Author: Stephanie Erickson
Date: 2015-03-10 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Fiction; Dystopia; Fantasy; Apocalyptic; Post Apocalyptic; Young Adult; Thriller; Science Fiction Fantasy
Description: 322 years after the apocalypse, the world has changed, but her people have not. Secrets, lies, and manipulations endure among a small group of survivors taking refuge on an island in the Northern Pacific. No one knows what claimed so many lives over three centuries ago, and no one asks, except Ashley Wortham. She can feel the secrets all around her, begging to be uncovered. But the nine elders who govern the island guard their secrets jealously. They believe the islanders know what they need to, and they hide their secrets behind a ruse of peace. But when Ashley, and her best friend Mason, go
Publisher: Pickles Press

The Dead Room

By: Stephanie Erickson

Copyright © 2015 Stephanie Erickson

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof.

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9909293-3-8

For You

Table of Contents

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

Calm

1.

2.

3.

Darkness

4.

5.

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Approx. 322 years after the apocalypse

1.

The body lay on a two-piece metal pyre in the center of the clearing. Nothing more than the skeleton of a table, the pyre was simply used for the display and transport of the bodies. Burning the dead was a custom from the time before.

The corpse’s blue cotton, long-sleeved shirt was buttoned all the way to the top to hide his injuries, and the matching navy slacks had recently been pressed. With his hands folded over his abdomen, Wesley looked rather dashing. Ashley wished her match had actually been dashing in life.

She wondered who would wear that outfit next. Nothing was ever wasted on the island. Not even the clothes of a dead man. She herself had worn the clothes off a dead woman’s back. Squeamishness was a luxury no one could afford.

Although “new” clothes were made on the island, from animal skins and the cotton grown in the farmlands, they were typically reserved for the higher ups—elders, doctors, and the like. Cotton was difficult to grow in the cold climate, and the clothes were made entirely by hand. Once it had been worn and patched a few times by those with power, new clothing was eventually passed down to the lower branches of society,

But, it wasn’t just clothing that moved on after an islander died. All of their belongings were redistributed among those in need. The dead’s family wasn’t allowed to keep anything they didn’t need. Sentimentality was a lost emotion to the islanders. Reusing everything was essential, even if the previous owner was a dead man.

It had only bothered her once—the first time she’d seen one of her father’s outfits on another man. Even then, at the tender age of ten, she’d understood it was bound to happen eventually. She just hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. Only a week after his funeral, she’d spotted one of her neighbors walking down the road in her father’s clothes. She ran to him, hoping her father’s scent might still linger on his shirt. But the man neither embraced her nor offered her any sympathy. He only looked at her with wide eyes, the horror and disgust plain on his face.

Death on the island was such a strange thing. She’d lost track of how many funerals she’d been to in her lifetime—at least one a month. Unexpected deaths, like that of her match, added to the average.

Only three of the losses had actually meant something to her—her mother, her father, and now Wesley. Her father’s funeral was, of course, devastating, made more so by the fact that they’d shared the same first name. Everything the elders said about him could have also been applied to her. How they were thankful for “Ashley’s life,” how they wished “Ashley peace.” It sent shivers down her spine.

Once, she’d asked him why they shared a name. His mother’s name had been Ashley, he’d explained, as had her mother, and her father before that. On and on, down the line, the name had traveled, until it had reached Ashley. And one day, as was their tradition, it would go to her own child.

The funeral for her mother, who had been taken by a simple cold that escalated into something much worse, was nothing more than a hazy memory. Still, Ashley missed her mother terribly and felt incomplete without her. She searched for her whenever the jasmine got caught on the wind, because her mother had loved to wear the flower behind her ear.

Wesley’s funeral was a problem. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it. The loss of her parents had left her feeling completely alone. She’d hoped to find love again with her match, but he’d left her terribly disappointed.

Now that he was gone, her emotions warred with themselves. Relief was the biggest player fighting for space in her mind. Relief to have escaped the abuse and the pressures of being the next elder’s wife. Guilt came in at a close second, but not because she regretted killing her match.

It was because her best friend was being blamed for it.

She sat alone in the front row, worrying her hands as she took in the scene around her. A large crowd was gathered in a semi-circle around the body. The clearing was equipped with seating for roughly a thousand people, and the island’s population tended to hover near that number, plus or minus ten or fifteen people. Wesley had been such a prominent figure in their community—next in line to be an elder—so nearly the whole island had come to pay their respects. Most of those present had always told Ashley that she was so lucky to be matched with him.

If that’s luck, they can keep it, she thought. Funny how relaxed and peaceful he looks now, Ashley mused as she studied his body. She snorted, causing pain to shoot through her right side where he’d kicked her last night.

She grimaced, and her hand automatically flew to the spot. Was it really just last night? she marveled. So much had happened.

The summer had been warm that year, warmer than normal for the northwestern island, but a crisp taste of fall was on the wind. In a vain attempt to keep out the cold, and the memories, she adjusted her shawl around her shoulders. A breeze rustled the spruce trees bordering the circular clearing, ruffling it back out of place.

The islanders in the rows surrounding Ashley watched her as she fidgeted. They probably assumed she was in shock. Maybe she was. Memories of her match flooded her mind. She knew from the start that she didn’t love him, but love wasn’t the point of matches—continuing the species was.

Her life had become so much worse, though, after learning who Wesley really was—nothing but rage. She couldn’t get her mind around how badly the elders had misjudged him. Or maybe she was the one they’d misjudged.

The memories continued to close in on her like the evening fog, until she reached the night before. The hits, the kicks, and the ugly words all flashed in her mind. She felt every strike land on her a second time. Felt her hand take the knife…

Her heart raced, and her breath came in short gasps. Tears streamed down her face. Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady herself. She couldn’t afford to panic. The others might suspect something, and then what? Though she could think of no possible way things could get worse than they already were, her lack of imagination was undoubtedly born of grief—not for her dead match, but for her best friend, her only family, who was awaiting his execution.

Before she could dwell on Mason’s fate, the funeral service started.

Elder Alkoff led the procession, with Elder Mattli and the other seven elders in tow. Dressed in funeral robes that covered their arms and dragged on the ground behind them, they all walked down the center aisle, heads bowed. None had their hoods raised, as was customary for funeral services. The elders thought it would comfort the islanders to look upon the faces of their leaders in such a dark moment.

Elder Alkoff clutched the book as he made his way toward the body, his black robe kicking out in front of him. When he arrived at the pyre, he paused, muttered a few words, and turned to face the crowd. The rest of the elders spread out on either side of him, forming a row.

Opening the book to the proper section automatically, Alkoff didn’t even look at it when he spoke. He’d conducted enough funerals to know the words by heart, and so he kept his tired, gray eyes trained on the islanders. “In the name of our savior, Bennett Ashby, we give thanks for this life. For without him, it would not have existed at all.” His voice was deep, booming, and authoritative, echoing across the clearing.

The crowd responded as one, “We thank you for this life, Bennett Ashby.”

As Alkoff continued the service, Ashley wondered what that even meant. Were they thanking Bennett Ashby for their own lives, or for her match’s? She certainly wasn’t thankful for his life. And just then, she wasn’t sure she was all that thankful for her own.

“We continue to give thanks and praise for this island, and all the lives on it, for we have been spared the horrible fate of those who came before.”

The crowd responded, “We give thanks and praise to you, our savior, Bennett Ashby.”

Again, Ashley’s mind wandered. What exactly was the ‘horrible fate’ the elders so often referred to? Could it be worse than submitting to an abusive man in the name of continuing the species? All the elders ever said was that civilization had crumbled at its own hands, and the islanders were the only survivors. No one knew more than that, but to hear the elders tell it, the island was the only part of the world that was still inhabited. But Ashley had a hard time accepting that as truth. What made the island so special that only they had been chosen to survive?

She shook her head. Now’s not the time for that train of thought.

By the time Ashley tuned back in, Alkoff had closed the book and moved on with the ceremony. Elder Mattli stepped forward.

Alkoff’s second in command cleared his throat in preparation for his part of the ceremony. “Wesley was…” he paused briefly, “…full of potential. The elders would have had a strong ally in him. His presence will be missed.” He let out a short sigh when he was done.

He turned to the body and sprinkled a handful of sand on it. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. So we return this body to the Earth.”

Do they really return the bodies to the Earth? Ashley wondered, not for the first time. No one was allowed to see what the elders did with the bodies after a funeral. The body was carried away by two of the elders. The clothing, along with the rest of Wesley’s extraneous belongings that Ashley didn’t need, would later be delivered to its next owners by one of the elders’ lackeys. There were no graveyards on the island—the space couldn’t be spared—and Ashley didn’t remember ever seeing smoke after a funeral. Maybe they dump them into the sea. She imagined a huge skeleton reef offshore with centuries of bodies in various stages of decomposition. The image was grotesquely comedic, and she stifled what would’ve been a manic laugh.

Mattli returned to his place among the elders as Alkoff continued the ceremony. “Through death comes life.” The crowd stirred with anticipation of who would be allowed—or forced, depending on how you looked at it—to add to the population now that a death had occurred. “Constance and Matthew Deneau, we look forward to celebrating the life you can now bring into this world.”

A collective sigh passed over the crowd, and a few people patted Matthew on the shoulder to give him their silent congratulations. Ashley eyed Constance, trying to decide if she was happy or not. She didn’t know the girl very well, but they were about the same age. With both of them in their mid-twenties, they were an ideal age to contribute to the population.

But Ashley wondered how fulfilling that would even be. Childbirth was dangerous on the island, and not without peril. Worse, illness was hard on children, and some never made it to adulthood. The island’s finite population made inbreeding a problem, and babies were often stillborn or born with deformities they didn’t survive. Legends were shared of a time when medicine had been plentiful, and disease more sophisticated than a respiratory infection, but life was smaller on the island. A common cold was all it took to snuff out a little one.

Mattli caught her eye, bringing her back to the service. “Now go in peace, knowing that as one life ends, another begins. So it is for you.”

So it is for me, huh? she asked herself. What could my life possibly hold now? She despaired as the crowd slowly filed away, leaving her alone and trapped between her future and her past.

Ashley continued to sit, staring at her match’s body. By the time she felt Mattli take her hand, she was numb, whether from the cold or the events of the last twenty-four hours, she wasn’t sure.

“My dear. You should go home. It’s getting cold.” His hands were wrinkled by time, but they were warm and comforting as they enveloped hers.

“I’d like to stay with him. To know what happens to him.” She didn’t finish her thought out loud. Since I don’t know what my own future holds.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” It was a simple, firm answer. But Ashley couldn’t accept it.

Anger rose inside of her, surprising her with its intensity. Everything was so chaotic, and she felt this was one thing she should’ve been able to control. She clawed at the opportunity desperately. “He was my match. I have a right to see him laid to rest.” Her voice echoed off the canopy of trees above them.

Mattli’s eyes turned sad. “Yes, you do. But I’m afraid you just can’t. You know that. You’ve been here before.”

That was true enough. She wasn’t an elder, but she could probably go through the service from memory.

But this one was different. She would not miss Wesley, but in many ways, his death signified the end of her life. She was nothing to the island without her match. They needed every young woman to produce more hands to help till the earth, repair buildings and machines, keep records, and keep the island running. The child’s sex didn’t matter—more bodies were what they needed. It was her most important role. Yes, she was also responsible for mending and making fishing nets on the island, and she was good at it too. But continuing the species was everyone’s top priority. And now that opportunity was likely lost to her.

Though she wouldn’t have wanted Wesley’s children, she was unhappy to have lost her main purpose.

Mattli stood, and she followed automatically, not consciously processing her actions. “Ashley, you are young and fertile. You may yet be rematched.”

She shuddered at the thought. That wasn’t what she wanted at all. But she didn’t know what she did want. The future looked bleak, especially if she’d have to spend it without Mason.

“At any rate, my dear, you aren’t a lost soul. The island can’t afford lost souls. You know that. You’ll find your purpose, and it will be soon.” An ‘or else’ hung in the air between them, making Ashley uneasy.

Her response caught in her throat when she realized the elder had walked her home. Feeling deflated, her shoulders sagged.

“Go get some rest. In the morning, it will be over.”

She nearly crumpled, knowing exactly what ‘it’ referred to. Her best friend’s wrongful execution would be far more difficult to endure than her match’s funeral.

2.

The home Ashley had shared with Wesley was dark when she walked in. Without thinking, she lit the lamp near the front door, bathing the scene in light. Everything looked normal. The chairs had all been righted, the blood had been cleaned, and the broken dishes had been sent back to the potter to be used for mosaics or ground down and made into new bowls, cups, and plates.

Despite the normalcy, the shadows knew the truth. Bile rose in her throat, and she ran to the bathroom.

The toilet was still stained red. She recoiled as soon as she put her face over it, rescuing her blonde locks at the last minute. Resigned, she went to the sink and poured some water into it from the bucket on the floor. Noting it was nearly empty and would need to be refilled before she went to bed, she splashed her face. The cold water shocked her senses.

Pull it together, she chided herself. She studied her reflection. She seemed to have aged in the last few hours. Dark bags hung under her steel-gray eyes, her hair was a bit frizzy and unkempt, and her normally beautiful porcelain skin had taken on a sickly gray tone.

Gripping the sides of the sink, she tried to take slow, easy breaths. She hadn’t meant for it to happen. Frankly, she hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. She had only asked him a question.

“But why all the secrecy? It just makes me think there has to be something more out there. What if Bennett Ashby set up more than one island?” She knew her questions agitated him, but she couldn’t help herself. Deep down inside, she believed she would be a better elder’s wife if she just had the answers to her questions.

“What makes you think you have any business understanding Bennett Ashby or his methods?” His voice was low and sinister, and she knew what was coming. No matter what she did at this point, his anger was like a freight train barreling down on her. Nothing would stop it.

“I suppose I don’t. At least, no more than you do.” She eyed him defiantly. He wasn’t an elder yet, but he lorded his future status over her like he was.

She knew what was coming as she watched him pull his fist back. Despite the fact that she braced herself, the punch still knocked the wind out of her. The shove that followed was all it took to send her to the ground.

On your feet, or he’ll start kicking, she thought. But she couldn’t get up, not until she found her breath.

Of course, she’d been right. The kicks came hard and fast, so she rolled into a ball, protecting her head and giving him her back. He relentlessly pounded her with kick after kick.

Before he could land another, she got up.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Better than what?” She gripped her side, assessing the damage. Three years of experience had taught her what to look for. She thought at least one rib was broken from the sharp pain that shot across her side with each breath. “Nothing’s happened to make me feel bad, right?” she gasped.

His smile contained no joy “So, you can learn.”

She maneuvered herself so the kitchen island was between them, spying the butcher knife that lay in wait, ready to be her savior. He made his way around it, and she backed up against the wall.

“You seem to think that being an elder’s match affords you some privileges. It doesn’t. You will smile for the islanders and do your duty, but I get the glory. Make no mistake about that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know the truth, do you?” She chuckled to herself. “They don’t consider you any worthier of their secrets than anyone else on this island.”

It was all he needed. He rounded on her again. She held the knife out with a shaky hand, and he plunged himself onto it. It slid into his gut easily, surprising them both. He made an otherworldly gasp as the handle jammed against his skin.

He drew back, squealing like a stuck pig as he pulled himself off the knife. Against her will, a scream escaped her own lips as she looked at the warm, slimy blood on her hand.

That was when Mason came in.

“Hey Ashley, I heard something, so I just wanted to make sure…” Mason trailed off as he entered the kitchen. “What the hell is going on?”

He had been walking home from work when the sound of screaming drew him into his best friend’s home. The last thing he’d expected was for Ashley to be the one holding the knife. He watched, mesmerized, as blood dripped from the tip of the weapon.

“Seize her, Mason. She’ll be tried for treason,” Wesley yelled as he gripped his stomach with one hand and braced himself against the counter with the other.

Mason knew about the abuse, and he’d always feared Wesley would kill Ashley one day. The way the scene before him reversed that expectation wasn’t something he was mentally prepared for.

Wesley leaned against the island, clutching his middle. He eyed Mason before returning his gaze to Ashley. “I see. You two are in this together. You figured you could kill me and be together, didn’t you?” He took a weak step toward Mason.

“Please, Wesley.” Ashley’s voice was no more than a shaky whisper.

“Please what?” he demanded. “Please hurry up and die so you can move on with your life? I don’t think so.” He lunged himself at Mason.

Although Wesley was weak, he was nearly two hundred pounds of dead weight coming at Mason full force. He didn’t have time to move out of the way, so Mason braced himself for the impact.

Wesley came at him low, barreling a shoulder into his stomach. Mason tried to get a grip on the bleeding man, but he was too slippery. Wesley knocked him off balance, slamming his back against the kitchen counters.

The force knocked the wind out of Mason. As he slumped over to catch his breath, Wesley stumbled toward him, blood still streaming freely from his wound. By the look of it, Ashley had nicked an artery.

Mason held a hand out toward his attacker. “Listen, Wesley, I don’t want any trouble. I just came in here to check on Ashley. Let me get you some help.”

“I don’t need help from the likes of you.” He pulled back to punch Mason, but he was getting weaker by the minute, the color completely drained from his face.

This time, Mason easily avoided the hit, and Wesley tumbled to the ground face-first.

“Well, isn’t this perfect?” he said from the floor. “Now you guys… can have your… happily… ever…” He stopped talking and didn’t start again.

Ashley walked over to him, kneeling down beside him. She hesitated before reaching over and touching Wesley’s back. His chest had stopped its rhythmic rise and fall.

Shaking her head, her wide eyes filled with tears that didn’t fall as she finally looked at Mason.

For a few moments, silence reigned in the room. They were afraid to move, to face the consequences of what they’d done. Before they were ready, Ashley’s neighbor burst into the house, saying he’d heard a commotion. He saw Wesley lying on the floor, Mason looming over him, covered in his blood, and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Ashley knew she was the one who deserved to be punished. But shock held her tongue in a vice-like grip. He called more neighbors in, and soon, they took on a mob mentality.

Before the situation could escalate much further, the two head elders arrived. Mattli and Alkoff made their assessments in silence, while the group of islanders watched.

“What happened here?” Alkoff asked after taking in the scene.

Ashley shot a desperate glance at Mason, fear and shock holding her tongue. Someone, at some point, had draped a blanket over her shoulders. She looked away, trying to hide her shame under the scratchy wool.

Words seem to fail Mason as well. He leaned against the kitchen counter, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face, and crossed his arms.

While Alkoff was waiting for an answer, Elder Branneth burst through the front door.

“What happened? Is Wesley okay?” she demanded. A tall and slender woman who was young for an elder, she maneuvered easily through the crowd of people gathered in the front hallway. When she spotted Wesley facedown on the floor, she went to him and collapsed by his body.

Her voice turned cold and menacing. “What happened here?” She turned her icy gaze on Ashley, who retreated even further into her blanket.

Ashley’s neighbor put an arm around her. “She’s had a bit of a shock, Elder Branneth. We all know Ashley wasn’t the one who started this fight. Go easy on her.”

“Go easy on her?” she shouted. “A future elder is dead. And I know she had something to do with it.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Ashley, willing her to confess.

Ashley again turned her gaze to Mason, silently pleading with him to rescue her. He’d helped her so many times before. He always knew what to do, always had the right answer. But now, he just leaned against the counter, staring straight ahead, an unfamiliar hint of fear tugging at his expression.

Branneth turned her wrath on Mason. “You. I always knew you would be a problem.”

The accusation loosed Ashley’s tongue. “No, you don’t understand,” she squeaked.

The sound of her voice snapped Mason out of whatever world he was in. “There’s nothing to understand. I’m responsible.”

His confession wasn’t much, but it was enough. Two elders seized him roughly and hauled him away like a sacrificial lamb.

Ashley stared hard into the mirror. She couldn’t let Mason take the fall. He was a master welder, and he contributed to the island in a big way. Many people depended on his skills.

“What have I done?” she asked her reflection.

Resolved, she walked out of her home and went straight to Mason.

Mason was at peace. The only thing he regretted was not being at Wesley’s funeral. He would’ve liked to spit on his body. That motherfucker hadn’t deserved so much luck in life. Mason had scraped by for years, and for what? He was about to be executed for killing a son of a bitch who’d spent each day of his life beating and lording over people. Nope. No regrets. If that was how they ran the island, so be it. He didn’t want to be a part of it any longer.

Mason had been alone his whole life. Not alone like Ashley was. His parents were still alive, but they weren’t one of the so-called lucky pairs. They tolerated each other at best. When it had come time for them to contribute to the population, the duty had been perceived as a burden, not a privilege. As the product of their burden, they’d treated him as an inconvenience. He’d moved out of his family home as soon as another place became available, and he’d been on his own ever since.

Mason’s match had died before they could be paired. The girl had been gangly, awkward, and not terribly likable. She’d seemed as put off by the pairing as he was, and he hadn’t missed the dreamy way she looked at Wesley and other islanders who had a higher social ranking. He hadn’t been terribly certain he’d be able to fulfill his duty if it came to it. When an illness took her, Mason was almost relieved, although he would have never admitted it. He had been in line for a new match before everything went to hell.

Ashley had always been Mason’s only constant… well, her and his work.

He loved metalworking. Welding was something he did to keep the island running. Metalworking was something he did for himself. If the elders knew about the extra flourishes he made on the leaky pipes he fixed, he would be punished for wasting time and resources. He always made sure to hide it well, but he enjoyed knowing that small bit of beauty was there.

He wondered just what he could do with his hands if he had unlimited resources, but his daydream was cut short by the sound of footsteps in the leaves.

The dappled moonlight made it hard to see, but he recognized her shadowy form anyway.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t go through with this, Mason. I can’t have your blood on my hands.” She grabbed the bars of the primitive enclosure made of glorified sticks. Mason was sure he could break out if he wanted to, but where would he go? The island was small, and it had very wet, finite boundaries.

The prison enclosure was just at the edge of the woods. The nearest homes were not even a hundred yards away, so each one of them had eyes on him. The elders hadn’t even bothered to post guards. The sensation of being watched made his skin crawl.

“You have to.” Frustrated, he ran a hand over his shaved head. The last thing he needed was for her to be an emotional wreck about what had happened. The thought of her living on, of her being free of that man, was all that was keeping him going.

She put her face right up to the wooden bars, mere inches from his. “No.”

Her pointy little nose nearly touched his, and he could feel her warm breath on his skin. He stared into her gray eyes, his square face the perfect opposite to her delicate oval one. “What do you want me to say? Sure. Go tell the elders the truth right now. Certainly, they’ll let me out, and we’ll all live together as one big, happy family. You know that won’t happen, Ashley. Get it together.”

“I won’t let you die.”

“You don’t have a choice. If you tell them what happened, they’ll kill us both—you for the crime, and me for keeping quiet about it. What good would that do?”

He was right, and in that moment, she hated him for it. She stared into his dark brown eyes, getting more and more frustrated with what she saw there. “Well, what am I supposed to do now? My match is dead. You’re as good as dead. I have no place here. Elder Mattli told me…” She trailed off, hesitating to say it out loud.

“I can guess what Elder Mattli told you. And no doubt, he’s right. Make sure they think you’re indispensable, or they’ll find a place for you on that pyre. Branneth will be gunning for you now.”

“Like she wasn’t already?” Branneth had loved Wesley for years. If she ever found out he’d died at Ashley’s hands, it would turn her contempt into blood lust.

She sat down heavily on the damp ground. “And how exactly am I supposed to make myself indispensable?”

“First of all, stop being so difficult!” He turned away from the bars and threw his hands in the air. “Quit asking so many questions and getting on the elders’ bad side. Lay low for a while, do what they say, and you should be fine.” Taking a seat on the other side of his prison, he dug at the ground with a stick. “Everyone knows you’re one hell of a net maker. I don’t think the fishermen on this island could live without you. Keep that up.”

He made it sound so easy. Ashley looked up at the cold night sky, thinking of all the times they’d looked up at it together, trying to solve the island’s problems, not to mention their own.

“Remember when we were kids, and we decided the stars were other islands with people on them who could see us, just like we could see them? We used to make up stories about them.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. My favorites were the Gladsteins.”

Squinting as she stared at the moon, which was trying to peek through the night’s clouds, she tried to summon the memory. “Which ones were they?”

“They had three arms. The women found the extra arm useful for completing more tasks, and the men found it useful for obvious reasons.”

“Is it always about sex for you men?”

“If the glove fits, put it on three times,” he said with a healthy amount of mischief.

“Oh Ashby, you’re hopeless,” she said, tossing a handful of leaves at him.

They were silent for a moment, both staring up at the night sky.

“I always liked our time together in Alkoff’s library. I’ll miss that,” Mason said.

The comment surprised her. “You don’t even like to read. In fact, I don’t remember you looking at those books once, except for the ones that helped you build things.”

Ashley had always loved Alkoff’s library. She would spend hours in there, searching for the truth among the titles. All the delicate, old volumes were from the time before, and they gave her small glimpses into what life had once been in the form of history, psychology, medicine, and science. The books always held the answer to some unasked question she didn’t know was buried deep inside of her. Because of that, the library was one of her favorite places.

But Mason always acted bored when they spent time there together. Reading never interested him much, so he would build elaborate structures from the chairs, pencils, and whatever else he could find in the library. Once, he’d even incorporated the rug into his sculpture.

“Yeah, well. It was the one place I was allowed to be completely creative,” he said quietly.

She watched him leaning against the back of his enclosure. She had always thought him handsome in a rugged kind of way. Unlike most men on the island, he kept his head and face clean-shaven. He said it was one less thing to catch fire when he was welding. His skin was darker than most islanders, and his body was muscular from years of hard labor. In another life, perhaps they would have made a good pair. But today, she was simply glad to call him her friend, her family. Even if these were the last moments they would share together.

“And what kind of life would it be if I just… obeyed?” she asked, barely able to choke out the last word.

“It would be a life. One you won’t have if you don’t quit picking at the elders.”

“I can’t abide by complacency, Mason.”

“Goddamn it, Ashley!” His voice rose with frustration. “It’s not complacency. It’s contentment. Remember the Rosenberg boy? He got his tongue cut off for asking too many questions of the wrong people. Or the group of islanders that went snooping? They all turned up missing. Everyone says a bear attacked their campsite while they were out having some fun. I’ll bet it was a bear,” he said sarcastically.

Mason’s anger had never frightened her or quieted her questions, not even when they were kids. Unlike Wesley’s, there was no menace behind it—no wild animal waiting to strike. “Oh, come on. The bear story is just a legend. I’ll bet those islanders never even existed. It’s just a story the elders made up to keep us in line. And the Rosenberg boy lost his tongue to some kind of infection. You know that.”

The only person who had ever frightened her on the island was Wesley, and she was tired of living in fear. “Anyway, if you really believe the elders would hurt me for asking questions, isn’t that proof that they’re hiding something?” she asked. Leaning in toward him, she said, “Don’t you think there’s something out there beyond the island?” Once the questions started, she couldn’t stop them. “And today, at Wesley’s funeral, it occurred to me that we never see what they do with the bodies. Do they burn them? Do they sink them into the ocean? What? And why does that have to be a secret?”

“I’m sure they have their reasons. Why can’t you just accept the way things are and live your life?” He sat down heavily on the cold ground. “No, I don’t think there’s anything else out there, Ashley. And if there is, it can’t be anything good.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “Why assume the worst? What if there are others out there, and they’re just like us? Controlled by fear-mongering leaders who brainwash them into dependency?”

“Stop it. That kind of talk is just the excuse Branneth is looking for to eliminate you. There is nothing out there. You need to be careful. I’m not going to be around to help you anymore.”

The reminder of the fate that awaited him sent a wave of desperation through her. “Mason, why don’t we run away?” she blurted out. “I bet we could find others.”

“Oh Ashby. Not this again.”

“Come on, we could make a raft in the woods and launch it before sunrise. We’d be long gone before anyone noticed, and then we’d be out of their hair forever. Really, we’d be doing them a favor.” She believed in the plan, and she’d suggested it to him more than once. But this time, he wasn’t dabbing at her face with a cold washcloth on the front porch of her home after Wesley had beaten the crap out of her. This time, he was the one in trouble.

“Ashley, this isn’t kid’s stuff. It’s time to grow up and accept the way things are.”

“Come on. We’ve always worked through our problems together. We’ll work this out too. Just let me explain it to the elders. I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sure Elder Mattli will listen.” Beyond desperation, she was babbling, frantic for any solution that wouldn’t end with Mason dead and her alone.

“Mattli probably would listen,” Mason said softly. “And so would Alkoff. He seems like a decent man. But the others outnumber them. You would lose, Ashley, and you know it. Branneth would kill you with her own two hands if it came down to it.”

“But, how can you just lie down and die? Why won’t you fight?” she asked, incredulous at his response. She refused to imagine her life without him. It wasn’t even a possibility.

He didn’t look at her. Instead, he stared at the trench he’d dug with his stick. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Hurt, she stood and backed away from the enclosure. She felt like he’d been sentenced all over again, but this time, he was the one who’d chosen his fate. “I’m sorry that’s how you feel,” she said quietly and walked into the darkness.

Wandering aimlessly around the island, Ashley kicked every stone in her path, trying to vent her frustrations. She was so lost in her thoughts that she hardly noticed where she was going, although the island was far too small for any islander to ever truly be “lost.” The fact that she was walking along the fence surrounding the restricted section barely registered.

She was frustrated by how the conversation had gone. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. Maybe she should tuck in her bottom lip and turn back. Tell him that of course he was right and give him some peace in his final moments, even if she didn’t mean it.

Then his words came back to haunt her.

What if he’s right? What if there isn’t anything else? No one but us in the whole wide world. She picked up her pace, trying to stay ahead of her despair, even though she knew it wasn’t possible. A rock she’d kicked bounced off something that sounded like metal.

She was at the edge of the woods, near the shoreline. Looking around, she realized she hadn’t been to this side of the island very often. In fact, she’d walked much farther than she’d intended. It would take her a long time to get back home. She spied a metal shack rising just beyond the fence.

Ashley didn’t even take a moment to consider her actions. After all, what did she have left to lose? She quickly scaled the fence, entering into forbidden territory.

No announcements about the forbidden fence had been made at school or in a social gathering. The islanders simply knew that whatever lay beyond it belonged to the elders and was banned to everyone else.

Ashley and Mason had played games near the fence when they were kids, and they weren’t the only ones. They used to dare each other to get close to it, and once, she’d actually scaled it and sat on top of it. Made of a mishmash of materials, the original fence had most likely started as mere chain link. Since then, it had been reinforced with wood stakes and the barbed wire that was made on the island to keep the farm animals from wandering.

Having scaled the fence once before, Ashley managed to get into the so-called forbidden section with minimal damage to her hands and clothing. She looked around in the moonlight, trying to see what was so forbidden about the place. It looked a lot like the rest of the island—wooded, with small buildings scattered around. It was nothing special if you asked her. Maybe it was just another one of the elders’ mind games.

She was about to turn and leave when curiosity got the best of her. Well, I’m here. Might as well see what’s inside the sheds. Since she assumed it was just rations or something just as ordinary, her momentum waned a bit when she saw the massive lock on the door.

Looking around for something to crack it with, she started to feel ridiculous. What are you doing? Of all the things you could be doing at this moment, looking for something to break into this shed probably isn’t the most constructive one. Ignoring her inner voice, she found a big rock and started pounding the lock.

The first time, it made such a loud noise that she was sure everyone on the island must have heard it. She froze, waiting for the consequences to come crashing down on her, but nothing happened, so after a few heartbeats, she hit the lock again. She ignored the tingling in her arm from the repeated impacts and kept pounding it. Over and over again, she channeled her grief, her frustration, and her helplessness into the lock until it finally gave way. It sprang open abruptly, and she held the rock aloft for a moment longer than necessary, ready to strike again as she blinked absently at the broken lock.

The rock tumbled from her hand, and she reached for the lock with shaking hands. It followed the rock to the ground, and she undid the latch on the door and swung it open.

Peering inside, she squinted in the darkness. Wishing for a kinetic flashlight or a candle to light her way, she slowly walked into the shed. Running her hand along a cold, smooth, rounded something made of metal, she knelt down to get a closer look. It was big, and it seemed to be pointed on either end.

“What is this?” she asked aloud.

“It’s called a canoe,” a high-pitched voice said from behind her. “And it means an end to all your questions.”

3.

Elder Branneth stood behind her, in the doorway of the shed. Since she was silhouetted by the moonlight, Ashley couldn’t see her face, but she could feel the disdain pouring off her. Branneth’s pointy features stood out against the backlighting as she put her hands on her narrow hips.

Branneth had been in love with Wesley for as long as Ashley could remember. Even as children, they had never been far from each other, with Branneth fawning over him, and him just eating it up. Despite the fact that Branneth was five years older than he was, the two had been of a like mind on just about everything, Ashley included. Branneth had never missed an opportunity to tell her just how low and unworthy she considered her.

Wesley had tried to use his status to select a different match. He’d been displeased to find himself matched with Ashley—an orphan—rather than Branneth or one of the other women with a higher social standing. Ashley had heard two women talking about it at work one day. Somehow, the words had stung more than any of Wesley’s slaps.

One time, after Wesley had lost control and hit her in the face—something he didn’t often do because he didn’t like her bruises to show—Branneth had commented that she should use more caution next time.

“I didn’t even tell you what happened. How do you know it was my fault?” she’d asked.

