towel. She found it, pulled it out and rubbed it over her damp hair, an indescribable luxury. There was no way she was leaving them here, these kids. She turned to face the other children, the towel draped across the back of her neck, their eyes all locked on hers.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Get your things together. You’re not going to live like this—”
“Just leave us,” the older girl said. The two boys had moved off the bed, though, and were going through piles of things. They looked to the girl, then to Juliette. Unsure.
“Go back to where you’re from,” Rickson said. The two eldest children seemed to be gaining strength from each other. “Take your noisy machines and go.”
That’s what this was about. Juliette remembered the sight of the compressor on its side, more heavily attacked maybe than Solo had been. She nodded to the two boys, had their ages pegged for ten or eleven. “Go on,” she told them. “You’re gonna help me and my friend get home. We have good food there. Real electricity. Hot water. Get your things—”
The youngest girl cried out at this, a horrible peal, the same cry Juliette had heard from the dark hallway. Rickson paced back and forth, eyeing her and the wrench on the floor. Juliette slid away from him and toward the bed to comfort the young girl, when she realized it wasn’t her squealing.
Something moved in the older girl’s arms.
Juliette froze at the edge of the bed.
“No,” she whispered.
Rickson took a step toward her.
“Stay!” She aimed the point of the knife at him. He glanced down at the wound on his leg, thought better of it. The two boys froze in the act of stuffing their bags. Nothing in the room moved save the baby squealing and fidgeting in the girl’s arms.
“Is that a child?”
The girl turned her shoulders. It was a motherly gesture, but the girl couldn’t be more than fifteen. Juliette didn’t know that was possible. She wondered if that was why the implants went in so early. Her hand slid toward her hip almost as if to touch the place, to rub the bump beneath her skin.
“Just go,” the teenager whimpered. “We’ve been fine without you.”
Juliette put down the knife. It felt strange to relinquish it but more wrong to have it in her hand as she approached the bed. “I can help you,” she said. She turned and made sure the boy heard her. “I used to work in a place that cared for newborns. Let me—” She reached out her hands. The girl turned more toward the wall, shielding the child from her.
“Okay.” Juliette held up her hands, showed her palms. “But you’re not going to live like this anymore.” She nodded to the young boys, turned to Rickson, who hadn’t moved. “None of you are. This isn’t how anyone should have to live their days, not even their last ones.”
She nodded to herself, her mind made up. “Rickson? Get your things together. Only the necessities. We’ll come back for anything else.” She dipped her chin at the younger boys, saw how their coveralls had been chopped at the knees, their legs covered in grime from the farms. They took it as permission to return to packing. These two seemed eager to have someone else in charge, maybe anybody other than their brother, if that’s what he was.
“Tell me your name.” Juliette sat down on the bed with the two girls while the others rummaged through their things. She fought to remain calm, to not succumb to the nausea of kids having kids.
The baby let out a hungry cry.
“I’m here to help you,” Juliette told the girl. “Can I see? Is it a girl or a boy?”
The young mother relaxed her arms. A blanket was folded away, revealing the squinting eyes and pursed red lips of a baby no more than a few months old. A tiny arm waved at its mother.
“Girl,” she said softly.
The younger girl clinging to her side peeked around the mother’s ribs at Juliette.
“Have you given her a name?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
Rickson said something behind her to the two boys, trying to get them not to fight over something—
“My name’s Elise,” the younger girl said, her head emerging from behind the other girl’s side. Elise pointed at her mouth. “I have a loose tooth.”
Juliette laughed. “I can help you with that if you like.” She took a chance and reached out to squeeze the young girl’s arm. Flashes of her childhood in her father’s nursery flooded back, the memories of worried parents, of precious children, of all the hopes and dreams created and dashed around that lottery. Juliette’s thoughts swerved to her brother, the one who was not meant to be, and she felt the tears well up in her eyes. What had these kids been through? Solo at least had normal experiences from before. He knew what it meant to live in a world where one could be safe. What had these five kids, six, grown up in? Seen? She felt such intense pity that there was this sick, wrong, sad desire for none of them to have ever been born—
This was just as soon washed over with a wave of guilt for even considering it.
“We’re going to get you out of here,” she told the two girls. “Gather your things.”
One of the young boys came over and dropped her bag nearby. He was putting things back into it, apologizing to her, when Juliette heard another strange squeak.
What now?
She dabbed her mouth on the towel, watching as the girls reluctantly did an adult’s bidding, finding their things and eyeing one another to make sure this was okay. Juliette heard a rustling in her gear bag. She used the handle to separate the zippered mouth, wary of what could be living in the rat’s nest these kids had created, when she heard a tiny voice.
She dropped the towel and clawed through the bag, past tools and bottles of water, under her spare coveralls and loose socks, until she found the radio. She wondered how Solo could possibly be calling her. The other set had been ruined in her suit—
“—
23
“What happened? Why aren’t they responding?” Courtnee looked from Walker to Shirly, as if either of them could know.
“Is it broken?” Shirly picked up the small dial with the painted marks and tried to tell if it had accidentally moved. “Walk, did we break it?”
“No, it’s still on,” he said. He held the headphones up by his cheek, his eyes drifting over the various components.
“Guys, I don’t know how much longer we have.” Courtnee was watching the scene in the generator room through the observation window. Shirly stood up and peered out over the control panel toward the main entrance. Jenks and some of his men were inside, rifles pinned against their shoulders, yelling at the others. The soundproofing made it impossible to hear what was going on.
“
A voice crackled from Walker’s hands. The words seemed to tumble through his fingers.
“Who’s there?” he called, flicking the switch. “Who is this?”
Shirly rushed to Walker’s side. She wrapped her hands around his arm, disbelieving. “Juliette!” she screamed.
Walker held up his hand, tried to quiet her and Courtnee both. His hands were trembling as he fumbled with the detonator and finally clicked the red switch.
“Jules?” His old voice cracked. Shirly squeezed his arm. “Is that you?”
There was a pause, and then a cry from the speakers, a sob. “Walk? Walk, is that you? What’s going on? Where are you? I thought—”
