Impervious (The Ascension Series Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

“Dad?”

Fran’s father had declined long before she had begun to formulate any solid memories. From his wide shoulders to his coarse stubbly beard, he appeared rough and strong. Yet, eyes, like warm chocolates wrapped in crinkled paper, sparkled with laughter giving him a softer side. In spite of herself, Fran giggled and corrected her father.

“It’s Fran,”

“Sarah Fran?” he teased.

She bubbled again. “Just Fran.”

“Well, I guess you could say I’ve waited
your
whole life to meet you.”

He knelt down on one knee like a king welcoming home royalty. “It is my greatest pleasure, my lovely Sarah Fran.” He held out his hand.

Fran lifted her own in response, and he brushed her fingers with a feathery kiss. With that one gesture, the past year of her life—with all of its dark tunnels, dirt, and hunger—vanished. She’d been transformed from a Rebel to a daughter.

Tanya smiled as she apologized to Fran for the rough treatment. “It’s not that you looked particularly threatening, but we have to be cautious. The arm of the Council can be quite long.”

Fran nodded a foggy agreement.

Retter walked up and clapped her on the shoulder. “If I’d known you were Ian’s daughter―”

Fran shook her head. “It’s okay. I get it.”

He held out his hand, palm facing skyward. “Ret.”

Recognizing the truce, she stretched out her hand palm facing up like his. “Fran.”

The corner of Ret’s mouth lifted into an almost perceptible grin. He turned Fran’s palm face down and grabbed hold of her forearm. She noticed his rope-like muscles and the warmth of his touch. As they stood with arms linked, he added, “Welcome, Fran.”

“Fran are you hungry. Or thirsty?” Her mother’s concern cut through the awkward silence.

“Yes,” Fran laughed. “As a matter of fact, I’m dying of thirst.”

Ruth unhooked the water satchel from her belt and handed the container to her daughter. “Of course you are.”

Fran opened her mouth and poured in a large swig of the cool water. Her eyes shot open and she spat out the contents.

“Mom. Something’s wrong with this water.”

“It’ll take some getting used to Sarah-Fran.” Her dad chuckled at Fran’s animated shock. “Don’t worry; there’s nothing wrong with the water. It’s pure. Simple. Hasn’t been tampered with.”

Fran stared at the flask in her hand.
Of course
it tasted different. How could it
not
? Everything out here left a unique flavor on her lips.

Tanya nudged the group along. “Come on. Let’s get back to camp.”

As Tanya led the way, Fran followed with her mom on one side and her dad on the other. With so much excitement, Fran had failed to take the time to examine and appreciate this world. Now, however, as they moved through the woods, her surroundings opened up like a storybook.

An invisible respiration stirred the earth’s surface and she closed her eyes to feel the breeze. As it circled her head, the air whispered a litany of words as if from a secret language. She opened her eyes to the sun glinting off a shiny rock. A moment later, the same object disappeared into a shadow. She lifted her face to the clouds and marveled as they shape-shifted across the sky. Leaves rustled, grasses swayed, and unseen creatures scurried about, leaving a wake of activity. An aroma appeared on the wave of a breeze, like sweet honey. After a quick inhale, it drifted away leaving a spicier smell, all peppery and green. Fran hardly knew what to expect from moment to moment. It was as if this world had a life of its own.

She glanced at her mother for the hundredth time as they walked, still shaken up with the impossible reunion. Mom squeezed her hand as if parroting her thoughts and Fran smiled. Tanya hopped over a fallen tree in the line of the path, and Fran watched the woman’s braid rock from side to side, amazed at her dexterity and strength.

“How old is she?” Fran whispered to her mom.

Ruth wrapped an arm around Fran’s shoulder and gave her a little squeeze.

“Tanya, how old are you?”

Fran cringed at her mother’s direct line of questioning.

“Well, let’s see. I was called a Second-Gen, born half a decade after the war, so that makes me…”

“Forty-five??” Fran blurted.

A grunt from behind indicated Ret’s amusement and flush of warmth flooded Fran’s cheeks. She almost apologized, but her mother calmly continued the conversation.

“Yes, that sounds about right.”

Fran shook her head in amazement. “So how long does a person…?”

“
Live
?” Her mom finished for her.  We’re still not sure. But Ben’s pretty high up there and still going strong.”

Fran gasped. “You don’t mean Benjamin Leiben do you?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

He’s still alive?” Fran’s excitement mounted.

“Oh very much so,” her mother responded.

Fran felt dizzy with the thought of meeting this guy and tried to recall the million questions she wanted to ask him.

As they trekked, the path narrowed forcing the party of five into a single file line. Fran’s paper booties began to rip from the twigs, and soon, they looked like shrapnel. Thorns poked through her thin stockings, and she winced as they pierced her flesh. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find Retter positioned at her rear.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to a fallen tree.

Fran narrowed her eyes, but obliged. Ret squatted and placed her raggedy, paper-bootie-covered-foot onto his knee. He pulled out a parcel of leather from his satchel, slid it underneath her heel, and wrapped her whole foot snug into the leather confines. Afterward, he yanked a vine-like undergrowth from the ground and tied it all together. Instant boot.

“That’s crazy.” Fran laughed.

After doing the same with her second foot, he tapped her calf. “There. That ought to hold you until camp.”

Fran was humbled. Embarrassed. And delighted.

Ret nodded to the threesome now about fifty feet away. He leaned in toward Fran and whispered, “Don’t want to get too far behind. When it gets dark around here, it gets really dark.”

The notion of utter darkness in an unknown world had Fran dashing to catch up with the rest of the group, and the single-file journey continued until Tanya announced,

“Just past the tree-line.”

