Gray Skies (9 page)

“Do you think it’s safe?” she asked, recalling Declan’s question. She laughed at the sound of her own voice as it echoed against the far wall. Declan raised his brow at the sound.

He motioned his head toward the entrance. “I think it’s safer in here than it is out there.”

Sammi thought that surely Harold and the boys had passed the theater by now, and maybe they were still running. But there was no predicting them, or Harold and his meanness. He might have discovered that they were in here, and decided to wait outside for them. This last thought soured the moment, but Sammi shrugged it away, taking Declan’s hand, and leading them to the stage in front of the screen.

“Come up here, and sit,” she offered, and jumped onto the aged platform. The wood planks creaked and moaned under her weight. For a moment, she thought the flooring would give, but it held. Declan’s eyes were fixed on the stage, while he waited to see what it would do.

No trust there
, Sammi thought, and then bounced her feet in mini hops to assure him that the stage was safe. While she wasn’t completely sure of it, she was happy when she didn’t crash through.

As Declan looked on, studying the safety of the narrow platform, Sammi wondered what she must look like, standing atop the stage, bouncing up and down. She thought of the imagery that Andie had showed them, and of the great park where teens their age played games: some running, some lying on the grass. She thought of all the different types of clothing, and the many colors and styles, with no two the same. She considered the coveralls she wore, and how she hated them. Although she’d worn them her entire life, she loathed their drabness. Sammi reached up to pinch the lock of hair she’d pinned into a tidy bow.

“A little bit helps,” she mumbled.

Images came to mind of one of the young teenage girls playing in the park. The girl was around her age, but looked so different; she had been feminine, and elegant. Compared to what she wore, the girl’s clothes were dreamy. Sammi liked her pink shirt, and how it was cut low in the front. She liked the girl’s short pants, and the braided belt that had wrapped around her waist, too. It was decorative. It was beautiful.

A pang of insecurity bit her, and she stopped bouncing on the stage. She thought about the girl’s long blonde hair, and how neatly it was pulled back over her head. What if she could do something like that? Sammi tried combing her fingers through her hair, grimacing past a few stubborn knots as they broke free. She tried to tidy her coveralls, wiping away the dirt and grime, as well as some flecks of blood.

When she continued playing with her hair, Declan turned a curious eye.
 

I’ll never look like those girls
, she thought, and she wished that they were in a different time. She pinched the lock of red hair again, and felt a little better for trying, but she also felt self-conscious, and hoped that Declan could see past what couldn’t be helped.

“You look beautiful up there,” Declan told her, taking her hands to help him onto the stage.

She released a sigh of relief; the self-conscious feeling settled, and then was gone. She loved that he did that. Whether it was a look, something said, or even the touch of his hand, he could always make her feel good; he made her feel special.

When Declan was seated across from her, and she was certain that they were safe, she took from one of her coverall pockets a small candle, along with her father’s flint lighter. The candle had been a gift for her seventeenth birthday, given to her a few days early by her mother. Declan pitched his chin forward, and his mouth was open with surprise at what she presented.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, reaching with a cautious hand to touch it. Sammi offered it to him, and he picked it up with care, rolling the candle to see all of it. He gently rubbed the glass holder, and waxy drippings. “I’ve never seen one up close.”

“I got it for my seventeenth birthday. It
is
a big birthday, don’t you think?” she asked with a shudder of uncertainty in her voice. The butterflies fluttered awake, tickling her insides. She was going to choose him. She felt the words inside, pressing against her lips, and pushing to come out. “Declan, I’m going to be seventeen,” she continued with a sounded tone. Declan set the candle down, and lifted her chin with his fingers. The butterflies played a fickle game, leaving her both nervous, and excited.

“I know it is going to be your seventeenth birthday. I’ve been watching the days for as long as you have,” he answered. She thought his voice sounded confident, and maybe a bit cocky, but she didn’t mind. “Are you going to tell me your secret, now?”

Sammi liked that he knew. She maybe even loved it. As she formed the words that she wanted to say, she peeked at her birthday gift, and remembered how romantic she thought the candlelight would be.

“How about a game, first?” she blurted, and then was quick to add, “it’s a good game.” Declan straightened, agreeing; he held a look of confusion, but she thought that she saw interest, too. With her father’s flint lighter, she brought a flame to the wick of her candle.

Bright glints of yellow and red bounced in their eyes, and painted a warm color on their skin. Sammi carefully placed the candle behind them, so that they sat between the candlelight and the movie screen. The light formed giant shadow images of them on the screen; Declan laughed, and waved his hands. Sammi joined him, as the two mimed a shadow story. It was the first story to be played out on the big screen in what might have been centuries.

“How did you know to do that?” Declan asked, splaying his fingers in front of the candlelight.

“My father showed me. When our dwelling was dark enough, he taught me this,” she began, and, with her fingers, she formed the shape of a bird. “This is what birds looked like… when they used to fly,” she added, flapping her finger wings. The shadow bird flew around the screen, avoiding the rips and gashes, and landed on the shadow perch of Declan’s head. He laughed some more, and put his hands together in front of the candlelight. He spread his hands, trying to mimic the shadow bird. When he couldn’t form the shape of the wings, Sammi took his hands into hers, and formed the wings with him.

“Like this?” he asked in a whisper.

Again, the butterflies teased her belly, but this time, she felt something more, something that tingled more deeply inside of her. She continued to feel anxious and excited at the same time. Heat lifted from under her coveralls, rising on her neck and face. Biting her lower lip with uncertainty, she set her eyes on his, and watched the reflection of the candle’s flame sway in a sultry dance, inviting her in.

Sammi placed Declan’s warm hand on her breast, and answered, “Like this.” Her heart pounded and raced when she felt his touch. Her nipple rose beneath his fingers, while his lips pressed against hers. She pushed his hand harder against her chest, squeezing it as their tongues touched.