Branneth’s sneer had morphed into a hideous smile, and she’d closed the distance between them until she was close enough for Ashley to feel her hot breath. “Believe me. I know you. It was your fault.”

In the light of the moon, Branneth approached her slowly, as though she didn’t want to scare away the opportunity to exact her revenge.

Ashley straightened, not willing to be intimidated. In the time before, there had been all kinds of boats, everything from massive ships used to cross oceans, to small fishing boats. Now there were none. The elders explained that boats were an unnecessary luxury, since all the food they needed could be caught from shore. But this find proved she was right. She finally had proof the elders were hiding major information from them. There was a canoe on the island.

What else are they hiding? Ashley wondered.

“A canoe? We have a boat?” she asked.

Branneth neither answered nor moved from her position in the doorway of the shed.

“The elders always said boats weren’t necessary, since there’s nowhere left to go.” She thought of the campers Mason had mentioned. Were the stories about them true after all? Had they tried to leave and been punished for their insubordination? What would happen to her now that she’d been caught in the forbidden area? Fear threatened to become panic, but she held it back, and kept herself standing tall in the face of Branneth. Without Mason in her life, what did she have left to lose?

“There isn’t anywhere left to go.” Branneth finally approached her, stopping mere inches from her face. “At least not for you.” She grabbed Ashley’s arm roughly and led her out of the shed.

She didn’t struggle.  With nowhere to run, and not much of a future in sight, Ashley didn’t see the point.

Branneth dragged Ashley to the nearest elder’s home, which wasn’t all that close to the forbidden fence. They walked past the island’s farmlands—the wind bending the wheat and corn that would be the last harvest of the summer. Fall hung in the air, and Ashley knew the farmers must already feel a sense of urgency to harvest the crops before it got too cold.

While the rest of the animals slept, a lone pig was up and scrounging around for food as Ashley and Branneth whisked past his pen. Eventually, they left the farm lands behind and returned to civilization—at least as far as the island knew it—arriving at Mattli’s home on the shoreline.

His house was one of the biggest on the island, per his status as the second-in-command elder. All the homes were from the time before, and Mattli’s was considered modern for that period, with a slightly angular roof and picture windows all across the back, offering a full ocean view from most rooms. The combination of stone and cedar on the outside gave it a rugged appearance. Truth be told, it was one of Ashley’s favorite houses on the island.

Branneth knocked loudly on Mattli’s front door, never letting go of Ashley’s arm. When Mattli finally answered, dressed in a velvet robe and slippers, Branneth pushed past him, dragging Ashley behind her. They rounded a corner into his front living room, where Ashley was unceremoniously thrown onto a microfiber-covered armchair. Lucky for Ashley, Mattli’s things were nicer than her own, and she bounced back without bruising anything. Branneth then left without a word, probably to retrieve the other elders.

Mattli gave her a quizzical look as he sat in the chair across from her.

“I found the canoe.”

He leaned back, groaning as he sank into the chair. “We can’t keep meeting this way.” Perhaps he’d meant it to be funny, but his tone was deadly serious.

She nodded, remembering when he’d come to her aid once before. “Everyone at work still hates me. But at least they’re quiet about it now.”

Children on the island were expected to start contributing as soon as they were able, so the day after Ashley turned thirteen, she was given her work assignment to be a net maker.

Being given a work assignment was the island’s own form of coming of age. Based on grades, aptitude, social status, and a few other variables, each islander was assigned a job they would do for the rest of his or her life. In being given a work assignment, the islanders were ultimately given their place, and importance, on the island.

Ashley couldn’t have been more relieved about her placement. Terrified she would be selected to make clothes or pass out rations, she hadn’t slept a wink in the days leading up to her official assignment. In hindsight, she wondered if the elders had allowed her to do what she liked out of pity for her losses.

Though Ashley was smart enough to study medicine, meticulous enough to make clothes, and loved getting her hands dirty enough to work the fields, she loved the sea. Her father had been a fisherman, and she cherished the memories of helping him work fish out of the nets, fixing any holes they’d made. Nets fascinated her—what made them strong, how to find a weak point before it turned into a hole, what materials were best, and how to improvise when those materials weren’t readily available. It was satisfying work for her, like finishing a puzzle.

The three years between her father’s death—which took her away from the familiar world of docks and nets—and her work assignment had felt very long indeed.

As it turned out, Ashley had a knack for net making. She picked up the craft quickly and soon, she was one of the best on the island. Fishermen requested that she repair their nets, knowing she would do the best work.

Her popularity came at a price. The other women started to resent her. Who did she think she was, coming in and stealing all the good work? She hadn’t even paid her dues.

Ashley could feel the undercurrent of animosity growing toward her, but she was just a kid, and an orphan to boot. She didn’t know how to deal with it, let alone diffuse it. So, she kept her head down and tried to lay low, focusing on her work.

By the time she was nineteen, she’d gotten a fair amount of skill under her belt. One day, she was working on a particularly complex repair when a man loudly interrupted her thoughts. “Ashley! Come quick! We need you!” Peter Adams brushed past all the other women and came to a screeching halt in front of her. His blue eyes were filled with panic.

Her first instinct was to jump up and rush to his aid. Obviously, this man needed help—from the others if not from her. But her coworkers just glared at her, not moving a muscle to come to his aid.

“Peter, surely, I’m not the one you need,” she said in a meager attempt at making peace.

“No. You’re the only one with enough skill.” She winced at the compliment, knowing it wouldn’t sit well with the others. He paid her no mind. “Quickly now! They’re saying he’s going to lose his foot, the damn fool.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, practically dragging her past the other women and their inferior work.

The docks were close by design, so the fishermen never had to carry their wares far. Still, Ashley struggled to keep up.

When she reached him, Peter was speaking quickly to Tristan Wharwood. “She’s right behind me, kid. She’ll be able to help you. I know it. Just hold on.”

Assessing the situation, she saw the net piled next to Tristan, whose leg was extended out in front of him. His shoe was off, revealing a foot that was an unhealthy grayish color—not quite blue, but not even close to the shade of flesh. A portion of the net was wrapped around his ankle.

“Can you get it off?”

“Why don’t you just cut it? We’ll fix the net! Cut it off right now!” She yelled the words, becoming frantic, not understanding why these men were willing to sacrifice someone’s foot to spare a net. Yes, resources were always scarce on the island, but Ashley didn’t think it was worth a man’s foot.

“I’ll make you another one that’s even better. One with smaller holes so you can’t get your foot stuck in it. Just cut it!”

“We tried. But it’s so tangled that we just made it worse,” Peter said, his voice heavy with guilt.

Ashley looked at the net a little closer. It was a tangled mess, all right, and Tristan’s foot was right at the center. “I’ll take care of it.”

It took her twenty minutes, but she managed it. Each cut and pull she made gave the poor man more relief. By the time she was finished, the net was destroyed, but his foot was starting to look a little better. The doctor said they weren’t out of the woods, but she’d given him his best chance at keeping his foot.

Her celebrity as a net maker was raised to hero status. The next day, she was still riding on cloud nine from all the praise she’d gotten when she was called into her boss’ office.

Her good feeling shriveled and died when she saw Mattli sitting across from her boss. Elders only attended such meetings when there was a big problem. People who lost their jobs on the island were shunned. They usually ended up being relegated to positions as waste collectors or janitors, forced to clean up after everyone as an example. Everyone had to contribute. That was the island’s creed.

She swallowed hard as she made eye contact with Mattli. “Good to see you, Elder Mattli,” she said as she sat down across from the two people who held her fate in their hands.

He nodded at her, but her boss spoke before any more pleasantries could be exchanged.

The woman wasn’t terribly remarkable to look at. Average height and build, brown hair and eyes. She wasn’t intimidating until she spoke. Her voice was deep for her size, and it could be formidable when she was angry.

“There have been complaints about you among the workers, Ashley.” She didn’t reply, so her boss continued. “They say you’re taking their work and deliberately making them look bad. Most recently, you destroyed one of their best nets. One that took months to make.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She tried to bite her tongue and think fast to save her job and her skin. “But, ma’am, the fisherman’s foot was saved. And I promised I’d make him a new net. The others won’t be saddled with the work.”

“What makes you think you deserve the chance to make another net for anyone? Many of the girls are calling for you to be fired.”

“I…” Ashley trailed off. She felt like she was about to be a sacrificial lamb, all in the name of keeping the peace among a bunch of jealous workers.

Mattli spoke up. “I think that’s a bit harsh, don’t you, Marsha? After all, the fishermen are proclaiming her a local hero.”

“They’re not the ones I’m concerned about.” Her voice was cold. “Did you know that I made that net, Ashley?” she added. “It was my last before I became the manager here. It meant something to me.”

Ashley couldn’t tell if her boss was telling the truth, or if she was just digging a deeper hole for Ashley to lie in. “I didn’t know that, ma’am.” She looked her straight in the eyes. “I am truly sorry about your net. If you’ll give me the opportunity, I will make a new net for the fishermen on my own time, with my own supplies. It will not detract from my workload at all.”

“That seems more than fair, Marsha,” Mattli appealed.

“To you, it may seem fair, Elder Mattli. But how will it look to the others?”

Mattli turned on the woman so quickly that it startled both her and Ashley. His voice changed from soft and encouraging, to cold and hard. “Marsha, it seems to me you have difficulty managing your people. If this is an ongoing problem, I’m sure the elders can find someone else to do the job.”

Ashley’s boss looked at him with fear. “Of course, Elder Mattli. I will handle it.”

“I trust that you will.” He stood and left, leaving the two women uncomfortably alone.

The look of pure hatred on her boss’ face wasn’t something Ashley would soon forget. Despite the fact that no words were communicated, Marsha’s feelings about Ashley and the situation were plain.

She nodded to her boss and excused herself, only to be met with more glares out on the main floor.

It went on that way for several weeks. Ashley struggled to keep up with the work, but since the others flat out refused to work with her, even she couldn’t get everything done.

Soon, fishermen started to complain about productivity. Their orders were late, and repairs were being done poorly. When they confronted the workers, they were met with poor attitudes.

Half-heard whispers and gossip told Ashley the rest of the story. Mattli sent someone to investigate, and the man reported that the majority of the employees were simply sitting around glaring at a single woman who was working her fingers bloody.

That day, he transferred all the workers to other jobs, and Ashley’s boss found herself emptying and cleaning out animal pens in the farmlands. Ashley was promoted to her boss’ position, and she soon had the new net makers working together as a team.

Still, word traveled fast on such a small island. Everyone knew what had happened—the power Ashley possessed. The new workers hated and feared her without knowing why. But at least they got the job done well.

“I still don’t understand why you uprooted so many people just to spare my skin,” Ashley said.

“Because it was the right thing to do.” True as that statement was, she somehow knew he wouldn’t have done the same for any other islander. He had always treated Ashley as an exception, although she didn’t know why.

Silence settled between them until the other elders started trickling into Mattli’s home. Eventually, all nine were present.

Branneth was the first to speak, an air of righteousness in her tone. “Ashley found the canoes.”

“There was more than one?” Ashley asked.

She met Branneth’s cold stare with a fiery one of her own. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

“What do we do now?” Elder Meade asked, panic rising in his voice. A timid man who was short and walked with a bit of a hunch, he constantly worried his hands. Ashley often wondered what qualities Meade possessed to qualify him as an elder. Besides the fact that he was easy to control.

Branneth was quick to supply an answer. “It’s obvious. We dispose of her. She’s becoming too much of a problem.”

“And tell the islanders what? That she just vanished into thin air?” Mattli asked, clearly upset by the prospect.

“She’s obviously a grieving widow. We could tell them it was too much for her, and she killed herself. It has happened before.” The implication in Branneth’s voice made Ashley’s skin crawl. And she’d said it so flatly, like it was no big deal. It made her wonder again about those campers. How many others had gotten too close to their secrets and paid the price?

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty,” Elder Lehman said. Lehman wasn’t nearly as old as the head elders, but she wasn’t a spring chicken either. In her younger years, she’d had a child of her own, making her frame wide and stocky. In fact, her son wasn’t that much younger than Ashley was.

Lehman’s age added a depth to the tone of her voice that Ashley found soothing at the late hour. “Suppose we let her take one of the canoes.”

The elders cried out in protest at once, Mattli included. Lehman held up her hands. “Just hear me out. We let her take the canoe. Her curiosity about the world beyond the island will be satisfied, and our problem will…” She hesitated, as if she didn’t want to be too graphic. “Resolve itself.”

A low murmur of discussion ensued. “And if she returns?” Branneth asked.

“Then she’ll behave herself. Right?” Lehman turned her motherly gaze on Ashley.

“I guess.” It was all too much for her to absorb. They might actually let her leave? And what exactly did Lehman mean by the problem will resolve itself? Because she wouldn’t come back to the island? Or because she would die out there? Or both?

“Oh, that’s convincing. No, better to just be done with it,” Branneth said.

“But what’s the harm in letting her go?” Lehman persisted.

“Well, we will lose the canoe, for one,” Mattli said.

“Not if I come back, you won’t,” Ashley interjected.

The elders didn’t acknowledge her statement.

Elder Burton sat in a chair off to the side, watching silently as the chaos unfolded. Burton was the oldest elder, though Alkoff had snagged the title of head elder. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his bulky middle as he watched the goings on.

Alkoff finally spoke. “How exactly did you come across the canoes, Ashley?”

She struggled for words, feeling the pressure of all their eyes on her, demanding a response, a justification, anything.

“For Ashby’s sake, she climbed the fence and broke into the shed,” Branneth accused.

“And how do you know this, Branneth? Were you following her?” Lehman asked.

Branneth straightened. “No, I was not following her, and I resent the accusation. Anyone within a half mile would’ve heard her pounding on the lock with that rock.”

“But I didn’t do that until after I scaled the fence. And how did you know it was a rock?” Ashley asked.

Branneth glared at her, but Ashley stood her ground. “I assumed you didn’t have any tools with you,” the elder finally said.

“So you just happened upon her near midnight?” Mattli didn’t bother to hide the fact that he wasn’t convinced.

“Who’s on trial here? She’s the one who was in forbidden territory.” Branneth pointed an accusing finger in Ashley’s direction.

Alkoff sighed. “Enough. I believe we have the information we need. I suggest we move this conversation to a more private location. Ashley, I recommend you stay put until we return.”

“Where would I go?”

“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” Alkoff answered.

She had no idea how long she sat there. Fatigue settled in, making her eyelids heavy, but every time her head drooped, she heard Wesley’s last gurgled breaths and started awake.

In another room across the house, the elders debated their dilemma. Once they’d found their seats, Alkoff spoke first. “The question up for debate is what to do about Ashley. She is an important member of this community. I hesitate to dispose of her without just cause.”

Elder Muller had been silent throughout the discussion, but they all knew he was of a mind with Branneth. He always was. “Ashley has always been a thorn in our side,” he said. “We were wrong to pair her with Wesley. I say we right that wrong tonight.” The menace in his voice was unmistakable.

“I don’t see why she’s so important anyway. Jayden Ingram is perfectly capable of taking charge of the net makers in her stead.” Branneth folded her arms across her chest like a spoiled child.

Burton frowned at her, clearly unimpressed with her immaturity.

Losing patience with Branneth, Alkoff said, “No, Branneth. I don’t suppose you would understand why she’s important. You don’t need to. I do. And I’d like to find another way.”

Lehman didn’t know her importance either, but she also didn’t appear to care. “My argument stands,” she said with a yawn. “Let her take the damn canoe and be done with it.”

Mattli’s eyes met Alkoff’s. “No,” he said firmly. “There must be another way.”

Alkoff’s expression softened. This was a difficult decision. The line had gone on for over three centuries. He didn’t want to be the elder responsible for ending it any more than Mattli did. But time marched on with or without them. In the end, Alkoff had to think of the island. If sending her away kept some peace, he would do it. If it gave them the opportunity to find out what was out there, all the better. “If she is allowed to take a canoe, we do risk losing it. But, if she returns safely, we might get valuable information.”

“Information we can trust the likes of her to keep to herself?” Branneth spat.

Mattli rounded on Branneth. “Information I would trust her with more than I would you.”

Branneth’s face turned red as her rage boiled over. “Now wait just a damned minute—”

“That is enough.” Alkoff silenced them all, but Branneth’s rage wouldn’t be quelled so easily.

“You expect me to stand here while Mattli likens me to a mere island dweller?” Branneth demanded.

Alkoff leveled a cold stare at Branneth. “Elder Mattli has not uttered an untruth.” He paused, letting his words sink in. Branneth’s face contorted as she tried to absorb the blow.

Burton remained silent in the shadows, studying the two elders. Alkoff didn’t miss his silence. He knew Burton watched his every move, waiting for the right moment to claim what he believed to be his. Alkoff would have to exercise caution with this debacle. It threatened to permanently divide the elders.

“One of two things will happen: She will either return with the canoe or she won’t. Either way, we will get an answer about our future. It will just be earlier than we anticipated. It is an honorable purpose for someone of her status.” Alkoff looked at Branneth. “And if she doesn’t come back, you will get your satisfaction. Either way, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Sir?” Mueller asked quietly. He proceeded after Alkoff nodded an acknowledgement. “What if you sent the welder after her to wrap up this potential loose end? I realize he may not be willing to comply at first, but he could be offered amnesty for completing the task. Perhaps that would sway him. Why not send them both in the same canoe? He can deliver the information you seek, and then return with the canoe. We all know he has a history of being much more compliant than she does. Does this option not satisfy everyone?”

Branneth bristled. “Give a known killer amnesty? Absolutely not. It’s outrageous.”

“Oh come off it, Branneth. We all know what kind of man Mason is… not to mention what kind of man Wesley was. If he did kill him, it was in self-defense,” Lehman said, the disgust plain in her voice.

“How dare you. My Wesley was an honest, upstanding, loyal man. We would’ve been lucky to count him among our number.”

“Your Wesley?” Mattli asked.

Lehman tried to get the conversation back on track. “Look,” she said, gesturing to Alkoff. “I actually think it’s a good suggestion. Why kill a man most of us know to be innocent if there’s a way out?” She thought for a moment. “If they take one canoe, he will have to deceive her initially, and then basically shoot her in the back while she’s right in front of him. Being that they’re good friends, he probably won’t be willing to do that. Why not use the second canoe and send him after her? This creates some distance, limits his contact with her, and may lessen the feeling of guilt.” She nodded to herself. “Yes. Send him after her, offer him amnesty, and see what he says. He might say no, but at least you’ve tried to spare him.”

Alkoff glanced at Mattli, whose stricken expression showed just how displeased he was with this turn of events. He turned his back and paced to the window. “I need time to consider this option. Wait for me in the hall, please.” The elders began to disperse. “Mattli, you stay.”

Branneth glared at Mattli as she walked past, as though an insult was trying to pry its way free of her mouth. But she kept silent as she reluctantly left the room.

Once they were all gone, Mattli joined Alkoff at the window. “Branneth and Mueller are going to be a problem,” the head elder said, a heaviness to his voice.

“Agreed. Wesley wouldn’t have been much better.” Mattli paused. “They aren’t the ones I’m most worried about.”

“I’m aware.” Alkoff’s breath fogged the window so much that they couldn’t see out into the dark night anymore. Yet, they stayed at the window, considering their options. He knew Mattli was referring to Burton and the way he’d scrutinized the evening, remaining strategically silent about the matters at hand.

Alkoff sighed heavily. “I’m afraid we must placate them if we are to achieve any of our long-term goals. We need them, unfortunately.” He turned to face Mattli with a glint of trouble in his eye. “However, if Mason were to fail at his task, well…”

“This can’t possibly be our best solution. There must be another way. We can’t be responsible for sending her to her death.”

“If you have another way, please don’t hesitate to say so,” Alkoff said. He didn’t want to be responsible for ending the line any more than Mattli did, but he could see no other solution to their problem.

Mattli’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “We risk losing both canoes if neither of them returns.”

“I’m aware. Jim, a scout team hasn’t been sent out in over a century. And the next one isn’t due for almost thirty years. We haven’t even selected the candidates. Yes, we might be responsible for ending the line of the savior, but we might also be responsible for taking our survivors home to the mainland. This could be our chance.”

“But Ashley hasn’t been trained to be a scout. She doesn’t even know how to paddle a canoe. How can we possibly expect her to return?”

“Have a little faith,” Alkoff said, staring out into the dark night, feeling it slowly surround him like a bad omen. “Burton will accompany you to speak to Mason Hawkins,” he said, letting Mattli know the discussion about Ashley was closed.

“What?” Mattli said.

Before he could protest further, Alkoff explained. “We must placate.” He said nothing more on the subject and moved toward the hallway, leaving a stunned Mattli standing at the window.

Mattli didn’t like being alone with Burton. He was as likely to stab Mattli in the back in broad daylight, let alone in the dead of night in the middle of the woods. But he couldn’t argue Alkoff’s point. He would just have to be on his guard.

“Jim, one more thing.” Mattli tensed, bracing for what might come next. “Mason must be convinced to go. If we can save two lives, we must.”

“He won’t go willingly. He will never agree to it.”

“He must, but make sure not to imply that he will still be given amnesty if he fails. Burton must believe in this arrangement. My hope is that their friendship is strong enough to prevent a tragedy. If it’s not, we will live with the consequences.”

“Great. Any other impossible tasks you need doing?”

“Water from the moon?” Alkoff answered cheekily.

“That’s your answer for everything,” Mattli said as he ushered Alkoff out of the room to join the others.

The rest of the elders waited impatiently in the hall, each shifting their weight or murmuring to the person next to them. When the door opened, silence fell on them.

Alkoff addressed the elders as a group. “Mason will follow Ashley with the second canoe. Elders Mattli and Burton will deliver the news to the prisoner. This is my final decision. As elders, you are bound to support it.”

“And we do,” they responded as one.

Eventually, the elders returned. Dread filled Ashley when she spied Branneth’s gleeful expression. She looked to Mattli for reassurance, but he refused to make eye contact. Both were bad signs.

Alkoff was the one to speak. She didn’t know if that was good or bad. “Ashley, you’ve put us in a very difficult position. We don’t treat this kind of snooping lightly. It borders on treason, and a few of the elders have made a strong argument for a fitting punishment. You’ve disrespected the society we’ve built.”

She cringed.

“Despite that, we’ve agreed to let you go, on one condition. You must leave now, before daylight breaks, and you must be far enough from the island at sunrise for no one to see you.”

“Now?” That meant she wouldn’t be there for Mason. Part of her was relieved she wouldn’t have to see her friend’s last moments, but a voice in her head screamed that it was her responsibility to be there with him in his darkest hour. He had been there for hers. He had always been there for her. Still, the prospect of finally getting some of her questions answered made her heart pound faster in her chest.

Mattli approached her. “If you return, you will maintain your silence on this and all other matters.”

“If I return?”

“Leaving the island is not without its perils,” Branneth said, a hint of glee in her voice.

“And what will you tell the islanders became of me? Some will notice my absence in the morning… They will ask questions.” She deliberately avoided naming the event at which her absence would be noted.

“We will tell them you are a widow in mourning, and the execution was too much for you. The best thing they can do is leave you alone for a few days, while you grieve.” Alkoff spun the lie easily, making Ashley uneasy.

“And if I never return?”

“What makes you think anyone will care?” Branneth said brusquely. “Are you going or not?”

Alkoff raised a hand, silencing her. “If you don’t return, we will tell the island you chose to peacefully end your life. There is no funeral for suicides, so…” He trailed off.

“So that wraps that up in a neat little package.” She didn’t know how she could leave Mason. But she didn’t know how she could stay either. Once Mason was executed, there would be nothing for her on the island.

She sighed, knowing what she was about to do was unforgivable. “I’ll leave as soon as I can collect my things.”

Alkoff nodded. “Someone will meet you at the docks in an hour.”

4.

As soon as Ashley left, Mattli and Burton were sent to visit the prisoner.

Burton and Mattli didn’t speak, the tension between them palpable. Mattli didn’t trust Burton any further than he could throw him. He knew the man was after one thing—power. But Alkoff wanted to convince the dissenters that sending Ashley away was the best decision. So he pushed the exhaustion from his mind, resolving not to give Burton the opportunity to seize any power—at least not from him.

Mason heard them coming and thought it was Ashley. “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Burton held up his pudgy hand, barely visible to Mason in the darkness. “The time for apologies has passed. We have a proposition for you.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. Nothing from the elders came without a price. People were known to disappear while repaying their debts to them. Burton often kept his prices particularly high.

It was whispered that Burton was often the last one to be seen with an islander before he or she disappeared without question, usually for asking too many questions—not that it happened very often, but when it did, it made an impact. In fact, Burton had been the one to take Mason into custody in the first place.

He’d given Mason a strange smile as he locked him into the enclosure that morning.

“Perhaps you will be the key to their undoing, hmm?” he’d said just before walking away and leaving Mason alone in his prison.

Mason had never trusted the man, but that cryptic comment made him feel even more revulsion for Burton. What had he meant? And did the fact that he’d returned mean his ill-begotten plan was working?

Thankfully, Mattli spoke next. “We’re offering you amnesty.”

“If…” Mason was skeptical. Nothing was free on the island, and he imagined his life would be quite expensive.

“If you follow our very specific instructions.” Mattli hesitated, seeming somehow nervous. It didn’t give Mason a lot of comfort.

“There’s been a complication with Ashley Wortham. The two of you are friends, correct?” He clearly meant it as a formality. Mattli knew full well that Mason and Ashley were close, as did everyone else. For Ashby’s sake, he’d only been involved in Wesley’s murder because of her.

Mason nodded.

“Yes, well,” Mattli said, frowning. “She has been given permission to leave the island. We need you to go after her.”

Stupefied, Mason scrambled to ask the right questions. “Wait, what? She left? How?”

“Perhaps that isn’t the most important issue for you to focus on right now. What we need you to do is make sure she doesn’t come back,” Burton said, a sick smile on his face.

“I…” He felt like he’d been sucker punched. Taking the rap for killing Ashley’s husband, facing execution, it was all nothing compared to this. They wanted him to kill her?

Rage bubbled to the surface. “No.” His voice was low and menacing. “I am not an assassin, and whichever elder decided I was is sadly mistaken. I’m not about to trade my life for an innocent. More than that, you’re a bunch of fools if you think I’d ever do anything to hurt her. My whole life, and now my death, has revolved around her.”

The elders eyed each other. Burton shrugged. “It’s no matter to me whether you die tomorrow morning or not.”

But Mattli couldn’t let it go. “Mason, please.” He approached the bars, holding them with both hands. “Ashley will perish one way or another. If not at your hands, then from a slow, agonizing death due to dehydration or exposure. Is that what you want for her?”

It gave Mason pause. When they were kids, a classmate of theirs had drowned in front of them. Mason and Ashley had been fishing at the time. They could’ve saved him if they’d realized what was happening, but he seemed fine. He wasn’t thrashing around or anything, just floating with his face barely visible. They both figured he was just messing around. The next time they looked, he wasn’t there, and it took days for him to wash ashore. By then, he didn’t even look like the kid they knew. The sea had had her way with him.

Mason pictured Ashley out there on the water, hallucinating from dehydration, thrashing around in the throes of death until she finally capsized her vessel and fed the sea life for the next few months. The image made him shudder.

“I didn’t think you did,” Mattli said. “We’ve instructed her to leave before daybreak, and she’s gone home to gather some supplies.” He opened the door to Mason’s enclosure. “Will you go after her?”

“How do you know I won’t take off myself? Or help her get away? And how exactly am I supposed to go after her, anyway? I’m not what you’d call a champion swimmer.”

“Mason, we don’t believe there’s anywhere to escape to. On the off chance that there is, we need to know. That’s where you come in.”

Mason recoiled upon hearing that. “No. You just got done telling me there’s nothing out there. I won’t be your pawn in some twisted game. You’re playing with people’s lives.”

Mattli entered the enclosure and knelt in front of him. “Yes. Well, the longer you sit here and despair about it, the longer she’s bound to suffer.” He hoped this was the right approach. The words sounded harsh and overdramatic to his own ears as he said them.

Mason neither moved nor acknowledged Mattli’s words.

Burton rolled his eyes, clearly disgusted with the display. “Come on, Mattli. He’s not game. We’ll find another way,” he said.

“You go on, Burton. I’ll keep talking to him for a little while longer.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Mattli pondered his options as he watched Burton disappear into the darkness. He couldn’t imply that there was dissention among the elders. If, Ashby willing, Mason and Ashley did return, Mattli knew he and the head elder would be faced with an inevitable argument about what to do with the brave explorers. It would be better for them to save their energy for that potential battle than to risk Burton or one of the others finding out about their agenda this early. No, it was vital to stick to the plan.

I’m getting too old for this, he thought as he watched Mason peel the bark off a stick. How could he convince Mason to go and at least try to fulfill his task while letting him know he would ultimately be forgiven, and even welcomed back by the head elder, if he failed?

Perhaps he couldn’t. It boiled down to where his loyalties lay—with Ashley or with the island. To Mattli, they were one and the same, so he couldn’t understand how one choice could hurt the other so badly.

He needed more time to sort it out, but Mason made it clear he wasn’t going to get it.

“Mattli? Do you remember the day I moved out of my parents’ house?” He stared off into the darkness, so the question came out with a wistful air.

He nodded, caught off guard by the question.

“You helped me get that place. Someone else was in line for it, weren’t they? You pulled some strings and got me in there so I could escape my parents. I bet that took some doing. I know you’ve done similar things for Ashley over the years.” He looked directly into Mattli’s eyes. “For what? Why stick your neck out if you’re just going to kill us off in the end? Is this some kind of God-like game for you?”

Elder Mattli felt like he’d been slapped. But it was better this way. Better for Mason to hate him than know the truth of the matter. He hated himself for what he was about to say, but Mason had to follow Ashley, one way or another. He couldn’t see any other way around it. If he didn’t go, the other elders might recant on their agreement—they might insist that she be killed immediately. Then Mason would die in the morning, and they’d both be gone.

“Mason, I was one of the elders to examine Wesley’s body. The wound in his belly was jagged and hurried, almost tentative. Not that of a deliberate killer. Curious, don’t you think?”

Mason looked at him with sharp eyes.

Mattli stood and walked to the edge of the enclosure, keeping his back to Mason. “I’ll tell you what I think happened. We both know Wesley was… difficult. I imagine she was just defending herself.” He paused, letting that tidbit sink in. From the look on Mason’s face, he knew he had him on the hook. All Mason needed was a little more of a taste to bite down.

Mattli stared out into the night, silently asking forgiveness for what he was doing. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if it was discovered after your death that Ashley had in fact dealt the fatal blow?” He shook his head. “I would hate for that to happen.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“But you weren’t even there the whole time, were you? Tell me the truth, Mason.”

“Anyway, what difference does it really make if her reputation gets tarnished after I’m dead? She’s going to die out there anyway, or so you say. I don’t think she’ll much care about what people have to say then.”

Mattli sighed heavily, feeling defeated. “Mason, there’s a lot at stake here. Please just go after her. I need you to do this for me.” His eyes pleaded with Mason, willing him to understand the unspoken message without actually hearing the words.

Mason’s resolve was starting to crumble. A thought had occurred to him while Mattli was speaking—at first whispering its message quietly, and then practically shouting it in his head. Hope. HOPE. He only had to tell Mattli he would kill her. He didn’t actually have to do it. Maybe they could work out a plan when he caught up to her. Based on what they’d said, both he and Ashley were dead if he refused. If he didn’t, maybe they’d have a chance.

His mind was working fast, but he didn’t want to let Mattli know he had a small spark of hope that he was actively fanning into a flame. He kept his tone skeptical when he spoke next. “Explain to me how I’m supposed to accomplish what you’re asking me to do.”

“Ashley is taking a canoe in hopes of finding the mainland. You will take this—” he held a 9mm out to Mason, “—and the other canoe, and you will go after her.” He paused, giving Mason time to digest the fact that there was more than one canoe. Why would they have multiple canoes if nothing was out there? Hope burned through him like a wildfire.

“The rest is up to you.” Mason wasn’t sure what Mattli meant by that, but he noticed the emphasis on those first two words. He looked at him skeptically. Was he hinting that he had options once he was off the island?

Mason looked down at the gun like it was an alien object. Guns had always been forbidden to average islanders. Only those high in the pecking order were allowed to learn to use them, and only the elders were allowed to have their own. Islanders were always told guns were more of a precaution. Any small deer that still lived on the island were an annual treat that could easily be brought down with more traditional methods like a bow and arrow. Guns were a protective measure only to be used as a last resort. Protection against what, Mason wasn’t sure, and he had never asked. Questions were more Ashley’s department. Mason preferred a go-along-to-get-along attitude. As long as he was taken care of, why invite trouble?

Mattli held the gun out to Mason, trying to get him to take it. “You do know how to use one, don’t you?”

Knowledge and application were two very different things. But he’d watched from the sidelines of enough of the training exercises for the young elders to think he knew how to kill an unarmed person, so he nodded.

“And once I’ve done what you ask? What am I supposed to do? Kill myself? Come back and somehow rejoin society on the island as a convicted murderer?”

“If you do return, and I think the majority of the elders are hoping you do, if for no other reason than to retrieve the canoes and report what you find, you will be reintegrated into our society.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the details will be worked out later, based on how events unfold.”

It didn’t give Mason a good feeling. What was to stop them from killing him if he did return? Of course, he couldn’t return without Ashley. But he refused to be some poetic player in a Romeo and Juliet style game staged by the elders. He wouldn’t allow Ashley or himself to become their sacrificial lamb. Once he caught up with her, they would find a way out of this together.

