Year 2160 (Airborne) Read online

  Year 2160

  Book one in the Airborne series

  Amanda J. Smith

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, alive or dead, events or places is wholly coincidental.

  Published by Amanda J. Smith

  © 2020 United States

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or modified in any form, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Book edited by Holly Anderson.

  Cover photography by Brian Smith.

  For my daughter, Evelyn.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Year 2160

  My legs longed for a respite, the day’s escapades settling a sharp cramp in my calves. A striking burn scrambled up towards the base of my skull, a headache emerging. I clenched my teeth, hoping to stave off the sensation a few extra moments.

  The moon, guiding me with its fullness, shined a glimmer of hope against a doorknob hidden on the side of a warehouse annex. I made an abrupt turn north and to my right, my white converse insufficient for what my feet demanded as my pack harshly slammed against my back, no doubt leaving a hot bruise in its wake.

  Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass broke the noise of my feet hitting pavement and my arms scrapping at my shirt sides. The blast was not so close to suspect capture, but enough to halt progress. I froze against the metal exterior of the building, not yet to the door. The night was crisp and real, no fog or weather to fake a daydream and yet the sound too absolute to take any chances.

  Authority seemed overly aware. Their throbbing and watchful presence seemed a constant burden to my decision-making, my intentions appearing mapped in their mind’s eye before a plan could be cemented. As if reading my thoughts, a searchlight surfaced in the dark, moving with distinct purpose, a target perhaps identified.

  My breathing was labored, wheezy; the simple act of inhaling produced a sharp sting throughout my esophagus. It felt like a xylophone being toyed with, the hammer increasing the tone as the hurt slowly moved up each ring of my trachea. This run will cost me. I coughed in the crook of my arm, attempting to conceal any added sound as my throat pleaded for release.

  As the governing agency, Authority finally grasped its claws into all aspects of life. At the onset, government aid was needed. Extra assistance was required to endure the toxic air as societal infrastructure slowly began to crumble. We staved off the inevitable for fifteen years, but there was only so much a group of people with no electricity, gas or automobiles could accomplish. The government took it too far. Our goals have shifted, survival is now paramount. On a night like tonight I did what I knew best- hid, ran, and searched. This time, hopefully the last, would be the biggest search of them all. If I could make it there.

  My fear escalated as the helicopter’s search light moved towards my annex, shinning in its path dead shrubbery, sharp fencing, and sheds harboring who knew what horrors. Seeming to somewhat decide, the light paused for what felt like an eternity- just two feet from my stance. Its white throbbing eye seemed to glimpse inside me, searching for something other than my physical body: a violation, a beacon not of hope but of disaster. As if worth nothing, the orb continued its search arching back to where it came. Scared to move forward, I scanned the darkness, listening. I rolled up my sleeves, hot from running even though it was September.

  September. The worst of the months. The leaves begin to crumble from their perch making any quiet get away impossible, the knowledge that winter will bring bitter death for many in similar circumstance. It was the month my world changed. Every year the months crept up like a flicking rolodex, my mind knowingly aware of the season’s change, anxiety waiting at my door grasping shriveled flowers and dark bows.

  I shook the thought and fought the urge to cough. What I needed was oxygen and to flee further from the warehouses for fresher air. I hadn’t the luxury of time to secure even a simple mask across my face.

  Using this small respite to my advantage, I reached for my backpack. As I cautiously unzipped the body, I removed a small, silent oxygen concentrator and mask and set the dial to 5. A blaring AUTHORITY label began unfurling from the side, the dry weather plotting to turn it to dust as if modeling the circumstances of the country.

  The helicopter was now long in the distance, a flicker on the dead horizon. It would be back again soon, surely, or endless others to take its place. I ripped at the obtrusive label, pausing a moment to inhale deep breaths of the lifesaving oxygen yet remained cognizant of the short battery life of the contraption in my hands. Batteries were hard to come by, expensive.

  I was healthier than most in the compound, at 28 my young lungs had not been assailed by the toxins for as long of a duration, especially coming from a smaller country town. Knowing this, I placed the concentrator back in my bag and wrapped the mask tubing in a delicate loop. I secured my mask, said a prayer, and continued towards the annex door.

  Year 2145

  The sirens exploded in a massive, harsh cacophony. A lucky surprise for my 13th birthday celebration, an all-encompassing build of grey smog and harsh respiratory contaminants rushing outside the homes of our small town. The neighborhood knew the tones well, being the third one this week. Today was only a drill.

  The shrill vibrations began a rhythmic throbbing behind my eyes as the neighborhood dogs decidedly agreed and went mad in their fences. Mom broke the tension by bringing in a tray of hot rolls, icing slid off the sides and the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg brought the party back to baseline. Ashley smiled from the bottom of the stairs as she ran by my side, her curls boisterous and spectacularly managed, her dark skin a beautiful contrast to the floral dress that fluttered past her knees.

  Ashley whispered, “Piper, Becca has a bottle of vodka with her.” Her brown eyes wide. She blew a curl from the side of her mouth, keeping that crooked smile in place.

