The Retreat (The After Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

G
loves on, Romy skimmed over an age-thinned paper before scanning it with her portable device. She scrolled down the categories and directed the document to the right file: law. Organising the filing room—a muddle of towering papers and ruined books—was something Romy would love to drag out over a couple of months.

Especially when every second document caught her eye.

Endless information—on Australia, on life before global warming. On current technology.

After a week at her new job, she had to admit Atlas had given her exactly what she’d wished for. If he hadn’t been so rude, she would have acted more grateful at the time.

The others in her knot were learning how to escape and survive in a post-global-warming world. And Romy finally felt like she could contribute to their efforts. She was going to be the informed knot member. The person up-to-date on modern Earth—not just fairy tales and fuzzy,
dangerous
animals.

The storage room was in one of the three official buildings. Or rather, this building was actually for the soldiers’ supplies and these documents were stuffed in a back room as an afterthought.

None of the information was more recent than 2040, though the e-storage Romy had access to contained data dating back to 1000 BC. It was entirely tempting to read all day.

Soldiers filed in and out of the building throughout the day, never entering the secluded room where she worked. Through the always open door, Romy watched as they entered the room on the other side of the hall. They used a keycard to get in. And exited with weapons and combat gear.

Knot 27 would need guns. How to get them was another question. Romy doubted the soldiers left their keycards lying around. And missing weapons would be noticed quickly. Romy didn’t want them to be caught before they’d even left . . . or anyone else at camp to take the rap for their theft.

She sighed, and returned to her work. Organising and arranging the multitudes of books and files gave her immense satisfaction. Romy wondered if she would have had a job like it back in pre-global-warming times.

She hadn’t seen Atlas at all throughout the week. He’d disappeared somewhere and Houston wouldn’t spill where he’d gone. The last conversation she’d overheard between Atlas and Houston troubled her greatly and she’d hovered on the edge of confronting the doctor about it several times. She was glad Atlas wanted to keep her safe. In fact, she’d replayed that statement over in her mind several times. But shouldn’t he want to keep the entire knot from harm? So why was it that she was being kept close, but the others were allowed out? And did it have to do with whatever Houston was “analysing”?

It didn’t make sense.

Neither did the moment between her and Atlas. Romy was attracted to him. She was in no doubt after Houston’s unsubtle explanation. It was uncomfortable. To feel like that for someone who was nothing but a mystery.

“Why the frown, Ro?”

Romy smiled at the sound of Thrym’s warm voice from the doorway. “Just thinking about all the things I don’t know.”

She peeked around a precariously tilted pile of boxes at her friend. The constant heat here had darkened his skin even more. And it might be Romy’s imagination, but she thought he smiled a lot more on Earth.

Thrym whistled as he ambled through the room, sucking in to move around the littered chaos. “Bit of a job in here.” He grinned over to her corner. “How much are you enjoying this? Be honest.”

Hair tickled her nose and she scrunched it, tossing the hair back. Romy gave him a bored look. “It’s okay.”

Her knot mate eyed her with such disbelief that Romy’s expression cracked and laughter burst from her lips.

“All right. I love it.” She beamed.

Thrym pulled up short, gaping at her, his breath coming faster.

Romy frowned. “Thrym?” She squeezed between two piles. “Are you well?”

But he backed away from her in a hurry, throwing an arm out towards her. “I’m fine!” He swallowed, looking towards the floor. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “I just saw Houston through the window. I think he needs me.”

“O–kay,” Romy drew out. What was up with him? He hadn’t been facing the window; she was sure of it. Romy certainly knew him well enough to know when he was lying. Well, actually, Thrym didn’t lie. He hadn’t on the orbitos, anyway.

“See you for lunch.” His voice cracked. Thrym dodged between piles, upsetting a stack, which hit the ground with a
slap
.

Hands on hips, Romy watched from the door as he ran across the very empty, Houston-free clearing, back to the surgery. She’d never seen him so flustered.

Thrym’s odd behaviour receded to the back of her mind as Romy moved methodically through the archives. She was finally getting the hang of the e-storage system and noticed the information scanned here had the label “Jimboomba”. Was this the name of the settlement? It was a strange word to get her mouth around. “Jim-boom-bah.” She grimaced. She’d ask Houston what it meant later.

Scrolling down through the list, Romy could see there were many other uploaded scans from other places: Wagga Wagga, Christchurch, Colorado, Edinburgh, Nepal, Reykjavík. She looked at the dusty room. It made sense there would be more information to scan than what was in this room. But her mind boggled as she continued her search. There were hundreds and hundreds of location tags. Just how much information did Earth contain? And how could she ever read it all?