“You know,” he said, rubbing his chin, “all Ashley ever did was ask questions. Challenge you. If you were better men, you would’ve risen to the challenge instead of hiding behind your secrets.”

Mattli was quiet for a moment, and then said, “Will you rise to the challenge, Mason?”

“I will go after her, if that’s what you mean.” Mason could deliver his own half-truths just as well as any elder.

“Good.” Mattli stepped out of Mason’s enclosure, locking it behind him.

“But I thought you wanted—”

“You’ll be released after Ashley leaves in her canoe. She’ll be given a head start. She doesn’t know you will be following her, let alone what your orders are.” He reached through the bars, holding the gun out.

Mason only nodded in response, finally taking the gun from Mattli’s outstretched hand. It felt heavier than it looked. He’d never held a gun before. He couldn’t help but feel a thrill as he turned the weapon over in his hands, not thinking about its true purpose for a moment.

Mattli breathed a sigh of relief as he walked to the canoes to wait for Ashley. He’d managed to save her from Branneth while keeping relative peace on the island. It was all he could hope for. So why did he feel like he’d just sent the lamb off to slaughter?

5.

Ashley rushed back to the house she’d shared with Wesley to pack some supplies. She’d never thought of it as her home. Wesley had made sure she always felt like an outsider, an unwanted guest.

But Wesley wasn’t the only one who’d made her feel like an outsider. All the homes and buildings on the island had been there before their ancestors had come to live there. That was one reason why Bennett Ashby had selected the island as a settlement. It was ready to receive refugees. When Ashby started squirreling people to the island to escape the apocalypse, they called it the migration. According to legend, he was only able to save about five hundred people from the mainland—although the legends said nothing about why so few were saved, or what criteria he used to select those five hundred souls—but when they were added to the original residents, it became a very crowded settlement. Disease, fighting, and borderline squalid conditions weeded out the weak, until the number of residents was sustainable for the island. And under the elders’ strict guidance, that was the way it had stayed.

Looking around the walls of her home, she thought of how many times they’d needed to be patched. She wondered if there was anything still original in the centuries-old home, except for the foundation. It felt tired inside. Worn out. And ultimately, it felt like someone else’s home. All the houses on the island did.

Ashley felt sad when she thought about it. Before the apocalypse, it had been a beautiful home, equipped with the latest technology, as well as several features that had been considered “upgrades” at the time. It had stainless-steel appliances that had been scavenged for metal, granite countertops, hardwood floors, and even a beautiful, stainless-steel faucet with a removable sprayer that Ashley never used because running water had died out several lifetimes before she was born, along with electricity. The home must have been lovely then. But the centuries had been hard on it, as they were on everything that had survived.

For the millionth time, she wondered who the original owners had been and what they’d aspired to do with their home.

All she wanted to do was escape it.

Heading for her bedroom, she tried to decide what to bring. She had no idea how long she’d be gone, or even if she would ever come back. Jamming a change of clothes into the bag, she hoped it would be enough, and went to the dresser. Despite the fact that her wardrobe was small, she didn’t have room for all of it.

Removing everything from the top drawer, she found the panel in the bottom and lifted it. Hidden there was a pendant Mason had made for her before she was matched. It was an oval engraved with a terribly intricate design of swirls, loops, and tiny leaves—constructed from whatever scrap metal he’d managed to scrounge. She knew it must have taken him months to complete. He’d found a simple, silver chain from God knows where—Ashley didn’t ask, deciding it was one question she didn’t want answered—to complete the look.

Ashley had never been able to openly wear the pendant, for fear of what people would think, and of what Wesley would do. She’d hidden it away from her match the day she moved into his home and hadn’t taken it out since, knowing a beating wouldn’t be the worst thing that would happen if he ever found it. He would have taken it from her, and that was a punishment beyond bearing. She held it close to her chest, happy to be reunited with it.

Feeling brazen, she hung the locket around her neck. Who would care now? Her match was dead, and the locket’s maker was hours from his own death. She was leaving the island anyway. Besides, it felt good against her skin. Comforting. Though she could not bring Mason with her on this journey, she could at least carry part of him.

Having retrieved her most sentimental possession, she carried her bag into the kitchen, filled a few skins with water, and gathered some ration bars, leftover dried fruit from the summer stores, crackers, and the last of her granola. It was enough food to get her through about two days, if she ate light. But only enough water for about a day. She put another large water skin into her bag, making it a bit heavy, but not unbearably so. She wouldn’t be carrying it very far anyway.

Out in the garage, she grabbed a kinetically powered flashlight, some rope, a tarp—it wouldn’t fit into her pack, but she tucked it under her arm anyway, knowing she would want to be out of the rain—and a few other items she thought might be valuable in a survival scenario.

By the time she headed toward the canoe, her pack was overflowing, and her time was growing short. Despite the added weight on her back, she picked up her pace to a light jog, her pendant bouncing against her chest as she went. It reminded her of how she’d parted ways with its maker. So, halfway to the canoes, she changed course. She didn’t have much time, but she couldn’t leave things like this between them.

She approached Mason’s enclosure quietly. He was lying on the ground with his back to her. Disappointed, she looked around, knowing she only had four—maybe five—hours left to learn how to paddle a canoe and get herself out of sight before daybreak.

“Mason, I—” Tears she might have shed were caught behind unsaid words. They didn’t really matter anyway. Nothing she could say would make it better or easier. She hung her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It wasn’t how she’d imagined their final goodbye, but then again, she’d never imagined saying a final goodbye to Mason.

Ashley walked to the docks quietly. Most islanders would be in bed that late at night, but she knew the farmers and bakers would be up soon, so she picked up her pace.

When she finally got to the docks, they were deserted, save for a lone figure standing at the end of the longest dock, staring out at the sea. The waves lapped at the shore peacefully. She almost hated to ruin the serenity of the scene by stepping out onto the dock.

“Elder Mattli, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ashley said.

“One of us had to see you off,” he said, tucking his hands inside the arms of his robe.

They stood, not looking at each other, an uncomfortable silence settling between them.

“Elder Mattli, why was I ever matched with Wesley?” It was a question she’d never asked, but one that had sat on her lips for years. She paused, thinking over the circumstances. “An orphan who was always in trouble? I don’t consider myself as a desirable match for an elder.”

“You know how difficult matching has become.  It’s nearly impossible to match two people who aren’t related in some way.  That being said, you were matched with him because you’re intelligent and because your line has proven quite fertile.”

“Excuse me, but that’s a cop-out answer. If those were the reasons, you’d have matched me with someone like Mason, who wasn’t so important to the island.” The mention of Mason only made her think again of what she was running from. A sharp pang of disappointment traveled through her as she remembered that he hadn’t even heard her apology. She shook her head and tried to focus on what she was running to.

Mattli simply stared at her, not offering any answers at all.

She sighed loudly. “Fine then.” She turned and faced the sea, watching the moonlight dance on the water. “Maybe I’ll find the answers I need out there,” she said as she walked back down the dock to the waiting canoe, beached on the shore.

He handed her a single paddle. “Paddle on both sides of the canoe to go forward.” He demonstrated the motion on either side of his body. “One side only to turn.”

She nodded in understanding. After a sleepless night, she hoped she had the energy for the journey ahead. For now, she was running on pure adrenaline.

“I trust you have a compass?”

She nodded again. “Good. Follow it to the east.”

She hadn’t expected that. Then again, she hadn’t expected any of this. Less than thirty-six hours ago, her life had been plugging away normally. She had been getting ready to head home for the night after checking her work on a rather complex net. Now, her match was dead and she was leaving the island—something no one had ever done since before the migration, at least to her knowledge.

“What will I find in the east?”

“Honestly?” He looked out to the water, watching the reflection of the dim moonlight on the small waves. “I don’t know. I only know that if there’s something, it lies to the east.”

“Helpful,” Ashley said flatly.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Goodbye, Ashley. Good luck.”

Fatigue started to settle into Mattli’s bones, and he developed a hunch in his stride. He was too old for these all-night jaunts. Just one more thing to do, and then he hoped he could go to bed with a clean conscience. He felt like she was so close to knowing the truth, to finding out who she was and what she meant to the island. Shaking his head in frustration, he wondered if he should’ve said more, or less.

As he padded along the path that would lead him to Mason’s prison, he wondered how it had come to this. He remembered being so proud and excited when he was named an elder all those years ago. He’d thought he could really make a difference on the island. Be a voice of reason. Help.

But helping had turned to deceiving. He’d learned many things since being named second to Alkoff, things he couldn’t possibly forget if he tried. Things that had changed him, hardened him, and made him take exception to his normally rigid morals.

He shook his head and took a deep breath as he approached Mason. Everything he’d done was in the best interests of the island. Or so he tried to convince himself.

Mason was waiting for him. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

“I was seeing Ashley off. You’ll have to hurry so she doesn’t get too far ahead.”

Mason laughed to himself. “And how exactly am I supposed to catch up to her?”

Mattli handed him a compass from his pocket. “Just follow her east.”

“How do you know that’s the way she’ll go?”

“Because I told her.”

“You what?” Mason’s eyes narrowed. “What lies to the east?”

“I will tell you exactly what I told her—I honestly don’t know. The legends of our ancestors say that if there is anything out there, it lies to the east.”

Mason gave him a look that told him he was less than convinced, but he also had no choice. He went with Mattli willingly enough and boarded the second canoe.

“There’s a large skin of water in the canoe. It’s more than enough to make the journey…” Mattli hesitated, wanting to say enough, but not too much. “And anything else that should pop up.”

Mason didn’t respond, and Mattli wondered if he were listening. He didn’t have time to ask before Mason got in the canoe and went after Ashley.

Mattli stood on the shore and watched them paddle out—Ashley had finally gotten the hang of paddling, and was making good progress out to sea. He silently urged Mason to paddle more quietly if he was to remain unseen long enough to get away from the island.

A hand on his shoulder wrested him from his thoughts. “You’ve done well, Mattli,” Alkoff said.

“Why does it feel like we’ve sent them to their deaths?”

“Because we may have.” The short, simple sentence cut to the quick. “But no one in our lifetimes has overseen a scouting mission. If one or both of them were to return, think of what we might learn.” In the moonlight, excitement gleamed in Alkoff’s eyes. “We could go home.”

6.

Ashley nearly toppled the canoe into the freezing Pacific waters before she was even out of the shallows. She had no idea if Elder Mattli was still watching her, but her pride kept her from turning to see. He didn’t call out any advice if he was.

Once she found her balance in the rickety contraption, she started to try to propel herself forward, paying no mind to the compass at first. It took all her focus just to put the paddle in the water and move herself forward. She couldn’t just put it in and expect to move forward. She had to work at it.

She found herself wishing she had more upper body strength. Sewing fishing nets hadn’t prepared her for this kind of hard, physical labor.

Proud when she finally found an effective stride, she sat up a little straighter and checked the compass. Pointing herself toward the east, she continued to paddle with urgency and energy.

Though she knew what was behind her, there was nothing ahead but water as far as the eye could see. She never once looked back. That was her old life. The only way she would get anywhere was by keeping her eye on the prize.

The next hour, her mind was filled with daydreams. What was the mainland like? Of course, that question assumed the mainland still existed. If there’s something, it lies to the east, Mattli had said.

What exactly did that mean? All along, she had known the elders had some idea of what had happened to the mainland, of what had caused Bennett Ashby to be their savior. But for some reason, they’d chosen to keep it a secret—a decision she couldn’t understand. Wouldn’t it build trust and even more compliance among the islanders if they knew the truth?

Or was the truth so horrific that the elders thought the islanders couldn’t handle it? Her imagination ran wild with scenarios of man-made monsters eating every living being, zombies, flesh-eating bacteria run amok, and natural disasters like massive tsunamis that somehow missed the island. She frowned at that explanation. If that were true, why not return to the mainland to rebuild once the waters receded? But monsters and zombies were even more unlikely.

After hours of paddling and keeping her mind busy, her sleepless night and events of the previous days started to catch up to her. Self-doubt settled in like a spoiled meal, making her feel queasy. What if there really wasn’t anywhere else to live but the island, and they really were the only survivors?

She sighed as she looked out at the expanse of ocean ahead of her. Maybe she should have stayed home and been compliant. If she hadn’t provoked Wesley and the other elders, she wouldn’t be here right now. Mason always chided her for her questions—his instinct for self-preservation had always been better than hers.

She lay back in the canoe and let her mind wander to her friend. They’d met at school, where all the island kids met and chose their friends for life. School was different than it had been in the time before, or so it seemed from what was written in the books she read in Alkoff’s library. They had some traditional subjects like history—which mostly covered the time before, and only briefly delved into the apocalypse, since not much was known about what happened, and mostly used the event as a warning to make sure everyone did their part to contribute and keep the island running. They studied math, reading, and writing, but they also had practical subjects like farming, sewing, medicine, and more that helped pass down a basic knowledge of how the island ran. Students’ performances in these subjects also helped decide where they would be most useful once they could start working.

Plus, there weren’t many kids who were the same age, which created an odd dynamic of preteens and kids who were barely older than toddlers. No student was older than thirteen, though. Once an islander got their work assignment, they no longer had time for school. The time to contribute had come.

Mason and Ashley had been outcasts together, although she never fully understood why Mason was excluded by the other students. She was too inquisitive, curious to a fault, and always getting in trouble for it. The other kids stayed away, afraid to be associated with such a troublemaker.

But Mason was funny, good at sports, and a good listener. Maybe the other kids at school had sensed his anger and thought it a flaw, but it had never bothered her. It wasn’t violent—at least not toward others. Mason internalized his rage, which made him quiet, and maybe a little brooding, in his teenage years. Once they got to know each other, she barely noticed it. He seemed to appreciate the unbridled joy she took in spending time with him, and he always showed her that he valued her, even in her darkest moments.

After her dad died, Ashley had a hard time finding her way. They moved her to the orphanage, and despite the fact that she shared a room with two other girls, she’d never felt so alone.

Mason tried his best to lift her spirits in the weeks that followed her dad’s funeral. He took her fishing, walking through the woods, and when that didn’t work, he spent hours with her in the library. But not even Alkoff’s books gave her comfort. She just stared out of the window, tears rolling down her cheek.

One day, they were sitting on the end of the longest dock, staring out at the water, dangling their feet over the edge. Their toes didn’t touch the sea, so they swung their legs absently as they watched the seagulls floating on the calm waters.

“Enough,” Mason said. It was all the warning he gave her before shoving her, fully clothed, into the cool Pacific waters.

She came up sputtering and brushing her hair out of her face. “What was that for, you loony fish-dipper?”

“I thought you needed some refreshment,” he said, then pulled off his shirt and did a huge cannonball right next to her. When he came up for air, he said, “And I resent the implication that I’m crazy.”

Though she wasn’t sure why, that cannonball and his follow-up statement pushed her over the edge. She started to laugh, quietly at first, no more than a chuckle. When Mason heard it, he splashed her, and she splashed back. Soon, it was an all-out splashing war in the deep waters twenty yards offshore. Before she knew it, she was laughing so hard, she couldn’t keep her head above water, laugh, and splash all at the same time.

She swam to the dock and hung on to the supports. “You’re an idiot.”

He just smiled back at her, not needing to say anything at all.

The memory made her sigh out loud. Mason had always been there for her. Always. But out on the open water, she was alone. Fatigue set in as she lay in the canoe, rising and falling with the gentle waves.

I could fall asleep right here, she thought. The idea was so intoxicating.

She took a mental stock of her rations. She hadn’t even drunk much of her water yet. Really, she’d only been gone a few hours, but it felt like an eternity. The only thing that kept her from dozing was the thought of drifting too far off course.

She cursed herself for not fashioning an anchor of some type, then wondered if she could make one from the supplies she had. She shook her head after a moment. Even if she could, she had no idea how deep the water was, and there was no telling if she had enough rope.

She watched the sky above her turn from black to deep blue to purple and resolved that she should sit up and continue on… in a few moments.

Mason worked against the ocean currents to catch up with her. He could see her in the distance when he first launched his canoe. He fought hard to keep himself afloat as he pushed to get out past the breakers, wondering how Ashley had gotten the knack of it so quickly.

The sweet way she’d come back to say a proper goodbye to him spurred him on. He felt bad for ignoring her apology, but he hadn’t been able to talk to her in that moment. Feeling like he’d tell her everything if he opened his mouth—the elders’ plot, the gun, his plan—he’d decided it was best to pretend he was sleeping.

He didn’t intend to sneak up on her, so he wasn’t even trying to keep quiet as he paddled forward. Mattli and the other elders were behind them. Mason’s future—however long or short it might be—lay ahead of him, and that was what mattered.

The moon was starting to sink in the sky, and Mason knew daylight would be upon them soon. He debated calling out to her, but she was probably still too far ahead of him to hear. When he did reach her, what would he say?

Oh, hey, funny running into you out here. Let me explain. He shook his head as he huffed and puffed behind her. Then she did something surprising.

She disappeared into her canoe.

Mason looked down to make sure his paddle had good purchase, and when he looked back up, her canoe was there, but he couldn’t see her silhouette anymore. He glanced again at the sinking moon, wondering if it was a trick of the light, but her canoe wasn’t moving anymore either. It floated gently along with the current.

Now that she wasn’t paddling, he closed the ten-minute gap between them easily. He pulled up next to her canoe, nearly crashing into her, scanning the water for her as he approached, hoping she hadn’t fallen in.

He smiled when he saw her lying in the bottom, eyes closed, absently fiddling with the pendant he’d given her so long ago. He didn’t even know she still had it. “I know it’s way past your bedtime, but this hardly seems like a good place to rest.”

Ashley’s reaction was disappointingly calm. Mason wanted her to explode out of her canoe, maybe topple it into the freezing water. Then they’d have a good laugh. It had been a long time since they’d done that.

But she didn’t. She simply opened her eyes and stared at him.

“Mason?”

Was he really there, or had she dreamed him into existence? She hadn’t been out on the water long enough for that, or at least, she didn’t think so. Had they executed Mason early? Was this his ghost come to haunt her?

Finally, she decided to speak to her dream or ghost. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m happy to see you too.”

“Did they execute you early?”

“I—” He stopped short. “What? No, they offered me amnesty to come after you.”

“For what?”

“Well, to kill you, but I have no intention of doing that.” He pulled the gun from his waistband and tossed it into her canoe. She tried to get away from it, as though he’d just tossed a snake into her boat. She’d never seen a gun up close, and had only read about the damage they could do. Wesley hadn’t been issued his gun yet, since he wasn’t officially an elder, and that was fine with Ashley. Thinking about Wesley with one of those things made her shudder. Having no desire to be near the object, she kicked it to the other side of the canoe with her toe.

“What the hell?” she yelled, her voice echoing into the night. Finally, she was able to get herself back onto the bench, though not without some wobbling and flailing to avoid the gun.

“Well, they didn’t intend for me to jump into your boat and strangle you. I think they expected me to take more of a quick and painless approach.”

Ashley didn’t know how to process all of this. “Okay, so they said they’d let you live if you came after me and killed me? Why?”

“That’s not a question Mattli was willing to answer.”

She was hurt. Mattli was an elder she actually trusted. “Mattli put you up to this?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I don’t believe it,” she whispered. He’d saved her skin. Why send an assassin after her now? Unless Mattli had specifically selected Mason because he knew he wouldn’t go through with it…

“But why are they so desperate for me not to come back? What do they think I’ll find out here?” She looked around, scanning the horizon, not seeing much of anything, except… She squinted into the darkness.

“What is that?” she asked Mason.

He followed her gaze as she pointed at a shadow to the southeast. “I don’t know.”

Without speaking, they paddled toward the shadow, and their fate.

7.

Mattli struggled to rouse himself before the dawn. There were things to do. But the night had been far too long, with far too little sleep. His body protested as he tried to hoist himself out of bed. The floor was cold, and his feet recoiled from it. His bones creaked and groaned as he made his way to the bathroom.

He spied himself in the mirror while washing his face and hands. He looked haggard. Once upon a time, he’d been a handsome man by most accounts. But his dark hair had grayed in the last few years, and his unusually dark skin had started to wrinkle with age. At least his blue eyes still held their sparkle.

He sighed heavily while peering at his exhausted reflection. Once this was all over, he could get things back to normal again. All he had to do was help Alkoff figure out what to tell the islanders, and then they could move on.

Just this one last thing to take care of…

He had a déjà vu moment. Hadn’t he promised that same thing to himself last night? He tried not to think about it as he dressed and headed to Elder Alkoff’s home.

The elders were trickling in slowly when Mattli arrived. A few were still absent when Alkoff approached him. “A word,” he said and walked to the library, down the long hall from where the others were gathering.

As Alkoff was the head elder, his home was the nicest on the island, a mansion by most standards. He openly admitted he didn’t use most of the rooms, which was a constant source of irritation for him, as he was the biggest advocate against waste on the island. He was always asking others for suggestions for uses of the rooms. In the winter, a few of them were filled with food stores from the summer. His match was particularly good at canning and drying fruits to give islanders just the right taste of summer in the middle of a harsh winter.

Mattli followed Alkoff into the library. Often islanders, most frequently Ashley, could be found reading the various books, imagining times before when people had the resources to print and conserve volumes. Of course, the first elders had removed portions of the books thought to be detrimental to life on the island—sensitive information, things that islanders might find upsetting, and writings relating to the time immediately before the migration—although there weren’t many of those. The elders also kept loose records of the happenings on the island—always taking care never to put down too much detail, closely guarding their secrets—but there was no fiction created on the island. There wasn’t time or paper to be wasted on frivolity like that. Still, islanders were allowed access to the fiction that had come before, a rare indulgence.

Mattli had always liked the room. It was somehow calming to be surrounded by the words of those gone past. Like they might bestow their wisdom upon all who entered.

Alkoff shut the door behind him. “What are your thoughts?”

Mattli struggled. His mind was foggy from exhaustion and the exertions of the last twelve hours. He wasn’t his young, spritely self anymore, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was struggling to stay one step ahead of the passage of time.

“We will have to tell them something. They’ll begin assembling at the pyre for the execution ceremony soon.”

“I’m aware. But what will we tell them?”

“Would it be so bad to tell them the truth? That Mason was offered amnesty to complete a task for the betterment of the island? If they both return, he will be welcomed back to the community as a normal citizen, and those that disapprove will have to come to terms with the agreement we made. She can possibly head up a colonization effort. Wouldn’t she love that? If he comes back alone…” Mattli paused, not wanting to consider the scenario. “We’ll deal with that if it happens. Either way, this scenario eliminates the need for further lies if—when—he returns.”

“It’s an option,” Alkoff said, revealing no preference.

Mattli sat heavily in a chair near the window. He’d sat there many times before, watching the birds fish and the waves roll gently ashore. In fact, he’d been sitting there when Alkoff first told him he was to be second in command.

Alkoff sat in the chair across from Mattli and poured a tumbler of shine for him. Mattli normally didn’t indulge, but he knew better than to refuse his friend. Assuming they were about to toast Alkoff’s recent appointment as head elder, he swirled the dark liquid in his glass, trying to prepare his body for the burn to come.

“Mattli, I have something to tell you,” Alkoff said, and then took a long drink from his own glass. “I’ve named you second in command.”

“You what?” Mattli’s head spun before he could even take a swig of the shine. Second? “Surely Elder Burton is next in line for this position. Particularly after being passed over for head.”

“Elder Burton is next in line, yes. But I don’t trust him.” He said it like there was nothing more to it. No reason for further discussion.

“Jim, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this. It will create dissention among the elders.”

“There’s already dissention among the elders. It’s there plain as day.” He put his drink down and looked at Mattli. “It’s you I trust. You who I’ve always trusted, you who’s always been by my side. I need you there now.”

Mattli looked away and took a drink from his own glass, feeling the burn as the shine made its way down his throat. “You know that Mueller will side with Burton.”

“I do.”

“And every decision will be a battle.”

“Better to fight them with you by my side, than constantly wonder if Burton is trying to manipulate me. Or worse.” Alkoff didn’t have to fill in what might be worse.

“You don’t think Burton is that stupid, do you?”

“No. But sometimes, there isn’t much of a difference between being stupid and being angry,” he said, taking another sip from his tumbler.

Mattli swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn’t ever have to learn the difference, but fearing he would.

That had been years ago. Before Ashley and Mason were even born.

Mattli longed for those simpler times as he brought himself back to their conversation. “I’m not ashamed to tell you, I’m not sorry we’re skipping the ceremony. I’ve only had to do two of them, and I hated them both. The way we parade the truth right under their noses and expect them not to notice. Why do we bring out the box anyway? We don’t even use it until we’re out of sight of the islanders.”

“Sometimes, it’s easiest to hide the truth in plain sight.”

Mattli harrumphed, thinking of Ashley. “You know, if I weren’t an elder myself, I’d probably be asking questions too. Just like Ashley.” He thought of her paddling out to sea, and wondered where she was, if she were still alive, and what she’d found.

“Indeed,” Alkoff said as he stared out of the window, watching the sun paint the sky in beautiful shades of pink and purple.

“I’ve called you here this morning to decide what to tell the islanders about Mason Hawkins,” Alkoff explained to the group of elders seated in his living room. “I’ll open the floor to suggestions.”

Branneth was the first to speak. “We tell them he killed himself in the night and be done with it.”

“And if he returns?” Lehman retorted.

“We deal with him then,” Mueller said with finality, as if the decision had already been made.

“I’m not sure about that. We promised him amnesty,” Lehman said.

“So what is your solution?” Branneth asked, arms folded across her rather flat chest.

“I’m not sure. More time is needed to consider the options.”

“Time is not a luxury we have,” Mueller said. “As we speak, the islanders are gathering for the ceremony. The longer we keep them waiting, the more they will begin to suspect something. Suspicion leads to questions. Questions lead to unrest. Unrest leads to anarchy.”

Mattli held up his hands. “I agree that time is of the essence here, but I don’t think a hasty decision is the answer.” He ignored Mueller and Branneth’s glares. Burton hid his own glare in the shadows. “I propose telling the islanders most of the truth.”

The elders cried out in shock, as if telling the truth were the worst possible thing they could do.

“Now, hear me out. We tell them that Mason will be granted amnesty if he completes an important task for us, in which case he is to be welcomed back into the community with open arms.”

“You don’t think this raises too many questions?” Lehman asked.

“I think it raises fewer questions than if he returns from the dead in a few days,” Mattli retorted.

Mueller frowned. “No. I don’t like this. Mason Hawkins is the convicted killer of an up-and-coming elder. It’s as good as killing one of us. He deserves to die for what he did, one way or another. If he returns, we take care of it then. If he doesn’t, well… our work is done.”

“You just won’t let that go, will you? He’s innocent, and we all know it. The islanders probably know it too. We all agreed to give him amnesty, so tuck in your bottom lip and move on,” Lehman said, but she didn’t offer a solution to their problem.

“I never agreed to give that murderer amnesty,” Branneth complained quietly.

Alkoff ignored her. “Are there any other ideas?”

Burton had been strategically quiet up until then. “What if—” he paused, waiting to ensure everyone was listening, “—we tell the islanders that he escaped? If he returns, they’ll kill him for us. Then we won’t be burdened by having to find a place for a convicted killer in our delicate society.”

Branneth lit up. “It’s brilliant. Their fear will make them more compliant than ever, and if he comes back, they will do the dirty work for us.”

“But it questions our integrity and our ability to keep the island safe, which will inevitably weaken their trust in us. Is that a sacrifice we’re willing to make?” Mattli asked. He glanced at Alkoff. They couldn’t allow Mason to fall victim to a mob mentality, particularly not before they had the chance to learn what he and Ashley had discovered on their outing.

Burton frowned. “It’s not their trust we need. It’s their fear. If they are afraid enough, they won’t ever question us.”

Finally, Alkoff spoke. “But it is not us they will fear. It’s Mason Hawkins.”

The short statement rendered Burton speechless.

“None of these suggestions are foolproof. They all present their own problems. However, I am a man of my word. We promised Mason Hawkins amnesty, and if he returns, he shall have it. Elder Mattli will present his half-truth in place of the ceremony. If the community raises questions about what his task was or where he went, they will be answered with our standard response— ‘You do not need to concern yourself with that information. You have enough burdens.’”

The decision was met with gasps of disapproval from a select few of the elders. Alkoff ignored them, raising his voice a little louder when he continued. “This is my final decision. As elders, you are bound to support it.”

“And we do,” all but three responded. Mattli couldn’t help but notice which three.

8.

The shadow grew as they closed the distance to it, but not much. It turned out to be a tiny island.

The waves were gentle around it, whether due to the tide or the geography of the island, they weren’t sure, but they easily paddled to shore.

“Do you think this is what the elders meant for us to find?” Ashley asked.

Mason shrugged as he pulled his canoe through the sand, out of the way of the lapping water.

They both stood and assessed the island in the dim morning light. The beach wasn’t very wide, swallowed almost immediately by wild greenery and woods. It wasn’t all that different from their home, just smaller and wilder.

Birds cawed in the trees, making the island feel more alive.

“What do you think?” Mason asked. “Rest here for a bit?”

Ashley nodded absently as she looked around the small land mass. She didn’t know what to think. She’d known all along there was more out there, beyond the shores of the island. But this was an even smaller place. It didn’t feel right. It wasn’t what they were looking for.

She got out her tarp and started to spread it out on the beach. “Do you think there are people here?”

“Who knows? If there are, there sure aren’t many. I could spit across this thing,” he said as he grabbed one side of the tarp, spreading it flat. “Let’s just try to get some rest. We’ll be better suited to understand the situation when we’re not so exhausted.”

“Mmhmm,” she said automatically as she settled down next to him. She’d been awake for almost a full day, but she had trouble quieting her mind.

Mason started snoring almost immediately. She looked over at him, wondering why he’d been given the opportunity to avoid his dark fate. Was it that important to the elders to get rid of her? Or had there been some other motivation for sending him after her?

There weren’t many executions on the island, though she’d been required to attend one when she was younger. They were held in the same place as funerals. The convicted person was usually tied to the pyre, and the elders recited his or her crime for the crowd. One elder, usually Mattli or Alkoff, held a mysterious black box. It was never opened, just carried around as part of the ceremony.

Once, she’d asked Alkoff what was in the box, and he’d told her, “You do not need to concern yourself with that information. You have enough burdens.” It was a phrase she’d heard many times.

Then the elders gave the person a chance to speak, either to apologize for what they’d done or justify why they’d done it. Most stayed silent.

After that, the elders said a prayer for the deceased, and for the soon-to-be deceased, and carried the person away to meet his or her fate. No one ever knew how the convicted was killed or what happened to the body. And no one ever asked. Not even Ashley.

Executions were uncomfortable for everyone involved. The man whose execution she’d attended had killed his neighbor over a rations dispute. Certain that his neighbor was stealing his rations, he’d gone to retrieve them. It went downhill rapidly, ending in two families being torn apart—one by murder, the other by execution. In the end, it turned out a family of raccoons had been responsible for the theft, but that wasn’t discovered until both men were dead.

Ashley understood the need for swift and severe punishment for such crimes, but in the end, when she looked at the grieving families that day, she had to wonder why.

Watching Mason sleeping peacefully next to her, she wondered what fate he’d escaped by being sent after her. She hoped the executions were quick and painless, but she couldn’t be sure. She knew the elders well enough to know most of them weren’t to be trusted. And the few she had trusted seemed to have betrayed her.

She rolled onto her side as the light of day fully crested the horizon. It didn’t penetrate the overcast skies, so it cast a gray tinge over the tiny island. She sighed and closed her eyes, finally letting sleep take her.

By the time they both woke up, the sun was high in the sky.

“Glad you were able to get some sleep,” Mason said.

“You didn’t seem to have any trouble.”

He folded the tarp, not thinking her comment required a response. Ashley went to her pack, pulling out a water skin and a ration bar for them to share. “Better eat sparingly, since it’s hard to say how long we’ll be…” Be what? Without food? Resources? On the small island? Mason wasn’t sure what she meant, and he could tell that she didn’t really know either.

“Well, I think we’re probably alone out here,” Mason said between bites. He hadn’t eaten since Branneth had quite literally tossed some slop at him the previous night. Most of it had gone to waste because he hadn’t been willing to pick the dirt and leaves out of it. Now, his growling stomach made him wish he had.

He pushed his hunger aside as he polished off the rest of the ration bar, knowing it would have to be enough. Ashley needed her rations for herself. He swallowed the last of the water in the skin the elders had given him. They could fish if it came down to it. Despite the fact that they didn’t have nets, there was more than one way to catch a fish. He looked around the small island. Heck, they could trap fish in the tide pools if need be. They wouldn’t starve; they just might be a little uncomfortable at first.

“If someone lived here, they would have stumbled onto us by now.” He paused, scanning the tiny island. Maybe, just maybe, they could stay there and live out their lives together, untouched by the scheming of the elders. Hope tugged at him again.

“Let’s look around,” Mason said, standing up and brushing the sand from his pants. He held out his hand to help Ashley up, and she took it. Whatever was next, they’d face it together.

There wasn’t much to the island at all. It consisted of a copse of woods in the center and beach around most of the perimeter, dotted with some rocks along the shoreline. There were birds a plenty and fish in the shallows, but no deer or larger animals… and no sign of civilization as they knew it. It couldn’t have been more than a mile all the way around, and within just a few hours, they’d crisscrossed it, walked the circumference, and explored just about every inch.

