The Survival Code, page 22
I’m going to die in here. I’m never going to see my mom or my brother or my house or spend the night in my own bed. Life will go on at school. There will be parties and tests and people making out behind the bleachers at football games. Toby won’t take me to senior prom the way I always hoped he might.
Whatever we were, whatever we were going to be, is vanishing right before my eyes.
My whole body aches from the crash. I put my hand on my neck and massage it a few times, realizing I must look like one of those posters for chiropractors who treat whiplash.
I let my whole body sink all the way onto the floor.
I lie there and cry and cry and cry.
“Jinx? Is that you?”
A quiet voice comes from somewhere near my head. I realize there’s a tiny vent on the wall near the floor. It’s MacKenna’s voice coming from her cell to mine.
I wipe the boogers off my face using the tail of my sweater and try to sound normal. “Um, yeah. It’s me. I’m here.”
“Have you been crying?” she asks in a tone that perfectly expresses her usual eye roll. “We’ve been in here, like, maybe thirty minutes. You need to pace your breakdowns. We might be here for a while. If anyone should be crying, it should be me. I’m the one who’s going to die in these awful leggings.”
Oh God. We were wearing identical leggings from the supply bins. “You look fine,” I say.
On one hand, it seems ridiculous to be talking about our clothes at a time like this. On the other, I was grateful to be able to have something to think about besides bombs and dead bodies and infected laptops and fire.
I should keep things light. Instead, I blurt, “I miss my mom.”
There’s a pause and I’m sort of expecting MacKenna to ridicule me or something. Because she’s tough and always has it together.
“Me too,” she says in a small voice.
This is a surprise.
It occurs to me that MacKenna hardly ever talks about her mother and I never ask. It occurs to me that I’ve been kind of a self-centered brat. All I know is that Marissa Novac died five years ago from an inoperable brain tumor. It was the kind of thing that people so young aren’t supposed to get and that doctors are supposed to be able to cure.
“What was she like?” I ask.
There’s another pause, and when MacKenna speaks again, it sounds almost like she’s smiling. “She was the best. The kind of mom who made all the costumes for the school play. The kind who always asked how your day was. She ran a bakery in Boulder. It was famous for its fritule.”
“What’s fritule?” I ask.
“Um...they’re like little Croatian doughnuts, but they’re puffy. A bit like beignets. But with rum. And raisins. She used the recipe that Grandma Novac brought from Labin.”
My mouth waters.
“Mom volunteered a couple of days a week at a soup kitchen. She was so busy. That’s why she kept putting off going to the doctor,” MacKenna sniffles. “She wanted to...”
Feed everyone. MacKenna’s mom wanted to make sure everyone had enough food. MacKenna’s interest in The Spark was more personal than I thought.
She wanted to finish her mother’s work. To make sure everyone had enough.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Me too.”
We’re there, silent for a few minutes.
Until footsteps.
I hear MacKenna’s door open and then shut again. A couple of seconds later, my door opens. A brown paper bag is tossed inside. I open it. There’s a smooshed peanut butter sandwich, a bag of fruit snacks and a bottle of water.
“Bon appétit,” MacKenna says through the vent.
I sit up near the vent with my back against the wall. It’s not the best lunch I’ve ever had but at least it’s something.
“Can you talk to Toby too?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “He’s in the room next to me, but there’s no opening between.”
After I eat a few bites of the disgusting peanut butter sandwich, I say, “We’ve got to get out of here.” I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt.
We’re silent until MacKenna says, “Why did you decide to come with us?”
“Because I had to try to help my mom.” And I had to try to atone. “And because I love Jay too, you know.”
She must be sitting very close to the vent on her side, because her voice has a quiet, soft girlish sound but I can hear her perfectly. “I know.”
It’s weird that our relationship is the best it’s ever been and we have a literal wall between us.
“How could I not see that my father was really involved in all this stuff?” I say, mostly to myself.
MacKenna answers. “You didn’t want to see. None of us really want to see things that are unpleasant. But, Jinx, it’s better this way. If we don’t have the truth, there isn’t much of a point in surviving. There isn’t anything worth surviving for.”
The fluorescent lights flicker twice.
