Falling Sky (6 page)

An old gray car waited next to the curb at the ally's exit. When the pair approached, the car's engine roared to life. Wasley quickly stepped up to the vehicle and opened the dented back door. Ian jumped in with his teacher and the car sped down the street before Wasley had a chance to completely close the door.

“Don't worry, we'll be there quickly Michael,” the driver said as he glanced to the back seat.

“Good. I'm sure you remember Ian.” Wasley stuffed his back pack on the floor in between his feet and searched for the seat belt.

The driver looked back again and Ian recognized the black beret and bracelets.

“Prophet?” he blurted out sourly.

“Hey, Ian, sorry about all of this,” Prophet said with a smile in his voice.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” Ian asked as he maneuvered his body, in the small back seat, to a more comfortable position.

“Yes and no,” Wasley answered. “We knew that we were on their radar, but didn't know how they'd proceed. I'm guessing they captured you because you're young and they thought you would sell us out.”

“Us?” Ian spat. “They thought I was a part of your group. Who exactly are you guys anyway?”

“I said that I'd explain everything once -”

Ian cut Wasley off, “-we reach our destination. I know.” He folded his arms across his chest and watched the streets stream by through the scuffed window.

* * * *

Ian, Wasley and Prophet entered a small, dimly lit room at the bottom of a creaky stair case. A dirty yellow light from a single hanging bulb coated a single round, wooden table and a collection of chairs.

“Michael? Prophet?” A voice called out from dark hallway opposite of the room's entrance.

“Yeah, it's us. We brought him,” Wasley called back and pulled out a chair for Ian to sit.

“I'm not used to hearing your first name,” Ian remarked as he plopped himself down on the chair and won a muffled scream from the aged wood.

Wasley nodded and sat next to him. “Yeah, I know.” He smiled and rested his arms on the table. “I made all of this furniture. It's modeled after things I had in my home on the surface before the war.”

Ian ran an open hand over the table's rough surface. “It looks nice.” He looked up into his professor's face and studied the deep lines. He hadn't noticed them before, as if the man had aged a few years in only hours. Wasley sighed and let the smile fall from his face. The expression had held up the bags under his eyes for they suddenly drooped, as did his cheeks. The dim light wasn't kind to his features.

“Who's this kid?” A female figure materialized from the shadows of the hallway. She leaned against the door frame, ran a hand through her dark hair and let it drop to her shapely hips.

“This is Ian,” Wasley answered, “the other one who's had the nightmare.”

The woman approached the table with a causal gait, pulled out a chair and sat. She laced her black gloved hands together and rested them on the table. A purple scarf hung around her neck and cascaded gracefully down her right arm. “I see,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“This is our friend, Katsuni.” Wasley motioned to the thin woman with an upraised hand.

Ian bowed his head and mumbled, “Nice to meet you.”

“Well, Ian,” Wasley began, “let me tell you what you need to know.”

Michael slung a backpack over this muscular shoulder and looked to his father, who occupied a worn arm chair. “I don't know how this house lasted the way it did.” As if cued by the statement, the house's foundation groaned loudly.

“It won't be long now.” his father sighed, folded up the newspaper in his hand and rose from his chair. Its ancient springs creaked mournfully. “What part of construction are you starting today?”

“We're still setting up the ventilation system to keep The Dust from entering the mines.” Michael turned toward the door and placed his hand on the cold, sliver knob. “It's impossible to filter the stuff from the atmosphere, but maybe we can keep it out of the underground tunnels. We have to make sure it's gone before we begin construction.”

“It must be a big system then,” his father remarked distantly.

“It's huge,” Michael replied with a wide grin on his face. “There are several different buildings that house these giant fans and air filters. Pretty fancy stuff.”

“What's going to stop the dust from collapsing those buildings?”

“A dome made from this thick material will be set over the site, and the The Dust will be filtered out from there.” In his excitement, Michael let his hand drop from the door knob as he faced his father.