When they returned to their canoes, Mason could tell Ashley was feeling a bit numb. For him, though, the tiny island was the solution to all their problems. They could stay there forever, if he could convince her. There was enough wood for them to build a nice shelter, they could rig up some rainwater collectors for fresh water, and there were plenty of fish. They’d be fine. A giddy smile spread across his face as he thought about how easy it would be.

“What are you so happy about?” Ashley asked, seeing the goofy look on his face.

“What if we stayed here?” He couldn’t keep the dreamy tone from his voice.

“What? Why?”

“Why not? We could build a shelter easy enough. Sure, it would be roughing it, but we’d never be subjected to the island’s rules again. No matches, no rules, no ceremonies, and no secrets.” He emphasized the last item, trying to hook her.

“But we still won’t know the truth.”

“Ashley, it’s a suicide mission. If we stay here, we could be happy.”

“It’s not a suicide mission for you. If you want, you can go back and tell them you did as they asked. I’m going to continue onward. I’d rather not go it alone, but I will if you really don’t want to come.” She looked out to the ocean. “The mainland is out there. I’m going to find out what’s on it.”

“Ashley…” He trailed off. He knew her well enough to know it was a losing battle. “It’s not that I don’t want to come. It’s that I don’t want you to go.”

She frowned and went to her pack. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t you want to know what the rest of the world holds for us?” After slinging the pack over her shoulder, she stood next to her canoe and stared at him, her hopeful expression boring into his soul.

Mason sighed, exasperated with her. “Can’t you ever stop antagonizing life? One of these days, it’s going to get you killed.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll finally find answers to all my questions.”

He shook his head and stood up, joining her by the canoe. “Knowing you, there’s another set of equally burning questions behind the ones you’re chasing now.” He took her pack, slinging it over his shoulder “When do we leave?”

9.

Burton knew he had a problem… or maybe an opportunity. He could feel things starting to unravel, and it was all that stupid girl’s fault. She’d set this into motion, after all. But he couldn’t be too mad at her. This might be the opportunity he’d been waiting for—his chance to take what was rightfully his.

Burton sat back in his plush leather executive chair—one of his prized possessions salvaged from the time before. He’d spend hours oiling the leather, making sure it was still supple after all these years. The morning sun streamed in through the nearby window, painting part of the chair’s arm a brighter red than the rest.

He frowned at the sunbeam as he brought his tented hands to his mouth. Alkoff and Mattli should have never been put in charge. It was his position by right. What difference did it make that the islanders didn’t like him? Since when did they have any say in what the elders did? It was an injustice he could never forgive. And he intended to make everyone pay, starting with the two who were in charge.

He thought about his undeserving superiors. Mattli was getting soft. Alkoff couldn’t afford a soft number two. But then again, Alkoff had always been a little soft himself. And while he had something Burton didn’t—the respect of the islanders—it was something he didn’t need. Fear would do just fine.

But what was the best approach? That was the question. Branneth was an idiot, too quick to anger and prone to rash decisions. Mueller was only slightly better. Meade was an intriguing variable—loyal to Alkoff to a fault, yet easily frightened. Burton thought he might be able to use that to his advantage.

He certainly couldn’t just off them in the night. It would provoke too many questions. Their deaths would need to look like an accident. Such a scenario would be complicated. He needed a solution so simple it was foolproof, since he was surrounded by fools. Something more elegant than pushing Mattli down the stairs, but less complicated than strangling him in the night.

Additionally, if both of his colleagues were to die at the same time, suspicions could arise. No, his plan would require careful thought and patience.

Mattli would be the easier one to eliminate. The island was loyal to him, but only because of his allegiance to Alkoff. It was Alkoff the people truly loved. They would mourn his loss tremendously. Burton nearly vomited at the thought of feigning sympathy for the man.

Fine. He would start with Mattli.

They left in one canoe, leaving the second upside down on the edge of the woods. Mason had argued they’d cover more ground if they both paddled a single canoe. They had enough supplies to paddle east for no more than a day. If they hadn’t found anything within that time frame, they’d turn back to collect more supplies and reassess the situation.

Ashley was dead set against turning back, but she didn’t want to die out on the water any more than Mason did, so she’d reluctantly agreed to his terms.

Mason turned, watching the tiny island grow smaller and eventually disappear into the distance. “You know, if we’d stayed, I could have our dinner cooking on a spit right now.”

“Quit your whining. This is why I wanted my own canoe.”

He splashed her, and she let out a rather satisfying shriek. “By Ashby, that’s cold.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mason said smugly.

Ashley used her paddle and flipped water behind her, soaking him too. He gasped when the water struck him, and then he wiped it from his face. “Quite refreshing.”

She couldn’t help smiling, probably for the first time in days. She was glad she wasn’t making the journey alone. More than that, she was glad she was doing it with Mason. There wasn’t anyone on the island she trusted more than him. They’d been through so much together in the past. It felt right to face the future together.

They’d gone fishing together often when they were kids. They rarely caught anything, but that wasn’t the point. Even if they had caught something, they would have been required to throw it back. They weren’t supposed to deprive other islanders of a potential meal. They received their fish rations just like everyone else did.

The fishing trips were just an excuse to shoot the breeze, be outside, and spend time together. How she’d needed those trips, particularly after her father died and she felt so alone.

After a few moments of silence passed between them, Mason stole a look at her.

“What do you think happens when you die?” she asked.

He shifted. “Jeez, Ashley, I don’t know. Why can’t you ask me a normal question, like what kind of lure works best out here?”

“Because I already know the answer to that. It’s a grub. I want to know what happens after.”

“What makes you think anything happens?” Regret flashed across his face as soon as he’d said it. He must have realized after the fact that she was thinking of her father.

She didn’t respond for a moment, chewing on his sentiment. What did make her think there was anything? She watched the clouds float in the beautifully bright blue summer sky. “What makes you think it doesn’t?”

“Ashley.” He said her name quietly, clearly hoping she’d drop the subject. “What if this is it? This life is hard, and frankly, it’s not all that great. Maybe this is some hell we’ve been relegated to for transgressions in past lives? Or maybe there’s no such thing, and this is it. We die and become worm food. The end. Anyway, why would you want to go on, if this is all there is?”

Mason’s theory was not at all in line with what the elders had taught them. It was perhaps the only aspect of his existence on the island he didn’t accept without question. The elders believed in an afterlife, and they told the islanders that Bennett Ashby would be waiting there for them with open arms. Of course, exclusions were made for those few murderers and poorly behaved islanders, and the elders took a fearful approach to try and keep everyone in line. Their constant motto was to be kind, contribute, and always benefit others so you too could meet Ashby and thank him for your life.

Rather than react to Mason’s creed with anger or tears, Ashley turned wistful. “Because I don’t think this is all there is. I’m not so sure Bennett Ashby is waiting for us at the gates of heaven, but there has to be more, something wonderful or terrible… just something. Something to let you know this life was worth living.”

He didn’t respond. Ashley left him to his thoughts as he stared out at the vast ocean.

“You’ve been quiet for quite a while,” Mason said, his arms beginning to feel the burn of the repetitive movements. In truth, he was enjoying the peace. It was one of the things he enjoyed about Ashley—she didn’t feel the need to fill the space between them with words or interaction of any kind. Some people would’ve talked just to talk, but not her. She didn’t talk unless she had something to say.

“I was just thinking about when we were kids, and everything that led us to this moment. Remember when we got our work assignments?”

“Mmm,” Mason said. Of course, he remembered that day as well as she did.

Ashley had always been his steadfast friend, even when he was a total jerk to her, and those times weren’t few and far between at first. When they started school, he was very angry. So angry, his teacher had to isolate him. But Ashley was isolated in a different way. He supposed it was their situation that mashed them together, but it didn’t matter.

When he’d been selected to be a welder’s assistant, he’d been so excited, he ran all the way to the group home where she was staying. Ashley, being the older of the two, had already gotten her assignment a few months earlier.

“I’m going to weld,” he said, his excitement leaking through as he danced around, waving his card with the word WELDER stamped on it. He’d have to give it back eventually, so it could be given to the next generation of selected welders. But in this moment, it was his, his ticket to greatness.

“Come on, let’s go tell my parents!”

They’d never shown any interest in his efforts before, but maybe this time would be different. Welding was viewed as a very respectable trade on the island. Surely, they would be proud.

Mason and Ashley clambered up the stairs to his front porch and burst into the house.

His mother was in the kitchen, washing vegetables for dinner that night. “Oh good, you’re home. I need you to run to the ration distributor to get some more meat. We’re nearly out.” She didn’t look up as she said it.

“Mom, I got picked to be a welder!” He held the card out to her, but she didn’t so much as turn to look at it.

“Isn’t that great, Mrs. Hawkins?” Ashley said.

At the sound of Ashley’s voice, Mrs. Hawkins finally turned. “You brought her over again? I suspect she’s the reason we’re out of meat already. Frankly, we should be getting part of the group home’s rations since she eats over here so often.”

Ashley straightened. “Actually, I don’t eat over here at all, for your information. I sit at the table to keep Mason company while you eat, since you both ignore him.”

“How dare you,” Mrs. Hawkins said, leveling Ashley with her most intimidating glare. But she wasn’t one to be intimidated.

“You’re nothing but a selfish bully, are you? I’m sorry Mason was burdened with you,” Ashley said, and she walked out of the kitchen.

Mason watched her go, too stunned to move until he glanced at his mother. All it took was one look at her face to send him running off after Ashley.

“I’m sorry your mom wasn’t more excited,” she said. “And I’m sorry if what I said to her makes things hard for you later today.”

“It’s okay. It was all true.”

They walked to the shore and sat in a companionable silence, watching the birds fish.

The memory made Mason sigh out loud. He’d thought he would be a welder forever. He’d never dreamed of setting foot off the island, let alone like this—paddling aimlessly into the unknown.

The sun settled low into the sky as they paddled east. They’d been going for a few hours and were heading into evening. Ashley hoped they wouldn’t have to spend another night on the open water, that soon they would see something. Some glimmer of hope, of life, of land.

And then, there it was. Just a tiny shadow at first. Nothing for Ashley to get excited about. But as they paddled toward it, it became larger, more distinct.

Finally, she gathered the courage to breathe the word out loud. “Land.”

10.

I was right all along. The thought hit Ashley like a ton of bricks. She paddled with new fervor, and Mason struggled to keep up with her pace. She imagined the looks on the elders’ faces when they learned the truth. Especially Branneth. The land was still here. Which meant there could be people. Civilizations. Homes. A future beyond their small island.

Then, another thought occurred to her as they closed the distance to the land—she wouldn’t be trapped on that tiny island for the rest of her life, held prisoner there by the elders’ desire for her extermination. She could settle on the mainland, where she would be free of all the secrets and lies. Excitement drove her arms to paddle faster.

At first, Mason thought he hadn’t heard her correctly. But as they got closer, the land before them spread out across the horizon. It was undeniable. The shore stood out against the expanse of ocean like a promise. But a promise for what? What glories and terrors awaited them?

As it grew larger and more distinct, he could make out the rocky shore, and a new question came to his mind. How were they going to make landfall?

Ashley watched the waves crash against the cliffs as she and Mason maneuvered their canoe so that the bow was pointing southward.

“Let’s just keep paddling. We’re bound to hit a sandy spot at some point,” she said.

“But how will we find our way back to the small island if we need to?”

She looked around, searching for some kind of major landmark. There wasn’t anything. The cliffs looked the same as they did to the north—treacherous, rocky blockades standing between her and the end of her quest.

She snorted out loud at the thought of making it this far, only to be kept a hundred yards offshore because of a few rocks. “I don’t know. Maybe we can keep track of how much time passes until we go ashore. That way we can estimate how many miles down the coast we’ve gone.”

“But the currents will change the return journey, and the sun is already setting. We won’t be able to use it to track time,” Mason said.

“Mason, it’s the best I can do. And hey, maybe we won’t have to go back,” she said. Sticking her paddle into the water, she dragged the back end of the canoe behind her as she scanned the shoreline, searching for a sandy place to land.

They paddled south in silence for what felt like ages. As much as they both fought it, they were getting tired, and it was making their strokes less efficient. A distance that would’ve taken them thirty minutes if they were well rested took almost an hour. Eventually, Ashley stopped and started digging around in her pack. She held a ration bar out to Mason.

His stomach growled, but he hated to take more of her supplies.

“Oh for Ashby’s sake, just take it, Mason.” She tossed the bar over her shoulder. It landed with a thud, probably the same way it would land in his stomach. But according to the elders, what they lacked in taste, they made up for in nutritional value.

Ashley pulled out another ration bar and turned to the cliffs, straining to see past them. “How far do you think we are from a settlement?” she asked.

“I hadn’t really given it much thought.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” she said with a smile.

They bobbed slightly as a wave passed under them and crashed against the cliffs a few minutes later. As they chewed their ration bars, Mason thought about her question.

Before he’d laid eyes on the land, he’d believed the elders’ stories without question. He’d really thought there weren’t any other people in the world, that there wouldn’t be anywhere for them to live. Everything had been destroyed in the apocalypse. But now, it seemed foolish. What type of event could completely destroy the mainland, leaving nothing behind?

“If they’re anything like us, they’d live off the sustenance of the ocean. So I’d imagine any settlements would be close.”

“Why do you suppose they never found us?” she asked quietly. He almost didn’t hear her over the crashing waves.

“Maybe they didn’t know to look.”

She didn’t respond to that notion, simply took a sip of water from her water skin and picked up her paddle. “I hope it isn’t much farther. I could use a rest.”

“Why don’t you take a break? I can paddle while you rest. If we still haven’t found a spot to go ashore after a few hours, we can trade places.”

She shook her head. “Let’s keep going for a little while longer. Maybe the ration bars will give us a boost. If we don’t find something soon, we can reassess.”

“If that’s what you want,” Mason said, not fully listening. His mind was still on the mainland. It presented a new opportunity for them both. He thought about what she’d said a few hours earlier. Maybe we won’t have to go back. If they stayed here together, he wouldn’t have to return to find out what exactly the elders’ definition of amnesty was.

They paddled silently, both in their own worlds, both searching desperately for a sandy patch of land that would lead them home.

As they continued on their way, Ashley absorbed the new world around her. The land was immense, and almost overwhelming to an island dweller like her. The rocky shore went on and on, as far as the eye could see.

She watched a pelican dive for a fish and float out into the water. A noisy group of seals gathered on a rock formation a few yards from shore. The birds circled, landing on the rocks that stuck out of the water, but none landed on the cliffs. In fact, though the waters teamed with wildlife, none could be seen on the actual shoreline.

“Don’t you think it’s funny that the animals are staying offshore?”

Mason studied the cliffs for a moment and frowned. “Probably shouldn’t speculate too much. The cliffs are too high for the seals to get over there, and the birds… well, who knows? Maybe they can’t grip the rocks right in that specific spot.”

“But they can grip them when they land on the ones that are offshore?”

He put his paddle back in the water in response, still frowning at the bare cliffs. Ashley followed his lead silently.

They paddled for a little while longer, silence hanging heavily between them. Ashley listened to the sounds of the water crashing on the cliffs and slapping against their canoe, to the birds and seals screeching at each other. It was almost relaxing, until she glanced once again at the barren, treacherous shoreline.

Their arms moved automatically as they continued with their journey. It seemed as though the rocks would continue endlessly. Until they didn’t.

It was almost like an oasis—not the tropical kind, but the kind that offers relief and sanctuary. There, between two cliffs, a sandy beach stood ready for them. The water around them was choppy, but manageable. They could probably even swim to it if it came to that.

“Try to aim the bow toward the swells, so we don’t tip over,” he suggested. “You’ve got the front of the boat, so aim it true, okay?”

Ashley nodded, and they started paddling hard together. After several hours of paddling in the open water, they were getting quite in sync with each other. They aimed straight for the shore, trying to ride the breakers in and let them do some of the work. It actually worked at first, but then a wave started pushing them sideways, and Ashley panicked, not knowing what to do or where to put her paddle.

“Left!” Mason shouted, trying to help her.

She plunged her paddle into the water on the left side, paddling hard to keep them from going over. The ocean water splashed them both as it tried to suck them down into the depths.

All at once, they were washed ashore and their ordeal was over. They sat in the canoe for a moment, winded and a bit overwhelmed.

“What should we do now?” Ashley asked. Nothing but the first stars of the evening sky could be seen beyond the strange gray dunes that lined the small beach.

“There’s more to do?” Mason said from behind her.

She turned around and swatted him. “Seriously,” he said as he leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Can’t we just stay here for a minute? I’m tired, and you must be too. Why not just stay here and rest for the night? It’s already getting dark.”

“I suppose we could. But don’t you want to know what’s out there?”

“If there is something out there, it’ll still be there in the morning when we’re rested.” He sighed heavily, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back as if he were trying to absorb what little warmth was coming from the shrouded sun. “What if there’s nothing alive out here, Ashley? What if all we find is death?”

She listened to the waves crashing on shore. They sounded just like the ones at home. “What makes you think this place is so different from the island?”

“Um, lack of animals touching the mainland for one thing.”

She shook her head. “There’s life here. I know it. We just have to find it.” Ashley wasn’t sure where her energy came from. She hadn’t slept much on the tiny island, and the last twelve hours had required more physical exertion than she had ever used in her life. But as much as she wanted to lie down, her curiosity wouldn’t allow it. She had to keep exploring.

Mason pulled their canoe farther onshore, out of reach of the lapping waves, while Ashley grabbed the pack and tarp.

Mason fought the urge to lie down on the strange, gray sand. He was desperate for some rest; he feared he would need strength for the moments ahead.

Ashley threw the tarp at him. “Here. Make yourself useful.”

He sighed. “Ashley, seriously. How far do you think we can walk without some kind of rest?”

“It took us half the day to find this beach. Don’t you want to try to look for somewhere to make camp for the night? Maybe we can find a group of survivors with food and shelter.” Her complete and unabashed hope was almost contagious. Almost.

He stood on the beach, tarp in his hands, caught between his urge to take a break, and her urge to keep moving.

“Listen, if you want to stay here, I’ll go on ahead a little bit. You can catch up when you’re ready. I’ll walk east, okay?”

“Wait a minute, slave driver. I’m coming.” Mumbling and groaning, he shuffled in her direction and threw the tarp at her. “Give me the pack.”

“Whatever you want, big guy.”

As he hoisted the pack over his shoulder, he wondered how much longer her enthusiasm would outweigh her exhaustion. He hoped it wasn’t too long.

After cresting the first dune, they stopped dead in their tracks. A barren wasteland spread before them. There was nothing as far as the eye could see. No trees. No buildings. No roads. Nothing but the strange, gray dirt as far as the eye could see. Mason knelt down and scooped some of it into his hand, letting it sift between his fingers. It was heavier than ash, but smaller than gravel or ground rocks. Unlike dirt or sand, it didn’t stick to his hand, but rather ran off it, almost like water without the wetness. Out of habit, he wiped his hand on his pants when he stood up.

Ashley, on the other hand, showed no interest in studying the gray dirt. She stuck out her chin, held the tarp close to her chest, and took the first step into the nothingness. Her shoes sank down slightly into the gray dirt, leaving detailed footprints behind.

Mason could do nothing but follow in her footprints.

11.

To break the silence, and to try and cheer Ashley up, Mason hummed an old folk song they sang on the island. Soon Ashley was singing along.

A bird dives into the sea,

To see what it is he can see.

A fish is his wish,

Can it be? What a dish!

For a bird to dive into the sea.

“This is kind of a foolish song,” Ashley interjected.

Mason smiled and kept humming, so she kept singing, her voice ringing out high and clear over the dead hills.

A fish swims deep in the sea.

To see what it is he can see.

My word, it’s a bird!

Poor fish, how absurd.

For a fish who swam deep in the sea.

She was giggling by the end, as usual. “Ah, the circle of life.”

Though the song seemed to soothe Ashley’s mood, it left a bad taste in Mason’s mouth. Ever since Wesley’s death, he’d felt like a giant bird was waiting to pluck him from his ocean. Frankly, if he hadn’t come on this excursion, he would already be dead. But looking around at the miles and miles of nothingness made him wonder if they’d simply delayed the inevitable. It didn’t seem possible to him that anything at all could survive on the mainland, let alone the two of them.

Getting up from his plush leather chair—a world away from the struggles of Ashley and Mason—Burton decided to clear his mind with a walk in the woods. Following the path that led down to the water’s edge, he pondered his predicament. Mattli was getting old, but he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t like being left alone with Burton, which made circumstances… complicated.

The sun shone down on him brightly, the last bit of summer trying to hang on before the clouds settled in for the long winter. Despite the sunshine, the air was cold and he folded his arms together inside his robe. A bush along the edge of the path caught his eye as he continued to walk along. It appeared to be nothing more than a wild bunch of ferns, but he bent, inspected the leaves, and then pulled up one of the roots. It looked a lot like a wild carrot, which would have been a delicacy with fall fast approaching.

He smiled as he pulled a few more hemlock roots from the ground and smoothed the earth over the hole. Leave no trace, he thought.

Although he’d never seen the poison in action, he’d read about it in one of the old books in Alkoff’s library. Truth be told, he thought he was the only person on the island to have read it, except for maybe Alkoff.

As he tucked the hemlock into his robe, he felt certain that the little plant would do his dirty work more reliably than Branneth or Mueller could. But he’d still need someone to deliver it… someone who would never be suspected.

He smiled to himself as Mattli’s downfall came to him in one perfect plan.

The hours felt like days as Ashley and Mason continued to walk to the east across the dead world, which seemingly stretched on forever.

Mason was looking out at the horizon when Ashley fell facedown in the gray dirt.

“You could’ve just said you were ready to stop for the night,” he teased.

She pushed herself up but, remarkably, she wasn’t covered in the dirt. It fell away from her like water off a duck’s back.

“I think I tripped on something,” she said, knowing how odd it sounded. There wasn’t anything to trip on—just that same drab soot in all directions. “Maybe I am a little tired.” She leaned back on her heels and looked around, just to be sure.

Near her right foot, something stuck out of the dirt. Her heart started to race. Maybe it was a sign of people, of civilization. “Hand me the flashlight, quick!”

They hadn’t needed it in the bright moonlight, but she wanted to get a good look at whatever she’d unearthed.

Mason dug around in the pack while Ashley scooted toward the relic and started to brush dirt away from it, revealing a dark rectangle. He finally located the flashlight and shined a beam of light on the shape, but it revealed nothing that couldn’t already be seen by the light of the moon. Ashley hesitated to touch it, not knowing what it was, but something pulled her toward it, compelling her to reach out for the black shape. It felt like more than just simple curiosity, almost like she shared a connection with the object.

It was a box of some kind, made of an extremely lightweight, dark-colored metal that didn’t give when Ashley pushed on it with her fingers. It was like nothing she’d ever seen up close, but it had an air of familiarity she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“It’s light but strong,” she said, trying to puzzle out what it could be made of.

She handed the box to Mason, who’d come over to examine it for himself. The exterior showed no visible point of entry. No hinges, no seams, no latch, no lock, nothing. He handed the flashlight to Ashley, squinting at the box in the dim light.

“What do you think’s inside?” Ashley asked, but Mason didn’t respond. He was too busy examining what she had found.

Questions whirled in Ashley’s mind. How could a small box possibly have survived when everything else had been turned to gray dust? But if it wasn’t from the time before, who’d left it? Were there others, somewhere? Was it the key to finding them? And why did she have this sinking feeling of familiarity with the box?

It put her over the edge, and she lay back in the gray dirt. “I’m toast. I think this is as good a place as any to bed down.”

He grunted at her, still turning the box over in his hands.

Although there were none of the attributes inherent in any good campsite—no sheltering trees or undergrowth for a fire, just miles of gray dirt, Ashley wasn’t wrong. It was as good a place as any to be seen on the mainland.

They laid down the tarp and Ashley sat down, digging into her pack. After handing Mason some dried fruit and a skin of water, she wordlessly chewed her own rations. She was so tired. Though she’d thought finding the mainland would answer all her questions, it had only given her more.

They both stared at the black box, lying on the edge of the tarp, tightly holding on to its secrets.

Mason sensed her agitation, but he had concerns of his own. He was certain they couldn’t stay on the mainland. It wasn’t habitable, and for all they knew, the gray dirt might even be toxic. But would Ashley see reason? And now they had a black box of mystery to decode.

His frustration started to boil over. They should be at home right now, not staring out at this bizarre wasteland that stretched out in all directions. It looked like they’d stepped onto another planet, not some golden land that would be their saving grace.

Unable to find words for his frustrations, he simply screamed at the mainland. His anger echoed back to him as the moon bathed the barren landscape in an eerie light.

Ashley jumped at his outburst. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.” He gestured around.

“And how was it supposed to be, Mason?”

“Livable! So that we could stay here for the rest of our lives.”

She looked out at the sky, watching the stars twinkle. “What will you do if you go back?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.” He didn’t want to consider going back alone. No way was he leaving her by herself on the mainland or on that tiny island, if they even managed to find it again.

She exhaled sharply. “Mason, you have a life on the island. All you have to do is go back to it.” She looked out at the nothingness that was the mainland. “I’m just an anchor for you.”

“If you are an anchor, then I’m a ship adrift without you. We’re family, remember? I’m not going back unless you come with me.”

Ashley smiled sadly at him, fluffed her pack up, and laid it on the ground for a pillow. She rested on top of it, shifting around until she got as comfortable as she could. Her leg just barely touched the box, reminding her it was there.

“What do you think happened?” she asked quietly as she stared up at the night sky, counting the same stars she’d always counted from the island.

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “I don’t know, Ashley.”

“It doesn’t seem like anything natural. If it were, something would be left, you know? The destruction wouldn’t be so extreme if it had been a tsunami or an earthquake or something.”

“What about a meteor?” It was all he could think of that would leave so much gray dirt behind.

“Sure, maybe. But why would the destruction stop at the shores of the mainland? Granted, my science classes were long ago, but it seems like the shock wave from a meteor would have wiped out the island along with everything else.”

“Maybe, but so would something nuclear or man-made like that. Plus, Ashby wouldn’t have had time to send people to the island in the event of an attack like that.”

“And an attack would assume the attackers are still alive somewhere. According to the books in Alkoff’s library, there were many large countries in the time before. Could it be like this all over the world?”

He folded his hands behind his head and lay down beside her. “Maybe we’ll never know. The only method of travel we have are those canoes.”

She frowned. “That’s not acceptable to me. The answers are out there.”

He laughed. “I can’t just produce the truth out of thin air, Ashley.”

She frowned and closed her eyes.

Neither of them saw the shimmer on the horizon.

As the afternoon wore on, Burton felt increasingly gleeful. He sat in the kitchen reading over the notes from the last elder’s meeting, but he wasn’t absorbing the words. His thoughts remained focused on Mattli’s approaching demise.

His match came into the kitchen and kissed him on the cheek. Rosie wasn’t a pretty woman—too short and fat, with stringy, blonde hair that she kept cropped too short for her round face—but she was loyal and never asked impertinent questions. They’d fulfilled their duty to the island and produced a child, who now worked in the mill. The boy wasn’t eligible to be an elder, as the rules said no two family members could be elders at the same time—a measure intended to maintain balance among the elders.

Burton had never much cared for the boy, whom he found to be a bit soft. But that was his match’s doing. She doted on their son like he was some kind of gift. Normally, that kind of focused attention would have irritated Burton. He considered it a weakness for someone to care about another person that way. But it kept his match happy, occupied, and silent. So, he had let her behavior slide without comment.

“What are you reading?” Rosie asked.

“Just the notes from our last meeting.” The hemlock in his inside pocket pressed against his chest.

“Listen, Elder Mattli is a little under the weather. Do you think you might make some of your delicious chicken soup for him? I collected some wild carrots for you to use.” He pulled them out and laid them on the table. “Even the stems might add some good flavor to the broth, if you cut them up finely.”

She picked up the hemlock. “The stems? You just leave the cooking to me.” She chuckled to herself. “The stems,” she mumbled, as if he’d told a particularly foolish joke.

Burton frowned, hoping just the root would be enough. He watched as Rosie maneuvered around the kitchen, lighting the stovetop and gathering supplies for Mattli’s soup.

“Want me to cut the vegetables?” he offered.

“Sure.”

They worked side by side in silence for a few moments. “So, what happened at the execution ceremony was a surprise.”

“Mmm. I wasn’t for the decision, to be sure,” he said as he cut an onion. He stole a glance at the hemlock, last in the pile.

Rosie rummaged in the icebox. “I don’t know if we even have any chicken left.”

“Just use whatever you have,” he said, trying not to breathe in the fumes from the onion.

She rummaged around a little more. “I just don’t think the islanders are likely to accept a known killer back into their mix if he returns.”

“That’s what I said.” He dumped the diced onions into the pot on the stove and moved on to the celery.

“Oh, you know what? I think I have some dried meat in the pantry.” She walked over to their deep pantry. “I sure hope Mattli feels better soon.”

“Mmm.”

“Here we are. This will be perfect.” She pulled out a package of dried meat of some kind. Burton couldn’t tell what it had once been—probably a deer or something. He hated to waste his best meat on the likes of Mattli, but there was nothing for it.

It must have shown on his face. “Oh, cheer up. There’s more. Don’t you worry. I’m not giving Mattli all of our best food for the winter.” She patted his face and smiled.

She pulled out another cutting board and started working on shredding the dried meat. “At any rate, I’m sure Elder Alkoff knows what he’s doing.”

“Indeed.” He pushed the celery into the pot and started in on the hemlock.

“Did you wash that?”

He looked up, reluctantly going to the pump at the sink. Filling the basin with just enough water, he rinsed the hemlock. There wasn’t much point in cleaning it, since it didn’t matter if it had something on it, but he didn’t want to do anything to arouse Rosie’s suspicions.

She scooped the meat into the pot. “Could you get some water for the broth while you’re over there?”

He did as requested, while she returned to the pantry to gather some herbs and spices for the soup. “Hmm. What would make him feel best, but wouldn’t overpower the soup?” she said to herself.

While Burton was out of Rosie’s eyesight, he quickly chopped all the hemlock into fine pieces and dumped it into the soup. With the water and meat already added, the green leaves were hard to see. He hoped she wouldn’t notice.

He was standing in front of the stove, stirring the soup, when she came back with an armful of spices. He continued stirring while she added a pinch of this and a dash of that. He watched her closely, but she appeared too preoccupied to have noticed his addition.

She glanced at him. “This is when the magic happens,” she said with a smile.

“It is indeed a wonder to behold,” he said, stirring the hemlock soup and thinking about how hard it would be to keep the smile from his face at Mattli’s funeral.

12.

Mattli was starting to worry. How long could a round trip to the mainland take? It had been over a century since someone had embarked on the trip, and since the scouting mission had originally been scheduled for the distant future, Mattli hadn’t started to read the literature his predecessors had left behind about the training of scouts. He was horribly unprepared for this scenario.

That afternoon, Alkoff caught him standing on the shore, waiting for the return of their prodigal son.

He placed a hand on Mattli’s shoulder. “I believe we asked him not to return in broad daylight, didn’t we?”

Mattli thought back. The details of the last few days were getting fuzzy. So much had happened. “I’m not sure.”

“In any case, don’t worry. If it takes a little longer, it takes a little longer. He’ll be back soon. The longer it takes, the more likely it is that they found something. It’s not time to worry yet.”

“You always say that,” Mattli said, frustrated as he scanned the watery horizon, searching for any sign of Mason… and, hopefully, Ashley.

Silence hung between them as they looked out at the vast expanse of ocean spread before them.

Mattli broke it. “I don’t feel like we did right by them, by her in particular.”

“I know,” Alkoff said. He didn’t concede, disagree, or try to comfort Mattli. He simply acknowledged his statement.

It only made Mattli more frustrated. “If we are the elders who ended Ashby’s line—”

Alkoff cut him off. “James, these are troubling times. And I fear the worst is still ahead of us. Something is brewing, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Try not to stew too much about what is done. Instead, I need you to focus on the things that are coming.” He looked Mattli in the eyes. “I need you to stay sharp.”

With that, he left Mattli alone on the beach

Dusk was settling in by the time the soup was ready. Rosie wrapped the pot in a cloth and tied it up with some twine.

She handed the bundle to Burton. “Here, now, give him my regards.”

“Will do.” He placed a light kiss on Rosie’s cheek and walked out into the cool evening air.

Elder Meade was just settling in to eat his lonely dinner when someone knocked on his door.

His blood pressure raised about twenty points when he saw Burton through the peephole in the door.

What does he want? Have I forgotten to do something? Meade thought, his mind whirling into overdrive by the mere sight of Elder Burton.

He opened the door with more than a little trepidation. “Elder Burton. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind delivering this to Elder Mattli’s home. Donna Venters asked me to bring it to him because I normally walk by his place on my way home, but I got sidetracked today.”

Meade thought of his own warm dinner waiting for him on the table. “I’d be happy to. Just let me—”

Burton cut him off. “It should really be done now. I think it’s still warm.”

“Certainly. Of course.” He grabbed his coat off the hook near the door and took the pot from Burton.

“My deepest gratitude to you, Elder Meade,” Burton said as they parted ways in front of Meade’s home.

“Certainly, Elder Burton. I’m happy to be of service.”

“And you are, Elder Meade,” he said quietly as he walked back toward his home.

A sound startled Mason awake. They hadn’t been sleeping for long. Twenty minutes, tops.