“If we’re going to survive, we’ll need some sort of a plan,” I say.
“Yeah.”
But I don’t say anything else. I don’t know if the room is under audio or video surveillance. And there can be only one plan anyway.
Try to escape when they come to get us for the interviews.
I take the sheet from my bed and sit near the door. In case anyone is watching, I attempt to make my movements seem like a nervous habit. I twist the sheet as tight as I can, forming a makeshift rope. Twist and twist and twist. My idea is to wedge the bottom into the door the instant it opens and then do my best to face punch whomever Tork sends to interview us. Either we can escape or we can’t and we might as well find out one way or the other.
It’s not a great plan.
MacKenna tells stories through the wall. About how her mom would boil cabbage and make sauerkraut and how you could smell it from the driveway at their old house in Boulder. How they had a scarlet oak tree in the corner of their yard. Every year, the leaves would turn as red as fire, then brown until they’d be carried off by the wind, dancing past her window. In the end, I want to get out even more, if only to visit Colorado someday.
We wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I’m losing all feeling in my butt and I have to keep doing little circles with my feet and ankles to keep them from falling asleep.
But it happens.
There’s some loud talking in the hall.
I’m on my feet.
Fast.
Dad always says, Stay focused on what’s in front of you.
The door.
The door.
It opens.
I’ve got the sheet wrapped so tight around my hand that my fingers tingle and the tips have grown numb.
The door. The door. The door.
I chant this in sync with my heartbeat.
I’m ready.
DR. DOOMSDAY SAYS:
KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE.
KEEP YOUR ENEMIES IN THE MORGUE.
The first part goes okay. I’m able to use the sheet to jam the door. I grab an arm by the sleeve of a desert camo jacket. It’s the fight of my life to get the makeshift rope wrapped around the soldier’s arm but I do.
I slam the door on the arm.
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
Until I’m pretty sure I’ve broken it.
Whoever is out in the hall is screaming bloody murder and I can hear MacKenna shouting my name through the wall. All this racket is bound to attract unwanted attention. I need to get a move on it.
Now.
I drag the soldier inside my room. In what feels like our first lucky break so far, he’s not that much bigger than I am. And he’s surprised. My dad always told me that the one advantage I’d have in a fight is that my opponent would be unlikely to take me seriously.
He’s thin and blond and boyish.
He goes for my nose.
I’m mostly able to block it but the punch lands hard enough that I see electric stars in my peripheral vision. I’m pretty sure my nose isn’t broken. Thank God for small favors.
I ground myself and get ready for a kick. I have to give this everything I’ve got. Every. Last. Thing. I’ve. Got.
Groin kick.
I will survive.
The guy is down on the floor. I scramble over, forcing him in a face-down position. I take an elbow to the face and I know I’ll have a black eye later, but I see it. A ring of keys dangling from a utility belt. I rip them off and jump up.
I kick the soldier once in the ribs to make sure he stays down.
And then I’m in the beige hall.
And it’s quiet. Way too quiet.
Considering how blond boy was screaming bloody murder, I’m waiting for half the damn base to storm the building. And anyway, there’s no choice.
Keep going.
I lean against the door, using my body weight to keep it closed because the soldier won’t stay down forever. Sure enough, as I’m trying keys on the ring, he starts tugging on the door. There are at least thirty keys and if I have to test all of them, I’m really, really screwed. There’s just no getting around that the soldier in the room is stronger than I am.
The sixth key locks the door and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The soldier continues to yell and beat on the metal door as I move down to MacKenna’s cell. Luckily the same key opens her door as well, so I don’t have to waste a lot of time.
Her mouth is frozen in a shocked O as I swing the door open. “Jinx, what the hell? You took out the guard?”
“Let’s go,” I tell her.
“You actually think we can escape?” she says, still sitting on the floor near her vent.
“Not if you don’t get a move on it.”
She’s up and with me in the hall. “You look like shit, you know.”
Of course, this is what she says. I use the key to open Toby’s door. He’s as surprised as his sister but gets going right away. “What’s the plan?” he asks.
“Find Jay. Get the hell out of here,” I tell him as we run toward the double doors where we came in.
“Simple,” MacKenna says. “Also. Probably insane.”