A finger tapped on the window. Elara stood outside in her work overalls. “Lunchtime,” came her muted voice.

Romy giggled as her friend danced outside the window. After a glance around, Romy did her own wacky move.

Romy left the scanner and documents and jogged out of the storage room and down the steps to her friend. The pair shoved each other as they raced back to their cabin to eat. They still hadn’t returned to the Hull. Funny how twenty people watching you chew could put you off food. Like, thirty centimetres from your face, staring. Not cool. They took turns collecting food for the entire group.

The others said it wasn’t as bad when they were out with just a few camp individuals. Elara said the guys she worked with got over their fascination pretty fast. They mainly wanted to hear about spaceships and the Critamal and seemed disappointed the knot weren’t ninjas.

Romy crunched on some celery—as Phobos had called it. She rather liked the burst of flavour and the texture. Nothing on the orbitos ever had texture. Or such freshness. All space food was mushy, rehydrated slop. This stuff was amazing. Everything in the Hull was served from heated cabinets. Quantities were controlled, though the portion sizes were larger than what the space soldiers had ever received.

“Where’s Thrym?” Phobos asked.

Romy glanced out the window from where they all sat around the small table in the bungalow. “Not sure. Probably somewhere with Houston. He was acting a little odd this morning.”

Elara’s fine eyebrows drew together. “Odd how?”

Romy stabbed at a chickpea with her fork. “We were just joking around, then he got all flustered and ran out the door.”

Phobos choked on his water.

Elara frowned at her, her food paused halfway to her pinched mouth. “Is he sick?” She leaned over to pat Phobos on the back.

Romy glanced at Phobos’s scarlet face, then back at Elara. “I really don’t know.”

The girl shrugged and went back to her meal.

“Did you go visit Dei?” Elara asked her.

Romy shook her head. “Didn’t have a chance.”

“I did,” Phobos offered. “He sat on the side of the bed for ten minutes or so. But his blood pressure is weird from lying down too long. He spewed everywhere. Carrots and all.”

Elara grimaced, dropping her roll.

Romy grinned, mouth full. The old Phobos was back. “So how long before he’s discharged?”

Phobos stretched his arms up in a shrug. Romy saw Elara watching the movement. She gave the other girl a questioning look and Elara quickly looked away.

“Thrym may have an idea,” Phobos said. “But Dei was saying he hopes to be out in a week.”

“You think we still need to leave?” Elara asked.

Romy’s brows rose. “You don’t?”

“Don’t know. I’m starting to get comfortable, you know?”

Phobos scowled. “It still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t know how secure we are.”

Romy collected their dishes and tipped them into the sink. “Well, even if we change our minds, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

She heard a thudding noise and a grunt. Glancing back she saw Elara had kicked Phobos in the shin. There was a crash and Phobos tackled her to the ground.

Thrym chose that moment to walk in the door. He hardly cast a glance at the other two—this wasn’t unusual for them. Instead, he kicked the door closed and reached under his T-shirt to drag out some stolen goods.

Romy took them from him. “From the damaged bin?” she asked.

He nodded, leaning past her to grab a roll. “I snuck in after last bell. Everyone is at the Hull.”

There was a jacket and a pair of warm pants.

She took them to her mattress and stuffed them in through the slit they’d made there last week.

No, she thought. It never did hurt to be prepared.

T
he orbito was clinical white and rigid efficiency; Earth was none of that. Even if something began as white here, it would soon be coated in the red dust swirling in the air.

Romy sat on the steps of the weaponry building watching the Earth humans go about their jobs.

There was no strict order to the business of the day. You woke with the early bell. Started work with the mid-morning bell. You ate three times. And you finished work with the final bell. Everyone had their individual roles. Everyone pulled their weight. Everyone knew what was acceptable. There was no obvious greed.

Romy couldn’t sense the disquiet like Thrym had. But she trusted it was there, knowing she tended to overlook these kinds of things. She
did
notice that the gaze of the settlement’s people was often drawn to the Mandate’s ever-playing hologram. It showed the same images as the first time Romy saw it; the happy family, the happy children, the happy elderly. It was blatant mind-washing poacher poop, but the people here didn’t seem to see that. Often as not they’d smile as they passed it, pausing to appreciate the pictures.

The Mandate used the flickering projection to maintain a presence in Jimboomba. But they were only silly pictures, weren’t they? The more time that passed, the less she thought about the threat of the Mandate lurking over them. Maybe Knot 27 could stay here and become part of the settlement.

“‘Scuse me, lady.”

Romy turned to see a gaggle of small children. A largely toothless, pigtailed girl stepped apart from the others.

