The Variables (35 page)

Grant looked down at Salem’s necklace dangling down in front of his t-shirt before he walked into the guard’s workstation. He knew the guards wouldn’t tease him about the feminine quality of the sparkly silver chain—they each had their own talismans, and no one ever questioned much when it came to rituals. Superstition reigned supreme. Among their small band of survivors, the soldiers selected for this special task were professionals, each of them procured over time from different branches of the military. When they settled into a poker game or a movie, they naturally fell into telling their old war stories again and again. Grant had learned about each of them during their evenings together.

With a deep breath and a prayer that he wouldn’t be seen as an intruder, Grant slipped into the room. He was greeted at breakfast with stoic faces and an intense aura of concentration. They looked at him and then at Dylan. Grant knew immediately: he wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Grant’s last morning,” Dylan said as a way of explanation and the group nodded in unison.

“Good morning,” said Nate, a long and lean towhead with a penchant for swearing and talking about how much he missed porn. “Big day.” Nate glanced sideways at Grant and pulled out the chair next to him, patting it as an invitation.

“I guess,” Grant replied. “I mean...it’ll be nice to get out of here.”
 

A soldier named Ryley sniffed and clattered his spoon into his cereal bowl. “You all packed up?” he asked to no one in particular. A few people answered in the affirmative, and then Ryley rolled his head over to Grant. “And you?”

“I just have a poster,” Grant said, thinking of the Romero that was rolled up back in his room. Salem’s necklace around his neck and the poster. He realized that he didn’t have any earthly possessions beyond those two items. “That’s it, I guess.”

“Well,” Ryley replied, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, “we all got something.” The man stood up and stretched his arms to the ceiling, letting out a ghastly sigh. “What’s our timeframe? When’s the big...when’re the Copia folk coming for their meeting?”

Nate started to respond, but Blair’s heels, clipping along in her usual rushed gait, announced her arrival before she even popped her head into the room. He waited and watched the entrance, and everyone else turned, too. Blair pushed the door and ventured in without a greeting, talking as she walked inside, without regard for whatever had been going on prior to her presence.

“I just got off a video chat with my father from Kymberlin, and I have some things to discuss before our operation today, so please, please everybody, I need your attention.” She waltzed to a long counter on the far end of the room and pushed herself up to sit on it; she was wearing a medium length skirt that hit just above her knees, and when she crossed her legs, the boys couldn’t help but stare. Private Wendy, the only female soldier among them, punched one of the guys next to her in the arm and playfully tried to pull his gaze upward.

Grant saw Blair’s attention flicker in their direction, but she ignored their teasing at her expense and kept talking.

“First things first, we will need all hands on deck for a System sweep prior to calling the Copia residents to the Center.” She looked up. Nate had raised his hand quickly. He cleared his throat to stop her from talking and she paused. “Yes?” she asked, pointing to him.

“Uh, Ma’am?”

“Please just call me Blair. Please.” She smiled.
 

Nate blinked.

“Blair.” He said the name like he was testing each sound of her name separately. “Ma’am, um, we have a visitor for breakfast this morning. Civilian in our midst, Ma’am. So, perhaps we should wait on discussing…I just wanted to bring it to your attention.” He nodded over to Grant and Grant bowed his head. He wanted to disappear into the wall; he felt every person stare at him and collectively hold his or her breath.

“Oh,” Blair put a hand over her heart and stared at the faces around the room, each of them looking straight back at her with blank expressions. “I’m sorry...I didn’t. I’ll just...” she stammered.

Grant stood up. “I’ll go,” he said and waved goodbye to Dylan, picking up a small breakfast bar off the table.

It was silent as he made his way to the door, and as he grabbed the knob, he heard someone clear his throat.

“Grant can stay,” Dylan announced. “Ms. Truman didn’t have a scheduled meeting with us. She can address us at a more opportune time. It’s Grant’s last day with us, Ms. Truman...he deserves a right to an uninterrupted breakfast. He’s been hanging out with us a lot since everyone left. It’s his right.”

