Robison Wells - Blackout

Stale warm air greeted her as she stepped into a long, plain hallway. To her left she could see nothing but blank walls, and to her right were a few doors. A soldier in uniform was coming toward her pushing a filing cabinet on a dolly. Aubrey moved out of the way, leaning back against the hard concrete wall to avoid getting run over, and watched as the man left the building, removing the rock he’d apparently left in the door.

Aubrey was dizzy now and nauseated. She had to find a place to reappear.

As quickly as her feet would carry her, she staggered down the hallway, reading the labels on each door. The first she came to was a supply closet—perfect!—but it was locked. The rest seemed to be offices and she could hear voices inside.

There were voices behind her now, too. Whoever had been in the jeep seemed to be following her in.

No, not following me. They can’t see me. She felt like she couldn’t even think straight.

A door opened right in front of her and Aubrey had to jump to avoid running into the exiting soldier. Her movements were sluggish and unsteady, and she slammed into the wall, and then collapsed to the floor.

I’m going to be trapped in here , she thought, and forced herself to stand again. Her shoulder ached, and she had to keep a hand on the wall for balance as she struggled to get farther down the hall.

Pain erupted in her head as an alarm sounded and brilliant white strobes began flashing on the ceiling. This couldn’t be because of her, could it? No one could see her.

She reached an open door and peeked inside. It was some kind of records room; floor-to-ceiling shelves were stacked with color-coded folders. Aubrey didn’t see anyone, and took a few lurching steps in.

There was a desk, but it was stacked high with boxes and obviously hadn’t been used recently. In fact, other than the door being open, there was no sign that anyone ever used the room. She read the tags on the files, and what she saw dated back ten or fifteen years.

The alarm was screaming, and Aubrey was losing her vision quickly. Boxes turned into brown blobs; filing cabinets blended into the walls.

Now needing both arms to keep her on her feet, she moved down the aisles of shelves to the back of the room. Dusty wooden cabinets lined the wall, and she fell to her knees, opening the lower doors.

Hallelujah.

There were a few small boxes stacked in the cabinet, but no shelves, and Aubrey climbed awkwardly inside.

It was a tight fit. Her knees were bent almost to her chest and she had to lean her head and shoulders forward. But, after pulling the cupboard doors closed and reappearing, Aubrey couldn’t help but feel euphoric. Her lungs filled with air and her breathing almost immediately returned to normal. The returning strength in her arms and legs felt warm and invigorating. And, even though she knew she needed to fight it, knew what would happen if she was late to camp that night, she fell asleep.

ALEC APPROACHED A BLONDE GIRLsitting alone in the dirt. A group of kids had cleared a semirectangular space deep in the center of the sprawling tent complex and were playing soccer. The girl seemed to be rooting for someone on one of the teams.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

She looked up, her eyes darting over his bruised and bandaged body. No one ever said no to him like this. He loved it.

“Sure.”

It took him a minute to sit, struggling to ease himself down to the sandy earth with the help of only one arm.

“You okay?” she asked.

“As good as any of us in here,” he said. “My problems are just more visible.”

The girl smiled at that, and turned her eyes back to the game. A foot of dust hung in the air above the playing field as players fought for the ball.

“Why aren’t you playing?” Alec asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t feel like it.”

“You look athletic.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not that. I just don’t feel like playing right now. You know how it is—worrying about family and stuff. My roommates are playing. It just—it just doesn’t feel right to play.”

He nodded and leaned back on his good arm.

Alec was feeding her images now, memories of a thin, pale-faced boy from her elementary school.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “Brigham City.”

“You’re kidding,” Alec said with a fake surprise that he’d now practiced a dozen times in the quarantine zone. “How old are you?”

The girl looked at him from the side of her eyes. “Eighteen. Why?”

“Alec Moore,” he said. “Fourth grade. I lived there in the fourth grade.”

For the first time her eyes seemed to soften. “Really? Alec? Lake View Elementary?”

“Yeah. I totally recognize you,” he said, and then stared at her, pretending he was trying to remember her name. “It’s . . . it starts with a J, right? Jennifer? Jessica?”

She laughed—a real, warm laugh. “Emily Townsend. But I think I remember you—Alec Moore. You were a little guy, right?”

“Not the bulky hunk I am now,” he said with a smile.

Emily grinned. “That’s amazing. Out of all these thousands of people and the first person I know is someone I haven’t seen since fourth grade.”

“You weren’t rounded up with friends?” he asked, trying to hide his annoyance. She’d be of more use to him if she had close contacts here.

“My parents sent me out of town to stay with my aunt down in Fillmore—you know, trying to get away from all the attacks. I didn’t know anybody down there.”

Worthless , Alec thought. But that’s what he got for approaching a girl sitting all alone.

He pointed to the game in front of them.

“Where’d they get a soccer ball?”

“I heard a soldier found it for them. All these guys are from my tent. They guard that ball like it’s made of gold.”

He nodded. “I wish they’d give us more to do.”

“I keep hearing that they’re going to—more games and activities and stuff. If they don’t, we’ll go crazy.”

Alec leaned forward and rubbed his arm.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “Did you try to fight when they came for you?”

“I wish,” he said. “Car accident.”

He paused for a moment, and then thought of an opening. “You know what sucks? They took me straight from the accident to the hospital, and straight from there to here. I never even got a chance to talk to my family. They have no idea where I am.”

Emily reached over and touched his arm. “That’s awful.”

“I just wish I could call them or something,” he said. “To let them know I’m okay.”

They watched the soccer game—too many kids on the narrow field, crowding around the ball too much to pass effectively. Alec had always liked soccer, and this was an embarrassing display. “It’s been a long time,” Emily finally said, her voice quieter.

“Since fourth grade?” Alec responded. “Yeah.”

The players got close to them, kicking and tripping to get at the ball before someone finally passed it tumbling through the dirt toward his own goalie.

Alec reinforced more memories, all positive. Playing together at lunch time, going to birthday parties, even giving each other Christmas presents.

Childhood memories were easy, because he didn’t need to focus on the specifics. He’d just insert a tiny fact, add a little emotion to it, and her brain would fill in the gaps. No one was expected to remember fourth grade in any detail, so none of these girls was bothered that they could only remember snippets of Alec Moore.

“So where have you been since elementary school?”