The Extinction Trials(13)
“Yes. An ER doctor.”
Owen counted that as good news.
The woman stood and stepped out from the group. “Is anyone hurt?”
One by one, each person shook their head or gasped out a response.
No.
Not really.
I’m okay.
My head hurts, but it’s feeling better.
Seeming satisfied, the woman turned to Bryce. “It was cold in the other rooms. It feels warmer in here.”
Bryce nodded. “I’ve cut power to the rest of the station and routed everything here.”
As if on cue, the lights dimmed a moment, then came back to full strength.
“Why is the power failing?” Owen asked.
“Mechanical failure.”
The middle-aged man scoffed. “So, fix it.”
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“We lack the parts. And I lack the expertise to install them.”
“Well, I don’t,” the man said. “I want to see the power plant.”
“What makes you think you can fix it?” the ER doctor asked, her voice neutral.
“Because I fix things.”
“What kind of things?” the doctor asked, seeming more curious.
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything. I’m a mechanic. If it used to run, I can make it run again. Never was any good at school, but I’m good at fixing things.”
“Be that as it may,” Bryce said carefully, “I remind you that we lack the parts to repair the geothermal power generation system.”
“This is all irrelevant,” the older man said. “We need to get out of here. Right now.”
“No,” Bryce said quickly. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” Owen asked.
“There’s a storm on the surface. It’s deadly.”
The older man narrowed his eyes, studying Bryce. He stepped closer to the door, as if preparing to leave. Bryce moved to block his path.
The lights dimmed again.
Bryce stepped in front of the door. “Please, we must remain here for the time being.”
“What’s your role here?” the older man asked.
“As I said, I work for ARC. I’m a proctor in the trials.”
The man swallowed then took a step back. He glanced at the group, a thought seeming to form in his mind.
Something about the scene put Owen on edge. Something was happening here. A change he couldn’t put his finger on.
Try as he might, he couldn’t understand. He felt as though he were staring at a warning message written in another language, a sign he desperately wanted to be able to read but never would. Because of his limitation. What his parents called his limitation: his inability to read body language and facial expressions.
It was a language he could never master. His limitation was part of the reason he’d become a fireman. Fires always behaved the same way. It was science. Once you learned what affected a fire—and how to read the scene—you could figure out what to do.
People were a black box to him.
The older man reached for one of the folding chairs leaning against the wall and set it up, then unfolded another and placed it on the floor. “It would seem that we are confined here.” He glanced at Bryce. “For now.”
He set out another chair, establishing the arc of a circle. “I believe there’s one important thing we can do: take stock of what we have to work with.”
The middle-aged man grunted. “Won’t take long. We’ve got chairs and blankets and a busted-up bunker.”
“No,” the man said quietly, still placing the chairs. “We have something far more valuable.”
Everyone in the room focused on him, waiting.
“We have each other.” He motioned to the middle-aged woman with brown hair. “Apparently, we have a doctor—one with a background in emergency medicine. Quite fortuitous.” He held out a hand to her. “Doctor…”
“Allen. Cara Allen.”
The man nodded. “Doctor Allen.” He waved a hand toward a chair. “Will you join us?”
Owen watched as she took a seat. Again, he had the strange sensation that something was wrong about the act. It was like the older man was maneuvering everyone, positioning them like pieces for some act. The chairs were like props.
“And luckily,” the man continued, “we have a mechanic. Mister?”
“I’ve never been a mister in my life. Name’s Alister Reynolds.”
“A man after my own heart. Will you join us, Alister?”
“Don’t see what choice I’ve got.” Alister stood, sauntered over, collapsed in the chair, and exhaled heavily.
The older man unfolded another chair and turned to the younger man. “And what’s your name?”
“I’m Will Carraway. Software engineer.” His gaze drifted over to Bryce. “I work for ARC Technologies as well.” He paused. “I guess… I used to.”
Alister eyed the younger man. “Then you also work for the people who kidnapped us.”
“We don’t know that we’ve been kidnapped,” Maya said.
“Don’t we?” Alister shot back.
Cara held up a hand. “We’re here without consent. But sick patients are routinely taken to the hospital without explicit consent. Have we been kidnapped? Or saved? I favor reserving judgment.”