“Yes, little one?” She smiled. Children. She’d never spoken to a child before! The cadets developed in space were all born with pre-set maturity and intelligence. But she’d watched the other Earth humans interact with their young. Romy knew she should smile a lot.

“Do you kill heaps o’ aliens?” the girl asked.

The group waited suspiciously for Romy’s response.

There seemed to be some division amongst them. She worked to hide her grin. “Why yes, I‘ve killed many of the Critamal.” She didn’t mention that Knot 27 was only called to the largest battles. The battles where the commanders needed all their numbers. That they tended to pick up space rubbish on most days.
That
could remain unsaid.

The girl’s pigtails whipped around as she stink-eyed a tiny boy. “I
tol’
you,” she withered.

The freckled boy’s face went bright with embarrassment. “How d’ya know she’s not lying,
Tessy
?”

It seemed like a good question to the others.

Romy spread her hands either side of her. “I could tell you how I do it?”

* * *

A
tlas’s groan was audible as a fuming Tina slammed the door to his office behind her. She really lived up to the colour of her hair.

“How exactly did you make the children cry?” he asked.

Romy ran her eyes over him. Layers of dust coated him from head to toe. The hard gleam often present was gone, and a bone-deep weariness was there in its stead.

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know they would react that way. They were asking about the Critamal.” Romy shuffled her feet. It was awful. One at a time, the young people’s eyes had welled with tears until they were all sobbing their little hearts out. “They seemed interested, so I went into more depth.”

A flash moved through Atlas’s eyes. “Tina said the kids were screaming about yellow blood and brain mush.”

Guilt made her unable to meet his gaze, though she stood to attention. “Yes. That seemed to be the beginning of the end.” Romy finally looked at him. “I feel terrible, Atlas.”

Booming laughter filled her ears.

Her mouth dropped open as Atlas lost it. Dust flew up from his muscled shoulders. He hunched forwards in his desk chair, going silent in patches with the strength of his laughter.

A few giggles rose unbidden in her throat as the sound went on. She’d never seen him laugh so hard . . . not since the beach.

Atlas pushed back a few dark strands of his hair, which had flopped over his eyes. He surveyed Romy over clasped hands. “Thank you. I needed that.”

Worry had her edging towards him. “Are you all right, Atlas?” she asked. Where had he been during the last week? He didn’t just seem tired. He seemed a little downhearted, too.

Romy crept closer.

Atlas appeared amused at her question. But on second thought, the mask slipped ever so slightly. Was he trying to fool her?

“I don’t think you are,” she said softly.

Atlas watched her, laughter gone as she rounded the table. He wasn’t frowning, and he wasn’t barking orders. It was like their time in the bush, alone. And now they were alone again. . . .

The air thrummed between them. At least it did for Romy. Could he feel it too? Could attraction be only one-sided?

“Do you need help, Atlas?” She would help him if he needed it. She could take a break from scanning and reading for a couple of days.

Grey eyes flashed at her approach and a low hum escaped his lips. But he didn’t say a word.

Romy didn’t quite know what to do once she rounded the table. Instinctively, she laid her hand on his, which was resting palm up on his desk. His warm fingers curled around hers.

His hand was nearly double the size of her own, though he was only a head taller when standing. She met his eyes, hoping he wasn’t seeing a young girl when he looked at her.

“I mean it, Atlas. Are you okay?”

He leaned forwards, the chair tilting with the shift of his weight. She barely knew anything about him, other than he was an excellent crocodile hunter. But his fingers curled about hers and for the first time since she woke on Earth, dangling in her harness, Romy felt secure.

Atlas studied her face. His grey eyes were soft for a change. “Yes, Rosemary. I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Romy knew he wasn’t telling the truth, but it seemed important to him that she believe the lie.

Something bothered her.

“Would you tell me if something was wrong?”

He untangled their entwined fingers, and lifted his hand to her face. Romy tilted her head into the fingers that grazed her jaw.

She peeked up at him through veiled lashes.

He didn’t shift his eyes. “Your skin is so soft.”

He hadn’t answered her question. But she took in his slouched shoulders and let it go.

Romy bent forwards and gave Atlas a whisper of a kiss on his cheek. His unshaven skin scratched at her lips. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.

What she really wanted to do was press her lips against his mouth. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. But Romy wasn’t quite brave enough. His cheek seemed safe for now.

Turning away from his sharp intake of breath, she made for the door.

“You should get some rest,” she ordered.

A quiet chuckle reached her ears. “I promise to rest, if you promise not to make any more children cry.”

Romy didn’t believe that dignified an answer and she left the room.