He scanned their surroundings under the light of the full moon but didn’t see much. Off in the distance, the horizon seemed fuzzy and a bit wavy, almost like a mirage. He squinted, straining to clear the distortion. It appeared to be moving closer, becoming slightly more organized as it did—almost like the fog they sometimes got on the island, but low to the ground and entirely transparent.

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to clear the image. That can’t be right, he thought. Maybe I’m dreaming.

Ashley was closer to the fog than he was, but she was sound asleep.

Another blink. When he opened his eyes again, the fog seemed to be no more than ten feet away. He was about to rouse Ashley when she let out the most bloodcurdling scream he had ever heard.

She was covered in the transparent fog.

“Ashley!” He jumped up and took a step toward her, but her next otherworldly scream gave him pause. Looking at her more closely, he gasped. Her flesh was disappearing rapidly.

Her screams became animalistic as she flailed around. Not knowing what to do, he ran for the pack and grabbed the water skin, rushing back over to her side with it. Standing as close as he dared, he threw the water over her body. It did nothing to help. By the time the skin was empty, her screams had stopped. He could actually see her skeleton and internal organs.

He knelt by her bones and inner flesh, too stunned to cry. As he tried to process what had happened, he caught a small movement out of the corner of his eye. The tip of the fog that still covered the remains of her leg seemed to be moving toward him.

He stood slowly and backed away. It followed, reaching out for him with a silvery, translucent tendril.

The box was near her feet, but the pack was in the opposite direction of the canoe, mere feet from him. Snatching the box, he darted toward the pack, and then raced for the shore with both in hand, stealing one last glance at Ashley as he ran. A few bones were all that remained, and even those were disappearing.

Upon seeing what had become of his best friend, he picked up his pace, adrenaline fueling his legs as he ran back toward the shore alone.

13.

The gray dirt wasn’t as difficult to run in as Mason had expected. His feet easily found purchase, and he left little sprays of dirt behind him as he made his way back to their boat.

With every footfall, his heart pounded. He wasn’t even sure he was going in the right direction. The compass was in the pack, and digging for it would take precious time. He felt like the fog creature was breathing down his neck, waiting to feast on his flesh, just as it had done to Ashley. The image fueled his speed. So, he ran in the direction that his feet led him.

In his haste, he tripped over his own two feet, sending the box in his hand sailing, and in the process, he managed to get a mouthful of the dirt. It was odd tasting. Like metal, but also something organic. He took an anxious glance over his shoulder as he spit out the gray dirt. The fog was only about fifty yards off—much too close for comfort.

He scrambled to his feet and took off again, reaching down to collect the box as he ran past it. The moment’s respite reminded him of how tired he was, but he pushed through the fatigue, keeping his legs moving. Mason Hawkins wasn’t going to die lying down, that was for sure.

It seemed like they had walked east for miles, days even. But before Mason’s adrenaline had completely run out, he arrived at the shore. Their boat remained right where they’d left it.

Finally, he thought. A stroke of luck.

He didn’t chance another glance over his shoulder. Instead, he flipped the canoe and pushed it into the water without even pausing. The shock of the water’s temperature on his feet and shins made him suck in a breath. Before instinct made him recoil too much, he hopped in, paddling hard into the waves. The moon’s pull made the waves calmer than when he and Ashley had arrived, and he didn’t have much trouble getting out past them.

When his flight instinct finally wore off, he stopped and simply floated just past the breakers. He swiveled on the bench of the canoe to see the shore, but he couldn’t make out the death fog. Maybe this was all just a bad dream, and he was still asleep next to Ashley. But he felt the weight of her pack on his back, and the odd black box lay on the bottom of the canoe between his feet, telling him it was real. As if to finish him off, her screams came back to him in a rush, making him vomit over the side of the canoe.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It wasn’t a dream. Rather than dwell on his best friend’s horrible fate—he knew the memories would haunt him for years to come—he looked again at the box.

Anger boiled up, and he nearly threw it into the sea. He pulled his arm back, his muscles ready to pitch the damned thing overboard. He wanted to hold it responsible for Ashley’s death, to punish it. But a question stayed his hand. What could be inside of it, if anything? Was it from the time before?

He glared at the object, willing it to answer him, to mean something, to be worthy of his friend’s life.

The questions were too much for his exhausted mind. He looked up toward the moon as he floated in the canoe. It was just starting its descent back toward the western horizon. He steered his mind to more immediate questions. How was he going to get home? And where exactly was home?

Determined not to let Ashley’s death go to waste by letting himself get marooned in the water, he picked up his paddle. He could almost hear her speaking to him from the back of his mind. Don’t be a pansy. Put that paddle in the water and get moving. Doesn’t matter where right now. Just go.

He smiled, though he could just as easily have sobbed. It was a comfort to hear her voice, even though she wasn’t really there, even though she’d never be there again. “All right, quit nagging,” he said into the night, and then dug into the pack for the compass. He angled the canoe north, hoping if he turned east in a few hours, he’d see the tiny island.

The moon was high in the sky, but its light was cold, offering him little comfort or company. He was utterly alone for the first time in his life. But the emptiness he felt wasn’t light, like an empty box would be. It weighed heavily on him, nearly crushing him. He struggled to put his paddle in the water, no longer able to hear Ashley’s nagging voice.

Nothing but the sounds of the waves crashing on the cliffs and his own breathing kept him company as he paddled north.

Mattli was just cleaning up his dinner dishes when someone knocked on his door.

“Elder Meade. How can I help you tonight?”

The man stood on his porch and held out a pot that was still warm to the touch. “One of the islanders made you some supper, Elder Mattli.”

“How thoughtful. Who?”

“Donna Venters, I believe.”

“You don’t know for sure?”

He hesitated, starting to get flustered. “Well, not exactly, I… Elder Burton asked me to deliver it to you. Said it was from one of the islanders. I think he mentioned Donna, but I don’t remember for sure now.” He hung his head, as if waiting for a reprimand.

Mattli looked at Meade, still holding the pot out for him to take. He knew the man was just a pawn, an innocent in whatever game Burton was playing. “Why didn’t Elder Burton simply deliver the gift himself?”

“He said there were other matters he needed to attend to.”

Other matters, Mattli thought. Reluctantly, he took the pot from Meade’s outstretched hands.

“Meade, I thank you for delivering this to me. Surely, you must’ve gone out of your way to do it. It smells divine, but unfortunately, I’ve already eaten. Would you like to come in and try a bite?” Mattli didn’t have time to feel ashamed for making Meade his food taster. The offer simply rolled off his tongue.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Meade said, though he did not make a move to walk away.

“Nonsense. You say Ms. Venters made it?”

Meade nodded.

“Ms. Venters went to a lot of work to feed me. No need for it to go to waste! Come on in. I believe Gwen just pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven not half an hour ago. It would complement this soup well, I think.” He turned and carried the soup to the kitchen, knowing Meade would follow him.

Meade felt bad about wasting his own hot meal, still waiting for him on the table, but he didn’t get much company at dinner anymore. His match had died years ago, one of the few on the island to die of natural causes. Maybe he could salvage what was left of his own meal for lunch. Although the elders were never left wanting, he hated to waste food, knowing some on the island weren’t so fortunate.

Mattli set out the soup and made good on his promise of bread. His match was well known on the island for her baked goods, so Meade’s lonely meal was quickly forgotten as he soaked up Donna Venters’ soup and gladly made sure it didn’t go to waste.

After a few hours, Mason finally made the arbitrary decision to turn west. Hoping he’d be lucky enough to stumble upon the tiny island again, he paddled toward the setting moon.

His arms burned from the endless paddling, and exhaustion hung over him, as if ready to plunge him into sleep at any moment. Every blink got a little longer as he forced himself to keep moving forward.

After what felt like an eternity to him, the tiny island came into view. It was difficult to see it properly in the setting moonlight, as it was quite a bit farther north than he’d thought, but there it was, just the same. Perhaps he’d miscalculated when to turn west because there had been two of them paddling south, but only one paddling north. If he’d been any more off course, he may have missed it, so he said a silent thanks to anyone who might be listening.

He barely managed to get his canoe pulled onshore before he collapsed into the sand, letting sleep finally take him.

Mason dreamed of his family. But at the same time, they weren’t his family. They looked as he remembered them, but they were happy. They sat around the dinner table actually laughing, regaling each other with stories from their days. There was more love and joy in the room than there’d ever been in real life. They also weren’t in their house on the island, though he wasn’t sure where they were.

Getting up from the dinner table, he walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. He was high above the ground, looking out over a city. Buildings upon buildings sprawled out in front of him, taller than any structures he’d ever seen, seeming to sparkle in the setting sun.

Then he saw it in the distance. The monster. But the fog was far away, and they were so high up. They were sure to be safe, right?

“Mom?” he called, but she didn’t hear him. She continued to laugh with his father at the table.

“Mom?” He tried saying it a bit louder this time, but there was still no response.

The cloud moved with amazing speed. As it got closer, he could see the damage it was leaving behind. Or perhaps, damage wasn’t the right word. Nothing would be a better word, for nothing was what it left in its wake. Entire buildings disappeared as the translucent fog made its deadly way through the city.

“Mom!” he yelled, the panic rising in his voice.

The fog was right below him now, working on the shorter building across the street from theirs.

He counted his blinks. One. Two. Three. The building was still there, covered in the fog. By the fourth, it was gone.

Then he started to hear the screaming. Distant at first, almost like a nagging at the back of his mind. Then louder and more insistent. Otherworldly.

He searched for the source of the screaming, only to discover it was coming from him.

He woke with a start to find the day had already dawned. The sun wasn’t quite at its peak, but it was well on its way. He figured he’d slept at least four or five hours, but he still felt exhausted. Especially when he thought about Ashley. He was convinced he’d failed her. To keep the if-I’d-onlys out of his mind, he began busying himself. He found a sharp machete in the pack and began hacking at the trees along the shoreline to make himself a shelter.

His arms were rubbery from all the paddling he’d done, but somehow, the hacking was cathartic. He started out normally, as if he were just going through the motions, but as he thought about Ashley, Wesley, the elders, and what they’d done, his hacking became more and more forceful. At first, he merely grunted with each swing of the machete, but soon, he was screaming as he took his anger and grief out on the tree. Tears streamed down his face as he hacked relentlessly at the tree, finally allowing himself to consciously think of his friend’s demise, and his loss. Before long, the tree relented and fell to the ground in a rather satisfying heap.

Mason wiped the remnants of his grief off his face and started to cut the branches off, portioning the tree into more manageable pieces. He was hard at work when, out of the blue, he remembered the box.

Dropping the machete next to the fallen tree, he walked over to the canoe and peered inside with caution, feeling instinctively that the object was some kind of Pandora’s Box.

He stared at it, shifting his weight as he considered his options. The shelter needed to be built, but the box lay so silently in the bottom of the canoe, waiting to reveal its secrets. Mason reached into the canoe and retrieved the relic, looking at it with fresh eyes in the evening sunlight.

As he turned it around in his hands, he didn’t notice anything he hadn’t noticed the night before. He’d hoped the sunlight might reveal some hinges, a seam, a lock, or some point of entry, but it still looked seamless.

Setting the box in the sand, he headed back to the fallen tree and retrieved the machete. It was the only real tool he had at his disposal. He knew it would be useless, but thought it was worth a try.

He tapped what he thought was the top of the box with the bottom of the knife’s handle. Nothing. He put the blade near the middle and tried to find a seam. Nothing. Sprinkling sand on the box, he rubbed its side, trying to reveal some kind of marking or flaw. Nothing. He rinsed the box in the sea, hoping that might trigger some kind of reaction. Nothing.

Retrieving his machete, he lay the box on what he thought was its side, and hauled his arm back. He hit the box with all his might, and the reverberations through the knife sent shivers up his arm. But it remained undamaged, refusing to reveal any kind of weak point. He turned it onto a different side and tried again, with the same results.

Undeterred, he spied a rock along the shoreline and carried the box over. He started out softly, but when that had no effect, he put more strength into banging the edge against the rock. When that had no impact, he backed up several paces, ran at the rock, pulled the box back with one hand, and slammed it against the rock with all his might.

He felt the impact shudder through his arms and shook his head in an attempt to dispel the uncomfortable feeling. The poor rock was cracked, and a small piece of it lay on the sand by Mason’s feet, but the box remained unchanged—no scratches, no dents, and no place to open it. The metal didn’t even spark when it made contact with the rock.

Long after the sun had set, he sat on the beach and rubbed his stubbly head out of frustration. He rested the box in his lap, leaving the fallen tree untouched.

If I had some of my tools, I might be able to get into it, he thought. He dug into Ashley’s pack for a ration bar and chewed it while mulling over his options. Without realizing it, he sucked down the last of his fresh water, and cursed himself for not spending the day setting up water traps.

Before he bedded down, he set a few small ones around so he’d have water in the morning. Perhaps some more sleep would clear his mind.

14.

The morning didn’t bring the epiphany Mason had hoped for. The box remained defiantly unchanged.

Rather than eat another ration bar, he took the time to gather some berries and catch a fish for breakfast. As he ate, he pondered again what might be inside the box. Since they’d found it on the mainland, it stood to reason that it could be something important from the time before, something so important that it had been kept in some indestructible container of mystery.

Or was Ashley right? Did the presence of the box mean there were still people somewhere on the mainland? But if so, how did they survive the death fog?

Stranger still, maybe there was nothing inside and it was simply a block of mysterious, indestructible metal, something leftover that the death fog couldn’t consume.

Then a new thought occurred to him. Was the death fog responsible for the apocalypse? Or had it been a byproduct?

He lay back on the sand after finishing the berries and stared up at the sky. It was unusually sunny and warm.

How important is it for me to answer these questions? he wondered. Ashley was gone, but she’d left her questions behind to haunt him.

He could easily stay on the tiny island for the rest of his life, however long that may be. These were questions for people like the elders, for thinkers like Ashley, not for a mere welder like him. But he wasn’t even that anymore, was he? He was his own man, with no responsibilities but the ones he gave himself.

He spent the rest of the day collecting water and working on his shelter. He had something stronger and larger in mind for the long term, but he needed somewhere to sleep in the meantime. Particularly with winter approaching.

All day, he continued to steal sidelong glances at the box, which he left lying on the beach in the sun. He returned to it once and laid his hand on it, expecting the black metal to be hot from exposure to the sun, but it remained oddly cool to the touch.

Maybe an alien race came to earth, wiped everything out, left the death fog behind, and this is part of their ship, he thought. Then he chided himself. That’s a question for more important people, Mason, remember? Don’t let yourself be troubled by such things. It won’t do a bit of good.

But as the days wore on and he began settling into a routine of collecting water and food and working on his shelter, the box sat there untouched, unopened, and unyielding. It nagged at him—a constant pinch at the back of his mind.

By his third day on the small island, he had a stockpile of water. More than enough for him to leave a store of it behind and make a round trip to the island, if that was what he wanted. He pushed the thought away, but it returned as surely as the tide.

If I could just get to my tools, I might find out what’s inside, he thought. But what would I do with that information? The question gave him pause. If it were something important, could he keep it to himself? He supposed that depended on what it was. If it were something bad, like a weapon of mass destruction, he would most certainly keep it to himself. But what if it was the key to returning to the mainland for good? In that case, the elders would have to be told.

He shook his head as the sun set. Nope. He didn’t need that aggravation. The elders were more likely to kill him on sight than they were to listen to anything he had to say, no matter how important. Better to just stay out of it, to stay alone on his tiny island.

But as he hovered between sleep and wakefulness on the morning of the fourth day, he saw Ashley. She sat next to him, just outside his shelter at the edge of the shore. The sun was starting to rise, casting a beautiful array of pinks and purples across the sea.

“So. You haven’t been able to get into the box.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Ah, Captain Obvious. I wondered when you’d show up.”

“Don’t you want to know what’s inside?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Yes and no. I don’t really want the responsibility.”

“And yet. There it is.” She nodded toward the box, still sitting on the beach.

His eyes fluttered open, and the day came into focus around him. He suddenly knew what he had to do.

Meade ate the soup so quickly that Mattli doubted he could even taste it. He did, however, take the time to savor Gwen’s bread. Mattli knew from experience it was soft and had a slightly sweet taste.

“You know, I think there might be some dried meat in this,” Meade said through a mouthful of soup-soaked bread. “You’re really missing out, Elder Mattli.”

“Really? How kind of the Venters to share their meat rations.” Kind… and unusual, Mattli thought. He’d been to their home not two weeks prior and was quite certain they didn’t have any meat rations left.

Meade smacked his lips a few times, a strange look on his face.

“Okay there, Meade?” Mattli eyed him nervously, beginning to regret his decision to let him eat the soup.

“Mmm.” He nodded in confirmation and kept eating.

Mattli considered his options. He couldn’t exactly tell Meade to stop eating when he was only half finished with his meal. Maybe he could suggest that they share dessert, so Meade better save room? But Meade polished off the soup while Mattli was still pondering his options.

By the time he finished, Meade was salivating excessively.

“I’m sorry, Elder Mattli,” he said through his swallows. “I must’ve burned my tongue.” He moved to get up, but he stumbled. Pounding his chest hard, he said, “Whew, that soup isn’t sitting right. Mind if I take a rest on your couch for a bit? I won’t be any trouble. I just need to sit for a moment or two.”

Mattli couldn’t hide the concern on his face. “Certainly, Meade.” He took the other man’s arm and led him to the living room. However, Meade didn’t make it that far. He leaned more and more on Elder Mattli, becoming quite cumbersome for the old man to bear. Eventually, Gwen heard their struggle and came to the rescue, giving them just the boost they needed to make it to the couch.

After helping the stricken man get settled, Mattli said, “Just rest for a moment, my friend. I’ll be right back.”

He turned to his match, and she rose with him, following him to the doorway.

“Gwen, my dear? Elder Meade isn’t doing well, obviously,” he said quietly, hoping his tone didn’t worry her too much. “Would you mind tending him for a moment while I fetch Elder Alkoff?”

The concern was plain on her face. “Of course. Hurry back,” she said.

“Of course.” He hoped he could be back before—

Gwen’s question cut off his thought. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

“I hope so.” He leaned in and kissed his match on the forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

With that, he hurried off to Alkoff’s home.

Mason waited until nightfall to leave. He wanted to benefit from the cover of darkness as much as possible. Given his status as a convicted killer, he would do well not to go traipsing about on the island in broad daylight, promised pardon or not.

He left a fair amount of his supplies on the tiny island. He planned to return, and he wanted to leave room in the canoe so he could bring supplies back with him—food, clothing, tools, and luxury items that would make his solitude easier to bear. The one thing he did bring for his journey was the box, reasoning he might be able to get into it using some of the larger tools he couldn’t transport back to the tiny island. With any luck, he could go there and back without any of the elders finding out.

He wondered if someone else would be living in his home, and if his tools had already been moved. If so, he would have to deal with the complication, he resolved as he launched the canoe and headed for his former home.

It took Mattli too long to get to Alkoff’s home, even by bicycle. The two lived on opposite sides of the island, as was tradition for the head elder and second in command. That way, all the islanders were close to one of them. It was a system that worked out well, until they needed each other. Mattli resolved to brainstorm a faster way of contacting the head elder in emergency situations. Despite the fact that all the elders had bikes to get where they needed to go faster, many of the elders were too old to make good use of them. It wasn’t an effective solution.

After thirty minutes of hard peddling on the rusty old bike, he arrived out of breath. He limped up the front stoop, hoping Meade was still alive. Raising one hand to knock on the door, he braced himself with the other on his knees.

Alkoff answered the door after just a few knocks, looking taken aback to find Mattli hunched over, huffing and puffing.

“James. What in the name of Bennett Ashby are you doing in such a state on my porch?”

“It’s…” He gasped for air, not even wanting to think about the ride back home. “It’s Meade. He’s been poisoned.”

“What?” Alkoff stepped out onto the porch, forcing Mattli to take a weak step back. Then he reached inside his house and grabbed a coat off the hook next to the front door. “Tell me what happened on the way.”

Mattli tried to keep up with Alkoff, but since he’d already made it across the island once in record time, he didn’t have as much energy as the head elder.

“So, you think Donna Venters poisoned Meade? But why?”

“No,” Mattli wheezed. “Just let me catch my breath a moment.” He stopped in the road, trying to slow his pounding heart. Burton’s poison hadn’t gotten him, but the race across the island just might.

Alkoff hesitated a few feet ahead of Mattli, clearly impatient for an explanation.

“Go on ahead. I’ll catch up. Meade needs you.”

“I’m going to stop into the hospital and grab whoever’s working there to help us. I’ll meet you back at your house,” Alkoff said, peddling his own bicycle with a fair amount of speed for a man his age. Mattli shook his head, not sure why he was surprised. Alkoff had always prided himself on his fitness, and he usually ran the island’s trails at least once a day.

Mattli, on the other hand, preferred the comfort of his chair… and now, Meade might pay for his sedentary habits with his life. The anxiety gave him a fresh rush of adrenaline that powered him to pedal a little faster.

Alone with his thoughts by the light of the moon, the full ramifications of the night’s events finally hit him. Burton had tried to kill him. And Mattli had allowed Meade to take his place.

He wasn’t sure if he should be focusing on the assassination attempt or on his own misstep, which could cost another elder his life. The guilt made his feet heavier, and he struggled to continue riding. The urge to weep right there in the middle of the street overwhelmed him.

How had he allowed things to escalate this far? Alkoff had just told him to be on his guard. What had possessed him to let Meade eat the soup? He could’ve just dumped it out, and Burton would’ve been none the wiser. He scoffed at himself, his peddling slowing to just above a crawl. Burton would’ve been perplexed by his plan’s failure, but another attempt surely would’ve followed.

And it still may, he thought. If he’d been willing to risk a first attempt, what was there to prevent him from making another?

The memory of Meade lying on the couch kept Mattli going, although not as quickly as it should’ve. He was tired. Tired of the lies and manipulations, tired of all the plotting, tired of trying to stay one step ahead of the others. He felt like he’d failed everyone miserably.

By the time he arrived at his door, his depression was spiraling out of control. He entered his own home with his head hung low. When he rounded the corner into his living room, he was greeted by silence.

He raised his eyes to see Alkoff seated on the edge of the couch, holding Meade’s hand as he said the last rites prayer. Mattli’s gaze darted to Gwen, who was standing in the doorway a few paces away. She shook her head, her eyes wide with horror, and returned her gaze to Alkoff and Meade.

The doctor stood behind Alkoff, wiping his hands on a towel, scrutinizing his patient closely, his expression dark.

Meade’s breathing had become labored and sporadic. His eyes were closed, drool hanging freely from the corner of his mouth, and his expression continued to bounce between a pained cringe and serene calm.

Mattli knew better than to interrupt the last rites, so he stood in the doorway, reciting them in his head along with Alkoff, as if having two voices might make them louder, truer.

“May the spirit of our savior, Bennett Ashby, lead you home, my dear friend,” Alkoff said in closing.

Mattli approached carefully, not wanting to disturb Meade in the throes of death. “Is there truly nothing we can do?” he murmured.

The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s beyond our reach.”

Alkoff’s expression turned dark. “What happened here? Tell me everything.”

The doctor spoke, sparing Mattli from answering the question for the moment. “I’ve seen this a few times during my term as one of the island’s physicians. Once, during a particularly lean winter, one of the villagers found what he thought were wild carrots and fed them to his family. They all perished. In another instance, a child ate some while wandering in the woods and died in the same manner as Meade.” He removed his steel-framed glasses and wiped them with the towel he held. “What we’re looking at is hemlock poisoning.”

Alkoff turned to Mattli. “How did he get into hemlock?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “I’ll send some orderlies by later to collect the body.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice—probably because Meade was so clearly beyond understanding. “I assume you’ll make funeral arrangements for the morning?”

Alkoff nodded, and the doctor departed to give them privacy. Gwen took his cue, and left the elders to attend to their dying comrade.

Mattli sunk heavily into the chair next to Meade’s head.

“Burton,” he said. “It was Burton. And the poison was meant for me.”

Alkoff still held Mede’s hand as he addressed Mattli. “Those are very serious allegations.”

Mattli nodded. “I know.”

“Start at the beginning.”

So, Mattli told his friend and superior everything. How Meade had showed up at his door with soup that was supposedly from Donna Venters but had been given to him by Burton. How Mattli had offered the soup to Meade because he and Gwen had already eaten. And how quickly Meade had declined once the soup was gone.

Alkoff sighed heavily at the end of the story. “It’s worse than we’d thought,” he said.

Mattli remained quiet for a moment. Eventually, he worked up the courage to say, “I’m sorry, Jim. I’ve failed you in the worst possible way.”

Alkoff rested Meade’s lifeless hand on his chest—he’d passed quietly with no more than a sigh while they were talking. “James, why do you believe you’ve failed me?”

“Meade’s death is my fault. I should have never let him eat the soup. I had a hunch it was laced with something. I hoped it wasn’t something deadly, but I knew it was no good. I should’ve just dumped it out.”

“Suppose you had. Meade would’ve then continued to be Burton’s pawn. He would’ve unwittingly come at you with another scheme.” He sighed sadly, looking at Meade’s now-peaceful face. “Unfortunately, Meade made his own destiny with the strength of his spine.”

A knock at the door announced the arrival of the orderlies, who collected Meade and took him from Mattli’s home. All too quickly for Mattli, the couch where Meade had lain was empty, and he and Alkoff were alone in the living room. Gwen came in quietly, brought the two men some tea, and left them to their discussion once again.

“These long nights are taking their toll,” Mattli said a bit flippantly as he tried to stretch the soreness from his bones.

Alkoff snorted. “Get used to it.”

“What are we to do?”

“We must deal with Burton, but I’m not sure how. We have no proof of what he did. His match might know something, but I doubt she’d tell us.”

“Why not pull him aside and threaten him? Tell him we know what he did, and we’ll be watching him? Scare him into submission? Isn’t that his tactic? Why not use it against him?”

“Knowledge is power. If we give that power to Burton, then what do we have left to use as leverage?”

“So, we do nothing?” Mattli was horrified by the very idea.

“That’s not what I said. We can still use fear against Burton. It’s his favorite tool after all.” Elder Alkoff smiled, indicating he already had a plan in place. “Round up the elders, Mattli. We have a funeral to prepare for.”

15.

Mason’s arms were now well accustomed to the paddling motion, even after a few days off. The moon rose at his back, and he knew he had plenty of time, which was what he needed. He hoped to get into his workshop, retrieve what he needed, open the box, and be back out to sea before sunrise. It was a lofty goal, he knew, but he had to try.

After a few hours, he stopped and surveyed his surroundings. He checked the compass, and then checked the horizon, coming up empty. I should be seeing some sign of the island by now, he thought.

He glanced over his shoulder, noting the moon had made a fair amount of progress in its trek across the night sky since he’d left. He shook his head and forged on.

Too late for doubts, he thought.

When the moon had just about reached its peak, Mason saw a shadow rising from the horizon.

The island, he thought to himself, too afraid to speak the words out loud.

All the elders assembled in Alkoff’s home in the wee hours of the morning.

“You know, Elder Alkoff, these wake-up calls are not overly popular, just in case you got the impression that we enjoyed them,” Lehman said with a grin.

“Duly noted, Elder Lehman,” Alkoff said, no joy in his expression. “I’ve called you here this morning to prepare you for a funeral.”

A collective sigh rang out in the room.

“Who died this time?” Branneth demanded impatiently. “And why are they worth several hours of my sleep?”

Alkoff proceeded without so much as glancing in Branneth’s direction, Mattli noticed. “Some of you may have noted Elder Meade’s absence at this meeting.” He watched as the elders looked around for their missing comrade. Only Burton didn’t bother to do so. He only had eyes for Mattli.

“I’m sorry to say Elder Meade has been killed.” A tense silence fell across the group, and Mattli watched Burton closely. By then, Burton had finally pulled his gaze away from him, but he still made no outward show of emotion, except possibly irritation at having been awoken at such an ungodly hour.

Alkoff met Burton’s eyes. “We don’t yet know who the culprit was, but it’s best if all of you are on your guard. We don’t know why Elder Meade was targeted, but I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of his killer.”

A few of the elders shifted uncomfortably, but Burton didn’t so much as flinch. He stared confidently back at Alkoff, not even blinking to break his gaze.

Lehman was the first to break the silence as everyone struggled to understand the news. “How did this happen?”

“We believe he was poisoned,” Alkoff provided. Mattli never ceased to be amazed by his ability to bait those around him with just enough of the truth that they believed the lie.

“By who?” Lehman persisted.

“As I said, we don’t know.”

“Mason,” Mueller breathed, and everyone in the room turned to him. The color drained from his face, and the look of genuine fear there gave Mattli the chills. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s returned, and he plans to exact his revenge on us one by one! He’s the only known killer left alive on the island.”

Branneth didn’t miss the opportunity to put her I-told-you-so on the table. “I knew it was a mistake to let him live. Now look where it’s gotten us!”

Alkoff raised both hands in an attempt to calm the rising panic in the room. “We’ve no reason to believe Mason is the one responsible. The canoes have not been found, and we’ve had no contact with him since he left.”

“He could’ve hidden the canoes or left them anchored offshore and swum to the island. Honestly, Elder Alkoff, Mason seems like a likely suspect,” Lehman said. “But why would he start with Meade?” She posed the question as if it was more for herself than the others. “Why not start with you, Elder Alkoff, or Elder Mattli? Even Elder Burton would have been a more likely target since he went with Elder Mattli to deliver his amnesty.” She paused, chewing it over. “Something doesn’t fit.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Elder Lehman,” Alkoff said. “Until we have this sorted out, please look for and report any suspicious behavior.” Alkoff looked at Burton again, who stared confidently back. “Rest assured, when the culprit is found, he shall be punished according to the severity of his crimes. His execution will be exceptional, and he will not be privy to the normal courtesies given to a common islander.”

That seemed to give Burton pause. Mattli noticed his eyes narrow, as if he were trying to calculate what Alkoff could mean… and if it were worth the risk.

Alkoff continued. “In the meantime, we must prepare for Meade’s funeral service.”

The elders dispersed to perform their regular funeral duties, when Lehman approached the head elders.

“You know who did this, don’t you?” she asked.

“I have an idea, yes,” Alkoff admitted.

“It wasn’t Mason, was it?”

“No, I don’t believe it was.”

Lehman nodded and turned to leave, but Alkoff had one thing left to say. “Watch your back, Lehman. And don’t trust anyone. Not even the other elders.”

“Doesn’t that include you?”

Alkoff’s gaze remained unwavering as he drove his point home to Elder Lehman. “If I lose your trust in the process of keeping you alive, so be it.”

“I see,” Lehman said. “It’s worse than I thought.” Alkoff didn’t respond, so Lehman cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose I better get to it. The islanders don’t notify themselves of a coming funeral. Although, I wish they would.” She smiled slightly, as if trying to lighten the mood.

Alkoff nodded, and then he and Mattli were left alone. “I didn’t see that coming,” Mattli said.

“What? Mason getting blamed?”

“Yes.”

“People offer the worst kind of variables to the best-laid plans, don’t they?” Alkoff looked off in the distance, staring out of the window into the night sky. The moon had dipped behind the tree line. Morning would soon shake off the last remnants of night, and then they would all have to face the long day ahead.

Mason paddled with new fervor toward the shadowy land mass. He had to get on shore as quickly as possible if he wanted to fulfill all his goals and leave undetected. Closing the distance in record time, he tried to get his bearings.

The moon started dipping toward the western horizon, letting Mason know his time was running short. He paddled ashore, to a deserted little beach north of the docks where they’d departed.

He did his best to drag the canoe onto the sand and hide it near the bushes, hoping no one would discover it in the short time he’d be on the island.

After covering the canoe with some loose brush, he took off toward his old home.

A burst of adrenaline gave him the energy to run across the island. He knew his life was in danger. He had to stay out of sight and get to safety as quickly as possible. The only problem was, he didn’t think he’d find safety anywhere on the island, not even in the shadows.

Being that he was a welder, which put him in the middle of the social scale on the island, his home wasn’t situated near the coast. It took him about forty-five minutes of cutting across backyards and through the woods to reach his house, all of which was spent hoping beyond hope no one else had been moved in yet. The familiar rectangular shadow of his flat-roofed house shot a twinge of homesickness through him—not for the place, but for the time before everything had fallen apart.

Pushing the feeling aside, he approached quietly, keeping to the shadows. No candles were lit inside, but that didn’t mean anything given the hour.

Despite the fact that it was his house, he felt better about sneaking in through the back door than traipsing in through the front. Just as he was about to cut into the backyard, he heard footfalls in the gravel behind him and darted behind a shrub.

“Do you really think Mason Hawkins might have killed Elder Meade? I mean, Meade didn’t really have anything to do with his sentencing. Why start with him?” The voice was nasal, high-pitched for a man, and it could only belong to Mueller.

“Of course it was Hawkins! You saw what he did to Wesley. He probably started with Meade because he’s the weakest link among us. Honestly, I can’t say I’m sorry to see Meade gone. I just wish Wesley were still around to take his place. Then we could have more control over the decisions made around here,” Branneth said with a bit of longing in her voice as she made her way down the road, passing right in front of Mason’s makeshift hiding spot.

“Yes, Wesley would’ve been an asset to us. Who do you think they will get to replace Meade?”

“I don’t know who’s next in line, but hopefully not…” Her voice faded into the distance as they kept walking.

Mason stayed in the bushes until he could no longer hear their footsteps.