Before I can push open the door, a loud alarm rings out and keeps going, over and over. The lights flicker again and then go out.
Well. This is probably going to be the world’s shortest escape attempt.
Toby shrugs. His face says, We have nothing to lose.
I push open the door, expecting to find the infantry just outside the door. But that’s not what I see.
Instead, the base is in total disarray. A fuel truck has crashed through the barbed-wire fencing in the distance. There’s screaming and gunfire and the alarm blaring from every building.
Goldwater Airfield is under attack.
The gas truck explodes, sending a mass of black smoke into the sunset and the smell of burning plastic and rotten eggs everywhere.
It’s scary as all hell.
And it’s an opportunity.
To escape.
Gunfire rings out from the opposite side of the base where the sun is setting behind the communications building. It hits me. Everything we need to know is over there.
MacKenna pokes my arm. “What? What are you looking at?”
“That has to be the comm center,” I say, pointing toward the rows of satellite dishes and antennae. “If we can access a terminal, we can find out where they’re keeping Jay.”
We exchange a look and I know.
We’re going.
I turn to Toby. “We should split up.” I point in the direction that had Tork vanished the last time we saw him.
Toby looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Oh hell no,” he says. “We’re gonna stay together.”
This was Toby. Always wanting to take care of everyone. But would good would it do us if we all got killed?
“No, we need to increase our chances of survival,” I tell him, shaking my head. “If we split up, we double our odds that one team can find Jay or get out of here. Worst-case scenario, we all get recaptured.”
Toby scowls. “Worst-case scenario is one of us gets killed while we’re out here prowling through the next world war.”
“No,” I say with a firmness I don’t really feel. “No more arguing. We increase our chances of finding Jay.”
Of course, this is all false bravado. Toby wouldn’t have to do much to talk me out of what, even I must admit, is a pretty dumb plan. I have to get moving before I lose my nerve. MacKenna takes off as well.
“I’ll wait fifteen minutes,” Toby calls. “That’s it.”
I wish I’d thought to take the soldier’s boots when I tackled him because running along the rocky desert soil without shoes on really, really hurts. Tiny rocks get stuck in my skin and dig in deeper with each step.
I don’t know why Toby and MacKenna got to keep their shoes.
We hug the barracks and cross into the open only when there’s no other option. No one notices anyway. Whatever’s going on must require all hands on deck, and we don’t attract any attention as we make our way to the communications building. And it’s loud on that side of the base. A long row of power generators hums in the pauses between the gunfire and explosions.
The door is locked.
My heart drops.
MacKenna’s eyes are wide with horror.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, trying to get some relief from the pebbles breaking my skin. I have to hope and pray that one of the three billion keys on the ring I stole from the soldier will open this door. My hands shake as I try to insert the first one into the lock.
It doesn’t fit.
This idea was really, really stupid.
I’m about to say as much when two things happen.
First, there’s another explosion from somewhere by the barracks, and then the comm center door is thrown open. I’m barely able to catch it by the door handle to keep from getting hit in the face. Two soldiers exit. MacKenna and I share a terrified look as we huddle together, trying to shield ourselves as much as possible with the now open door. I brace myself to be caught.
But the soldiers continue on, walking forward at a brisk pace, talking to each other.
Man 1: Finally. We get to see some fucking action.
Man 2: For all you know this is another drill. I’m tired of drills.
Man 1: We have to prepare for deployment somehow.
Man 2: We’re ready to roll. We just need Carver to give the order.
Man 1: It won’t be long now. This world isn’t ready for us.
Their conversation trails off. I grab MacKenna’s arm and drag her inside the comm building. I shut the door behind us. Slowly. With a soft click.
MacKenna’s eyes are so big, bigger than I’ve ever seen, like saucers or the moon or some other childhood cliché. We stare at each other, and I wonder if she’s realizing the same thing I am. They’re preparing for an invasion. They’re using this base to get ready.
We don’t have any time for this terrifying new reality. We have to keep moving.
Focus.
It’s way more quiet in here. The alarm isn’t blaring.
We’re in another long beige hallway. We hear voices. Chatter. The indistinct mumbling of people talking quietly.
We creep down the hall. I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve got my hand wrapped around MacKenna’s upper arm. If it hurts, she doesn’t say anything.
