Laura Martin - Edge of Extinction

“This is your new home,” General Kennedy had told my seven-year-old self after escorting me past the guardian on duty to a tiny room where a small bed and mattress sat along the back wall. “Lights go off at nine o’clock sharp, and you will be locked in at night.”

“Locked in?” I’d asked.

“The Guardian Wing is for those who don’t have a place with the rest of the community. The doors are locked for safety purposes. Show some gratitude that the Noah allows you to stay here. You are a burden on our society.” He’d turned and walked out, locking the door behind him. I’d looked around the tiny room and my chest had ached with homesickness for the little apartment in the seventh sector my dad and I had shared. And then the lights had gone out. I’d sat down on the icy floor, too exhausted to attempt to find the bed, and cried myself to sleep.

The sound of something scratching at my door had woken me, and I’d sat bolt upright in a panic. Before I could scream, my door had opened, and a short, stocky boy had been silhouetted in my doorway, an odd flashlight clutched in his hand. Holding a finger to his lips to keep me quiet, he’d eased the door shut behind him. He’d tiptoed over and looked down at me, sitting among the meagre supplies Kennedy had given me.

“How did you get in?” I asked, blinking tear-swollen eyes.

“Lock picks,” he said, holding up two small metal sticks. “I’m Shawn.”

“I’m Sky,” I said, wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my grey compound jumpsuit. “Why are you here?” I’d meant my room, but he misunderstood, dropping down to sit opposite me on the cold stone floor.

“Same reason you are,” he said. “Orphaned when my parents died in the tunnel collapse two months ago.”

I’d wrapped my arms protectively around myself and felt my chin jut out defiantly. “My dad isn’t dead.”

“Is so,” Shawn argued. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be in the Guardian Wing.”

“Is not,” I said, swallowing a lump in my throat. “There is going to be a mandatory assembly about it tomorrow.”

That assembly had been awful.

His picture had been projected up on the wall while government officials explained how one person’s selfishness could jeopardise the entire compound’s survival. They’d itemised the things my dad had apparently stolen from the marines’ barracks before he fled, explaining how the loss of those items put the survival of every inhabitant of North Compound at risk. They’d called him a traitor to the human race, worse than a criminal. There had been rewards offered for information leading to his capture. I’d watched the entire thing from the front row, feeling the disapproving glare of every citizen of North Compound digging into my back. Guilt and confusion had gnawed at my guts, almost overshadowing the feeling of loss and betrayal that made it hard to breathe. Needless to say, after that assembly, sympathies for the recently orphaned Sky Mundy had hit a record low for everyone – everyone except Shawn Reilly.

“It’s not so bad here,” Shawn promised. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I hate it here.” I sniffed.

“Well,” Shawn said, holding out a hand to pull me to my feet, “that’s probably because you’re sleeping on the floor.” And he’d helped me make my bed by the light of the flashlight. A flashlight I found out he’d made from broken pieces of machinery he’d found sorting trash during work details.

Shawn had made life bearable. For two years, we lived in the Guardian Wing, breaking into each other’s rooms to talk and laugh. I told him about how I was determined to find out what really happened to my dad, and he told me how he felt guilty that his parents had died in that cave-in. Apparently he’d made them late that day, putting them in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes I thought he saw looking out for me as his way of making up for that, but I didn’t mind. I needed a friend desperately.

I’d been almost happy. But then Shawn’s aunt had been transferred to North Compound, and she’d insisted that he come to live with her. He’d wanted to refuse the offer, too worried about leaving me behind. But in the end he’d gone, while I remained with the handful of unwanted misfits our society didn’t quite know what to do with.

Now I slowed my jog to a walk as River, the guardian on duty, narrowed her eyes at me in warning before going back to tapping on her port.

“Five minutes until work detail,” she said without looking up. “General Kennedy is on duty tonight.”

“He would be,” I muttered before hurrying back to my room. I threw open my door and let it slam behind me before peeling off the grey starch of my school uniform and pulling on loose grey overalls. Everything in the compound was grey. The walls, the clothing, even the people were starting to look a little grey after so many years without sunlight. I yanked my hair out of its ponytail and jammed my hard hat on my head. I was about to bolt out of my door when I spotted my schoolbag. My heart squeezed painfully as I realised what I’d almost just done.

Grabbing it, I pulled out the scan plug and my journal. The metal springs of my bed groaned and creaked as I climbed on to it. Standing on my tiptoes, I stretched to reach the large recessed light in my ceiling. I usually avoided doing this when the lights were on, but I didn’t have a choice. Using the sleeve of my jumpsuit to protect my skin from the hot bulb, I unscrewed the entire thing from the ceiling. The light canister hung down by its wires as I shoved my plug and journal inside. Shawn had shown me this trick shortly after I’d moved in. It had been too time-consuming for the compound engineers to drill through the solid rock of the original rock quarry to install lights, so they had created false ceilings instead to run their wires behind. It was the perfect hiding spot for things you didn’t want found. I replaced the light and jumped off my bed just as the whistle blew to let me know I was late. I groaned and ran for the door.

I dashed out of the Guardian Wing. Two minutes later I rounded the last corner and ploughed full force into a body. My feet went out from under me and I landed hard on my butt. I gazed up into the disapproving eyes of General Ron Kennedy.

“Late again?” he asked, pulling out his port to make a quick notation. “That makes the fourth time in three weeks.” He glanced down at his port and then raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Maybe a full week of work detail will make you be more punctual.”

I just stood up silently and brushed myself off. The six other people standing behind Kennedy wore overalls that matched mine and were studiously ignoring me, although I saw one woman smirk. Most of the time, I was proud of being a member of North Compound. Even though I was held at arm’s length by almost everyone, it didn’t change the fact that we were survivors – the scrappiest and toughest of the human race. But at times like this, I wished there was somewhere else I could be. My mind flashed to the few minutes I’d spent topside just that morning: the way the sun had felt on my skin, the smell of earth and pine in the air. A traitorous part of me wondered what it would be like to leave the grey compound tunnels behind. But I shook off the thought. Life topside might seem wonderful, but I knew all too well that it was deadly. I wiped a hand across my face and discovered I’d got a bloody nose from the impact.

“Don’t get blood on your overalls,” Kennedy snapped. “Or you’ll have work detail for the rest of the month.”