“Why can't they use that same material to protect the cities?” His father dropped the newspaper on a nearby end table. A torrent of dust and cobwebs twisted into the air.

“It's very expensive, and experimental. We don't even know if this project will be successful.”

“I still don't want to live underground; I'd rather wait up here and let the house collapse on me.” He father fell back into the chair.

“At least we're trying something.”

“Yes, something,” his father said, “instead of figuring out ways to save the world we took several lifetimes to build, we're going to turn tail and burrow ourselves underground.” His fingers dug into the soft fabric of the chair's arms.

“We don't have any other choice.”

“Yeah.” his father sighed. “I know.” He looked deflated as his grip on the chair relaxed and his body sank further into its cushions.

Michael looked at his watch. “I have to be going now.” He glanced back at his father and realized that the man had been defeated by The Dust. The chemical eroded hope, and when it happened something broke inside of him.

“I know. Do your part, son.” A ghost of a smile touched his father's lips.

“Thanks, Dad.” Michael turned the knob and walked out.

* * * *

The city bus pulled into the construction site and halted in front of the tent that served as the worker's break area. Michael filed out with the large group and shuffled under the tent. He placed his back pack under one of the tables with everyone else's belongings and began an uphill walk to the actual work zone. As he neared the crest of the hill, Michael saw a man-made valley of dried dirt. Several squat, one story buildings lined the outskirts. They surrounded a massive, square metal structure that served as the system's power generator. Overhead, a half-finished dome loomed over the entire area. Small groups of workers wearing blue hard hats toiled away on different sections of the dome from atop tall scaffolding. The wide, rocky entrance to the mines protruded from between the outlying buildings. Throughout the day, workers came in and out as they tested the radiation levels.

From the view, Michael couldn't help but think of them as a colony of ants. Most of them worked without passion or bravado, driven only by survival: Build the new city or be crushed underneath the crumbling past. He could only think of a handful of people who worked on the project with enjoyment, the rest were drafted. All over the country, domes and ventilation systems were being raised and eventually all the underground cities would be connected through a network of tunnels like subterranean freeways. Desperation hung in the air and everyone wore a mask of uncertainty; it made the lines in their faces deeper and the bags under their eyes darker and more profound. He figured everyone mouthed the words, “I hope this works,” every day before they set to work, like he did.

He made the decent into the valley to the closest building where the new air filters were being calibrated. As he passed by a man in a yellow hard hat, Michael nodded. The man responded with a nod and a deep cough, as if The Dust had worked its corroding properties on his vital organs. Michael always assumed it did, and when everyone moved to the underground cities, they'd bring The Dust with them. More and more it appeared impossible to escape its ruin.

The relief of being out of the cell and the adrenalin of the escape faded away as Ian sat at the round, wooden table with the small group of rebels. He felt his stomach clinch and a wave of needles run over the surface of his flesh. He had no idea of his location; Prophet drove so fast it was impossible for Ian to keep track of all the turns. It would be safe to assume, however, that he was very far from home. The thought drained the life from him and it must have been noticeable. Wasley laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He tried to look into Ian's face.

“Just tell me what you want to tell me and then take me home.” Ian balled his hands and rested them on his knees.

Wasley removed his hand from Ian's shoulder. “Okay -”

“The kid can't go home until it's safe. You'll have to wait a while,” Katsuni said hastily. “Besides, we've already risked enough to bring him here and I don't think it was even worth it.” Her eyes burned into Ian. “How do you feel about this, Prophet?”

Prophet, who had been leaning against the wall in a veil of shadows, stepped up to the table with his arms crossed. “I just know we need all the help we can get.”

“What if he doesn't want to help?” Katsuni countered.

“He said he'd hear us out, let's start there,” Wasley announced and then turned his attention to Ian. “You'll still do that, right?”

Ian nodded slowly.

