Autumn in the City of Angels (26 page)

I hurried down the hall, noticing the rest of the house was silent.  Connie must have already left for school, which meant I was running late.  I entered the kitchen and reached for the ever-present bag of oatmeal.  Eating the same thing nearly every day since the Crimson Fever had taken an emphasis off of food for a lot of people, myself included.  It didn’t matter what it was or how it tasted, as long as it fueled you up for the day ahead.

I pulled a bowl from the dish drainer and saw a note on the counter.

Happy 18
^th
Birthday!! Had to leave at dawn for the field trip. Left a special breakfast in the oven for you.  We’ll celebrate tonight!

Love, Connie

I stared at the note for a moment.  Was it March 30
^th
already?  I had been so busy counting the days since we’d arrived that I hadn’t noticed the actual date.

It was my eighteenth birthday.  Eighteen.  Birthdays didn’t seem to have a place in this new world.  So much of our existence was concentrated on day-to-day survival that there wasn’t time or energy left for anything else.

A memory surfaced in my mind, and I recalled my dad promising to take me car shopping on my eighteenth birthday.  “Something practical,” he said.  My mind yearned to imagine what this day could have been like.  The echo of show rooms, the new car smell, the stack of catalogues and brochures, a burger joint for lunch and best of all… my dad.

I shook my head, escaping the trap of a memory that never happened.

Then I remembered Connie’s note mentioned something special in the oven.  I cracked open the oven door and smiled as I pulled out a short stack of pancakes.  They were made with oatmeal instead of flour so they weren’t as light and fluffy, but they were pancakes.  And they were still warm.

As much as I loved living with Ben and Rissi back in Los Angeles, living with Connie was awesome.  She couldn’t help becoming everyone’s mother, and no one complained.  Pancakes were suddenly not a thing of the past when she was around.  Calling back to her profession before The Plague, she was now a teacher at the Hoover School and constantly arranged field trips to get the kids out of the classroom.

All of the people who came to Hoover from Los Angeles eventually found a place here.  Daniel, the second in charge of our group, was a recreational pilot in his previous life and flew a plane back and forth from Whiteman Field to Hoover, ferrying us to safety when we escaped Los Angeles.  He now managed the small airfield on the outskirts of town.

This morning, Daniel flew Connie and a small group of her younger students up to Hoover’s sister settlement in Las Vegas for the day to tour an exhibit at the Egyptian Casino & Hotel, saying he needed to burn the fuel and fly the plane occasionally to keep it airworthy.  The exhibit was a walkthrough history of Pacific Northwest Native Americans, including an indoor salmon habitat that demonstrated fishing techniques used by the Nez Perce tribe.

I threw a glance at the clock.  I was really late.  Tess was going to be pissed. She was my boss at the gardens, and I liked her too much to get on her bad side.

I folded a pancake in half and unceremoniously crammed it into my mouth.  I grabbed a clean bandana from the laundry basket by the door, wound it around my right wrist and shoved my work gloves into the front chest pocket of my overalls.  I snatched one more pancake from the plate, threw a sweatshirt over my shoulder and ran out the door.

Dusty, dry air greeted me as I shrugged into my sweatshirt.  While the unfiltered sunshine was warm, the air was still cool for late March in this desert basin.  I jogged toward the neighborhood stable and looked up as I passed in the crisscross shadow of the newly built transformer that converted power directly from the dam’s substation.

I heard the transformer’s crackly buzzing from the ground as I passed underneath it and marveled again at how developed Hoover was for being built after The Plague.

In essence, the Hoover Settlement was a frontier town, built on an empty plain leading down to Lake Mead, just two miles from Hoover Dam.  The town was surrounded on three sides by pre-existing small neighborhoods backed up against craggy hills.  These neighborhoods were called Old Town and were once the suburbs of Boulder City.  This was where most of Hoover lived now.  Though Old Town was more modern with its paved streets and insulated houses, it was technically older than the wooden structures making up the newly constructed downtown Hoover.

Not long after the Crimson Fever broke out, a group of survivors scoured the area for food and supplies, hoarding everything, particularly gasoline.  They settled in Boulder City and hid their stores all over the town.  Word got out and other groups converged on Boulder City.  Fights erupted, culminating in fatal nighttime raids.  The hidden stores were discovered and, in the firefight that followed, the gasoline went up in flames, taking the town with it.

