45. Ava
FORTY-FIVE
AVA
Knox and I finish breakfast, and after completing another night shift for Malia, Elijah takes us to the third floor to meet the team responsible for keeping this place running and, beyond that, ensuring our safety.
“Kevin Montgomery is the facility director,” Elijah explains as we reach the landing. “He was a lead researcher at one point, but now he’s running this place—or rather, he’s the one everyone goes to for direction.” Elijah glances over his shoulder at us. “Things have a way of changing quickly around here, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“It wouldn’t be a normal day if it didn’t,” Knox mutters. We meet each other’s gaze and follow Elijah through the double doors he opens with a key card. As we enter a two-level comms room, my steps falter.
A map of the United States stretches the length of the room, to my left. Throughout the rest of the level, there isn’t an inch of wall or window that isn’t covered by a map, flip chart, or a whiteboard. A metal supply closet is open, ravaged, and looking bare. The labyrinth of desks weaving throughout the space is cluttered with coffee mugs, stacks of file folders, and paperwork. Even the computer screens are busy with digital countdowns, moving graphics, and blinking notifications. The entire room feels chaotic, and yet, other than intermittent beeping and the garbled static on a radio, I only see four staff on the upper landing, moving languidly around as if it’s just another day.
“This is the night crew,” Elijah explains, nodding to a man who walks by us with an empty coffee cup. I’m surprised he doesn’t look more harried than the rest of us.
Elijah scans the room with a frown. “I thought Kevin would?—”
The door opens behind us, and we glance back. A middle-aged black man, bald with a salt-and-pepper goatee and glasses, stops in his tracks. I study his wrinkled, army green uniform as he looks between the three of us. His brown eyes widen slightly. “Visitors,” he muses, eyes shifting to Elijah expectantly.
“This is Knox and Ava. They came in two nights ago from Sutton County, Texas.”
Kevin’s brow furrows at the mention of Texas and he studies the both of us more closely. “Then you two have been through a lot to get here.” He takes Knox’s hand for a firm shake. Then mine. “Welcome to Facility 38. Currently your one-stop shop during the apocalypse.”
Elijah snorts a laugh and drains the last of his coffee. “On that note, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thanks,” Knox murmurs, and Elijah throws up a wave before stepping out of the room.
We both look at Kevin. He takes another sip from his mug and exhales when he looks at us again. “Well then. If you’re up here, that means you’re one of the few visitors actually trying to leave.”
“Hopefully,” Knox says dryly. “We’ve been through hell to get here, so it seems dumb to move on, but...”
“But you have family you’re trying to get to,” Kevin supplies. “And I’m going out on a limb, but I take it we don’t have anything on the whiteboard downstairs about it, so you’re hoping for some good news.”
“Yes, actually,” Knox says. “We’re headed to Kansas. We have horses, so we don’t technically need transport, though if the roads are okay, a truck and trailer would be helpful. And to know what we’re up against.”
“Horses?” Kevin bobs his head, looking pleasantly surprised. “That’s a first.”
“For me too,” I mutter.
The corner of Kevin’s mouth lifts, and he waves for us to follow him to the landing. Knox is hot on his heels, but I linger behind, stepping closer to the wall-sized map of the fifty states. Every capital is starred and noted with a dry-erase marker. What I assume are research facilities are each marked by their number, and every single state has a letter written on it in a different color. Red. Orange. Black. Blue. Green. Pink. Some states have three or four letters.
“State of emergency,” a young woman says as she stops beside me. Her blonde hair is frizzy and gathered at the nape of her neck, and there’s an ink stain on her white shirt. “Each color and letter is the level and type of threat.” She fingers the tea bag in her cup then points to Texas. “In some cases, they indicate which states have gone dark.”
Bile rises up my throat as I note a red F , an orange V , and a green E are partially covered by black X s. I don’t know why it triggers me because I know how bad Texas is; I’ve seen it—lived through it. But seeing each county crossed out like a bad omen is one of the most unsettling things I’ve seen yet. Like the state is gone forever; there’s no hope and whoever is left there is not getting a rescue.
But Texas isn’t the only one. I stare at New Mexico, then California, Louisiana, and Florida.
“The letter is the type of emergency. The red F is for fires,” the woman explains. “The W s are for the floods. E for earthquakes?—”
“ V is for volcanoes,” I guess, noting one written on Texas, New Mexico, and Wyoming.
The woman hums in agreement. “Don’t get me wrong,” she says. “That doesn’t mean there aren’t people living there still or that there aren’t survivors in those states, but not enough to make them viable. The terrain is too unsteady, and we have to focus our resources as much as possible since they are limited. The entire nation is in a state of emergency at this point.”
I nod, but I’m only half processing what she’s saying as I take in hundreds of colors and letters scattered across the map. Every single state is suffering from Mother Nature’s wrath.
“Plus,” the woman continues, “there has been no official communication with them or their facilities in at least thirty-six hours or more. The entire continent is waiting with bated breath to see which regions will be left standing.”