“The ones who captured you were from Lamore Industries, the people who created the Somnium. The reason they targeted you, I believe, is because you're young and they somehow knew you were not an official member of our movement, even though they treated you otherwise.” He gestured to Katsuni and Prophet. “We're not the only ones in the movement. We have contacts throughout the country and if one of
us
had been captured, Ellis knew it would force our hand and we would have gone forward with our plan sooner than expected. The results would have been deleterious for both sides.”

“What plan?” Ian mumbled.

“Soon enough,” Wasley answered quietly. “Ellis is the head of the company's research and development team. I don't think he knows the science exactly, but he does know how to market it and take credit. Throughout the scientific world, he's known as the man who ended the nightmare and brought the cities together.”

“Which is partially true,” Prophet added.

Wasley nodded. “He was also involved in the construction and funding of the false sky. Doing all of this gives him a considerable amount of influence over the population. People don't seem to realize that they're living in a fake city anymore and that their happiness is completely false and fed to them through a device. It's not right.”

“Plus,” Prophet interjected, “it's not going to last forever. Soon, the city will be destroyed.”

“Assuming that's true, yes. We could all be buried as well.”

“Assuming?” Katsuni slammed an open hand on the table. Ian and Wasley's heads jerked in her direction. “I know what I heard in my dream. I heard it several times, and I could still feel the numbing wind on my face.”

Ian's fists tightened and shook. For a second, he stood again in the field as fierce winds bit at his extremities with small, cold teeth. The wind streaked his sight with tears before the vision dissolved back into the cramped, grimy room. “It seemed so real,” he said dreamily and looked at Katsuni.

Her expression softened a bit. “Yes, it was.”

“Either way, we must get out of the city,” Wasley said.

“But, what about The Dust?” Ian straightened up a little.

“It's been years. I don't know the particulars, but it eventually dissipates. The cities were never meant to be an end-all solution, more like elaborate bomb shelters. We've become too comfortable down here and, earthquake or not, it will be our downfall. Ellis and Lamore Industries are to blame for that.”

“How are we to get out, what would make people leave?”

“A city-wide crisis. We're going to destroy the ventilation system.”

Ian's eyes widened, “What? We'll all die.”

“If the ventilation system were to ever go down, it would be switched over to an emergency power source which allows it to run until everyone escapes,” Wasley explained.

“If something like that were to happen, wouldn't that cause a mass rush of people? They could get hurt?” Ian asked.

Wasley nodded, “That's a possibility. There will be guards to help with the evacuation, and there may be some injuries, but I feel that this has to happen.” A long silence followed Wasley's words, and then he added, “Imagine if we didn't do this and Phineas' earthquake happens, do you know how many more people will die?”

“What if it doesn't happen?” Ian asked.

“If we do nothing, we'll live in this artificial word, left to stagnate forever, pretending we're happy. I don't like either choice.”

“And Ellis knows you're going to do this?” A sudden chill stabbed through Ian's spine

“He's knows that we're planning something, but he doesn't know what. We can't live down here forever, Ian. Reality can only be distorted so much.”

“What about the other cities?”

“We have a large network. Once the plans are set in motion, all the city's systems will be taken down at the same time.”

Prophet stepped around Wasley's chair and stood closer to Ian. He hunkered down and leaned toward the fifteenyear-old's face. “Are you with us?”

Wasley shot an accusing look at Prophet, causing the thin man to quickly bolt up and take a couple of steps back.

Ian cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but his voice struggled to form words. He closed his mouth and looked at the floor as if the wooden planks held an answer. “I need to think, because right now this whole thing seems blurry,” he said finally. “I don't know if destroying anything would really help the world. I'm not sure if the dreams mean anything, as real as they seem. Sometimes I doubt my own sanity and I don't know how useful I'll be to you. I just hope that this isn't a battle of pride, or whose ideal is better. I just want to do the right thing.”

“Who do you think -” Katsuni started, but Wasley stopped her with an upraised hand.

“Do you want to go home?” Wasley asked calmly. “To think about it?”

Ian put his hands on the table, pushed himself away from it and stood up. “Yes, take me home.”

“Okay, we'll wait a few hours,” Katsuni said and walked out of the room.