  “Vodka? Why on earth would she bring liquor to my party? Please tell me it’s hidden?”

  “Cassie says it’s out, like for the world to see.” Her eyes managed to further widen as she glanced towards the staircase. “Why’d you invite them? You knew they’d be trouble.”

  “I guess Becca’s stepdad called my mom and said she wanted to come? Couldn’t really say no to that, you know? Plus, explaining our social circle to my mother didn’t sound too appealing at the time.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Becca. Asking to come to a party? Who does that? A psychopath, that’s who. Honestly, though, I sometimes miss when the five of us would hang out.” We took a moment, happy in each other’s presence.

  I said, “my mom’s going to have a conniption if she finds that someone brought something illegal into the house…” It seemed as if nothing was going as planned lately, disorder always lurking around the latest corner. A strange feeling had begun to churn in my gut- a nasty mixture of turmoil, air pollution mandates and that ever-present tickle in the back of my throat.

  Ashley whispered, “yeah, no kidding. Cassie told me, all cloak and dagger about it. Like please. Apparently, she brought it in like a satchel. Sauntering upstairs as if she owns the place. Who even owns a satchel? It’s 2145? Read the times.”

  “For crying out loud. What is she doing upstairs?” I saw my future, grounded in a home I already felt chained too. During the last month, the air quality was decreasing more than most filters were able to keep up with. There were too many unknowns for anyone to feel safe outside for any length of time, although people did. This fated a world with less traveling for those under 18, those already sick and the elderly. We were lucky to be off the tracks, and fortunate our school buses had the latest circulation vehicle filters.

  “Well, I ran up there soon as Cassie said something. Becca’s sitting there with Peg in the guest bed, they weren’t doing much as far as I could tell but I was only listening a sec. God forbid she sees me sneaking. I’m not even sure they’re drinking it.” Ashley coughed in her arm. “But who knows what else is lurking in that tacky bag of hers?”

  Upstairs was supposed to be off limits to the guests, dad was adamant. It made me nervous. She continued, “but what, like the parents won’t notice her drunk off her arse? What an idiot you can smell it a mile away.”

  I motioned for her to quiet. Charlie Banks, the younger kid from next door, was looking at us with his lazy eye. It always seemed to know more than it should. It followed him back to
the kitchen and past a group of my classmates playing guess the phrase with emphatic gestures. He would certainly be the first to smell if anything illegal was roaming about.

  Ashley and I faked a smile. Mom looked over and winked as she began filling cups of sparkling lemonade, instructing people to write their names with the largest of markers. Corey Hanley forgot to first wipe the perspiration from his cup and the ink began to mimic a scene from a horror show. A Rorschach test for children.

  I whispered, “I wonder why Becca and Peg are in the guest bed?” My room was downstairs, so it didn’t make a lot of sense, nothing was upstairs except my parent’s room, the guest bed, and a bathroom.

  “No one goes in there, maybe? I guess it’s her best guess at secrecy. Not like she would know either way, kinda weird but let’s be honest she’s kinda weird. But don’t worry, it’s your day, Pipe, I got this.” Ashley firmly sped towards the staircase.

  Before I could follow, Tom sauntered over in his red and blue stripped polo-khaki combo with a compass clipped and hanging off the side of his pocket. Tom has always been tall, the kind of lankiness where the rest of his body has yet to catch up, leaving him gangly and unsure of his movements. The bullies stayed back after Tom constructed a miniature explosive from an old coffee maker timer and some items found in his uncle’s antique shop. He was shocked that people thought him dangerous, he said he was only thinking in terms of construction, his mind always working one step ahead yet two steps behind.

  “Hey Piper.” His smile was wide and honest.

  “What’s up, Tee?”

  He smiled, “happy birthday.” Tom placed his hands in his pocket as he naturally slouched to make up for his stature.

  “You know, if you would have told me a few years back I’d be trapped inside on such a beautiful day, I’d be wondering about you.”

  “Funny how things slowly change, then one day it hits you.”

  “You’re so wise for your age, Tee.” I smiled, nudging his side.

  Ash and I met Tom in level 3, inseparable despite the mandates and curfews. “Corey is such a moron. Why are there streaks of black ink on his face?” I motioned for Corey to wipe his cheek, then pointed to his cup. He ran to the bathroom rubbing his face.

  “So, how are you liking the party so far? I know the horns tend to put a damper on things.” The siren stopped wailing mid-sentence, leaving an abrupt, eerie silence. The feeling was unsettling.

  My voice sounded loud when I spoke, “even with the sirens, it’s great. Thanks for helping Ash and my mom.”

  “Your mom wouldn’t let me use the confetti gun I made last year.” He frowned.

  “Oh, I’m sooo surprised.”

  “That took me a good few days, you know. Restless nights pondering the trajectory of bits and pieces of paper.”

  “If Authority knew what you had in your bedroom, they’d lock you up for good.”

  Tom looked around, “where’s Ash?”

