11. Christopher
Chapter eleven
Christopher
The Preservation Ark—Twenty minutes earlier
Iwhoosh to catch up with Zinnia, who’s trying to figure out how to open the door to the garage.
She glances up at me when I take over. “Mommy’s upset.”
“She’ll be fine by the time we get home. She knows we need to go.” I open the door and herd her over to the truck’s passenger door. “Now, up you go.”
After helping her into the cab and buckling her seatbelt, I load the truck bed with the rabbit cages and trade goods, fill the ice chest, then drive to the Tucson dome—the closet population center to the circle of Titan 2 missile sites.
Its dome is light gray and opaque. The Lux designed the surface to reflect sunlight and heat, and to prevent the absorption of excess warmth. The ark I live in is a bit different.
I park the truck beside the reclamation container and turn to Zinnia. “Stay here. This will only take a few minutes. Then we collect your rabbits. So be good and wait for me. It’s not safe out there.”
“Okay. But it’s safe for you?”
The kiddo must realize I’m her only ride back to her mother. “It’s safe for me. I have weapons and mad skills. I’ll be back in ten minutes—you can watch me through the passenger window.”
I swing out of the cab, lock the door, and unload my trade goods into the reclamation container, then push the button to send the stuff inside.
The container slides through the dome’s skin. The desert wind whips up—a sandstorm is brewing. From my backpack, I wrap a light linen scarf around my face and don goggles to protect my eyes.
The Tucson traders are taking longer than normal to pay, and I pace around the truck, watching for renegades.
The singer from my band, Evelina, doesn’t have a renegade problem.
She’s in Minnesota, which is a frozen wasteland, and most renegades moved southwest, where more mortals survived outside the domes.
The sound of donor bags falling through a chute and the telltale ding means they’ve finally made payment. I open the metal door next to the reclamation bin and count ten blood bags.
We’ll go through that in less than two nights.
On the dry-erase board, I place an order for fifteen more, promising some choice goodies for quick delivery, including iron ingots. The mortals willingly pay a high price for iron, since the dome doesn’t have a way to mine any metals. Then I close the trapdoor.
Moments later, a ding sounds.
I open the hatch.
Yes is written on the board.
Okay, we have a deal. In my experience, Tucson residents keep their word, so I climb into the cab and take off toward the silo. Driving the triangle route means less chance of being followed by renegades, but it also means we’ll be gone most of the night.
I brought along a water bottle for Zinnia, and fruit as snacks. She drinks the water when I tell her to but otherwise won’t touch it. Maybe she’s accustomed to drinking less. Their habitat’s water reclamation system wouldn’t provide a lot.
Zinnia is silent as we drive down the dirt road leading to the silo compound, but she never stops moving. Looking out the passenger window, her eyes wide, she stretches and squirms to get a better view.
“What’s got you so fascinated, munchkin?”
“Are those stars?”
“Yup. Stars, planets, and other celestial bodies.”
They shine like white Christmas lights in a sky free of industrial pollution. The sight almost makes me nostalgic for smog.
Zinnia turns to me. “This is only my second time out at night.”
“But during the day?”
“Sometimes we’d go out. Mommy had picture cards she showed me, and I’d play a game, looking for stuff in houses and stores. The more things we found from the pictures, the bigger the treat I’d get.”
My heart goes out to the kiddo. What a terrible way to live.
I park at the gate, get out, and look around. No sign—or smell—of renegades.
Zinnia cracks open the passenger door. “I know how to get in,” she whispers.
I help her down, and she shows me the secret to opening the tall metal doors. A buried keypad, once triggered, moves the doors open and the spiked rotaries roll out of the way.
“How did you know that?”
She shrugs. “I watched Mommy do it.”
Cool. Maybe kids aren’t all that bad to have around. Once we drive past the open doors, they close behind us, and I park by the silo.
“Why here?” she asks.
“I have a device to open the silo door.”
She cocks her head and frowns, then points at a small building that houses the original entrance. “But the way in is over there.”
“Yeah, and the keypad doesn’t work.”
She giggles. “You’re using the fake keypad.”
So I drive over to where the military crews entered. Inside, Zinnia shows me a hidden recess where a keypad is lit, and the code the Lux gave me works.
My brain still can’t adjust to the thought of this being her home. A place designed for mass destruction. The irony doesn’t sit well with me. Humans destroyed this world, and they did so without using nuclear weapons.
I carry the cages, and we hike through the living quarters and two long tunnels.
With Zinnia’s help, I corral the bunnies, who do everything they can to evade capture.