I stare at the map, but my eyes glaze over. The years leading up to this, the days, feel like a lifetime ago, and yet it was only last week that I was worried about paying my bills and Mavey’s next visit from hospice.
“This isn’t real,” I murmur, running my finger over San Antonio, which is no longer a city but a hole in the earth.
“I keep telling myself that too,” the woman muses. She finally looks at me. “I’m Kylee, by the way.” She offers me her hand.
“Ava.”
Kylee glances at the map. “Where is it you’re running from?”
I point to Texas, and she looks at me, sobering a little. “I’m glad you made it out.” She gives me a taciturn smile and glances at her desk. “I’ve got to wrap things up before I can get some sleep, but I hope you find whatever you’re looking for, Ava.”
“Thanks.” Kylee walks back to her desk, stopping to pick up a rogue dry-erase marker on the floor along the way. She tosses it on the desk beside hers and sits down, setting her mug aside and cracking her neck before she begins clicking around on her computer screen.
“—got seismic activity coming out of my ears.”
I peer up at the landing. Knox and Kevin are staring at a giant computer screen among many lining the wall.
With a final glance at the giant map of doom, I join them.
Kevin looks between us as I stop at Knox’s side. “Where is it you’re trying to go, exactly?”
Knox crosses his arms over his chest as he studies the map with pulsating red, yellow, and orange circles on the computer screen. “Ransom.”
Kevin shakes his head. “I’m not familiar with it.”
“It’s north of Dodge City.”
Kevin’s eyes brighten. “You might get some luck, then, depending on your friends’ setup. Most of Kansas and the Midwest have experienced increased tornado activity but otherwise are relatively unchanged, all things considered. That being said, it’s too early to know what the winter months will bring.”
“I saw California on the whiteboard,” Knox says, his voice an octave lower.
Kevin must note the emotion in his voice, so he treads carefully. “It’s flooded. So is half of Mexico and most of the East Coast.” He moves two stations over and wiggles the wireless mouse. He clicks on a moving graph on the computer screen. A different, colorful view of the country pops up, and after clicking a few boxes, it filters out all the areas that aren’t flooded throughout the United States.
“The West Coast was hit hard by the Ring of Fire,” Kevin explains. “And the rest of us—especially in the areas with the most seismic activity—have had the most extreme upsets. The eruptions, the lightning, and the lack of sun are changing weather patterns everywhere. But with the ash clouds and wildfire smoke drifting north, it’s been difficult to gauge what’s a temporary side effect and what our new reality will be. Technically, though, Kansas should be okay. And we haven’t lost contact with them yet, which is as good of a sign as you could hope for.”
I watch Knox’s expression closely. He’s restless to get to Kansas and see how his aunt and uncle are holding up, but I know a part of him is torn, too.
“So, you think it’s okay to head that way?” I clarify. “Based on what you currently know, I mean.”
Kevin takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Look, I’m in no position to give any travel advice with how unstable things are right now. Anything is possible, but I’ll be real with you both.” Kevin and Knox lock eyes. “As of three a.m. this morning, we’ve exceeded capacity here. We’ve got the equipment for surveying and monitoring and only enough supplies to last us another two weeks at the rate we’re going with this many people. That’s why finding a place to send people is now a top priority. If we can’t find somewhere soon, there won’t be much we can offer you here either.” He points to a relatively open area on the map with only a few markings. “We’re waiting to hear news about a larger facility in Tennessee, hopefully within the next day or two, and we can start busing people there.”
Kevin looks at me. “All that is to say, if you have a place to go—if you have family still—it might be worth the risk to head that way because it’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to leave anyway, and it’s gonna be soon.”
Knox stares at a screen mounted on the wall, his eyes watching the live meter I’ve noticed jump a few times in the five minutes we’ve been standing here.
“Are those tremors?” I ask.
Kevin follows my gaze. “Yep.”
“Hey, Kev?” Kylee waves him over. She’s got a satellite phone pressed to her ear. “I’ve got Tennessee on the line.”
He holds up a finger to Kylee, his eyes shifting between me and Knox. “There’s still a Kansas facility that’s open and running, and they might be able to help you if something comes up. But it’s in Wichita.” He purses his lips. “Regardless, if you decide to leave and need anything, let Hanoford know in the processing office.”
I frown. “Processing office?”
“Well, the sign actually says Finance Office, but that was last week.” With a shake of his head, Kevin heads for Kylee. “Hanoford can help you,” he calls again. “Good luck.”
Within moments, Kevin is back in boss mode, and Knox and I are left to our chaotic thoughts, staring at the overwhelming amount of information coming in and out of this room.
“It’s all a gamble,” I realize aloud, and shoving my hands in my back pockets, I turn to Knox, appraising his pensive expression as he stares at the screen. “But at least we know what we might be up against now.” The hum of the room grows louder in his silence. “Shall we find Hanoford?”
Knox’s jaw tenses before he drags his attention from the monitor to me, and his expression softens ever so slightly. “It’s decided, then?”
I tilt my head. “We have a ranch to get to. It’s only three hours away, you know?” I repeat his words from earlier with a wink. “Who knows, maybe we’ll be there in time for dinner.”