Emmy Laybourne - Sky on Fire

It was an unreasonable assumption for me to make, but in some part of my brain, I thought that as soon as we got to DIA, I would find our parents. Like they’d be waiting right by the door or something.

But I scanned every masked face in that waiting room. Each of us did, except Max, who was asleep in his pushchair.

‘They’re not here,’ Batiste said, voicing exactly what I’d been thinking.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But maybe inside. Maybe inside…’

Our little group all sat together in some chairs.

A team of soldiers in hazmat suits with, get this, pads and paper came around and wrote down our names, addresses, and social security numbers, if we knew them.

‘Is there some kind of list?’ I asked the man who took my information. ‘Of the survivors? Of the people who are here now?’

‘We’re putting it together, kid,’ he said. I couldn’t really see his face, but he sounded tired.

He put a bracelet on my wrist. It had a number. He wrote the number down on the pad, next to my name, and also had an old-fashioned handheld scanner, which he used to scan the barcode on my bracelet.

That was good. I was in the system now. All of us were. That would help our parents find us, it had to.

‘The Network still down?’ I asked him.

He held up the yellow pad. ‘What do you think?’

He was ready to move on, but I put a hand on his arm. He pulled it away.

‘My brother and four other kids are stranded back at the Greenway in Monument,’ I told him. ‘We need to organize a rescue.’

He snorted.

‘You can write a request,’ he said. ‘But the chances are slim.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘We’re spread real thin, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘But they can’t come out because they’re O. And they’re kids. They need help.’

He leaned down and put his mask right up against mine.

He had brown skin and dark eyes. A kind face, but a tired one.

‘You know how many refugees have come through here?’ he asked me. ‘Me neither. Nobody does. We’ve lost track. But more than eight hundred thousand. Eight hundred thousand people, kid. We can hardly take care of the people we have here. We don’t need to go getting any more.’

When he said those things to me, I cried. I knew he was right and I knew we’d never get anyone to go back for you.

I cried then, good and long. Sahalia held me like I was a little kid, and I didn’t even care.

We wouldn’t be able to go back for you, Dean.

Every 45 minutes, a soldier would come and shout out a bunch of numbers.

People would look at their bracelet, to see if it was their number being called. Then the ones called would stand up and take all their stuff, and go to the big double doors.

It was always 30 males and 30 females. We had been told we’d all be decontaminated in a big group shower and then given new clothes and gear.

After we waited for a while, it was our turn.

We all stood up and went over to the door, with the other people whose numbers had been listed.

Sahalia took my hand and held on to it tight.

Niko pushed Max in his pushchair. He looked scared.

They had 2 soldiers (in hazmat suits) checking names off a shared master (paper) list.

When it got to us, they stopped Niko.

‘That kid needs to go to medical,’ one said, pointing to Max. But we’d seen people getting taken away to medical. They were separated from their families and had to go alone. Max had outright refused.

‘He’s okay,’ Niko said. ‘I can take care of him.’

‘Suit yourself,’ answered the soldier.

Niko picked Max up and carried him in, leaving the bloody, mucky pushchair to the side.

We were now in a weird, flexible hallway. It was tall and oval shaped – like we were in a vacuum cleaner hose. Airtight, obviously. It was big, too – 3 people could easily walk side by side in it.

A little ways down, the hallway branched in two and the men/boys and women/girls were being separated.

Sahalia started to panic.

‘Don’t worry,’ I told her. ‘We’ll find you on the other side.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

‘Really?’ she said, and her fingers clutched onto my jacket.

‘We’ll find you, Sahalia,’ I vowed.

She nodded with tears in her eyes and went off with the women and girls.

We were herded into a big, big bubble room. It was shaped like a giant tangerine, and the things dividing the segments of the tangerine were flexible, white plastic pipes. There was a circle of them around the room and each came up to the centre of the bubble, where it hung down with a showerhead on the end of it.

Five large bins with lids stood in the corner, next to a stack of plastic stools.

Four more soldiers in hazmat suits were waiting for us.

A soldier set a plastic stool in front of Niko for Max to sit on. That was kind. He did the same for a couple of other people, who looked worse for wear.

‘Leave your masks on,’ one commanded us.

Would we ever get to take them off?

The soldier handed each of us a plastic Ziploc bag.

‘Place any valuables and ID you have into this bag and put your name on it. You’ll get it on the other side.’

I slipped my notebook, the digital watch I had taken from the Greenway, and my pen into the bag. I didn’t have anything else worth saving. The soldier came and wrote my name on the bag for me and put it into a metal basket, along with all the other bags.

‘Besides the masks, remove all your clothing and place it in these bins. All fabric must go in the bin to be destroyed. That’s the policy,’ the soldier dictated.

Some men started to protest but the lead soldier talked louder than them: ‘On the other side of this room, there is a room filled with clothing and gear. You will have your pick of clean, new clothes on the other side. Everything you need will be provided for you. Now get to.’

Ulysses started crying. It was kind of scary. It was so white and bright, and now this guy was barking at us to get naked.

‘It’s okay, Ulysses,’ Niko said calmly through his voice transmitter. ‘We’re going to be clean. It’s good.’

Following Niko’s example, we took off our clothes and threw them in the nearest bin. The men around us did the same.

That was a grisly collection of bodies, I tell you.

We were all just standing there, shivering in nothing but our face masks, when the lead soldier nodded to the other 3. They each picked up hoses from the floor. The hoses ran into the base of the walls. I hadn’t noticed them before.

‘This part’s going to suck,’ the lead soldier said. ‘I apologize. Hit ’em!’

They turned on the hoses and jets of frothy orange wash came out of them. The four soldiers sprayed us all down.

There were shouts of protest and dismay.

Then the wash stopped.

‘You can take off your masks now,’ the soldier directed.

He gestured to a bin and we all tossed our masks inside.

Most of us had massive indentations on our faces from the masks. Everyone looked sort of googly-eyed and disoriented.

Then the lead soldier nodded again to the other 3 and they doused us with the foul cleanser again.

‘This sucks!’ shouted one man.

‘I hate dis soap!’ Ulysses shouted.

The lead soldier laughed. ‘I know, kid. But it’s the price of admission.’

He hit a large red button on a metal electrical box hanging on the wall.

Immediately hot water started pouring out of the showerheads and also spurting out from the pipes running down the walls.

It felt like heaven.

They gave us thin, scratchy towels to dry ourselves with and blue paper hospital outfits to wear. Like medical scrubs, but made of a waxy paper. I thought they were pretty cool, but there was some grumbling from the bigger men.