We come to a set of double doors that are thrown open. I peek around the corner. There are more soldiers, sitting at terminals and watching an array of screens mounted on every wall. They’re relaying tense instructions into microphones mounted on the desks. “There’s a fence breach in northwest four,” one guy says. “Tell the jerk who’s firing at Red 6 to cut it out. They’re hitting the Doppler.”
I hop past the door, and then MacKenna does the same.
As we near the center of the building, we come to what looks like a series of office doors. I notice that the doors are reinforced and fireproof. The floor underneath my feet gets cold. MacKenna shivers.
The only reason to keep this building that cold is if there’s a ton of computers in here and they’re using a cold aisle containment system.
I stop in front of one of the doors and pull.
My pulse races as I wrap my hand around the cold handle.
Almost dizzy.
The door is unlocked and it swings open.
My weak legs take two jerky steps.
And.
We’re inside.
It’s almost like going to Disneyland. I forget for an instant that the base is filled with people who want us dead or tossed in the bastille. I see only rack after rack of neatly installed servers. Perfectly networked and maintained with their blinking blue lights pulsing through the dimly lit space. Carver has taken every precaution. The racks are lined up with precision on raised flooring. Overhead power distribution. Perfectly cooled.
“What is this?” MacKenna asks.
“It’s a data center,” I say over the hum of the servers as I gaze around in awe. A place like this just shouldn’t exist way out here in the middle of the desert. “A massive one.”
“God. What I wouldn’t do for a camera phone right now. Can you imagine if The Spark knew about this place? Or the media? How do we access these things?” MacKenna asks, gesturing at a server rack.
“We need to find a terminal that’s networked in,” I say. We move across the wide room to a door on the opposite side. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
I’m not really conscious that I’ve said this out loud until MacKenna answers. “Why not? This is a military base.”
The cool cement floor feels good against my raw feet. “Yeah. I guess.” But’s it’s a small one, and this is a major computer data center. It isn’t smart to keep all this stuff in such a warm, remote area where you have to cool it and bring people in to maintain it. “This place. It’s probably got fifteen, twenty petabytes of storage. There’s no reason they should need this much storage. Unless...” I trail off.
Whatever we were, whatever we were going to be, is vanishing right before my eyes.
My whole body aches from the crash. I put my hand on my neck and massage it a few times, realizing I must look like one of those posters for chiropractors who treat whiplash.
I let my whole body sink all the way onto the floor.
I lie there and cry and cry and cry.
“Jinx? Is that you?”
A quiet voice comes from somewhere near my head. I realize there’s a tiny vent on the wall near the floor. It’s MacKenna’s voice coming from her cell to mine.
I wipe the boogers off my face using the tail of my sweater and try to sound normal. “Um, yeah. It’s me. I’m here.”
“Have you been crying?” she asks in a tone that perfectly expresses her usual eye roll. “We’ve been in here, like, maybe thirty minutes. You need to pace your breakdowns. We might be here for a while. If anyone should be crying, it should be me. I’m the one who’s going to die in these awful leggings.”
Oh God. We were wearing identical leggings from the supply bins. “You look fine,” I say.
On one hand, it seems ridiculous to be talking about our clothes at a time like this. On the other, I was grateful to be able to have something to think about besides bombs and dead bodies and infected laptops and fire.
I should keep things light. Instead, I blurt, “I miss my mom.”
There’s a pause and I’m sort of expecting MacKenna to ridicule me or something. Because she’s tough and always has it together.
“Me too,” she says in a small voice.
This is a surprise.
It occurs to me that MacKenna hardly ever talks about her mother and I never ask. It occurs to me that I’ve been kind of a self-centered brat. All I know is that Marissa Novac died five years ago from an inoperable brain tumor. It was the kind of thing that people so young aren’t supposed to get and that doctors are supposed to be able to cure.
“What was she like?” I ask.
There’s another pause, and when MacKenna speaks again, it sounds almost like she’s smiling. “She was the best. The kind of mom who made all the costumes for the school play. The kind who always asked how your day was. She ran a bakery in Boulder. It was famous for its fritule.”
“What’s fritule?” I ask.