What the hell? he thought. This island has more fish-dippers on it than I thought. Why would they think I killed Elder Meade? He took a moment to try and place which one Meade was. Non-threatening, which was unusual for the elders. He had always come across as a bit cowardly in Mason’s opinion. So who had killed him, and why? And why were they blaming it on Mason?

Regret crept up the back of his throat and tasted a lot like bile as he stared at the back door to his old home, and debated going inside. If he turned back now, he could make it back to his tiny island undetected. He’d kicked the hornet’s nest by coming back, but it wasn’t too late to escape.

Ashley’s voice in the back of his mind spurred him on. “Don’t you dare turn back,” she said. “I want to know what’s in that box. You owe it to me.”

He sucked in a breath and climbed the front stoop of his old house.

16.

As quietly as he could, he turned the knob on the front door. His tools were all in the garage. If he could just get in there, he could work on opening the box. But first, he needed to know if the house was occupied.

He pulled the gun out of the pack, shaking his head. Was he really prepared to shoot someone who was completely innocent, whose only crime was living in a home the elders had assigned to them? He frowned and strode inside with renewed purpose. If threatened, he would do what was necessary.

He crept through the house, cringing every time a board squeaked beneath his shoe. At the top of the stairs, he bumped into an end table, and then silently cursed himself for never moving it. He’d bumped into that same table countless times.

All the doors upstairs were open, and he poked his head into each room, finding them all dark and unoccupied. He was starting to relax when he poked his head into the last room and caught movement out of the corner of his eye. His whole body tensed as he froze in his tracks, scanning for the movement again.

“Who’s there?” he called, taking a risk.

No one answered, so he whipped around, aiming his gun into the darkness. He risked lowering his guard enough to dig through the pack for the flashlight. He’d already revealed himself by talking, so a light wouldn’t make it any worse. He saw the movement again and switched on the flashlight just in time to catch it. Shining it across the room, he discovered an open window blowing the curtain, nothing more. Extinguishing the flashlight, he took a deep breath and headed back downstairs so he could get to work.

Lehman was making the rounds, fulfilling her unpleasant duty of waking people up so they could be ready for the morning’s funeral. Most residents knew what to expect when they heard a knock in the wee morning hours, but some of them were better at hiding their irritation than others.

She knocked on Mason’s neighbor’s door—well, she supposed they were Mason’s former neighbors, since the convict hadn’t been heard from in days, despite Mueller’s wild conspiracy theories. Lehman shook her head as she waited for the door to be answered. Mueller was an idiot, looking to place blame.

“Ah, Elder Lehman, what can I do for you?” Herbert Bowden was a stocky man, despite the island’s strict rationing system. Lehman thought the man’s job of tallying the rations no doubt contributed to his physique. It was one of the most stagnant jobs on the island. Maybe with a bit more activity, he’d be trimmer, Lehman speculated.

“Unfortunately, I’ve come to inform you of a funeral in the morning. Elder Meade has died. Please dress accordingly to show the proper respect to a fallen elder.”

“Of, of course. I…” Herbert stumbled on his words, shocked at the news. Lehman knew the man wanted to ask what happened. But none of them ever did, none of them except Ashley.

After a few moments, Herbert finally found his words. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Elder Lehman.”

“Thank you. I will see you in a few hours.”

Herbert nodded, and Lehman turned to leave. As she walked down the gravel walkway, something caught her eye. A light. Just as quickly as she’d seen it, it was gone, but she could swear it had come from the front upstairs room in Mason’s old home. No one had been assigned to live there yet, as the elders were still waiting to see if he returned. A couple of kids had probably dared each other to sit in the murderer’s home overnight and see who would chicken out first.

Lehman sighed heavily as she trudged up the walkway to Mason’s door, letting go of the hope that she could skip this home. She didn’t even knock. She just turned the handle and walked in, confident that she’d resolve the problem quickly and move on to the next house.

Mason was just about to step into the garage when he heard someone at the front door.

Shit, he thought, freezing in his spot, half way between the kitchen and the garage.

“Who’s in here?” a voice called. It was deep but carried a definite tone of femininity, which could only mean one person.

“Look kids, I know you’re in here. Come out now and I won’t tell the other elders you were here.”

Lehman. It was worse than he’d thought. He couldn’t just stumble on a run-of-the-mill islander. That would’ve been too easy to deal with. It had to be an elder.

Lehman made her way up the stairs, making no attempt to be quiet. Mason thought he might be able to slip out of the front door, right behind Lehman’s back. He tore himself away from the garage, so close to his goal, and turned toward the living room and the front door. As he crept across the house, a telltale board squeaked beneath his weight.

“So, you’re back downstairs now, are you?” Lehman was halfway up the stairs when she turned and spotted a figure much larger than a kid in the living room just below her.

“Identify yourself,” she demanded.

“Good to see you, Elder Lehman.”

“Mason,” Lehman breathed, clearly shaken.

The two stared at each other for a few beats. Finally, Lehman’s curiosity broke the silence. “What are you doing, sneaking around your own home?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I bet it is. You’d better come with me.”

Going with Lehman was the last thing Mason wanted to do, but he saw no way around it. Lehman seemed to be a levelheaded elder, and Mason had no desire to kill her, let alone draw such attention to himself by firing the gun in the dead of night.

Despite Lehman’s levelheadedness, Mason didn’t trust her enough to tell her about the box. Anyway, he couldn’t even be sure there was anything to tell. He turned and looked longingly at the garage, feeling so close yet so far.

“Something you need before we go?” Lehman asked.

“No. Not anymore. Let’s go.”

Once outside, Lehman wasn’t sure how to navigate back to Alkoff’s home. She certainly couldn’t walk openly in the street like she had been doing, not with a convicted killer in tow.

“How exactly did you get this far into the island without being seen?” Lehman asked.

“Very carefully.”

“Indeed,” Lehman said, wishing he’d be a little more compliant, but understanding his reticence. “All right, well, come this way, I suppose.”

She’d already woken up all the houses between there and Alkoff’s home, so she was taking a risk by slinking along so close to their houses. But she thought it was preferable to walking openly in the street. Mason was plainly dressed, so he’d never pass as another elder, not even in the darkness.

They continued to dart from house to house, bush to bush, tree to tree until they arrived at Alkoff’s home.

17.

Mattli and Alkoff were sitting in silence in the living room when Alkoff’s match cleared her throat. She was a beautiful woman who’d aged well. Her silver hair hung just below her shoulders, thick and healthy, and she had an enchanting voice, one that charmed Mattli no matter how hard he resisted. His own match was perfectly kind and loving toward him. He didn’t need to fawn over Saraphina, and yet, he felt an attraction to her he couldn’t entirely control.

“Sorry to interrupt you boys. Elder Lehman is here to see you, and she has a guest.”

Mason braced himself for his fate as he stepped into the living room. If they thought he’d killed Meade, he’d undoubtedly be executed. And since Meade was already an elder, the punishment would be fierce and inescapable. Regret left a bitter taste in his mouth. He should have stayed on the small island and ignored the call of the box.

Finally, Alkoff spoke. “Elder Lehman, thank you for bringing Mr. Hawkins to us. Where did you find him?”

“In his home.”

“Of course. Where else would he have been?” Alkoff said with a smirk. “You’re free to go, Elder Lehman. I assume you have a few more doors to knock on? Oh, and I’ll thank you for your discretion on this matter, not only with the islanders, but with the other elders as well.”

“Of course.” Lehman nodded and left Mason alone in the living room, facing his possible executioners.

After a few moments of tense silence, Mattli spoke. “You’re alone?” The disappointment in his voice was thick and obvious.

“Yes,” Mason said without budging from the doorway, too afraid of what was inside to go closer, but too afraid of what was outside to run away. Trapped, he thought.

Alkoff gestured toward the chair closest to Mason. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell us what happened?”

He remained rooted to his spot. “Why do you think I killed Elder Meade?”

“We don’t think you killed Elder Meade. In fact, I’m quite sure you didn’t,” Elder Alkoff answered.

“Okay, let me rephrase. Why do Elders Branneth and Mueller think I killed Elder Meade? I overheard them while they were walking in the streets.”

Mattli rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Because they are dimwitted twits, that’s why.”

Alkoff cleared his throat. “What Elder Mattli means is that Elder Meade’s death was rather sudden. There was some disagreement among the elders in regards to your amnesty, and some speculated that you could be responsible for Meade’s death. Elder Mattli didn’t mean to imply that the people who are entrusted to lead this island are incapable.”

Mattli looked like he’d been slapped on the wrist with a wooden ruler. He stared at his feet. “No, certainly that’s not what I intended.”

Alkoff nodded. “Be that as it may, you are not in danger here, Mason. We know you’re innocent. Please, have a seat and tell us of your travels.”

Relief washed over Mason as he sank into the chair.

Saraphina popped her head into the room. “Excuse me, dear, Elder Mattli, but we should leave now, if we’re to be on time for the ceremony.”

Alkoff nodded. “Of course, my love. Go on ahead, and we’ll meet you there soon, I promise.” She smiled and headed to Meade’s funeral on her own.

“Perhaps an abridged version until we have time to go into more detail?” Alkoff said.

Mason thought for a moment. “What can I tell you? We made it to the mainland. It’s still there by the way, but it isn’t remotely habitable. That’s the meat of it, I suppose.” And Ashley was eaten by the death fog, and we found a strange mystery box made of indestructible metal. He chose to keep those tidbits to himself, for the moment at least. Information was the only form of leverage he had.

Alkoff sighed. “That is unfortunate.” He looked at Mattli with tired eyes, and a moment of understanding must have passed between the two of them because he nodded before turning back to Mason. “Why don’t you get some rest? Help yourself to any food you’d like. We need to send Elder Meade on his way. When we return, there will be much to discuss.”

The elders rose to leave, and Mason rose too, out of respect.

“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t know why they were being so kind to him, but he’d take what he could get.

Alkoff walked on ahead, but Mattli stayed behind for a moment. “Mason, I don’t think I need to tell you to wait here for us. It’s not safe for you to travel around town on your own. At least, not yet.”

Mason nodded reluctantly, and Mattli followed the head elder out of the door. Once he was alone, Mason went to the window and watched as the sun turned the sky a telltale pink. He shook his head, resigned to his fate. Going back to the island had been a mistake, but he’d have to make the best of it and try not to get himself killed in the process.

The two elders walked toward the funeral pyre side by side, hands folded inside their robes to keep out the cool morning air.

“An interesting development, don’t you think?” Alkoff asked.

“Mmm,” was the only response Mattli could form. If Mason had returned alone, and the mainland was ‘uninhabitable,’ it could only mean that Ashley was—

Alkoff cut his thoughts short. “What should we do?”

“You’re asking me?”

“I’d like to know your thoughts.”

Then it hit him. He nearly tripped—the idea was so perfectly brilliant. “There’s an opening among the elders.”

A smile made its way across one side of Alkoff’s face. “Yes. Yes, there is.”

The offer of food was too tempting for Mason to ignore. He happily raided Alkoff’s stores and was tempted to fill his pack, but he resisted the urge. Being an elder, Alkoff had many options Mason wouldn’t have had even in the summer months when food was plentiful. Things like dried meats, fresh bread, cookies, and other baked treats lined the shelves. Mason wanted to take one of each, but he opted for healthier options, given the recent state of his diet. The last thing he needed was to overindulge and make himself sick.

He grabbed a package of dried meat and some bread, and then went to the kitchen to get himself a cup of water. As he pumped the water into his cup, he chewed the meat. It was salty and divine on his tongue. He tried to savor it, but his empty stomach cried out for sustenance.

Once his belly was full, he returned to the living room and lay down on the couch. He slept like the dead, and that was how they found him.

Lehman was the first to walk in for the meeting Alkoff had requested, followed closely by Burton. Branneth had stayed behind with a few of the others to help disassemble the pyre while Alkoff and Mattli took care of Meade’s body. Even Lehman didn’t know what those duties entailed. Only the head elder and second in command were burdened with that task. And as far as Lehman was concerned, they could have it.

Lehman groaned inwardly when she saw Mason asleep on the couch. She’d hoped they would have stowed him somewhere slightly more private in advance of their arrival. Even a bedroom would’ve been better than the couch in front of Ashby and everyone. Lehman stopped walking when she entered the room, and Burton nearly collided with her.

“What the hell is your problem?” he demanded, sidestepping Lehman.

He followed Lehman’s gaze to the couch and burst out laughing. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” He sat in the chair next to the couch, a wide smile stretching across his face.

Mason sat up quickly. Burton was the last elder he wanted anywhere near him, regardless of whether or not the man believed the rumors about Meade’s death. If public suspicion of Mason benefited Burton at all, he’d fan that fire as much as he could.

Lehman crossed the room quickly and sat down on the couch next to Mason, providing a buffer between the two men.

Mason eyed the elder next to him, not sure where her allegiances were. He moved down the couch, as far from the two elders as he could get.

“So, Mason. Tell us about your journey,” Burton said through his Cheshire Cat smile.

“I’d rather wait until all the elders are here, particularly Elder Alkoff. No need to tell it twice.”

The smile faded, and he reached out to strike Mason, but Lehman caught his arm. The action threw Burton off balance enough to stop him. “Elder Burton! Are you all right? What’s come over you? You nearly fell out of your chair.”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“I see. I assumed something had befallen you, since I know you wouldn’t dream of striking a man who’s been granted amnesty by you and your colleagues.”

Burton rounded on Lehman, who stood to meet him, their faces mere inches from each other. “Choose which side you’re on carefully, Lehman. I’d hate to see you follow in poor Meade’s footsteps.”

Lehman didn’t back down. “Are you threatening me?”

Mason watched the exchange silently, learning more about the two elders in front of him in that moment, than he’d learned from a lifetime of living on the island with them. He was studying them so closely that he didn’t even see Mattli come into the room.

“No need to rise on my account. Perhaps you both should take a seat before the other elders return and they’re all gone.”

Lehman cleared her throat, but she didn’t back down. Burton hesitated for a moment, and then returned to his seat across from Mason. Lehman followed in kind, sitting back down on the couch.

“I see you’ve greeted our guest,” Mattli said, moving further into the room, but not sitting down just yet.

Neither of the elders responded, so he turned to Mason. “I trust you found something to eat?”

The tension in the room choked any words from Mason’s mouth, so he simply nodded.

“Good. Elder Alkoff and the others will be along shortly. There is much to discuss.”

Mattli kept his tone strong and confident, but he hoped Alkoff wasn’t too far behind him. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep the volatile group under control.

Thankfully, Alkoff and the others didn’t keep them waiting long. Alkoff was the next to come in, followed closely by the rest.

Branneth was deep in conversation with Mueller when she glanced up and spotted Mason on the couch. “There’s the murderer!” she shouted. “Wandered right into the lion’s den! Seize him!”

All eyes turned to Mason, whose own eyes were wide with fear.

“No one is seizing anyone,” Alkoff said calmly.

“What? But he killed Elder Meade,” Branneth insisted.

“No, he didn’t.”

Branneth turned to Mattli, who shook his head, confirming Alkoff’s assertion. Their denials heated her rage to the boiling point.

“This is an outrage!” she shouted. “Mason is a convicted killer. We all know what he’s capable of… and besides, he has motive.”

Mason glared at Branneth. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Alkoff held up his hand. “Now, now. There’s no need to get upset. Mr. Hawkins is innocent of crimes against Elder Meade. I know this to be true. He has only just now returned from his journey, after Meade’s untimely death. He has fulfilled his end of the bargain, so we shall uphold ours.” He paused, letting that sink in.

Silence descended upon the room like a shroud. Alkoff continued once he was certain he had everyone’s attention. “Now, we’re left to figure out what Mason’s role on the island should be moving forward. Elder Mattli and I have come up with a good solution. Unfortunately, this decision is not negotiable.”

The elders muttered among themselves, trying to guess what Alkoff’s decision would be.

Burton smiled to himself, knowing wherever Mason was placed, the islanders would most likely kill him. He could easily spread the rumor that Mason was responsible for Meade’s death. The islanders would believe it. Perhaps the power of rumors could also be put to use in taking down his remaining enemies…

Alkoff cleared his throat, regaining the attention of the room. “As there is an opening among us, and the next boy in line is a bit young as of yet, Mr. Hawkins will take Meade’s place as an elder.”

An outcry rose among the elders, and Mason’s head spun with shock and confusion. An elder? It was too much for him. He should have stayed behind on the island, where he wouldn’t have anyone to deal with but himself.

He didn’t want to get tangled up with the likes of the elders. He much preferred the company of metal pipes than the manipulative lot that surrounded him.

He held up his hands, and the room fell quiet. “While I appreciate the gesture, Elder Alkoff, I’m afraid I’d like to pass. Surely, there’s a better place for me than among your ranks. My family is not important, I’m no better educated than the average islander, and I’ve got a terribly foul temper. I have no business being an elder.”

“There, he said it himself,” Branneth piped up. “He has no business being an elder. And he’s right. He hasn’t had the first bit of training, and knows nothing about the work it takes to hold such a high position.” She puffed up her chest and looked down her nose at Mason as she said it.

“Thank you for your opinion on the matter, Elder Branneth. Next time, I will ask for it if I’m interested,” Alkoff said with raised eyebrows.

Branneth’s expression turned sour.

“Mr. Hawkins, or shall I say Elder Hawkins, unfortunately, even you do not have a say in this decision. We feel that you will be safest among the elders. Particularly given the knowledge you’ve acquired on your journey.”

The meeting had been so stressful and surprising that Mason had nearly forgotten the mainland and everything that had happened there.

Ashley.

Mueller spoke up. “So, what did you learn on your journey? How far did you get before you dealt with our little problem?”

Boiling with rage, Mason leaped up and moved toward Mueller, but Alkoff’s deep voice rang out before it could go very far. “Elder Hawkins will debrief with Elder Mattli and I once this meeting is adjourned.”

So, there are secrets even among the elders, Mason thought.

He scanned the room. No one approved of this new development, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he would survive among such a discordant, perplexing group. Despite the fact that his friend had infected him with the desire to know more… to be more, he was a simple man at heart. Still, he trusted Alkoff. He wondered what Ashley would’ve said about it all. Probably would’ve knocked him down a peg or two before his head could get too puffed up about his suddenly elevated status.

One of the last to speak, Lehman took her turn to voice her opinion. “Elder Alkoff, I can see your reasoning behind this decision, but certainly you can see the dissention it’s causing among the elders. If the elders start a civil war among themselves over your choice, how can our circle be the safest place for Mason?”

Alkoff’s voice turned stone cold. “We are the ninth generation of elders and island dwellers. As such, it is our responsibility now, as ever, to maintain our way of life.

“There will not be a civil war over this. If any of you feel that strongly about my decision, I release you from your duties. I waive the usual penalties for leaving the elders. You will not be held accountable, nor will you face punishment. In fact, I will be happy to find you a quieter post on the island.”

Burton snorted as Alkoff’s eyes scanned the room, taking particular time to scrutinize Branneth and Mueller. “Would anyone care to take me up on my generous offer?”

It was so quiet that the men could hear the sounds of their breathing.

“Fine. I will not have fighting among my elders. As head elder, my will is yours. No questions asked. Up until now, I’ve tried to be generous and flexible with you all, taking your own wishes into account while providing the islanders with fair and just governing. Know that the decisions I make are always in the best interest of the island.” He looked straight at Burton. “As islanders and elders of the island, that should be your priority as well.” He paused for a moment, giving them time to absorb his words.

“This meeting is adjourned,” he said, but none of the elders moved. They were all too stunned.

Sensing the need for someone to move things along, Mattli stepped in to intervene. “Elder Branneth, would you mind checking on the fishermen? I’m afraid they might be having difficulties without Ashley’s services.”

Branneth frowned, nodded, and departed, followed closely by the other elders.

They filed out one by one until Mattli, Alkoff, and Mason were left alone once again.

“That went well,” Mattli said.

“All right, Elder Hawkins, now’s your chance. Tell us about the mainland.”

18.

The head elders held their breath as they waited for Mason’s story.

He looked at their faces and couldn’t understand why they seemed so excited to hear what he had to say. Didn’t they know what it was like out there? If they did know of the horrors out there, it would explain why they kept their secrets so closely. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat on the couch.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning? How long did it take to get to the mainland?” Elder Mattli asked. “I assume you allowed Ashley to make it there?”

Mason hesitated, wondering how much of the truth he should tell them. “Ashley and I made it to the mainland, yes.” He paused, thinking of Ashley and her unabashed joy at being right. “She was right all along, and you knew it, didn’t you?”

Their expressions didn’t change.

He sighed, feeling defeated in more ways than one. “You sent me to make sure Ashley didn’t come back. Turns out the mainland rendered me useless.”

Mattli’s face fell. “The mainland isn’t habitable.” He echoed Mason’s earlier words back quietly, letting them hang in the air between them.

“There is something out there. Something far worse than the monsters that walk among you elders.”

“So, we have lost the last of the descendants,” Mattli whispered.

“I’m sorry?” Mason asked.

Mattli didn’t look into Mason’s dark eyes. He stared straight ahead, not seeing the room or the people inside. “Ashley was the last of Bennett Ashby’s line. Do you remember how her father’s name was Ashley, and his mother before him? Ashley was a name used only for Ashby’s descendants. He chose it specifically, as a last connection to his daughter.”

“How do you know all of this?” Mason asked, stupefied. All the times she’d been given special treatment, and the fact that she’d been matched with a potential elder, all started to make sense.

“Only some things were lost with the passage of time,” Mattli said, a hint of sadness in his voice, although Mason wasn’t sure if it was for Ashley or for their lost knowledge.

Alkoff turned and stared out of the window. “So, we can’t return after all,” he said quietly, and even though Mason didn’t know him very well, he could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“That’s why you sent me, isn’t it? To find out what was there? Not to make sure Ashley wouldn’t return?”

Mattli’s voice was thick with sadness. “We both knew Ashley wouldn’t return, even if the mainland was safe. She didn’t belong here. We hoped she could head the colonization efforts.”

“You could’ve told us that. It would have saved us a lot of stress,” Mason said, tiring of their secrets.

Neither of the elders responded.

“Well, I suppose the thing about secrets is holding onto them until the timing is right, huh?” His voice was thick with disgust.

Alkoff didn’t avert his gaze from the window. “Tell us what happened. What did you see?”

“Nothing, at first. Just a wasteland of gray sand. There are no trees, no buildings, and no wildlife. Nothing. I’m not sure how far inland we walked before we bedded down for the night. Not far, less than five miles, I’d say. The sky was clear and the moon was full, allowing for a fair amount of light. I fell asleep after Ashley did, but a sound woke me up. We hadn’t been sleeping long, so I scanned our surroundings for some sign of life, something that could have been responsible for the sound. Off in the distance, I spotted a strange cloud. No, cloud implies too much substance. It was more of a translucent fog. I thought I was seeing things at first. But it advanced on us rapidly. I blinked once, and it was one hundred yards closer. Again, and it was almost upon us. And then I heard her screaming.” He stopped his tale, hoping he didn’t need to go on.

“And that’s it,” he said after a moment. “I hightailed it out of there, made it back to the canoe, and somehow managed to find my way back here.” He shrugged, not wanting to talk about it anymore. The box weighed heavily in his pack. But something held his tongue.

Mattli cut off his thoughts. “From what I can tell, you’ve only given us a day and a half, maybe two days’ worth of your story. You’ve been gone for almost six. Where were you for the other four?”

Mason hesitated, not wanting to tell them about his new home. He felt like revealing it would mean sentencing himself never to return. But maybe he was past the point of no return already. “I found a small island. I was…” He hesitated, not wanting to give them a reason to ask more questions. “I was recuperating on it. The last few days have been a lot to handle.”

“Yes. I suspect they were,” Mattli said, seemingly satisfied with Mason’s answer.

Alkoff dragged his gaze away from the window. “It’s as we’ve feared.”

“Or worse,” Mattli said.

“What do you mean? You knew about this?” Mason asked, wondering just how deep the elders’ secrets went.

Alkoff turned to Mason. “I think it’s time you learned about the island’s dead, Elder Hawkins.”

19.

The elders took Mason to the pyre. It was broad daylight, so people stared, but Mason was flanked by the two head elders. No one dared to stop them or say anything.

The elders had already disassembled the pyre, and there was no trace of the morning’s ceremony. Alkoff and Mattli stopped when they reached the piled parts of it.

“As you know, this is where the bodies are set out. Since you built this particular pyre, you know how it comes apart, allowing two elders to carry the body away,” Alkoff explained. “Away to where, you may wonder.” He turned and walked into the woods behind the pyre.

Actually, Mason had never wondered about what became of the dead after the ceremony. Ashley was the one with that particular curiosity. She’d wanted to stay with her dad after his funeral. The elders had forcibly carried her away as tears coursed down her face. Mason had tried to tell her they weren’t punishing her—this was just how things had always been done. She’d shouted back that she’d like to see if he still felt that way after someone he loved died.

He felt a pang of… he didn’t really know what. Ashley had been the only person he really cared about. He’d watched her die and still didn’t know what had become of her. It had brought him no peace to see her body disposed of in such a horrific manner.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the narrow path he walked with the elders—one in front and one behind.

They stopped walking suddenly, and Alkoff turned to look at Mason. “Elder Hawkins, it’s important for you to understand something. Up until today, only the two head elders have ever gone past this point. After a funeral service, there are elders who are assigned to carry the body to here.” He gestured to a large, flat rock. “Elder Mattli and I then take the body to its final resting place.”

“What makes you think I’m special enough to be told such sensitive information?” Mason asked, skeptical about their intentions.

“Because of what you’ve seen.” Mattli said it like it was as plain as the nose on his face.

“But I don’t even know what I saw.”

“You will,” Alkoff said, making Mason even more uneasy.

“Look, I’m uncomfortable with all of this. Maybe an ignorance-is-bliss approach would be better?” Alkoff seemed to be ignoring him as he and Mattli moved some brush aside, revealing a large, wooden door in the ground.

“I mean, won’t sharing these secrets with me create more hostility among the other elders?” He eyed the door. Although he’d lived on the island all his life without knowing the door was there, that was not what he was thinking about. He was focused on what was beyond it… and what they planned to do with him once he was on the other side.

“Come, Elder Hawkins,” Mattli said. “It’s something you must see, if you want to understand what happened to Ashley.”

Did he want to understand? He wasn’t sure how understanding could help. Perhaps it would only make the whole situation more horrifying.

Alkoff poked his head out of the hole in the ground. “Are you coming? This isn’t the type of place I’d like to spend my whole day in.”

“You’re not exactly encouraging me to follow you down there.”

Alkoff nodded, the side of his mouth tipping into an almost smile. “Duly noted. I’ll tell you what. The sooner we go inside and show you around, the sooner we can go topside and put this whole thing behind us.”

That seemed encouraging. But a lot of things seemed encouraging. Like the sight of the mainland rising out of a seemingly endless ocean.

Mattli held out his arm toward the door. “After you.”

Mason frowned and followed Alkoff down into the darkness.

A ladder at the mouth of the opening led deep down into the heart of the island. Alkoff was already at the bottom, lighting sconces lining the walls with a flint. It was a round room, with a door to one side.

“As you know, Bennett Ashby was our savior. He found this island and led our ancestors here so they would be spared from the apocalypse. He also created The Dead Room.” He gestured around him.

“Technically, isn’t that the dead room?” Mattli pointed to the door on the far end.

Alkoff eyed him, but he kept talking. “Everything down here is part of the dead room. Elder Hawkins, this is where the dead go. They are not thrown out to sea to feed the creatures who live there. They are not burned, and we certainly don’t have enough land to have buried so many people over the last few centuries.”

Mason was confused. Save for the sconces on the wall and the door at the far end, the room was empty. “Help me out here. I don’t see any skeletons or bodies. If this is where the dead go, where are they?”

“Elder Mattli, if you would please?” He gestured toward the door.

Mason examined it more closely. It was large and heavy looking, and it seemed to be made of the same metal as the mysterious box. It had a sophisticated lock on it, which Mason would have loved to examine more closely, given the chance. Elder Mattli removed a key from around his neck and inserted it into the small dial in the center of the door. Then he turned the dial left, right, and left again, moving too quickly for Mason to see the combination. He reached for the giant sprocket handles radiating out from the center of the door and turned them with some effort.

Mason moved to help him, but Alkoff held out a hand. With a loud clunk, Mattli drove the locking mechanism home, and the door swung open much more easily than Mason had expected it would. Seizing his opportunity, he moved forward and examined the door more closely.

“What kind of metal is this? It seems so strong, yet it’s light. How is it made?”

Alkoff smiled in earnest, for the first time in days. “We’re down here in the dead room, and this is what you’re interested in? The door?”

“Well! Look at it.” He ran his hand along the smooth surface, expecting it to be cool to the touch, like the surrounding air in the dank space. It wasn’t, but it wasn’t hot either—it was simply normal room temperature, which puzzled him further. The box acted the same way, never absorbing the elements around it.

“Bennett Ashby built the dead room before bringing refugees to the island. We don’t know if he worked in cooperation with the island’s residents to build it or if he did it in secret. We do know he developed the metal to contain what we keep in here. Unfortunately, he couldn’t develop enough of it in time to save more of humanity… or, for that matter, himself,” Alkoff explained.

“But what is it?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Perhaps you, being the metalsmith, would be better equipped to tell us.” Alkoff urged Mason into the room. “Please, let us continue the tour. If you’d like, you can take some time to analyze the door later.”

Behind the door, a similarly sized and shaped room greeted them. Mattli skirted the walls, lighting the sconces therein with a torch from the other room.

Mason counted all the torches in the small space. Nine total. He wondered if there was one for each elder, or if that was a coincidence. “Why aren’t we suffocating from smoke down here? There are an awful lot of lit torches.”

“For someone who never asked a lot of questions before, you certainly are making up for lost time,” Mattli said.

“We use a grass that doesn’t smoke for these torches. It only grows near the opening of the door, and we harvest it sparingly.”

“Grass that doesn’t smoke? Never heard of it. Another of Ashby’s saving graces?”

“Perhaps. I never gave it much thought. We simply don’t want to overharvest it. It’s paramount for the dead room to remain in full working order.”

“Why? You could always use kinetic flashlights down here instead. And heck, if things really went south with the dead room, you could toss the bodies into the sea or burn them. That seems like an obvious solution. Why work so hard to keep this place in tip-top shape?” Mason persisted. None of this was adding up, at least not yet. “Also, I’m still not seeing any bodies.”

“The dead room was one of Ashby’s wishes for those on the island.” Alkoff didn’t elaborate. Mason wondered if he’d reached the limit of the secrets he was allowed to know, or if Alkoff himself didn’t know the true importance of the dead room.

Mattli addressed another aspect of his suggestion. “We don’t burn the bodies because the island is relatively small, and its trees are finite. Burning them seems wasteful, don’t you think?”

Mason shrugged and scanned the room. A single long table sat off to one size, and the walls and floor appeared to be lined with the same dark metal as the door… and his box. He returned his gaze to the table again, spotting a box on top of it. It was just like the one hiding in his pack.

Curiosity overwhelmed him and he went to the box automatically, as if his feet had a will of their own. “What is this?” he asked, holding up the box, turning it in the dim light. It was smaller than his box, with slightly different dimensions. He continued to turn it over in his hand, hoping it would reveal the secrets of his own box.

Alkoff eyed the box, a healthy amount of respect for whatever was inside reflected in his eyes. “That is the key to the dead room. And the key to the apocalypse.”

Mason dropped the box like it had suddenly turned white hot. It made a loud clang when it hit the metal floor. Mason shrank back, hoping he hadn’t unleashed the apocalypse on them by dropping it.

Mattli retrieved the box and carefully checked it for damage, then gingerly returned it to its resting place on the table at the far end of the room.

“Care to elaborate on the apocalypse box?” Mason addressed the question to the room, hoping at least one of them would answer.

Mattli leaned against the table, the box resting between his hands. “We know neither where they originated nor what their original purpose was. We only know the result. We live every day in the reality they have shaped.”

“They?” Mason asked.

“The nanobots.” He said it simply, as if that one word would explain everything.

“Nanobots?” Mason said it slowly, trying hard to comprehend its meaning.

“Robots too small for the naked eye to see individually,” Alkoff answered, coming further into the room to stand by Mason’s side.

“Robots,” Mason said, still unable to come to grips with what they were saying. “Robots were responsible for the apocalypse? Tiny robots turned the mainland to ash?”

Neither elder responded. While Mason tried to make the pieces fit, something occurred to him. “So, what do tiny robots have to do with the island’s dead? Or what’s in that box?”

Alkoff looked at the younger man thoughtfully, knowing how difficult it had to be for him to comprehend this new information. He’d been older than Mason when the head elder had explained everything to him. But a few extra years had done little to prepare him for the shocking news. He knew how Mason was feeling.

“The nanobots somehow grew out of control. They are what killed Ashley on the mainland. If there are enough of them—and by enough, I mean millions—they can be seen by the naked eye as a sort of haze. They can consume anything, and they are indiscriminant in their tastes. Flesh, bone, metal, cement, plant, animal, you name it. Nothing can withstand them. Nothing except for this metal developed by Ashby.”

Mattli gestured to the box and continued Alkoff’s explanation. “The box holds three nanobots, or so we were told by the ancestors. Obviously, we can’t see them. They are used to destroy our dead.”

And that was that. The end of the world, all wrapped up in a little black box.

20.