  “Get this, she’s upstairs sneaking on Becca and Peg.”

  “your dad hates it when people go upstairs.”

  “No kidding. Apparently, Becca brought liquor in some kind of satchel.”

  “But that’s illegal.” He said, as if its lawbreaking status meant it just couldn’t be.

  “The satchel or the liquor?” I smiled. “I know it’s not funny. She probably got it from her stepdad.” We let the word hang like a dripping icicle, ready to shatter with any shift in temperature or sudden move of the room. Her stepfather was a cruel, powerful man from what people said at school. “I hear he drinks quite a bit. Probably wouldn’t notice a bottle missing.”

  “That still doesn’t make it right.” Tom shook his head.

  I sighed. “isn’t that the truth. But I’m dead if my parents find out. We gotta get that stuff out, Tee. Or at least get her to stop drinking it, her parents might think I gave it to her.” The thought made me nauseous.

  “So, what should we do? One wrong move with her and you’re bounced out of your home, living on the tracks. You could be Christy’s neighbor.” Last year, Christy Powers had a fight with Becca in the hall outside level 3’s and the teacher, Mrs. Hammond, ran out holding a dry erase pen like a knife threatening for them to stop screaming or she’d give them something to scream about. Christy spit in Becca’s direction and I don’t mean rhetorically. The next week, Christy was transferred to another school. A school on the tracks. If you want to get mugged faster than you can put your car in park, visit the tracks.

  I took in the room. In this county the whole community shows up to anything with food and people. But recently, people started keeping to themselves, regardless of curfew or quarantine. No one wanted to leave the comfort of their home air systems and filtration units, backup generators they knew would work to their standards and panic rooms that could stave off the pollution for a few more precious days. Given the lack of information on long-term repercussions of the contaminants, people were cautious. And what do those panic roomers have in store for those last days? Canned turkey?

  Tee and I stood contentedly by the bay windows in the dining area. The trees and garden sat in a mild grey fog, a dusting of particles lay heavy on their tented leaves as they reached high, grasping for sprinklings of sun in any way they could muster.

  Turning towards the party it was clear many didn’t show. It had been a hard week in terms of contamination. If I ran upstairs it would be noticeable, especially if Tom followed. There were often jokes about our relationship status as it was, as if Ash and I couldn’t be friends with a guy. Grow up.

  “Would you mind checking on Ash? She says she’s quote-unquote handling the Becca situation. She just ran upstairs. But be careful, I feel like Becca is up to something.”

  “Aye aye capin’,” Tom saluted and headed for the stairs, not a second thought.

  I continued towards the food table, mindlessly chattering. Aunt Linda pulled me into a side hug as Corey high fived me out of the bathroom. I coughed as I headed towards the kitchen.

  “Need any help, ma?” I placed my hands on the cool tile of the kitchen island, absentmindedly feeling the rough grout under my fingertips.

  “Baby it’s your party! Get back in there. We’ve got this. And don’t even think of cleaning up.” She gestured towards my dad as she washed a baking sheet in the sink. Her long, straight, brown hair looked to be made of silk, seeming to disobey the laws of gravity as it cascaded side to side with her movements. I don’t think she ever had a knot in her life. Mine was much different, dirty blonde and thick.

  “Where are Tom and Ash? They better not leave without sayin’ bye.” She remarked as she scrubbed the metal ware, the steam from the sink lifted above her shoulders giving the kitchen an illusionary feel. Mom’s mid-region accent was making its presence known, it always flared when she was distracted or angry.

  “They’re around, don’t worry, they aren’t leaving just yet.” Dad smiled. I grew nervous for Ash and Tee, but before I could figure my reason for nerves, a sharp scream echoed from above.

  Chapter 2

  Year 2160

  The metal knob was cool to the touch and didn’t give when I grasped it and turned. Disappointment bloomed in my chest as I bit down on my knuckles to calm my nerves, the taste of salt and metal lingering on my taste buds as I thought about next steps.

  The situation appeared calmer now that the helicopter was in the far distance, the fear of capture receding. A slight breeze blew a strand of hair across my cheek and I readjusted the pin in my hair as I evaluated my options. The lab was approximately a week's travel from my current location, due northeast, and it was currently 9pm. Do I take the opportunity to run in the safety of night, or do I force the lock and take my chances inside, resting? I hadn’t slept more than four hours a night in quite some time and was starting to feel drowsy now that the adrenaline eased its viscous assault. A yawn broke through my pondering state. A week seemed unbearably far. The knob was tempting, even cognizant of the risks.

  Setting my bag to the side of my hip, I reached inside and grasped a small plastic sewing kit, which housed a grouping of bobby pins. I bent the first in half creating a lever, placing it towards the bottom of the lock as I applied a slight pressure, turning it just slightly. I grabbed a second pin and bent the two pieces of metal apart, inserting it above the other. I slowly released each internal peg until the lock clicked and I turned the handle, a satisfactory click let me know I was successful. I made little noise but paused momentarily to ensure nothing stirred on the other side of the warehouse.