“Um...they’re like little Croatian doughnuts, but they’re puffy. A bit like beignets. But with rum. And raisins. She used the recipe that Grandma Novac brought from Labin.”
My mouth waters.
“Mom volunteered a couple of days a week at a soup kitchen. She was so busy. That’s why she kept putting off going to the doctor,” MacKenna sniffles. “She wanted to...”
Feed everyone. MacKenna’s mom wanted to make sure everyone had enough food. MacKenna’s interest in The Spark was more personal than I thought.
She wanted to finish her mother’s work. To make sure everyone had enough.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Me too.”
We’re there, silent for a few minutes.
Until footsteps.
I hear MacKenna’s door open and then shut again. A couple of seconds later, my door opens. A brown paper bag is tossed inside. I open it. There’s a smooshed peanut butter sandwich, a bag of fruit snacks and a bottle of water.
“Bon appétit,” MacKenna says through the vent.
I sit up near the vent with my back against the wall. It’s not the best lunch I’ve ever had but at least it’s something.
“Can you talk to Toby too?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “He’s in the room next to me, but there’s no opening between.”
After I eat a few bites of the disgusting peanut butter sandwich, I say, “We’ve got to get out of here.” I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my shirt.
We’re silent until MacKenna says, “Why did you decide to come with us?”
“Because I had to try to help my mom.” And I had to try to atone. “And because I love Jay too, you know.”
She must be sitting very close to the vent on her side, because her voice has a quiet, soft girlish sound but I can hear her perfectly. “I know.”
It’s weird that our relationship is the best it’s ever been and we have a literal wall between us.
“How could I not see that my father was really involved in all this stuff?” I say, mostly to myself.
MacKenna answers. “You didn’t want to see. None of us really want to see things that are unpleasant. But, Jinx, it’s better this way. If we don’t have the truth, there isn’t much of a point in surviving. There isn’t anything worth surviving for.”
The fluorescent lights flicker twice.
“If we’re going to survive, we’ll need some sort of a plan,” I say.
“Yeah.”
But I don’t say anything else. I don’t know if the room is under audio or video surveillance. And there can be only one plan anyway.
Try to escape when they come to get us for the interviews.
I take the sheet from my bed and sit near the door. In case anyone is watching, I attempt to make my movements seem like a nervous habit. I twist the sheet as tight as I can, forming a makeshift rope. Twist and twist and twist. My idea is to wedge the bottom into the door the instant it opens and then do my best to face punch whomever Tork sends to interview us. Either we can escape or we can’t and we might as well find out one way or the other.
It’s not a great plan.
MacKenna tells stories through the wall. About how her mom would boil cabbage and make sauerkraut and how you could smell it from the driveway at their old house in Boulder. How they had a scarlet oak tree in the corner of their yard. Every year, the leaves would turn as red as fire, then brown until they’d be carried off by the wind, dancing past her window. In the end, I want to get out even more, if only to visit Colorado someday.
We wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I’m losing all feeling in my butt and I have to keep doing little circles with my feet and ankles to keep them from falling asleep.
But it happens.
There’s some loud talking in the hall.
I’m on my feet.
Fast.
Dad always says, Stay focused on what’s in front of you.
The door.
The door.
It opens.
I’ve got the sheet wrapped so tight around my hand that my fingers tingle and the tips have grown numb.
The door. The door. The door.
I chant this in sync with my heartbeat.
I’m ready.
DR. DOOMSDAY SAYS:
KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE.
KEEP YOUR ENEMIES IN THE MORGUE.
The first part goes okay. I’m able to use the sheet to jam the door. I grab an arm by the sleeve of a desert camo jacket. It’s the fight of my life to get the makeshift rope wrapped around the soldier’s arm but I do.
I slam the door on the arm.
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
Until I’m pretty sure I’ve broken it.
Whoever is out in the hall is screaming bloody murder and I can hear MacKenna shouting my name through the wall. All this racket is bound to attract unwanted attention. I need to get a move on it.
Now.
I drag the soldier inside my room. In what feels like our first lucky break so far, he’s not that much bigger than I am. And he’s surprised. My dad always told me that the one advantage I’d have in a fight is that my opponent would be unlikely to take me seriously.
