EverWorld (Book 3 of the Down World Series)

Chapter Thirty

"What do we do now?" I asked Tina as I watched the last lazy swirls of yellow dirt spin themselves into the ground through the missing window of the pyramid house.

"Now we wait for the others," she answered.

She took a long swig of water from a canteen, and turned to see me eyeing it like it was a Christmas present. Her brother just laughed at her from his corner of the room, where he was squatting on the ground and tinkering with what appeared to be an old radio. I wasn't sure why he was bothering—the thing was hopelessly damaged.

"Go on," he said to his sister, not even bothering to look at her, "give your puppy some water."

"Shut up, Christopher," she muttered, but her arm was stiff with resentment as she handed me the canteen. I tried to take a small sip, not wanting to drain it after her generosity, but I couldn't help myself. I had never been so thirsty.

I handed it back to her, realizing I had left it shamefully light. "Sorry," I said.

She just shrugged. "The others will bring more."

"Who are the others?"

"Our dad and some friends."

"You sure do talk a lot," her brother scolded, tossing the broken radio to the floor where it joined other useless bits and pieces of metal and plastic that had been abandoned there over the years.

Now that the storm had passed, a faint brown light seeped into the room, illuminating the wasteland of old appliances, computer monitors, lamps. There was even a refrigerator door, which made me think that at one point not too long ago, this house had been used as a home.

Then they both sat and waited, staring at nothing. It took me a moment to understand why it seemed so strange, and then I landed on it: they had no cell phones. No tablets, no TVs.

I scanned the room and saw that the few outlets were covered in cracked plastic shields, some with wires hanging out. No charging cords.

"Do you have any stories?" Tina asked me suddenly.

"Stories?"

"Yeah, something you could tell us."

"About what?"

Christopher grunted again in the corner. "You love hearing about that dome so much, Tina, you should get yourself hard-wired and buy a ticket."

"Will you shut up, Christopher?" she exploded. "I wasn't talking to you!"

He flinched for a moment, then closed his eyes like he was going to sleep right there with his back against the wall.

"What's your favorite part?" she continued as though nothing had happened. "Tell me about that."

I thought about it. What was my favorite part of the dome? I had spent my time inside trying to get out. But I knew the answer, and was talking before I'd even thought about it. "The stars," I said. "In the night sky. You can see all the stars. The air is clear, and it's quiet. And you feel like you can reach out and touch them."

She nodded, her eyes intent. "There's no dust?"

"No," I said gently. "No dust."

Her face fell for a moment, then perked up again. "Okay," she finally said, as though accepting my story as payment for whatever she would give me in return.

She opened her mouth to say more, but just then a clattering of metal and plastic rattled in the window frame, and a man, followed by three others, entered the room. The first man was large—so wide he filled the whole frame as he climbed in. He wore faded military fatigues and his mostly bald, freckled head sprouted only a handful of wiry red hairs.