They pushed past thick foliage and suddenly the forest ended revealing a small village. Fran gawked at the community of at least a dozen low-roofed structures surrounding an enormous fire. Two strong men hefted a mammoth log onto the flames while, behind them, about a half dozen others continued to chop wood and toss it into a large pile. Captivated, Fran watched the muscular bodies of bare-chested men and modestly-covered women. They each wore a white robe that stopped just shy of their knees, made from a fabric that shimmered in the firelight. Though ages and races varied, they chattered amongst themselves, laughing and even singing as they labored. Fran considered the Agora—gathering place and social hub of Impervious. Even while thousands milled about, never did this kind of life radiate from its center. Instead, its landscape sported downcast eyes as people hurried about, bumping shoulders and cursing under their breath.

“What is this place?”

Ruth turned to her daughter, her smile radiating the same warmth as the fire. “This is Naveh... Village Number One.”

“Whoa” Fran’s disbelief slid out on a slow breath.

Ruth bellowed a throaty laugh. “I remember experiencing a little disbelief when I first woke.”

Ian turned to his daughter. “I’m sure this all seems surreal.”

Fran nodded.
Surreal? More like a scene from a childhood fairytale
.

“Don’t forget, Ruth, you and I started from scratch,” he added. “Sarah still has vivid memories from the inside.”

Tanya began to walk toward the huts. “I’ll see you all later. I’m going to check on Marie.”

Fran had forgotten about poor Marie. She’d like to check in on her old friend as well. But first, Doc. And then Chan.

She turned to her father. “Dad. Can you take me to Dr. Benjamin Leiben?”

“Of course. But how do you know Ben?”

Fran blew out a hard breath. “His story is what brought me out here.”

“Really?

“Yes. He kept a journal.” She hesitated. “Did you know he was a Superior?”

“Hmm.” Ian rubbed his chin. “
Superior
, huh?”

“Don’t get me wrong. He’s not a bad guy. I mean, he wasn’t a bad guy.”

“Well, come on. Let’s take a trip to old Ben’s place.”

A few minutes later, they arrived, and like in a dream, her storybook character came to life. And not a holographic version of a producer’s character interpretation like in the movies. No, she sat face-to-face with the living, breathing, star of the show.

“It was insidious really.” Ben held the mug in his hand and sipped his tea. “Marcus didn't start out like that. As a matter of fact, when the project first began, Marcus was a source of light with a desire to save.”

A woman moved to the table with a fresh pot of tea. Her gaze remained on Fran as she poured.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just the doctor’s wife.” She winked at Fran and turned to her husband. “Would you like some honey, dear?”

“Yes. Thank you, Ema.”

Fran’s head whipped around as the woman moved to a set of cupboards.

“You?”

Ema turned and smiled. “Yes dear?”

“You’re alive?”

Ema laughed. “Well, I certainly hope so.”

“But...”

Fran remembered Ema to be from the second generation underground. Her dark hair, braided and coiled into a bun sat at the nape of her neck, and delicate gray strands lined her temples. Deep set, brown eyes spoke of an Asian heritage and knotty muscles in her shoulders and arms reminded Fran of Retter. Ema smiled and a host of small lines accented her eyes.

“We had this planned for a long time. You should tell her how this all began, Dear.”

Fran turned back to Ben as he scratched his stubbly chin. “Well, I met Marcus at MIT… more specifically at O’Malley’s Pub—a popular hangout for the college crowd. We were an unlikely pairing—a trendy business major and a nerdy physics geek. Two guys who wanted to explore the ‘what-if’s’ in life.”

The years seemed to melt from Ben’s face as he revisited his early days of freedom and fascination. He retold the story of two young men who shared an eagerness to put skin onto ideas that seemed centuries ahead of their time. He lit up as he recalled the ingenuity of his old friend and how they had traveled the world, drumming up financial support for a project deemed an illogical fantasy by so many.

“But then came a shift in the political climate. Small wars broke out around the globe. Terrorist activity escalated to new heights. Governments crumbled, and panic rose with strategic missiles held at the ready. That’s about when bids for a shot at survival began to trickle in. Before long, the trickle became a river and the river a series of rapids. There was limited space, of course: One thousand luxury underground condos.”

Ben sighed. “Only the wealthiest were allowed in. How else could we decide? The price of a ticket eventually sold for more than several generations of wealth. You know, I guess I assumed there were only a handful of the mega-rich, but I found out otherwise.”

He continued with the tale, remembering the shift in Marcus who deemed himself ruler of this elite crowd. He shared until coming to the place in the story that overlapped his diaries. But the darkest and most horrible of all questions had still not been answered. She had to know.

“What about the decline?”

Ben released a heavy sigh. “A water supply riddled with a myriad of tasteless, odorless assassins.” A wisp of steam rose from Ben’s mug, curled through the air, and dissolved into the vast land of the invisible.

Fran thought of Marie and Fiona’s suffering and how she sat by and watched as they weakened and decayed, knowing she couldn’t ease their pain. Her heart broke as she considered her mother, father, and Chan. And the hundreds—maybe even tens of hundreds―who suffered this way.

“What about the antidote?”

He shook his head. “No such thing. Just a different water source.”

“But how then? How did you…” she turned to her father, “and you…” she waved her hands around the room, “and everyone else beat this poison?”

“Ah yes. My Ema is a genius.” Ben’s boyish grin stretched across the room even while Ema tsk’d, waving off his accolades.

“No need for humility, dear, you’ve put together an amazing system of detoxification and restoration.” Ben tapped his eyes. “Eyesight is as good as ever.”

Fran sucked in her breath and put a hand to her mouth. She had all but forgotten about Ben’s blindness. Now, on closer inspection, she noticed subtle patches of skin around his eyes different than the rest of his complexion. Tight and shiny, the skin meandered out toward his temple.