The few people who survived this second catastrophe split into two groups, agreeing there would be no more fighting between them.  One group retreated twenty-five miles to Las Vegas, where they took up residence in the Egyptian Casino & Hotel.  The other group began construction on a new town on the shores of Lake Mead – the Hoover Settlement.  A year had passed since the gas riots, and an uneasy peace continued between the groups as their communities swelled with people seeking safety and food.  I was now one of those grateful people.

My eyes were drawn to the town that lay before me.  New construction was always happening here, and the town grew larger with each office building, store, business or workshop.  The sapphire water of Lake Mead sparkled beyond it, and red mountains pressed against the lighter blue sky.  Hoover Dam was hidden behind a jagged row of hills at the southern end of the lake.  Water from the lake funneled through the hills into a reservoir before being pushed through the dam’s hydroelectric turbines and then released into Black Canyon, forming the Colorado River.

This was also how we got our water.  The dam had its own water processing plant that the residents took advantage of since Boulder City’s water tower had been destroyed.  Water was piped into most of the houses and buildings in town and was just another convenience that made me feel lucky to live here.

I entered the stable and found my butterscotch-colored Appaloosa waiting for me.  “Morning, Snicket,” I said, and she bumped her nose against the hand I held out to her.  After arriving in Hoover, I called back to the handful of horseback riding lessons I took as a kid and was surprised at how easily it all came back to me.

I tossed the saddle over her back and suddenly remembered Tess asked me to pick up an order of hand trowels at the store on my way in this morning.  Maybe she wouldn’t be angry I was late after all, because I was doing her a favor.

I was buckling the saddle into place when a mighty crash rocked the stable walls.  Both Snicket and I jumped, but I managed to grab her harness and pull her head down.  My heart hammered against my chest, and I pet her nose with a trembling hand.

“It’s just a windstorm,” I murmured.  “You should be used to them by now, girl.”

A curse drifted from the front of the stable, and the heavy main door rolled shut against the howl of wind outside.  Brody appeared in the doorway of the stall a moment later.

“You ladies all right?”  He had to raise his voice for me to hear him.

I nodded and tried to smile.  This would make the third time this week that a windstorm made working outside miserable.

Brody was the tallest, skinniest man I’d ever seen.  He looked like he was a hundred years old but moved like he was my age.  No one knew where he was from.  He just rode in from the desert one day with thirty horses and set up camp in Hoover.

Because of this, Ben thought Brody was a real life cowboy who wrangled the horses he brought with him from the wild mustang packs still roaming the American Southwest.

Shad said he heard a story that Brody escaped from High Desert, a maximum-security prison outside Las Vegas.  Everyone at the prison was dying from the Crimson Fever, and a guard realized Brody was immune and released him so he wouldn’t die of hunger locked in his cell.

I didn’t know what I believed about Brody’s past, but I liked him very much.  Once Mayor Westland learned of Brody’s extensive knowledge of horses, he put Brody in charge of the stables.  Brody seemed content with this job, though he never said much of anything.

“That one came on fast,” I said, getting back to securing the saddle into place.

He shook his head, irritated.  “Each storm seems to be more pissed off than the one before it.”  He untied the heavy, canvas curtain covering one of the stable windows and peeked outside.  “This kind of weather isn’t good for the horses.  It wears on their nerves.”

Mine too, I thought.  I finished adjusting the stirrup, then hauled myself into the saddle.

Brody handed me the reins.  “Going to the dance tonight?” he asked.

Ah
hell
.  I’d forgotten about the dance.  It was to celebrate the past year of good fortune and life and was a big deal, because everyone was going.

“Maybe,” I said, going over a mental list of excuses to give Connie tonight as to why I was incapable of attending.

Brody nodded understandingly and waited for me to tie my bandana around my nose and mouth before pulling open the door.  The wind poured into the stable, and a chorus of irritated whickers sounded from the horses behind me.  I nudged Snicket in the sides to get her going and raised my hand to Brody as he secured the stable door behind me.

I turned Snicket into the wind and toward town.