Blair’s head spun to Dylan. She pursed her lips and tapped her fingers against the counter. “You don’t have authority to make that call. He goes. And then I’ll continue. Problem solved.”

“Maybe don’t come into the room and start spewing classified information when a civilian is present,” Nate added. “Ma’am.”

“I...just,” she cleared her throat.
 

Nate shot his hand up again. “Also, that plan would leave the main elevators unattended.”

Everyone was silent. Grant froze, still by the door, unable to determine if he was supposed to go or stay. Everyone’s eyes were back on Blair. He crinkled his breakfast bar wrapper, hoping it would draw some attention back to him so someone could tell him if he was supposed to leave.
 

“Station someone at the second elevator. There’s no need to waste a person at the one to the surface.” Blair said this with a flick of her wrist and the guards all exchanged knowing looks. Grant shifted on his feet, Dylan motioned for him to sit, and so he sat down in an empty chair. He ran his hand through his hair and slumped backward, arms crossed.

“With all due respect...your father’s plan is convoluted. No offense,” a guy named Mick said. He was chewing a large piece of bubble gum and he popped it loudly.

A few of the soldiers shook their heads and mumbled to each other, whispering to each other in low voices so Grant couldn’t hear.

“Never underestimate the resourcefulness of our Copia residents,” Blair said. Turning to sneak a look at Grant, she added, “The Copia residents must be led to their meeting and led out of their meeting with strict precision. Their plane waits, after all. Because there are so few of us, it’s important to make sure that we handle everything according to protocol.” She titled her head and uncrossed her legs. Then she slid down off the counter, scanned the room, and cleared her throat. “We follow the plan.”

“Because the plan always works,” Mick muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Blair spun and stared at him. She put her hands on her hips and straightened her back. Mick looked her over from top to bottom, but he didn’t reply. He blew a bubble. “My father asked me to oversee this operation –”

“That’s cute,” Nate interrupted. He bit into an apple, flecks of juice and fruit flying to the ground. He chomped with his mouth open. Stopping mid-bite, he raised his eyebrows. “I was at the meeting, too, Ma’am. You’re here for appearances. And look, I’m not complaining...you’ve got a mighty fine appearance.”

A few of the other guys chuckled and tried to contain their laughter.

Blair’s hands slipped from her hips and she stood lamely in the middle of the room. She frowned and looked to the ground, all of her bravado slipping away. She raised her head and took a step toward the door, and walked right past Grant; he looked away from her and stared at the table in front of him.

Her ankle gave out and she stumbled. Putting her hand out on Grant’s chair to steady herself, she slipped further and tumbled to her knees. The room went silent, and no one dared to breathe. Ryley cleared his throat and went to her as everyone else watched. He extended his hand and Blair looked up. Her eyes were cold like stone, but she took his hand and he helped her up to her feet.

“You should excuse Nate,” Ryley said with a nod backward. “Your father recruited him from a specialized program. He’s got no credentials. Practically a mall cop.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Nate spat with a glare.

“Mall cop,” Ryley said on his heels without taking his eyes off Blair.

Blair nodded, but remained silent. When she did speak, her voice was tiny and timid. “I’ll be back later, I suppose.” Then she turned to Ryley, “I want to be put to work. Who do I talk to about that? I want to have a part,” she said. “I’m not useless.”

“No one said you were useless, Ma’am,” Ryley declared in a loud voice, speaking over her head to the others, who were now inspecting the floor and the walls with intense focus. “We’ll make sure you have a role.”

Blair mustered a weak smile of gratitude and then continued out the door.

“Blair?” Ryley added, stopping her as she started to disappear into the hallway. “We are all very grateful for your father’s work. We would not be here if we didn’t support him.”

“Well,” Blair said, turning her head, “thank you. I’ll be sure to let him know that he picked a good team.” Then she marched back down the hallway, the echo of her shoes fading as each second passed.

None of them knew when they were supposed to leave. The guards seemed entirely nonchalant about a departure time, despite the fact that the other exits from the System were perfectly planned. After breakfast, Dylan had told Grant that he needed to get ready for the departure and he took off, which left Grant fully bereft of friends.