Burton walked back to his home filled with glee. The situation was playing out even better than he’d imagined. He wouldn’t need Branneth or Mueller to help him carry out his deeds.

All the better, he thought. He didn’t like owing debts to others, much preferring it when others owed debts to him. It would make for an ideal scenario once he was in charge. Branneth and Mueller would be the perfect lackeys, only asking how high when he said jump.

He almost laughed at his foolishness when he thought about his failed attempt to take care of Mattli. He should’ve known better than to try and force the issue. Timing was everything. And the timing would never be more perfect.

He was so close that he could almost taste it. Just two insignificant lives to remove from the picture, and the island would be his.

“So, you have the thing that brought down modern civilization in that tiny box? What are you thinking? Those things could kill everything you’re supposedly working so hard to protect.”

Alkoff waited for Mason’s voice to stop bouncing off the metal walls before he replied. “We were instructed by the ancestors to maintain this room and use it for its intended purpose.”

“So you cling to the old ways, even though they might mean our downfall? Are you so eager to see history repeat itself?” Mason challenged.

“To be fair, there are only three of them. It would take them a great deal of time to destroy the island,” Alkoff offered.

“Great. Slow and painful. I know that’s how I want to go,” Mason said, trying to think of a way out of all of this, wishing he could travel back in time four days to when Ashley was still alive and he was just a welder. That was all he’d ever wanted to be, not some special elder privy to horrors that only two other people knew about.

Mattli joined the men in the middle of the room and placed a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Mason,” he said, “these robots are the key to the world’s undoing, but they also are the key to its rebirth. If they are still so prevalent on the mainland, as you say, the only way to overcome them is to understand them.”

That gave Mason pause. “You think we can learn to overcome them?”

“It’s something the elders have been working on for centuries,” Alkoff said.

“So, in other words, no.”

“Maybe not us. But someone, someday, will figure it out, and they will take our people back to the mainland. If we can learn to overcome the three contained within the box, perhaps we can use that knowledge to take back our home. The dead room is the key to making that happen,” Mattli said

“We’d hoped the nanobots had destroyed themselves by now,” Alkoff added, “or that they would have ceased to exist once there was nothing left for them to consume. We knew Ashley would have no reason to return to the island if she found something better, which is why we sent you after her. Our hope was that you would return to tell us it was safe to return, rebuild, and start new lives.” His voice turned sad. “Unfortunately, it seems there’s no easy way out.”

Mason chuckled. “If that was the easy way, I’d hate to see your definition of the hard way.”

Silence reigned in the room for a few moments, and the memory of Ashley’s horrible last moments came back to Mason. “So, how exactly do you use that box to eliminate our dead?”

Mattli looked at Alkoff, who nodded, giving him permission to continue. “First, Elder Alkoff and I bring the body in here.”

“We place the body in the center of the room. The box is placed next to it, and then we leave, taking care to secure the door behind us. Out in the main chamber, there is a panel of controls linked to the dead room.”

Mason wondered how he’d missed it. Sensing his confusion, Mattli led him out into the main chamber. The wall next to the door looked just as the others did, plain and unadorned. But Mattli pulled a panel back and revealed a switchboard more complicated than anything Mason had ever seen.

Mattli went through each button, explaining them all. “There are four important buttons to remember. The rest are redundant.” He started on the left and worked his way right. “This one is to open the box. Once the box is opened, a timer lights up here.” He pointed to a black screen above the control panel. “Once thirty minutes have elapsed, we press the next button, which sends the nanobots back into their box. This one locks the box back up, and the last one verifies that no active nanobots are outside the box.”

“But there’s no power on the island. How is this room operational? Seems like you’d need some kind of electricity just to light up that fancy clock.” Mason was struggling to keep up with all the new information.

“There is a wind turbine behind the forbidden fence that powers this room and this room only. It is maintained by the elders, although most believe it’s used to grind the corn and grains we harvest.”

Mason chewed on that for a moment before he spied a fifth button off in the bottom corner. It had a glass box over it, secured by a lock. “What’s that one for?”

“That is for your worst-case scenario. If there’s a malfunction with the system—for example, say it tells us all the nanobots are secure, but they aren’t, and we open the door—that button will lock down the dead room and prevent the nanobots from escaping. Apparently, a metal door slides over the hatch opening, and all are sealed inside.”

“Apparently?” Mason asked.

“The system has never been engaged. Once activated, it can’t be undone.”

Mason backed away from the caged button. “I see.” He thought for a moment. “So, what sends them back into the box?”

“We don’t know,” Alkoff said.

“You really don’t know, or I don’t need to know?”

“We really don’t know, Mason. If we did, we might be able to use it to control the nanobots on the mainland.” Alkoff sighed and rubbed his arms. “As you might recall, Bennett Ashby put all of this in place before our ancestors ever came to the island.”

“But why didn’t he use that technology to control the robots on the mainland? He had the power.” Mason was starting to question just how much of a savior Bennett Ashby had been.

“We believe this technology was developed too late. He could control three nanobots, but not three million,” Elder Alkoff said.

“Three million…” Mason thought about the fog that had consumed Ashley alive. “Three million would overwhelm this island in a second. There’s none of this special metal along the shoreline of the mainland. What keeps them out?” He thought about the birds and seals resting on the rocks just offshore of the mainland.

“We believe it’s the sea,” Mattli answered.

“But does it have to be saltwater? I dumped a canteen full of water on them, and they didn’t seem bothered.”

“I don’t know,” Mattli said. “It could have been the lack of salt, or it could have been the fact that there was too little water. The ocean is vast, and we think it keeps them away from the island.” He paused for a moment. “Little is known of how the nanobots spread across the continents. But, the ancestors were clear that worldwide devastation had occurred.”

“So, do we truly not have any information on how the nanobots came to be? Were they developed by terrorists who let them get out of hand? Are they extraterrestrial?”

Alkoff laughed out loud. “I don’t think aliens brought them here, Elder Hawkins, no. But to be honest, I don’t know how to answer your questions. We don’t even know if destruction was their intended purpose.”

That gave Mason pause. What else could they have been used for? He was sure that if Alkoff had seen what they did to Ashley, he would know their purpose was destruction.

Alkoff cut off his train of thought. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to the sunshine now.”

The abruptness of his request caught Mason off guard. There were so many thoughts swirling through his mind. But they didn’t have any further answers to give him, and he wasn’t ready to share anything more with them than he already had. So, he followed the elders out of the dead room and helped Mattli conceal the hatch, his body going through the motions automatically as his mind focused on the onslaught of information he’d just received. He’d never been willing to consider that man might have been the cause of his own downfall. As much as he’d ever thought about the cause of the apocalypse, he’d figured it was brought on by an outside source. The disappointment nearly crushed him as he followed the two elders out of the woods.

“Let’s go back to my home and discuss your future purpose among the elders, Elder Hawkins,” Alkoff said, but Mason barely registered his words. He wasn’t used to being called Elder Hawkins, and frankly, he didn’t care for it.

“I’d prefer to be called Mason.”

“Be that as it may, it’s important to establish your position among the islanders and the other elders,” Alkoff responded. “You’ll get used to it. Trust me.”

As they walked, Alkoff thought about his own journey to becoming an elder. It had been quite different from Mason’s. He’d been tapped early for the position based on his parents’ successes and contributions to the island.

Having been groomed to be an elder for most of his life, he’d known what to expect in his first few official days on the job, and had been assisting the elders for over five years before the title became official. It had been another twelve years before he’d been introduced to the shock of the dead room. He felt bad for Mason, and what he was being forced to go through in such a short period of time, but things were changing quickly, and they all had to be on their guard.

Alkoff stole a glance at Mason. He was very well built, and the youngest among the elders by far. If his mental calculations were correct, Lehman was the next youngest, and she was about fifteen years Mason’s senior.

Lehman, Alkoff thought. She would make a fine second in command for Mason. But that was all years away, or so he hoped.

While Alkoff planned for the future, Mattli was firmly rooted in the present. He tried to puzzle out what to do with Mason, how to fit him into the fold. Wesley had been a two-faced, scheming little weasel who would’ve fit in with the other elders just fine. Honestly, Mattli wasn’t terribly sorry to see him go. But Mason was a different kind of person—logical, loyal, and kind. He wasn’t meant for the cutthroat atmosphere created by the elders, and Mattli wondered if they’d ever accept Mason as an equal, let alone the head elder he knew Alkoff was grooming him to be. There would have to be some major changes for it to work, starting with Burton.

The three men arrived on Alkoff’s front stoop before any of them could sort through their inner turmoil.

“Let’s get some tea and retire to the living room where we can discuss your future on the island, Elder Hawkins,” Alkoff said as he ushered the two men into his home.

My future on the island, Mason thought. Not long ago, he’d felt so certain of what that would entail, but everything had fallen apart so quickly. Ever since, he’d been struggling to keep his head above water, too focused on taking the next breath to think about the next day, week, or year.

A strange sight drew Mason out of his thoughts. Legs. Legs stretched out on the floor in front of him. Mason followed them into the living room. Alkoff’s match was lying facedown in a pool of blood.

Mason was too stunned to react, but he jumped at the sound of Burton’s voice. “Welcome, Mason. I’d hoped I might get to see you again today.”

21.

Burton had sat with the gun on his knee for hours, watching the islanders go about their business while he waited for Alkoff to return. He felt some remorse over killing Saraphina. She had been so lovely and graceful. But it was her own fault for getting in his way.

She’d answered the door, polite as always, and invited him to sit in the living room while he waited for her match and his companion to return. But she’d refused to leave him there. She’d even offered him some tea. Regrettably, her death couldn’t have been helped.

The sound of footsteps coming through the front door had been a welcome respite. Mason is going to be busy today, he thought.

To his delight, Mason was the first to round the corner. Although he’d hoped the younger man would come with the others, he hadn’t dared expect it. Mattli and Alkoff followed quickly behind.

“Burton, what have you done?” Mattli demanded in a quiet tone. Almost like he had cared for Saraphina.

“What have I done? Don’t you mean what has Elder Hawkins done? And he isn’t finished yet.” He leveled the gun at Alkoff, who was stooped next to his beloved match, hooking a stray hair behind her ear, his face twisted with grief.

“I’ve waited a long time for this moment, Alkoff,” Burton said. “You never earned your position on this island. Not like I did.”

Alkoff stood slowly, his face hard as stone. “Burton. What makes you think you’re good enough for this position? That you can handle it?”

Burton’s rage boiled over, and the barrel of the gun started to shake with his anger. “I’m twice the man you are, Alkoff!” he shouted.

Mattli’s eyes darted from man to man, trying to force his mind to catch up with the situation. Noticing Mason inching his way around the edge of the room, he quickly flicked his gaze back to Alkoff, silently urging his old friend to stand down and use a bit more humility with Burton. Although the man clearly didn’t deserve it, Alkoff’s life was more important than his pride.

But Alkoff continued to push Burton. “Is that so?” Alkoff asked with a bitter laugh. Mattli had never heard such a sound from his dear friend before. It was clear that the loss of Saraphina was hitting him hard. “Which one of us is stealing now, Burton? Who is the one pointing the gun?”

“I’m simply taking what is rightfully mine. It isn’t stealing. It’s righteous.”

The smile didn’t fade from Alkoff’s mouth. “Whatever helps you sleep.”

“Why Meade, Burton?” Mattli blurted out, struggling to diffuse the situation and buy them some time.

“Meade died because he was too stupid to follow simple instructions.”

“If following simple instructions is a mark of intelligence, Burton, that makes you the dumbest one of all of us. If you had followed simple instructions, you certainly wouldn’t be in my living room right now,” Alkoff said.

Mason didn’t intend to draw attention to himself, but the stress of the situation had made him punchy. The insult was so perfectly pitched and timed, given more impact by the fact that the man who’d delivered it had a gun pointed at him. He tried to hold in his laughter, but some of it still escaped, making a short, choking sound.

Burton jerked around and leveled the gun at Mason. “You won’t think it’s so funny when you have a bullet in you. Come over here and sit down.”

Mason stayed put. “You can’t shoot me if you intend to blame me for what you’re doing.”

“I don’t have to shoot you fatally,” Burton said, keeping the gun trained on Mason. “Now, get back over there with the others.”

Mason glared at Burton, never taking his eyes off the man as he walked slowly over to Mattli, who stood next to Alkoff.

“So what’s the master plan here, Burton?” Mason’s voice was dark with contempt.

“I wouldn’t expect a mind as feeble as yours to fully grasp the long-term scope of my master plan.” Burton smiled and leaned back in his chair, the gun resting on his knee, pointed in the general direction of the three men. “But only Alkoff and Mattli will die today. You, Hawkins, will probably die tomorrow, by method of execution. You see, you returned from your task angry with the elders for sentencing you to death in the first place. So you decided to kill them all, starting with Meade, then working your way up to Mattli and Alkoff. I discovered you here, gun in hand, and apprehended you.”

He smiled. “It’s perfect. You’re already a known killer. No one will question your guilt. Then Alkoff’s position will be as good as mine.”

Alkoff spoke up, bitterness seeping into his words. “Burton, what makes you think the islanders will be more receptive to you now than they were decades ago? They didn’t choose you then, and they won’t choose you now.”

Burton pointed the gun straight at Alkoff’s head. He didn’t flinch.

“Who said there would be a choice? I will tell them I’m the head elder, and there will be no discussion. You never believed in leading by fear, which has made you weak. The islanders will fall in line when they realize what will happen if they don’t.”

The island would be an even more oppressive place if he got his way, and Mason couldn’t help but wonder what Bennett Ashby would have thought of that.

Just then, a knock pounded on the front door. They all turned toward the noise, but no one moved to answer it.

“Go answer it, Alkoff, but I’d advise you to send them away without asking them for help. I’ll kill anyone and everyone they send. And Mason’s list of victims will grow one by one.” Burton’s smile sent chills down Mason’s spine. It was obvious he meant what he said.

Mason went to Saraphina and grabbed her legs, gesturing for Mattli to take her shoulders. They gently moved her out of the hallway and into the living room, out of sight of the front door. Alkoff watched, his expression betraying no emotion.

At the door, Alkoff weighed his options, but all he could think of was Saraphina. She hadn’t deserved such a fate. She should have died warm in her bed, years from now. In biding his time with Burton, he’d sacrificed his match.

He opened the door slowly, hoping his face didn’t reveal his inner turmoil. “Ah. Elder Lehman. What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to give you a report on—” She stopped short and gave Alkoff a strange look.

Alkoff’s expression seemed a bit strained—not markedly so, just off. But when Lehman looked down, she noticed blood on the bottom of the head elder’s robes and shoes.

Lehman lowered her voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Ah yes, I was expecting that type of reaction from them. Please tell the Gregors that Meade’s home will go to the elder who takes his place, and there’s nothing more I can do about it. They know those homes are reserved for elders, and although I understand they have been blessed with a large family after others were unsuccessful in fulfilling their duties, and more space would be appreciated, elders are stationed strategically throughout the island. If they have any more qualms with that arrangement, they can speak to me directly.”

Immediately picking up on Alkoff’s cue, Lehman silently pushed through the door while the head elder was still speaking and made her way down the hallway. Removing a gun hidden in her robe, she padded into the house.

“If that’s all, Elder Lehman, I’ll bid you good day. There’s much to do,” Alkoff said. And with that, he shut the door.

Alkoff walked around Lehman in the hallway as if she weren’t there, reentering the living room. “Satisfied?” he asked Burton, who remained seated near the window, his gun trained on Mattli.

“Impressed, if nothing else. I thought for sure you would make a desperate cry for help. Now, where were we?” He pointed the gun at Alkoff. “Ah yes.”

A shot rang out, followed quickly by another. Mason ducked down and braced himself for an impact, acting on sheer instinct. When he didn’t feel anything, he reached for Mattli, but the older man was already cradling Alkoff in his lap.

“Jim,” he said. “I’m so sorry, my friend.”

Alkoff coughed, and blood spattered out of his mouth. Mason scrambled to put pressure on the wound in Alkoff’s chest, but it was too late. The head elder slipped away quickly, choking on his own blood.

Mason braced for a snide comment from Burton or perhaps another bullet—this one aimed at Mattli—but nothing came. He sat back on his legs, looking at Alkoff, who now lay on the floor next to his match. Their arms were spread toward each other, almost like they were reaching for each other in death.

The silence that spread through the room eventually made Mason turn and look at Burton.

“What’s the matter?” Mason asked as he turned around. “Killing a man not quite as fun as you’d thought it would be?”

But Burton wasn’t the one who answered. “No. But then, I never imagined it would be fun, despite the fact that I never much cared for Burton,” Lehman said. Mason and Mattli jumped at the unexpected sound of her voice.

Sure enough, Burton sat slumped in Alkoff’s chair, blood seeping from an entry wound between his eyes.

“How in the hell—?” Mason started to ask, but he didn’t know how to finish.

“Alkoff let me in. I waited too long to make a move,” Lehman said, her own gun dangling from her hand. She shook her head and brought a shaky hand to her chest.

Mason went to her and took her by the shoulders. “You saved two lives today with your actions, and probably many more given what Burton had planned for the island.”

Lehman nodded absently, as the magnitude of what had just happened sank in.

Mattli’s best friend, and superior, had just died in his arms. The tragedy of it threatened to crush him. How could they possibly move on from something so horrific?

Before the dark cloud in his mind could consume him, he saw Lehman’s shoulders start to sag with the ramifications of what she’d done. Mattli decided to put her to work before she could put too much thought into her role in the evening’s events. “Elder Lehman. We will need the remaining elders to help prepare for the funeral ceremonies. Saraphina’s will be tonight, but Elder Alkoff’s will be in the morning, allowing us more time to prepare for the funeral of the head elder.”

Glaring at Burton’s sagging body, he said with contempt, “Burton will not receive a funeral. Elder Hawkins and I will dispose of his remains later.”

Lehman bowed and turned to leave, but Mason grabbed her arm. “Thank you, Lehman. Truly. There are men on this island that wouldn’t have had the courage to do what you did tonight. You’ve altered the future of the island in a big way today. You must understand how grateful we both are for that.”

The smallest hint of a smile appeared at the edge of Lehman’s mouth. “Yes well, that isn’t saying much. I know a few women on this island who would’ve been glad for the task.”

Mason chuckled quietly. “Burton never was one to make friends.”

Lehman’s smile faded, and she shook her head and left. Though she was clearly still shaken, she seemed more at peace now that she had a purpose.

After Mason heard the front door close, he went to the couch and retrieved a blanket. He stood between the two bodies with only one blanket, not sure who to cover.

“Saraphina,” Mattli provided, his voice filled with sadness. “Jim would’ve wanted it to be her.”

Gingerly, Mason placed the blanket over Saraphina’s body, wondering where on this God-forsaken Earth they could go from here.

22.

It didn’t take long for Lehman to assemble the last four elders. In a matter of hours, their numbers had shrunk by nearly a third. With only seven of them left, it would be a larger task than usual to properly care for and dispose of the three bodies. Particularly since the men just barely outnumbered the women. They would just have to all take on some heavy lifting and make the best of it.

The elders gathered in the living room, where the three bodies remained untouched. No one spoke as they assessed the situation. Even the dissenters, Branneth and Mueller, were uncharacteristically quiet.

Mattli broke the silence. “Elder Burton was responsible for Elder Meade’s death. It was a direct attempt on my life. Elder Alkoff and I chose not to reveal him as the murderer until we had more proof, a decision that proved fatal for our dear head elder. If Elder Lehman hadn’t come to our aid, it would’ve proved fatal for both of us, and our deaths would have been blamed on Elder Hawkins.

“Obviously, there’s much to do. Since we are two hands short and Elder Hawkins is new, it will take all of us to prepare for the upcoming ceremonies.” Mattli’s tone was flat and unemotional. It was obvious to Mason that Mattli wasn’t himself.

Mason cleared his throat. “Elder Mattli? Should a new head elder be chosen?” He hated to ask the question right in front of Alkoff’s body, but he thought it was crucial for them not to hesitate in this matter. The island needed leadership, particularly at such a pivotal time.

Mattli turned and looked at Alkoff’s lifeless face, but he didn’t respond.

Lehman leaned in and whispered in Mason’s ear. “Until a new head can be elected, the second automatically acts as head.”

“I see,” Mason said. “Now what?”

Mattli never took his eyes off his lost friend. “Elder Branneth, please assist Elder Pearman in taking Burton’s body to the preparation rock. Elders Lehman and Wharwood, please prepare Saraphina’s body, giving her the care that the head elder’s match deserves. Elder Mueller, you have the unhappy task of delivering the news to Burton’s family. Before you do, please stop by my home and inform Gwen of what’s happened. Elder Hawkins and I will begin preparing Elder Alkoff for tomorrow, and then we will take care of Elder Burton.”

The phrase ‘take care of Elder Burton’ gave Mason an uneasy feeling when he thought about what those nanobots had done to Ashley. But Burton was already dead—a mercy he didn’t deserve.

“Elder Mueller,” Mattli said. “Once you are finished with Burton’s family, I need you to spread the word across the island about the upcoming events scheduled for today and tomorrow.”

The elders nodded and started about their business. Pearman and Branneth carried Burton awkwardly out of the room.

“It’s a long way to the preparation stone. Isn’t there a gurney or something they can use to make the task easier?” Mason asked.

“The task is theirs to complete how they see fit,” Mattli answered flatly.

Mason wasn’t sure he liked this unemotional side of Mattli. But he didn’t know what to do about it. He watched as Mattli stared at the two elders working on Saraphina. They were wiping the blood from her face so they could take her upstairs to her room and start making her presentable for her funeral.

Mason watched, wondering just how deep Mattli’s feelings for Alkoff and his match ran. They waited patiently as the two women struggled to carry Saraphina’s body away.

Mattli set to work as soon as they were alone with Alkoff’s body. “Please get some wet cloths and we’ll start cleaning him up.”

Mason chided himself for not thinking of that already. He knew it had to be done; he’d just watched the others clean Saraphina’s body.

When Mason returned, he found Mattli kneeling on the floor facing Alkoff. “I’m sorry, old friend,” he heard him say.

Mason knelt on the other side of the body and started peeling away the bloodied clothes. “You and Elder Alkoff were close?”

“Two peas in a pod they called us when we were kids. Much like you and Ashley, I imagine.”

Mason smiled at the reminder of more carefree times.

“I never wanted to be second in command, let alone head elder. But when Jim was elected over Burton, the cards just sort of fell where they may,” Mattli said, watching Mason work.

“Yes.” Mason said, thinking of how his own cards had fallen. “Cards have a tendency to do that.”

Mattli took a good, long look at Mason. The much-younger man had lost so much, and yet, he was still moving forward, if for no other reason than to survive. He sighed, trying to exhale everything that had happened, and looked down at his lifelong friend.

Alkoff wouldn’t have wanted him to let the island fall into ruin because he was upset about the way things had turned out. Alkoff would’ve expected him to do the right thing, without question or hesitation.

He picked a cloth out of the bowl of water Mason had left on the floor next to him and started cleaning, hoping he was wiping away the stains of the past for them both.

Prior to Saraphina’s funeral that afternoon, Mason and Mattli were faced with the task of disposing of Burton’s body, which meant a second trip into the dead room.

After Alkoff was properly cleaned, dressed in his best robes—which would go to the next head elder after the ceremony—and laid on the couch, Mattli and Mason left for the preparation stone.

They found Burton lain out just as he should be, and they silently moved his body and uncovered the door to the dead room.

“When you brought me here this morning, I didn’t think I’d have to actually put the knowledge to use so quickly. I would’ve taken notes,” Mason half joked.

“Yes, well, it’s shaping up to be a learn-on-your-feet position for you, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Mason affirmed as they unceremoniously pitched Burton’s body down into the depths of the dead room.

Mason thought of Ashley’s parents, the only people he’d ever half cared about who’d died on the island. “We’ll be more careful with Saraphina, right? I mean, you don’t just toss them all down here, do you?”

Mattli’s horrified expression gave Mason the answer he needed.

“Good,” he said. He reached down to help carry Burton’s body into the metal room, but he stopped short when a thought occurred to him.

“What?” Mattli asked, clearly noticing Mason’s stiff posture and troubled expression.

“Do you kill those slated for execution before putting them in the dead room?”

Mattli sighed. “Yes. The convicted are usually brought down here and shot before we let the nanobots loose. With only three of them, it would take far too long for the accused to die.”

“I hope whoever does the shooting is a good shot.”

Mattli looked at him with a glint in his eye. “I never miss.”

Grunts escaped them both as they carried Burton’s dead weight into the inner chamber of the dead room. Mattli secured the door and headed for the hidden panel. Mason simply stood back and watched.

It was eerily silent as the nanobots did their work. The echoes of Ashley’s screams made him shudder. Neither of the men spoke while the timer on the wall ticked the seconds away.

Thirty minutes was a long time to sit in silence, almost as long as those moments he’d spent out on the open ocean with only the moon for company. Eventually, the timer silently ended its count. Mason expected a ding, a buzz, something, but it simply went black.

Mattli opened the glass cage over the emergency button. “Wait here while I go check the chamber. Press the button if anything seems out of place.”

Mason nodded, wondering how he would know since this was his first time ‘taking care’ of a body in the dead room.

“All clear,” Mattli called from inside the chamber, and Mason took that as his cue to go inside. Burton’s body was gone. All that was left was a small pile of gray dirt that lay in the center of the room where his body had been. Dirt just like what they’d found on the mainland in the form of enormous, rolling hills. It was creepy to think that some of the dirt they’d walked through had been people at some point—and judging from the size of the pile left by Burton, it had been a lot of people.

Mattli collected a broom and dustpan, sweeping the remains into the pan. “All right, we’re done.” He carried the pan out of the dead room, extinguishing the sconces they’d lit as he went. Once they were topside, he tipped the pan into the wind, and they watched as what remained of Burton was carried off, never to be heard of again.

Rather than assembling the islanders more than once that day, the remaining elders held a brief meeting prior to Saraphina’s funeral.

“As you’ve been told, Saraphina, Elder Alkoff’s match, has been murdered. We assemble here today to honor her. But before we do that, there are some things we need to discuss.” Mattli paused, knowing there was no turning back.

The islanders glanced at each other in confusion, and Mattli forced himself to speak. “Elder Alkoff was also murdered by the man responsible for Elder Meade’s death. I’m afraid Elder Burton…” He paused, searching for the right words. Went crazy? Got greedy? Was an asshole? “Elder Burton was responsible.” A murmur rolled through the crowd. “He was killed by Elder Lehman before any more lives could be lost. In fact, I owe my own life to Elder Lehman.” All eyes went to Lehman, who stood to Mattli’s right. She nodded stiffly in acknowledgement.

“Today, we face the terrible task of selecting a new head elder. I have been named acting head, until you can select a replacement for Elder Alkoff. You will have the opportunity to nominate the elder you support with a show of hands, beginning with the current second in command. If enough of you nominate the same elder, there will be no need for a vote. If it does come to a vote, we will do it before Elder Alkoff’s funeral tomorrow.

“Please choose your nominees carefully. You are in control of your fate at this moment. Do not squander it.” Alkoff would’ve been more eloquent. He would have said something more impactful and moving to sway them to his cause. But he was not Alkoff. He only hoped he was enough. Branneth and Mueller had a handful of supporters, after all, and either of them would make a horrible leader for the island.

“Before we begin, there is another piece of news I must share with you. Elder Hawkins has been selected to replace Elder Meade.” Murmuring spread through the gathered islanders. “I know this may be difficult for you to understand. However, he was promised amnesty for completing his task. Elder Alkoff himself was the one who appointed him, and I mean to see his last appointment through.” The finality in his voice silenced the last of the murmurs. “That leaves two positions open.” He searched the audience for the next two in line. One was only a teenager, and the other wasn’t much older. Still, he himself hadn’t been very old when he was first appointed to the elders.

The teenager’s eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and excitement as he awaited his fate. Mattli couldn’t help but smile at him, knowing exactly how he must feel. “Some deliberation among the elders will need to happen before any final decisions are made that matter. Once the head elder is selected, we will have a better idea of where we stand. Are there any questions?” He always hated asking that, but it had to be done to make the islanders feel at ease, to make them feel like they were a part of the process. But the Pandora’s Box it opened could be a bit of a nightmare.

To his surprise, silence reigned over the islanders for a beat or two. “Very well then, let the nominations begin.”

Lehman started with Mattli. “Those in favor of Elder Mattli?” More than half of the islanders raised their hands. There were so many, Mason struggled to count the ones on his side. He counted almost four hundred by the end, which took several minutes.

“279 on my side. You?” Lehman asked Mason.

“396.”

“That’s it then. That’s more than two-thirds,” she said, though not loudly enough for the islanders to hear. Raising her voice, she announced, “You have chosen Elder Mattli as your new head elder. May the spirit of our savior, Bennett Ashby, guide him through this difficult task.”

“Ashby be with you,” the crowd responded.

Mattli couldn’t believe it. He’d watched the hands go up, of course, and had marveled over the numbers as he stole occasional glances at Branneth and Mueller, who grew more and more agitated the longer the count took. Mattli was lucky there hadn’t been time for them to organize; they may have rounded up more supporters.

Just like that, he’d become the most powerful man on the island. He wasn’t sure if he should be filled with excitement or dread. For the moment, grief fueled the dread building in his mind.

“Thank you for this honor. I assure you, I will do my best to lead the island justly, to help it flourish in the coming years.” He paused, seeing smiles of approval and encouragement on the islander’s faces. He’d never truly understood how they felt about him until this moment. He found Gwen in the front row of the crowd, seated among the other matches, smiling ear to ear. She mouthed, “I’m so proud of you,” to him, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

Clearing his throat of the lump trying to form there, he carried on. “If there are no questions, we will begin Saraphina’s funeral.”

23.

Saraphina’s funeral was difficult for Mattli to get through, and dread of Alkoff’s funeral the following day settled in the pit of his stomach like a boulder. He wasn’t sure he could summon the courage to get through that. He could only hope it would come with the short time that remained.

In the meantime, he, Mason, and Lehman sat in Alkoff’s library, soon to be Mattli’s library, sipping tea while Gwen started to prepare food for the head elder’s funeral reception the following day—a duty shared by all the island’s elite, and those that had food to spare.

Alkoff’s body still lay in the living room, from where he would be carried to the pyre the next day for the funeral ceremonies. If he hadn’t known any better, Mattli would’ve thought the former head elder was simply resting peacefully, not gone completely from their world.

“Elder Hawkins,” Mattli said. “You need to think about where you would like to live. My home will be available, as I will be moving here. It’s standard procedure for the second in command to live on the other side of the island, so that he can address immediate issues there.” He thought of Meade’s passing and how far he’d had to run to get Alkoff. Mattli shook his head, knowing a shorter distance wouldn’t have saved Meade.

“But my current home is perfectly fine,” Mason said.

Mattli shook his head. “It’s fine for a welder. The elders are strategically located throughout the island to be accessible to the islanders.”

“So, when you said I needed to think about where I would like to live, you didn’t mean I had a choice in the matter, did you?”

Mattli couldn’t help but smile. He’d always liked Mason; he never wasted words or beat around the bush about how he felt. Truth be told, Mattli was looking forward to having him as his second in command. He just wished Alkoff were still around to laugh at their missteps.

“What about Elder Meade’s home? Isn’t he the one Elder Hawkins is replacing?” Lehman asked.

Both men started, having forgotten she was present. “Yes, Elder Meade’s home is available. As is Burton’s. However, my home is better suited for the second in command.”

Second in command? Mason thought. All he’d ever wanted was a quiet life, spent below the scrutiny of others, and suddenly he was second in command of the whole island?

Lehman frowned, clearly disapproving of the decision.

Mason held up his hands. “I don’t want to come between anyone and what they feel they’re owed. We don’t need a repeat of Burton. Lehman, if you want the second in command spot, I’ll abdicate it to you. Anyway, Elder Mattli, I’m sure Lehman here is far more qualified and would be more helpful to you. I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

Lehman’s frown dissolved into an expression of acceptance. “No. It seems you were destined for this, Mason. Who am I to stand in your way?”

Mason couldn’t help but feel gratitude for the woman’s attitude. Despite the fact that he didn’t want to be second, he appreciated Lehman’s avoidance of drama. As he reached out to shake Lehman’s hand, he spied his pack sitting by the front door, where it had been since he’d arrived in Alkoff’s home.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was finally time to tell Mattli about his black box of mysteries, and Lehman smiled, mistaking Mason’s pause for awkwardness. “Don’t mention it, Elder Hawkins.” She placed special emphasis on Mason’s new title.

“I wish everyone would just call me Mason.”

“I’m sure there are a few among the elders who would wish you could still be called that too,” Mattli said with a small smile of his own.

The three elders looked at each other, not sure how to proceed. It was late and they were all exhausted from the day’s events, but after everything that had transpired between them, they weren’t sure how to say goodnight.

They walked to the door, and Mason caught Lehman before she could slip out. “Lehman. I hope we can continue to count on you. The elders need more like you among them.”

Lehman nodded graciously, and left Mason and Mattli standing in the doorway.

“Elder Hawkins, if you’d like to stay here tonight, you can,” Mattli said after a moment. “I think I will hold watch over the body.”

“Actually…” Mason hesitated. He felt sure he could trust Mattli, but what if sharing his secret about the box was damaging in some catastrophic way? Before he could think any more about it, he retrieved the box from the backpack. “I have something to show you.”

24.