Then we make multiple trips to harvest the silo garden.
Afterward, Zinnia shows me the seed storage bin.
I grab that container as well. Any veggies she likes can be added to the ark’s garden if I don’t already grow them.
Back in the below-ground residential area, she packs her meager belongings. Picture books, a well-worn stuffed bunny, and a favorite pillow, which is soft and stuffed with feathers…and makes me feel like a dunce for not asking sooner.
“Hey, kiddo. Are there any other animals here?”
“Yep.”
“Can you show me?”
She leads me to the control center, the underground bubble connecting the two tunnels, and down two flights of stairs. I should have guessed from the smell, but the rabbits, well, their pee kind of overpowers everything, and with a ta-da gesture, she shows me some chickens and a couple of roosters.
Yup, another trip is in order. For the time being, Zinnia shows me how to turn on an automatic feeding and watering system, and I fill the dispenser with all the grain available.
Whooshing, I get the rabbits loaded into the back of my truck, then grab Zinnia’s bag, and outside we go. The wind is picking up, blowing sand and dust into the air. I rush to get her into the cab and buckle her in.
She sneezes before I get the door shut. “I’m sorry,” she says, smearing snot along the back of her hand.
“Don’t be, kiddo.” I close her door, then get behind the wheel so I can shut the driver’s door and prevent more sand from entering the cab. Rooting through my backpack, I search for something to wipe her nose. A small lens cloth for cleaning my goggles will have to do. “Use this.”
She blows her nose into the cloth, wipes her hand off, then nods. I pull out of the walled enclosure and wait for the gates to close behind us. Then we hit the highway.
Once we’re five miles away from the silo, I radio Maria by clicking my tongue to activate the comm system that only my inner ear will hear. “This is Chris. All is well. Over.”
A moment of crackling static, then a click followed by silence, which tells me Maria has keyed her radio. Good. We’re close enough to communicate.
“Can I speak to Zinnia? Uh…over.”
“Hang on.” I transfer the audio from the embedded comm crystal, which is implanted behind my jaw, to the truck’s speaker system. “Okay, Zinnia can hear you now. Over.”
“Baby?”
“Mommy. We have all the rabbits!”
“Baby?”
I lay a hand on Zinnia’s shoulder. “Wait a moment, or she won’t hear you.” I count to three. “Okay, talk.”
“Hi, Mommy. We got the rabbits! And Sage.”
“That’s great, baby. Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah. Daddy Christopher is a good driver.”
“How soon will you be back?”
I squeeze Zinnia’s shoulder to stop her from answering. “I’m guessing thirty minutes.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Understood. We’ll see you soon. Out.” I tap the speaker system to disconnect.
Zinnia looks up at me. “That was fun. We can talk whenever we want to.”
“Yeah. The advantage of radio communications.”
I don’t tell her the range of transmission isn’t great, and we were lucky to reach her mother from here. But it comes with advantages. Vampire flesh doesn’t reject the crystal, so it’s not like carrying a radio that can be broken or lost.
A mile down the road, I check the rearview video screen.
Oh dammit.
I honestly didn’t think we’d see renegades today. After destroying their barricade last night, I figured they’d return to their nest and lick their wounds. This is the most aggressive I’ve ever seen them, but I don’t have time now to figure out why.
“Hang on, Zinnia.” I press the pedal to the floor, hoping to outrun the renegades, and the electronic hum of the motors instantly surges into a high-pitched whine.
The ice chest rattles in the jump seat behind me, despite being filled with bags of blood.
I check the power meter—plenty of battery left—and speed away at maximum power while pivoting my gaze from the potholed asphalt to the rearview video screen, then sweeping back again.
I keep an eye on the battery temperature gauge as it gradually creeps into the amber zone. The dual motors are delivering max power for now, but soon the onboard computer will throttle down to prevent the vehicle from catching fire.
As if I brought it on myself, I feel the truck go into limp mode and start to slow. The high-pitched whine fades away.
Crap. They’re gaining on us, riding those motorcycles with big, fat tires.
I tap the Lux GPS device and look for a different route back to the ark.
“What’s wrong, Daddy Chris?”
“Daddy?” I say, unable to control my reaction. The honorific she uses shoots more fear through me than the renegades do.
I see her nod from the corner of my eye.
“Christopher.” I steer around some hazards, swerving the truck as we bump over a sizable rock. “Call me Christopher.”
“Christopher?” That sounds so strange coming from the lips of a kindergartner. “What’s wrong, Daddy Christopher?”