So, after Grant meandered around the Center for a while, he decided that the only place left to go was Cass’s hideout. He followed the path he had used many times before, often with Lucy close by; crawling under the breakaway wall, up through the secret elevator, and into the room that had been his second home. It looked the same as it always had—bright and welcoming. It was the opposite of everything down below. Maybe Claude had made it that way.
 

Grant plopped himself down on the beanbag and stared up into the sky. Soon he would be flying through that sky on his way to Copia. He closed his eyes and tried to picture how this afternoon would go, and what he saw was pure chaos: Blair and her dog roaming around attempting to be helpful, the guards suiting up and trying to manage getting the people cleared of the System before making the call to shut it down. When the men back on Kymberlin hit the switch to send the System into darkness, it would kill the solar panels and succumb the underground dome to a future without life. The Underground Systems’ function was brief, but masterful.

Grass and dirt blew across the glass of the skylight and he could tell by the way the long grass swayed and danced that it was windy outside.

Cass had left most of her things in this room. There was a mug with a picture of a cat on it, and a collection of books. He had first kissed Lucy in this room. Or maybe she had kissed him first. He couldn’t remember the full sequence of events, even though it hadn’t happened that long ago. He could only picture her face close to his, her breath tasting like nothing at all, and the worry that she wouldn’t love him back.

He hoped she had read his letter on her first night of Kymberlin. He hoped that it had helped her feel secure and peaceful, resting in all he felt for her. He never wanted to come across as needy, so he tried to temper his bursting heart sometimes. Maybe someday she would doubt that he cared for her fully; maybe someday she would try to dismiss them as a relationship born of proximity, but he knew better than that.

He hoped that she knew that he was trying to get home to her.

And that he could see a life for them on the Islands. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen. He could apprentice with her father—become a man of science. They could live in comfort and luxury, always knowing that they had opted out of a life of tribulation and fear.

Grant realized that he had wasted too much time dreaming about his future; he imagined that the call to their presentation from Huck and their trip to the surface could not be far away now. He crawled off the beanbag and pushed the elevator button. The doors opened immediately and he slipped inside, letting them close on their own. It was time. He couldn’t wait to leave this place. Copia awaited.

A few guards milled around outside Scott’s lab and the Center. They were in full fatigues, lugging around their weaponry like they were headed off to war. In pairs they marched in formation from one end of the long hallway to the other, and Grant watched them with a sense of unease. He had watched the men (and woman) laugh and engage in drunken silliness, and he’d heard their stories and played cards with them. They had allowed him into their small circle, but it was clear that now they had pushed him out.

They were all business. Nate nodded wordlessly as Grant passed him in the hall. When he saw Dylan standing at attention against the doors to the Center, he stopped and jabbed his friend playfully in the arm, hoping to draw him out of his dour mood.
 

“Hello,” Dylan said officially, but he didn’t budge. His weapon was pointed at the ground, his arms stiff at his sides.

“Man,” Grant said, scratching his head. “You are all crazy serious about this departure.”

Dylan closed his eyes. It looked like it pained him not to talk to Grant in their familiar way. “I’m just working,” he finally answered with an apologetic smile. “I have my orders.” He sniffed and stood up a little straighter. “It’s nothing personal.” Then he turned to look straight at Grant and the penetrating glare made Grant’s hair stand on end. “That’s all you need to know. It’s not personal.”

“Right,” Grant said and he took an instinctive step backward.

Mick from breakfast was right behind him, smacking his gum and chattering into a walkie-talkie. He sidestepped away from Grant to avoid running into him and nodded to acknowledge his presence.

“You have a nice afternoon, son?” Mick asked.

“Me?” Grant pointed to himself and looked back at Dylan, who was staring straight ahead.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t asking any of the guards. We’ve been too busy to have a nice day,” Mick replied.

“I think so,” Grant answered. “Just anxious.”

Mick gnawed on his gum and then snapped it loudly behind his teeth. He was about to reply when Blair appeared, marching down the hall in her skirt, holding on tightly to Frank’s leash. The dog trotted happily by her side, his pink tongue sticking out of his mouth, bouncing along to the rhythm of her walk.