He’s thin and blond and boyish.
He goes for my nose.
I’m mostly able to block it but the punch lands hard enough that I see electric stars in my peripheral vision. I’m pretty sure my nose isn’t broken. Thank God for small favors.
I ground myself and get ready for a kick. I have to give this everything I’ve got. Every. Last. Thing. I’ve. Got.
Groin kick.
I will survive.
The guy is down on the floor. I scramble over, forcing him in a face-down position. I take an elbow to the face and I know I’ll have a black eye later, but I see it. A ring of keys dangling from a utility belt. I rip them off and jump up.
I kick the soldier once in the ribs to make sure he stays down.
And then I’m in the beige hall.
And it’s quiet. Way too quiet.
Considering how blond boy was screaming bloody murder, I’m waiting for half the damn base to storm the building. And anyway, there’s no choice.
Keep going.
I lean against the door, using my body weight to keep it closed because the soldier won’t stay down forever. Sure enough, as I’m trying keys on the ring, he starts tugging on the door. There are at least thirty keys and if I have to test all of them, I’m really, really screwed. There’s just no getting around that the soldier in the room is stronger than I am.
The sixth key locks the door and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The soldier continues to yell and beat on the metal door as I move down to MacKenna’s cell. Luckily the same key opens her door as well, so I don’t have to waste a lot of time.
Her mouth is frozen in a shocked O as I swing the door open. “Jinx, what the hell? You took out the guard?”
“Let’s go,” I tell her.
“You actually think we can escape?” she says, still sitting on the floor near her vent.
“Not if you don’t get a move on it.”
She’s up and with me in the hall. “You look like shit, you know.”
Of course, this is what she says. I use the key to open Toby’s door. He’s as surprised as his sister but gets going right away. “What’s the plan?” he asks.
“Find Jay. Get the hell out of here,” I tell him as we run toward the double doors where we came in.
“Simple,” MacKenna says. “Also. Probably insane.”
Before I can push open the door, a loud alarm rings out and keeps going, over and over. The lights flicker again and then go out.
Well. This is probably going to be the world’s shortest escape attempt.
Toby shrugs. His face says, We have nothing to lose.
I push open the door, expecting to find the infantry just outside the door. But that’s not what I see.
Instead, the base is in total disarray. A fuel truck has crashed through the barbed-wire fencing in the distance. There’s screaming and gunfire and the alarm blaring from every building.
Goldwater Airfield is under attack.
The gas truck explodes, sending a mass of black smoke into the sunset and the smell of burning plastic and rotten eggs everywhere.
It’s scary as all hell.
And it’s an opportunity.
To escape.
Gunfire rings out from the opposite side of the base where the sun is setting behind the communications building. It hits me. Everything we need to know is over there.
MacKenna pokes my arm. “What? What are you looking at?”
“That has to be the comm center,” I say, pointing toward the rows of satellite dishes and antennae. “If we can access a terminal, we can find out where they’re keeping Jay.”
We exchange a look and I know.
We’re going.
I turn to Toby. “We should split up.” I point in the direction that had Tork vanished the last time we saw him.
Toby looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Oh hell no,” he says. “We’re gonna stay together.”
This was Toby. Always wanting to take care of everyone. But would good would it do us if we all got killed?
“No, we need to increase our chances of survival,” I tell him, shaking my head. “If we split up, we double our odds that one team can find Jay or get out of here. Worst-case scenario, we all get recaptured.”
Toby scowls. “Worst-case scenario is one of us gets killed while we’re out here prowling through the next world war.”
“No,” I say with a firmness I don’t really feel. “No more arguing. We increase our chances of finding Jay.”
Of course, this is all false bravado. Toby wouldn’t have to do much to talk me out of what, even I must admit, is a pretty dumb plan. I have to get moving before I lose my nerve. MacKenna takes off as well.
“I’ll wait fifteen minutes,” Toby calls. “That’s it.”
I wish I’d thought to take the soldier’s boots when I tackled him because running along the rocky desert soil without shoes on really, really hurts. Tiny rocks get stuck in my skin and dig in deeper with each step.
I don’t know why Toby and MacKenna got to keep their shoes.