When the distant sound of a bell reached their ears, Sammi dropped his hand, and began to straighten herself. Alarm showed in Declan’s eyes when he heard it. Worry replaced the excitement as Sammi hurried herself. The bell that had chimed was their Commune bell. It wasn’t ringing for half past the hour, or for the full hour, it was ringing for the daily check-in: the one that no Commune member was allowed to miss. Urgency doused the aroused feelings inside her, as she snuffed the burning wick, and packed the candle away. The distant bell rang twice more, and she saw the urgency catching, as Declan handed her the flint lighter, and readied himself. If she was right, then they had maybe fifteen minutes before check-in to reach their dwellings. If the fog was thick, then they could fall prey to a late check-in.

“Declan, we have to go!”

“Sammi, I know,” he answered sharply.

She felt a pang of hurt from his tone. When she paused, he took notice. “I’m sorry… I know we have to go. I’ve been late once this month, already.”

Sammi cupped her hand to his face, and before she could stop it, the words were out. “I love you, Declan.” The bell rang again, but this time, Declan ignored it.

He held her hand. “I love you, too. I think I’ve always loved you.” He kissed her, then. “The secret… you have to tell me!” But Sammi was already certain that he knew. The bell rang twice more, interrupting them as she drew a breath to answer.

“Meet me here, later, before the End of Gray Skies. I’ll ask then, and… well, maybe we can light my candle again,” she said, hinting with a wry smile. She thought, from his expression, that he understood.

“An hour after check-in, meet me here. Okay?” Sammi nodded, and he added, “That will give us plenty of time before the End of Gray Skies.” Sammi’s heart felt fuller. Within hours, her life was going to change forever. It wasn’t just End of Gray Skies, either: it would be the beginning of the rest of her life with Declan.

They crawled back through the wall, meeting a heavy pocket of fog that was quick to surround them. Sammi gripped Declan’s hand, linking their fingers together, like the braid of woolen tether straps. Sammi guided them back to the morse lines, and then toward their dwellings. Though she thought they would make it in time without being late, the floor advisors marked them for their tardiness; they missed check-in by one ring of the bell. To both Sammi’s and Declan’s relief, that only meant a little cycle-time to support recharging the building’s energy-cells. It was nothing compared to the bigger things that were on their minds.

5

Amidst the bustle and commotion of their building’s courtyard, Sammi squeezed Declan’s hand, and mouthed, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Hearing those words aloud felt good. He pulled in a breath, preparing to share the fond thought, but before he spoke again, she’d let go of his fingers. Remains of her warm touch stayed with him, and he watched as she started the walk across the courtyard—the yard, as they liked to call it. She turned back once more, raising a single finger high above her, signaling for one hour. Declan nodded, and waved. When she turned away, her figure melded into the crowd around her. If not for her red hair bouncing to her graceful gait, he would have all but lost sight of her. He glanced around at all that was familiar to him: the people, the smells. He was home.

Their building was one of the largest in the Commune. It was a place where hundreds of families, adding up to a few thousand people, lived and worked. His father called it “the donut”, explaining that the shape of their building resembled a popular ancient pastry. Declan grinned at the name, trying to imagine what a donut must’ve tasted like. His father also told him that, at one time, their building was a historic hotel, catering to the well-to-do, and the scientists who’d worked on the VAC-Machine closest to them. But, to Declan, the donut was his home, and it was as alive as he was, eating and breathing, just like its inhabitants. Hundreds of years old, with balconies on every floor, and a covered courtyard at its center, the massive circular structure survived as an accumulation of resin-coated concrete and steel.

Each floor held a designated purpose: some grew food, and produced medicines, while others tended to the elderly and the sick, preparing them for their final passing. The lower floors managed communications across the dwelling and the Commune, and also handled the collection and distribution of energy. The area immediately beneath the courtyard was dedicated to managing people, which he thought was an odd task. It was a bureau for tracking each person and their family history, and the recording of births and deaths. That was also the floor where the building’s computers hummed an electronic language, like Andie sometimes did, only bigger. The sub-floors beneath the computers managed the functions of the building, and the manufacturing of their coveralls, shoes, and his favorite, of course, the recycled pulpy fabric used to make parchment allowances. There was also the lower environment beneath that, where most never wanted to work, but it was vital to the survival of their Commune. It was where his stories went after he wrote them: where massive recyclers turned their waste back into water, pumping it high above the building to the top floor for the gravity feeders to distribute downward to all of the dwellings. The farming floors were located on the higher levels, too, taking their share of water, but returning what wasn’t spent, once the growing plants had quenched their thirst.

Below the farming and agriculture levels, the other upper floors housed the dwellings that were sized to accommodate two people: a couple. These dwellings were given to them only for the short time allowed by the Commune laws. Some couples went on to have a family, while some did not, or could not.

Knowing Sammi’s secret, and what she’d planned to tell him later, Declan’s heart hitched a beat, and he smiled. She was going to choose him today. She was going to choose him under the cast of bright, sunlit rays, and warm sunshine that would break the fog during the End of Gray Skies. Soon, they would be a couple living on the upper floors; a couple living as one, to begin the rest of their lives together.

But, while there was the thrill in knowing Sammi’s secret, at the same time, he felt a knot in his belly. Nerves played with his excitement. There was something that concerned him. He knew that there would be an expectation of them, and the constant presence of curious eyes. This was a normal experience for couples trying to have a baby. Questions and rumors often fed into speculation, and even accusation, especially when dwellings for two in the Commune became sparse. Sometimes, new couples were forced to wait, or were asked to make do with a dwelling that was sized for just one, which sometimes spurred resentment and bitterness.