how you saw everything, especially basic bodily needs.
“It’s a mess in here, Hades,” Patrick called out. Tristian pulled off his thermal top before throwing it onto his pile. His tattoos appeared as he unbound his hair, shaking it out. “Kaleo just threw everything in here.”
“Cadell, you coming or not?” Ingrid demanded. I pulled my eyes from Tristian. I hurried after them.
“Radiation is low, but still, be quick,” Tristian told us as he walked to the closet.
Ingrid pushed open the door, and fresh air hit my bare skin for the first time in six years.
I followed them up, lost in the sensation.
I had thought the sky was endless with the helmet.
Without it, I had never felt so small and insignificant.
I tilted my head up as the heavy door shut behind me.
The moon was barely visible through the clouds, but the stars I remembered were hidden.
Ingrid led the way toward a couple of dead trees.
She handed the light to Isla before dropping her pants.
A minute later, Isla passed the light back to Rumi.
I stared up in awe at the infinite clouds, closing my eyes as a light breeze brushed against my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“I felt the same way the first time I came up without a helmet,” Rumi confessed quietly. I glanced over to find her watching me. She was barefoot in the cold, her toes drumming against the earth.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“A little, but I like feeling the ground,” Rumi said, gazing up. “I wish we could see the stars.”
“Why?” Ingrid asked, pulling her bandanna down around her neck.
“My sobo used to say that when we died, we lived among the stars so we can watch over the loved ones we left behind. I’d like to see them—just to know they’re still there,” Rumi said quietly.
It was a nice thought, almost comforting, but try as I might, I couldn’t see a single star. It felt fitting that the billions who had died in the war decided not to watch over us—to witness the last humans’ impending demise.
“Maybe they gave up on us,” I whispered.
“I disagree. It isn’t human nature to give up. Every story in history is nothing but a testament to our need to try,” Rumi said to the moon.