We hug the barracks and cross into the open only when there’s no other option. No one notices anyway. Whatever’s going on must require all hands on deck, and we don’t attract any attention as we make our way to the communications building. And it’s loud on that side of the base. A long row of power generators hums in the pauses between the gunfire and explosions.
The door is locked.
My heart drops.
MacKenna’s eyes are wide with horror.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, trying to get some relief from the pebbles breaking my skin. I have to hope and pray that one of the three billion keys on the ring I stole from the soldier will open this door. My hands shake as I try to insert the first one into the lock.
It doesn’t fit.
This idea was really, really stupid.
I’m about to say as much when two things happen.
First, there’s another explosion from somewhere by the barracks, and then the comm center door is thrown open. I’m barely able to catch it by the door handle to keep from getting hit in the face. Two soldiers exit. MacKenna and I share a terrified look as we huddle together, trying to shield ourselves as much as possible with the now open door. I brace myself to be caught.
But the soldiers continue on, walking forward at a brisk pace, talking to each other.
Man 1: Finally. We get to see some fucking action.
Man 2: For all you know this is another drill. I’m tired of drills.
Man 1: We have to prepare for deployment somehow.
Man 2: We’re ready to roll. We just need Carver to give the order.
Man 1: It won’t be long now. This world isn’t ready for us.
Their conversation trails off. I grab MacKenna’s arm and drag her inside the comm building. I shut the door behind us. Slowly. With a soft click.
MacKenna’s eyes are so big, bigger than I’ve ever seen, like saucers or the moon or some other childhood cliché. We stare at each other, and I wonder if she’s realizing the same thing I am. They’re preparing for an invasion. They’re using this base to get ready.
We don’t have any time for this terrifying new reality. We have to keep moving.
Focus.
It’s way more quiet in here. The alarm isn’t blaring.
We’re in another long beige hallway. We hear voices. Chatter. The indistinct mumbling of people talking quietly.
We creep down the hall. I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve got my hand wrapped around MacKenna’s upper arm. If it hurts, she doesn’t say anything.
We come to a set of double doors that are thrown open. I peek around the corner. There are more soldiers, sitting at terminals and watching an array of screens mounted on every wall. They’re relaying tense instructions into microphones mounted on the desks. “There’s a fence breach in northwest four,” one guy says. “Tell the jerk who’s firing at Red 6 to cut it out. They’re hitting the Doppler.”
I hop past the door, and then MacKenna does the same.
As we near the center of the building, we come to what looks like a series of office doors. I notice that the doors are reinforced and fireproof. The floor underneath my feet gets cold. MacKenna shivers.
The only reason to keep this building that cold is if there’s a ton of computers in here and they’re using a cold aisle containment system.
I stop in front of one of the doors and pull.
My pulse races as I wrap my hand around the cold handle.
Almost dizzy.
The door is unlocked and it swings open.
My weak legs take two jerky steps.
And.
We’re inside.
It’s almost like going to Disneyland. I forget for an instant that the base is filled with people who want us dead or tossed in the bastille. I see only rack after rack of neatly installed servers. Perfectly networked and maintained with their blinking blue lights pulsing through the dimly lit space. Carver has taken every precaution. The racks are lined up with precision on raised flooring. Overhead power distribution. Perfectly cooled.
“What is this?” MacKenna asks.
“It’s a data center,” I say over the hum of the servers as I gaze around in awe. A place like this just shouldn’t exist way out here in the middle of the desert. “A massive one.”
“God. What I wouldn’t do for a camera phone right now. Can you imagine if The Spark knew about this place? Or the media? How do we access these things?” MacKenna asks, gesturing at a server rack.
“We need to find a terminal that’s networked in,” I say. We move across the wide room to a door on the opposite side. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
I’m not really conscious that I’ve said this out loud until MacKenna answers. “Why not? This is a military base.”
The cool cement floor feels good against my raw feet. “Yeah. I guess.” But’s it’s a small one, and this is a major computer data center. It isn’t smart to keep all this stuff in such a warm, remote area where you have to cool it and bring people in to maintain it. “This place. It’s probably got fifteen, twenty petabytes of storage. There’s no reason they should need this much storage. Unless...” I trail off.