Mattli immediately recognized the box. He didn’t, however, recognize why Mason would’ve taken it from the dead room.

But when Mason held it out to him, Mattli realized it was smaller than it should’ve been, maybe five inches by seven inches and only two inches deep. The box that held the nanobots was a bit larger, maybe the size of a piece of paper, and much deeper.

He took the box from Mason and weighed it in his hands. “It’s heavier too,” he murmured. Turning the box in his hands, Mattli noticed the simplistic outer appearance, which was, indeed, identical to the nanobots’ box. It had to be Ashby’s, just like the other one.

“What do you think’s inside?” Mason finally breathed the words out loud. They’d been screaming to get out for days. Oddly, though, saying them aloud didn’t bring him much relief. His curiosity and concern still warred with each other.

“It’s hard to say. Where did you find it?”

“Ashley was actually the one who found it. She tripped over it when we were walking on the mainland.”

Mattli nodded, sparing Mason the horror of retelling Ashley’s death. “A relic,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “And how perfect for the descendent to find it. Almost like he left it for her.”

Mason hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Honestly, that’s why I came back.” Mason spoke the words quietly, as if confessing a sin… or maybe a lie. “I wanted to try to use my tools to get into the box.”

Mattli laughed as he set the box on the coffee table and sat back, staring at it in wonder. “I don’t think you would’ve found your tools terribly effective.” He was silent for a moment. “It could be anything really,” he finally said. “It could be everything. The answers we’ve waited centuries for could be locked inside that box.” He reached for the box, but Mason’s voice, sharp in the late hour, stopped him.

“It could also be more nanobots.”

Mattli pulled his hand back reluctantly, not sure what he’d hoped to accomplish anyway. The complicated locking mechanism ensured the only place the box could be opened was inside the dead room.

“There’s only one way to find out. We must go back to the dead room.”

They walked through the darkness in silence, both wondering if Mason held the key to their world in his hands.

When they pulled the shrubs away from the door, Mason said, “You don’t normally spend this much time in the dead room, right? Because I’m starting to feel like this is all I’ll be doing as an elder—traipsing in and out of this God-forsaken room.”

Mattli let out a bitter laugh. “No, we don’t normally spend this much time in the dead room.”

Once inside, they didn’t really know how to proceed.

Mason sighed. “I’ll go in with the box. If everything is all right, I’ll knock on the door. Hopefully, you’ll be able to hear it through that thick metal.” He knew the offer might lead to his demise, but what choice did he have?

“What about the box of nanobots? We can’t leave it inside with you. And what if the signal to open the box harms you? No one alive has ever been inside the dead room when it’s operational.”

“Hence, its name.” He paused, thinking the process through. “If you keep the original box in the outer chamber, will the machine still open it? Is the signal that opens the box that strong?”

Mattli shook his head. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Oh, Ashby. So what do we do?”

“Honestly, it would be safer to stow the original box at Elder Alkoff’s home. He has a good safe there.” Mason frowned at the idea of walking all the way back. The events of the day weighed heavily on him.

“How do you feel about stashing the nanobots in the bushes outside the room?” Mason asked. “Think it’s far enough from the signal?”

“If it’s not, we risk killing everyone and everything on this island.”

“We’re risking that already, if there are a million more nanobots inside this box.”

Mattli was tired too, so he gave in. “It will probably be fine. Frankly, it would probably be fine in the outer chamber here. The inner one is lined with that metal.”

“What are you saying? Do you want to keep the box out here with you while you press the open sesame button?” Mason asked, one eyebrow raised in Mattli’s direction.

“No. You’re right. Go ahead and stash it outside. Just make sure to hide it well. We can’t afford to have the box fall into the wrong hands. In fact, it’s never been outside of this room unattended before.”

Mattli felt a twinge of guilt. He’d been on the job for less than twelve hours, and he was already being careless with their most precious possession.

“Don’t worry. It’ll just be up there unattended for a few minutes.” Mason tried to reassure Mattli, but his words offered little in the way of reassurance. He watched Mason absently as he deposited his mystery box on the floor of the inner chamber and retrieved the box of nanobots.

“I’ll just be a second,” Mason said. He must have detected Mattli’s uncertainty, because he followed up with, “It’ll be fine, Mattli. Trust me.”

“Oh, sure, trust a convicted killer and see what happens,” Mattli said, not sure what had gotten into him. He never spoke so crassly. “Elder Hawkins, I apologize. I’m not sure what got into me. Of course I trust you.”

Mason laughed. “You should loosen up more often, Elder Mattli,” he said, placing emphasis on the word Elder. “You might come to enjoy it.”

Mason disappeared aboveground for only a few moments. He returned a bit breathless, wiping the dirt from his hands on the front of his pants. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose so, yes.” Mattli responded, somewhat less than confident in their choices of late. He wondered how Alkoff would’ve handled this situation. Honestly, he probably would’ve kept the nanobots in the inner chamber with him and damned the consequences. At least there was a failsafe button. He was about to speak up when he saw that Mason was already in the dead room, sitting Indian style in front of his box.

“You know, if something happens to me, you can have Lehman for your second. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be anyway.” Mason winked at him, but a heavy lump of dread formed in the pit of Mattli’s stomach as he watched Mason sitting in the middle of the dead room.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Mattli shrugged and walked over to the big, metal door, closing it and locking Mason inside.

Mason didn’t know what to do. He braced himself, not knowing when Mattli would push the button. Like he’d said to Ashley, he didn’t really believe in God, let alone that Ashby would be waiting for him with open arms to welcome him into the afterlife. It seemed like such an archaic idea. Their ancestors had believed in their deity staunchly, and look where it had gotten them. If there was a God, or Ashby, or whatever, Mason didn’t want to be a part of Him, since He seemed to have abandoned his creation.

Left without God or Ashby, he wasn’t sure how to make peace with his potential death. He’d been running from it for days. Sitting cross-legged in front of the box, he wasn’t sure why he’d put in so much effort. He’d run and run and run, only to face his own mortality inside of a small, black box.

Mason heard a click and jumped as the lid to the box sprang open.

25.

When he heard the click, Mason braced himself. The scream was ready at the back of his throat; it only waited for some small trigger to be released. Horrible pain, a loud noise, the end of his life as he knew it—anything. But it never came.

Slowly, he opened one eye, and then the other. When he peered down at the box, he found a small, leather-bound book. He tilted his head and reached down tentatively to retrieve it, forgetting for the moment his obligation to let Mattli know he was still alive.

He reached in and pulled the book out.

The volume was small and heavy in his hands. He flipped haphazardly through the pages, fanning his face as he went. He found nothing remarkable in the least.

Mason laid the book in his lap, letting it fall open to the very first page. It was handwritten, almost like some of the journals kept in Alkoff’s library. Dated January 2024. Before the apocalypse.

Since he’d found it on the mainland, the date wasn’t so outlandish.

Then his eyes traveled to the opposite page. Something was scrawled in a hurried hand. The ink was uneven and thickly laid in some places, and the angles were sharp. Just the sight of it made Mason feel a little panicky. His heartbeat quickened and his breath came in short bursts as he read the words.

I am Bennett Ashby. And I am not the savior.

The Dead World: Part 2 in The Dead Room Trilogy
is coming September, 2015

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The following is an excerpt from Stephanie Erickson’s first book, The Blackout, available now on Amazon.com.

Calm

1

“The nature of the world is to be calm, and enhance and support life, and evil is an absence of the inclination of matter to be at peace.” – Gregory Maguire, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

What a difference one hundred years can make.  The 20th century saw the dawn of automobiles, the Internet, cell phones and the personal computer.  All of which came to rely on one common denominator – electricity.

The world hummed and clicked away, consuming more electricity than those who lived a century ago would have ever dreamed could exist.   But it was a fragile existence, one easily shattered by the sun’s fiery tendrils.

The light the world created blinded them.  A storm was coming that would sweep across the globe like wildfire, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake.

2

Molly was just finishing cleaning out her inbox when Cindy’s slender frame walked by the door.  “Hey!”  Molly called out.

Cindy stopped and poked her head in.  “Hey yourself.  What’s up?”

“Nothing.  I’m just finishing up here, and was going to get some dinner.  Wanna come?”

Cindy knew Molly was lonely and didn’t get much social contact when her husband was gone.  Even though she had a lot to do, Molly needed her.  “Sure!  The kids don’t need to be picked up for a while, but I’m not quite ready to go yet.  Can ya’ wait like fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Molly smiled.  Cindy was never quite ready to go.  She had three kids and a sociable husband, so grading essays and preparing for the next class weren’t easily accomplished at home.

“Sure, that sounds great.  Just holler when you’re ready.”

Molly, on the other hand, had lots of quiet time at home.  Gary had already been gone for two nights and wouldn’t be back for another five.  If nothing else, being a pilot’s wife left her with plenty of time to herself.  It was an adjustment she hadn’t fully mastered, and she was grateful she wouldn’t be eating alone tonight.

When Cindy left, Molly sifted through the night’s work, thinking she’d get a head start.  She opened the file for her Modern Poetry class and took out the essay on top.  “Mutability”, it was titled.

What can a person rely on?  Friends and lovers come in and out of a person’s life as often as they change their underwear.

Oh Lord, she thought, and flipped to the end of it.  Seven pages of this crap?  She leaned back in her chair, pulled off her rimless glasses and rubbed her eyes;  her habit when she didn’t want to embark on the task at hand.  She sighed and uncapped her purple pen (she never used red - she found it too harsh, too judgmental, and way too negative) attempting to ready herself for the potential garbage she was about to trudge through.

Four pages in, Cindy came to the rescue.  She had pulled her long blonde hair back into a low ponytail and donned a gray blazer over her white blouse and khaki pants.  She was always very put-together and stylish.

“Ready!” she announced.  “Where do you want to go?”

“Thank God!  This essay is a nightmare.”  Molly paused, considering the options.  “You know if I was alone I’d just go up to McDonald’s.  So, what are you in the mood for?”

Cindy frowned and wrinkled her nose.  “Not McDonald’s.  I don’t know how you can stay so thin and eat there as much as you do.”

“I don’t eat there every day.”

Cindy laughed.  “I know, but still!  If I’m going to eat that many calories, I want it to be worth it!”

They walked to the stairwell together.  Molly never took the elevator, so if one of her friends wanted to walk with her, they had to take the stairs.  The building was only two stories high, and the elevator was installed in 1967.  Molly didn’t trust it to get her where she needed to go reliably.

“Whatever.  McDonald’s is delicious,” Molly countered.  “So, since you vetoed my suggestion, where do you want to go?”

“I’m thinking pizza.  How about the Pizza Garden?”

They stepped outside and Molly assessed the situation.  “It’s a nice evening.  Pizza Garden sounds great.”

The restaurant was only a few blocks from the campus, so walking was a no-brainer.  Although they were likely to see some of their students, The Pizza Garden – with its homemade pizzas and calzones oozing with cheese and garlic – was well worth the risk.

The walk through historic downtown was beautiful, with small shops and businesses on either side of the street.   It was mid-October, and the temperature in northern Florida was ideal for an evening stroll.

Molly pulled her navy blue cardigan a bit tighter and crossed her arms, trying to keep pace with Cindy.  Cindy was at least a head taller than Molly – as most people were – so she had to work to keep up with Cindy’s stride.

“Good Lord.  Some of my classes this term are so defiant,” Cindy said.  “They think everything is a negotiation.  If I tell them I want a fifteen hundred-word paper on Twelfth Night they try to haggle me down to seven-fifty.  I’m like, really?  Fifteen hundred words isn’t that many for a Lit major.  So quit your whining and just do it!  I can’t believe they pull this crap with some of the other teachers.  I know Terry wouldn’t tolerate that.  I mean, are they doing that to you?”  Her pace quickened with her declining mood, and Molly struggled to keep up.

“Well no, but I don’t think we have that many of the same-” Cindy cut her off.

“So, what is it about me, Molly?  Do I look like I don’t know how to teach the material?  Do I look like I need a nineteen or twenty-year-old to swoop in and rescue me from the burden of teaching Shakespeare?  What is it?”

She turned to Molly with unbridled frustration in her eyes as they walked, and Molly only met her gaze for a moment.  Not because she was uncomfortable, but because she knew better than to not watch where she was going.

Molly chuckled a bit, but not at her.  It was comical how passionate they were about their craft, and sometimes the students just didn’t get it.  Particularly those who took Shakespeare or Modern Poetry for an “easy elective.”  It was nearly impossible to get through to them, but it didn’t stop most of the faculty from trying.  It sounded to Molly like Cindy had ended up with an entire class of “easy electives”.

“Cindy, you have to try not to take it so personally.  Some kids want to get the best grade possible by doing the least amount of work.  It’s how they’ll approach their whole lives.  I’m sure you’re not the first person they’ve tried that crap on, and you certainly won’t be the last.  You just have to stick to your guns and lay down the law.  They’ll learn by mid-terms not to try that stuff with you anymore.”

Cindy sighed as they approached the hostess at The Pizza Garden.  She was – of course – a student they both had.  “Hey Dr. Nicholas.  Dr. Bonham.  Table for two?”

“Please, Shelly,” Molly said, thankful to have remembered her name.  There were only a few thousand students at the college, but Molly often had a hundred of them per semester, and this was her third year on the faculty.

Cindy smiled half-heartedly at the girl as she scooted into the cement bench across the table.  “Your waiter will be right with y’all,” Shelly said and walked away.

Cindy jumped right back into their conversation, despite the brief interruption.  “It’s hard not to take it personally, ya know?  I mean, why take the class if you don’t care at least a little bit about Shakespeare?”

Molly cleared her throat as a young man approached the table.  He didn’t seem familiar to her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in Cindy’s Shakespeare class.  He had dark, curly hair bordering on messy and wore a white apron over his t-shirt and jeans.  He set a basket of garlic bread on the table and asked what they would like to drink.  Both ordered Sprite, which he took down and hurried away.

Cindy smiled devilishly.  “Do you know that kid?”

“No, do you?  I thought he might be in your Shakespeare class.”

“No, he’s not.  Probably some other lazy kid.”

“Well, now, that’s not quite fair.  He’s working, isn’t he?”

They bantered back and forth about the waiter’s work ethic until he came back to take their order.  They asked for a pepperoni pizza to share, and munched on the garlic bread while they waited.

“How are the kids?  And Tom?”  Molly asked between bites, debating about whether her breath would reach toxic levels before this meal was over.

“Good.  Busy-busy, you know.  Grace started soccer last weekend, so of course Melody wants to do it too- just because she has to do everything her big sister does, not because she has any genuine interest in soccer.  Poor Malcolm is caught in the middle.  He wants to do karate, so Tom and I are looking into it.  I actually think Melody would be a pretty good dancer if she’d give it a chance, but Grace isn’t into it, so she doesn’t want to do it.”

“Well, that’s a phase.  I mean really, Melody is only five, and Grace is what, eight or nine now?”

“Nine.”

“Yeah, so of course Melody thinks she’s super-cool and wants to do everything Grace does.  It’s only natural.  And Malcolm is the only boy sandwiched between two sisters, so he has to be independent.”

“I know you’re right, it’s just annoying.  It’s not like Melody can play on the same team as Grace or anything.  I’m not sure she understands that.”

Molly nodded.  “Well, anything is possible to a five-year-old.  Why not let her try it, and see how she likes it?  She might hate it, and then you’ll be back to ballet.”  She paused to take a drink of Sprite.  “Honestly, I don’t know how you do it.  How do you find time for three very different sets of activities with three very different kids, plus have a social life with Tom?  I mean really, by the time I get home, walk the dog and read through the backlog of essays I’ve got, plus skim through reading for the next day’s classes, it’s ten o’clock and time for bed!”

“Well,” she smiled, “I’m amazing and that’s all there is to it.”  She paused and raised her eyebrow.  “Plus, I haven’t crawled into bed at ten o’clock…ever!  What are you, like eighty-five?”

Molly laughed.  Shifting the conversation had been a good move; Cindy was in a much better mood.

Cindy cleared her throat.  “So, where is Gary tonight?”

“Oh, uh, Philadelphia I think.”  Her voice lowered an octave as the joy went out of it.

“So, I guess he’ll be gone for the weekend?”  Cindy was treading on thin ice, and she knew it.  But Molly was the kind of person who needed something to look forward to when she was alone, so Cindy pushed forward.

Molly frowned into her Sprite as she stabbed at the ice with her straw.  “Yup.”

“Maybe you want to come with me and get pedicures?”

Her face brightened.  “That sounds great!”

Satisfied, Cindy picked up the last of bite her pizza.  “Great.”

They finished dinner on a high note and walked happily back to the campus together.

When Molly got to her scooter, Cindy shook her head.  “When are you going to get a real car?”

“We have a real car.  Gary’s truck does just fine for regular stuff.  This is perfect for getting me back and forth to school and for errands downtown.  It’s easier to park!”  Molly pulled her pink helmet out from under the seat and snapped it on.  “Anyway, I don’t have a litter that I need to cart around from point A to point B.”

She laughed.  “Point taken.  Just be careful.  I wouldn’t want you to get smooshed by some delivery truck trying to navigate these narrow streets.”

“I’m always careful.  Have a great night at home, and tell everyone hi!”

“You too.  How much longer until Gary comes home?”

“Five days!”  Molly always knew exactly how much time was left on that clock.

Cindy laughed.  “Not that you’re counting.”

Molly started the scooter’s engine.  “Oh, I’m totally counting!  You would too!”

“True.  Alright, see ya tomorrow!”

Molly waved as she walked the scooter back out of the spot and drove away.

It was long past dark when Molly got home.  Luckily she’d remembered to leave a hall light on in the house.  She hated coming home to a dark house.  They lived in a totally safe neighborhood, but she’d seen one too many Lifetime movies.  You never knew who could be hiding in the shadows – unless you left the lights on and there weren’t any shadows to hide in.

Before she even got the door open she could hear Dug panting and whining excitedly on the other side.  He whacked the door once or twice with his tail as Molly fumbled with her keys and briefcase.  When she finally (well, finally for him; in actuality it was only a few seconds) got the door open, he paused for half a breath to make sure it was in fact his owner at the door, then launched into the nightly excitement ritual.  It basically consisted of hopping around in a circle, stopping to jump up on whoever was just arriving home, then running to get a drink of water and repeat.

Dug was a small longhaired terrier mix whom Molly always thought looked a bit like Benji.  They’d rescued him almost four years ago now, and despite Molly’s best efforts to break him of jumping on people when they came in the house, everything always went right out the window when Gary came home.  Mostly because Gary was just as excited to see Dug as Dug was to see him.

Molly set everything on the counter, the excitement ritual following her all the way to the kitchen, and then turned to face Dug.  He immediately sat down, barely managing to contain himself.  Of course, she petted him and rewarded him for his “restraint.”

“Where’s Sally?” she asked him.  Sometimes, like on the weekends, the animals were the only ones she would talk to all day, so she always spoke to them like they were people.

Pretty soon Sally walked lazily around the corner and meowed, proclaiming her distaste at Molly’s absence.  “Hey there, pretty girl.”

Molly allowed herself about five minutes of playing with them before she set her mind to the tasks at hand.  She needed to finish grading essays, get ready for tomorrow’s classes, and still get into bed at a reasonable hour.  It was already nearly seven o’clock.

When she walked through the living room, she was thrown by an odd splashing sound.  It seemed to correspond with Dug’s movements.  He was splashing…in the living room.  She looked around, trying to find the source of the water.  It was just a thin layer, but it was everywhere.  Then, she found it.  The fish tank was empty, with tiny corpses lying at the bottom.

Her shoulders fell.  Dammit, she thought.

Dug was totally oblivious to her peril as she sloshed across the living room to the kitchen, searching for a safe place to put her briefcase and papers.   Once she’d unloaded on the kitchen table, she turned and stared at the mess.

Now what? she thought.  This crap always happens when I’m alone.   She frowned at the dark hardwood floors glistening at her through a thin layer of water, fighting tears.  She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the mess.

This is what I came home to, she texted to Gary.

While she was going for the mop and bucket, he answered her.  What happened?

Fish tank sprung a leak.  All the fish are dead.  :-(

Oh no!  I’m so sorry I’m not there to help!  That stinks honey!  There were a lot of fish in there!

I know.  She didn’t know what else to say to him.  She was frustrated and upset.  She had work to do, and didn’t have time to be cleaning water off the floor, let alone taking care of proper fish disposal.

It was slow work.  Eventually, Dug settled down at the edge of the living room, after Molly repeatedly discouraged him from getting on the couch while he was wet.  Sally simply watched from the safety of the stairs.

It took Molly all evening to get enough water off the floor to start drying it with towels.  She just hoped the hardwood wasn’t ruined, not to mention the baseboards and drywall.

Once she had towels spread all over the floor, Gary texted her again.  How’s it going?

She responded with another picture.  It looked like a mess.

Gary, trying to be encouraging, said, It’s coming along!

Indeed.

By the time she turned her attention to the dripping tank, she was exhausted.  She unceremoniously gathered the fish with the net into a plastic bowl and flushed them, feeling like she should have said a few words or something.  But she was so irritated and tired by then she couldn’t come up with anything except, “thanks for ruining my night.”

It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time she went upstairs to get showered and ready for bed.  Her entire evening was wasted.  She didn’t get any of her papers read, and the students were expecting their grades tomorrow.  Plus she had a headache from crying, which hadn’t even made her feel better.  She rolled her eyes as she climbed into the shower, trying to wash the last four hours of irritation away.   Steam filled the bathroom and she sat on the shower floor until the water turned cold.

It was midnight by the time she’d brushed her teeth, dried her hair and climbed into bed.  Exhausted, she mustered the energy for a quick call to Gary.

“Hey,” he said when he answered.

“Hi.”

“So, you had an exciting evening.”

She ran her fingers through Dug’s fur absentmindedly.  “Yup.”

“Didja get it all cleaned up?”

“For the most part.  I can’t get the tank out of there though.  You’ll have to help me with it.”

“I might be able to patch it.”

“Uh…” She hesitated.  How could she express her feelings about cleaning up another mess without slighting her husband’s ability?  “We’ll have to talk about that when you get home.  How was your day?”  She hoped a change in subject would mask the potential for insult.

“Fine.  Uneventful.  The passengers were late in Atlanta, so we missed lunch, thinking they were going to show up any minute.  Then, because they were late, we didn’t get to eat dinner until like seven.  It was obnoxious.”  Gary often missed meals waiting for people.  They had snacks on the airplane they could eat, so he wouldn’t starve, but peanut butter M&Ms are still a far cry from a meal when you’re hungry.

“Oh, I’m sorry, babe.  Where to tomorrow?”

“Just Orlando.  It’s a one-leg kind of day, which is fine by me.”

She yawned.  “That sounds good.”

“OK, I’ll let you get some sleep.  Meeting in the lobby at seven tomorrow morning, so I should start heading in that direction too.”

“OK, love you honey.”

“Love you too.  Talk to you tomorrow, and see you in five days!”

She smiled.   “Five days!  Night babe.”

“Night.”  He hung up.

She put the phone on the nightstand and snuggled down into the covers.  Five days, she thought as she drifted off to sleep with Dug by her side, and Sally purring softly on her pillow.

3

After he hung up the phone with Molly, Gary went about getting a shower.  The hotel he was in was not as nice as some, but better than others.  The bathroom was small, the kind you could just about shit, shower and shave in while standing in the same spot.  That took its rating down a notch or two.  But it was just for a night, and it seemed fairly clean.

He got out his UV wand and sanitized the bed before climbing in.  He’d watched one of those specials about how dirty hotels were and was horrified.  Molly had warned him not to watch it.  She said what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, but it was like a train wreck, and once he’d started watching it he couldn’t stop.  After that Gary had invested in a UV wand, and so had several of his friends when they were told about the horrors of the “organic substances” that could be found on a hotel comforter.

It took him forever to fall asleep, as it usually did when he was away from home.  He missed his own bed.  He missed feeling Dug at his feet.  Most of all, though, he missed having Molly by his side.  Even though Gary spent a lot of nights alone, he’d never gotten used to it.

He glanced at the clock and realized he only had a few hours left to get some sleep, and a long duty day ahead.  So he redoubled his efforts and was soon dreaming about Molly.

He was back at home, standing at the front gate, looking at their house.  It was a very cute little house.  That is, cute as defined by Molly.  She’d always wanted a house like this, and it suited the neighborhood they lived in.  So, Gary had compromised with her.  It wasn’t something he would’ve picked out, but the inside of it was immaculate, just like he wanted.  It was the perfect blend of the two of them.

The outside was a sunny yellow color with white trim.  It had a porch in the front with a white banister, and white shutters surrounded the windows.  It also had a white picket fence that circled the entire yard.  Molly wanted Dug to have as much space as possible to run around in, and that yard did the trick.

Gary approached the house and went inside.  He scanned the living room for Molly or Dug, but didn’t find them.  Dug always greeted Gary with such excitement when he came through the door – whether he’d been gone ten minutes or ten days.  Where were they?

He crossed the dark hardwood floors to the kitchen and searched there.  He found it just how he’d left it – dark granite countertops, cherry cabinetry, light stone floors, stainless steel appliances.  But it seemed cold to him without Molly.

Gary went upstairs and rounded the corner, searching for his family.  He padded softly to the master bedroom.  Molly never closed the door when he was gone.  She wanted the animals to be able to come and go as they pleased.

He found Molly curled up with Dug and Sally, indulging in an afternoon nap – one of his favorite things to do.  It surprised him, because Molly didn’t nap.  She said she always woke up more tired than when she lay down.  But he didn’t question it in his dream.  He simply slipped out of his pants and shirt and sidled up next to her.

She didn’t wake all the way up, but she stirred and snuggled into Gary’s chest as he spooned her.  Dug didn’t even raise his head, and of course Sally didn’t acknowledge Gary at all.

He buried his face in Molly’s hair and breathed in her glorious scent.  His life was perfect.  He had his dream job, flying to exotic locations, he had a dream wife, who was always there when he got home, and he had a dream house.  What more could a guy want?

Gary dreamed about Molly all night long.  He dreamed about taking her to The Pizza Garden.  He dreamed about dropping in on her classes one day.  He dreamed about cleaning up the fish tank.

When he woke up in the morning, he realized he’d spent the entire night with her, and smiled.  Gary often wondered how normal couples felt, getting to spend every night together.  He was gone six months of the year, so their nights together were precious.

He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only six-thirty.  He opted not to text Molly yet, because he knew she wouldn’t be up.  She liked to sleep as long as possible, and was occasionally grouchy if woken up.

He got dressed and went downstairs to see what the hotel had to offer in the way of breakfast.  It wasn’t much:  a bowl of apples and a variety of cereals – variety being a choice between Honey Nut Cheerios and Frosted Flakes – along with some hot coffee and run-of-the-mill creamers.  It was enough, though.  It was early, and Gary didn’t often like to eat breakfast.  He knew it might be awhile before he had the opportunity to eat lunch, so he swiped an extra apple for the road.

While he ate, CNN played on the closest TV.

“Scientists warn of an apocalyptic solar flare that could destroy life on Earth as we know it.”

Gary choked on his cereal, laughing at the sensationalism coming from the television so early in the morning.  The media was really getting out of control.  They’d lived through Y2K, and even survived the end of the Mayan calendar.  Much to the dismay of some of the more radical Christians, the end wasn’t in fact as near as the reporter would have them believe.

“Scientists say the flare could cause a catastrophic electromagnetic pulse that would shut down all electronics and electricity for anywhere between a few months and several years,” the anchorwoman proclaimed.

Gary spied the remote on the next table and retrieved it.  He changed the channel while the anchorwoman was speculating about the outright chaos that would follow such an event.  It was too early for that kind of propaganda, if you asked him.  Gary switched the TV to something a little more palatable at seven in the morning.  SpongeBob SquarePants fit the bill.  Gary chuckled at the cartoon as he finished off his cereal and prepared to face the day.

The Captain came in just as Gary was finishing up.  “Oh, hey Clint,” Gary said.

“Morning.”  Clint was a big man, tall and broad.  He wasn’t dressed for work yet, and wore sweatpants and a t-shirt down to breakfast.  His brown hair was pointing in several directions, characteristic of him at that early hour.

They’d only had a handful of flights together, and in fact they would be parting ways again in Orlando.  Clint was just finishing his seven-day stint, but Gary still had four days to go.

Clint didn’t strike Gary as the friendliest fellow, and took a very minimalistic approach to conversation – limiting his responses to as few words as possible to get his point across, and only asking questions or initiating conversation when it was absolutely necessary.

They parted ways after breakfast to get cleaned up, and met in the lobby less than twenty minutes later.  The walk out to the crew car was silent, and in fact, the entire ride over to the airport was quiet, save for the classical stylings of Philly’s 101.7 FM.  Luckily the airport was only a few miles away.

Really, Gary didn’t mind Clint’s quiet side.  It was a hell of a lot better than some of the other yokels who talked non-stop while he was running checklists and trying to concentrate on charts.  Given the choice, Gary would pick Clint any day.  He was a hard worker and kept to himself.  Really, Gary could do worse.

They stopped to get coffee and donuts for the passengers on the way, and then headed to the airplane to get set up.

The Hawker was a small business jet that seated nine people.  Gary wasn’t expecting that many people for this trip, but they could take them if they had to.  Usually, they only had a handful of some of the wealthiest people in the country occupying the seats.

After cleaning up, running checks, and restocking the bird, they were ready for the passengers to arrive so they could get going.

Gary figured it was a good time to say good morning to Molly, so he sent her a text.

Morning beautiful!  Can’t wait to see ya in four days!  Have a wonderful day!

She responded right away.   Morning handsome!  Be safe today and can’t wait to see you too!

It was quickly followed by a picture of Dug with bedhead, and the caption: Dug says good morning. Haha!

Gary smiled.  Haha, morning Dug!  Gary typed.  It was a classic picture, with Dug bleary-eyed, his hair going in every direction imaginable.

Clint walked up and nodded as he made eye contact.  “Any word from the passengers?”  Gary asked, locking his phone and jamming it back into his pocket.

“Nope.”

“Well, I guess we wait.”

Clint harrumphed at that.  Flying wasn’t really the biggest part of the job, even though Gary thought it was the best part.  The majority of the workday was spent waiting, a smaller percentage collecting whatever was requested, and an even smaller part actually flying.

So, they waited.

Darkness

4

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” – Edgar Allen Poe

Darkness is a funny thing.  The mere absence of light brings uncertainty and fear – the breeding ground for chaos.  It is so absolute.  And yet, so easily defeated by a single flame, if only someone thinks to light a candle.

5

The next morning Molly got up and went to class, prepared to hear the groans from her Modern Poetry class for their late papers.  She usually punished them with half a letter grade for every class they were late, but she wasn’t sure what to do to compensate for her own lateness.  She thought if she could come up with a few options, like having class in the garden one day or letting them pick the next poem to discuss, and let them choose, they’d be happy.

Her other classes held better prospects.  She was excited because the day brought discussions about Gulliver’s Travels in British Literature, and The Poisonwood Bible in Modern Fiction.  Save for the groaning from Modern Poetry, she expected it to be a pretty good day.

It happened in the middle of Modern Fiction.  A student had asked what point Kingsolver was trying to make by sacrificing the family’s youngest child.

“What could possibly be worth killing such an innocent character?” she asked.

“Well, what do you think?  Do you think the father is so taken by his ‘mission’ to ‘save’ the heathens in the Congo that his youngest is a fair sacrifice, as you put it?  What’s one life if it saves a handful of others?”   Molly had just said it to spur the discussion.  She often made extreme statements in class just to stir the pot and get a good discussion going.

She sat cross-legged on top of her desk looking at the rows of students as hands shot into the air.  She smiled and surveyed their faces.  Their expressions ranged from angry to mischievous.  Molly picked one that seemed undecided.  “Mia, what do you think?”

Before she could answer, the lights went out.

The Blackout is available on Amazon.com.  Get your copy today!

Acknowledgments

Publishing a book is a labor of love. A lot like restoring a classic car. First, you need faith. Faith in yourself that you can complete the project, faith in your finished product, and, definitely, faith in God to bless you with the tools needed to do the job right. As always, I am in constant awe of the blessings I receive and I am eternally grateful.

Next, you need a strong body, the support system of your car. It holds your car up, gives it shape, and protects it if it gets slammed up against a wall at sixty miles an hour. My support system is freaking amazing. My husband is a rock star, helping me any way he knows how, from scheduling blog tours to watching our daughter so I can write, to talking through plot problems and everything in between. Be jealous, ladies, because he is awesome. My parents are equally fantastic and supportive, providing constant cheerleading, and really, who doesn’t love that? Of course, my friends, Mary, Dannie, and Christian, are exceptional blessings. Most people don’t even have one good friend, and I have three people in my life who are endlessly encouraging, quick to damn my opposition, and come to my rescue before I even know I need it. I love you all.

Then, your car needs an engine, the driving force behind your machine. My team is seriously four hundred horses of throw-you-back-in-your-seat awesome. My betas, including my favorite beta, Jamie, help me to identify the absolute worst plot holes in the world, so my editors can focus on other things. Angela and Cynthia seriously know how to make something good into Grade-A bestseller material. And Damonza, your designers are nothing but sheer brilliance.

Finally, I need a driver. That’s you, dear reader. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for spending time out of your busy day with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Until next time!

—S

About the Author

Stephanie Erickson is an English Literature graduate from Flagler College. She lives in Florida with her family. The Dead Room is her fourth novel.

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