“I don’t want to be out in this anymore than you do,” I said to her, pulling my hat lower.

The winds so far this year had been terrible.  They crashed through town every few days with no warning, kicking up dust and sand, scouring the paint off houses and killing any plant that lost its protective blanket in the garden.  Then the wind would dissolve suddenly, the dust would settle and it would be utterly calm again.

Ben speculated that the drastic shift in weather was caused by the dramatic reduction of humans and our pollutants.  “If most of the world’s population is gone, and our cars and factories aren’t running anymore, it’s bound to have an effect on the Earth’s atmosphere,” he said.  “The disappearance of our body heat and the carbon dioxide we produce can change the environment around us.  If a butterfly flaps its wings in China, it rains in San Francisco.”

I wasn’t sold on Ben’s explanation, partly because it freaked me out to think about how close to extinction our species was.

Snicket’s hooves left the paved street of Old Town and thudded onto the packed dirt of Main Street, the main path that cut through the middle of town and led to the edge of Lake Mead, which was now barely visible in the blowing sand.

Movement caught my eye.  A few cloudy glass bottles swung from the lowest branches of a large tree.  I always saw them on my way to the gardens, and the sight of them gave me goose bumps.  It was one of our neighbor’s superstitions.  Something about whether the glass was clear or not meant good or bad weather was coming.  Though, if the bottles were always outside in the middle of these windstorms, I didn’t see how they could ever be clear.

It was an indication of how people felt about the times we now lived in.  Superstitions and biblical predictions about the end of times were made worse by the unusual storms and the fact we’d somehow all survived a global crisis.  Neither Ben’s butterfly explanation or the glass bottles swinging in the wind comforted me.

What I did take comfort in were the five lookout stations situated around Hoover’s perimeter to safeguard us against another attack like the one they suffered the previous year from Karl and The Front.  Guards stood watch at each of these towers twenty-four hours a day and triggered warning sirens if an incoming threat was detected.

As I neared the general store, I looked around at the bustling people, all leaning into the strong wind and blowing sand, trying to go about their business.   I recognized a few from the LA group I arrived with.  They seemed different now.  We all did.  Our sad, wilting clothes had been replaced by heartier, sturdier clothing made for working in the sun and wind.

I clucked to Snicket and pulled on her reins to guide her into a narrow alley between Brothers’ General Store and the Hoover Guard office, where she’d be sheltered from the wind.

Sand stung my exposed cheeks as I leapt onto the raised wooden sidewalk and ducked inside the store.  The noise of the storm outside was muffled as I headed deeper into the store past aisles of canned food, rechargeable batteries and a display of handmade quilts.

Money wasn’t used in Hoover.  All services and goods were obtained by trade and organized by the general store.  The owners, Royal and Manny, were brothers and were two of the ten original founders of Hoover.

I turned down an aisle and collided with someone in a worn navy sweater.  The bill of my hat jammed painfully into my forehead, and a faint scent of citrus sent off mental warning bells.  I took several steps back as Grey turned and gazed down at me.

I tried to stare back unflinchingly.  I knew it was ridiculous to be afraid of him, but the fear remained.  The dream invaded my thoughts, and I felt the weightlessness of the cove’s dark waters and Grey’s strong arms clasping me against him as I struggled.

He had been in my room just a few hours ago.  This wasn’t the first time he’d seen me today.  Panic flooded my stomach as a blush simultaneously warmed my cheeks.

I suddenly noticed Shad, staring between the two of us, an eyebrow raised in amusement.  Shad had recovered completely after being stabbed by one of Karl’s men while protecting our hideout in Los Angeles.  The first time I saw him, he was pale, still and wet with his own blood.  I met Connie the same night.  She’d been sick with worry over Shad, whom she’d come to love as a son after her own three sons and husband were taken by the Crimson Fever.

“Howdy, Autumn,” Shad said cheerfully.  He seemed to be enjoying the awkwardness.  “You’re all dressed up for your special day.”  He reached out and flicked the bill of my Dodgers hat, and I was suddenly aware of how dirty it must be, as I wore it every day to the gardens.  I pulled it off, which I immediately realized was another mistake.  Without the bill of the cap shielding me, I felt exposed and vulnerable under Grey’s watchful eyes.