Daughter of Hope

In the evenings, the Ohio dome was my refuge. Lying between the corn stalks, the translucent glass barrier was nearly invisible, a swath of stars on display. For that moment, the world seemed unchanged.

Tana slapped her arm beside me. “Why the hell did they breed these blood suckers instead of letting them die off?”

After a moment, we recited in unison, “Everything has a place. Everything in balance,” then chuckled softly.

Tana sat up abruptly. “We should get back.”

“Go for it. I’m staying a bit longer.”

“You’re stretching it Elle. You won’t just get a warning this time if they catch you out past curfew.” She peered down at me, hands on hips.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, not meeting her eyes.

“It’s your life. See you in the morning." She blew me a kiss, then pushed aside the corn, which swung back into place like a door slamming shut. I had never been in a corn field before entering the BioHome. So I could uphold the illusion that this was real, the field sprawling out for miles rather than bumping against the dome wall thirty feet away.

This dome might be my haven, but tonight I was here for another reason. Fatigue began to seep into the silence Tana left behind. I set my watch to 4:00 am and drifted to sleep.

My mother was descending the collapsible ladder that led to the attic, lips quirked in an absentminded smile. At the bottom she pushed the ladder up and watched as it folded into the ceiling. A few moments passed before she noticed me and startled.

“I didn’t see you there Elle.”

“What’s up there?” I asked.

“Just a bunch of junk, mouse poop, and some cobwebs.”

“Can I see?” I asked, voice high pitched.

“It’s not safe up there, Elle.” Her smile was forced now. “You hungry?”

I nodded and she took my hand, glancing back at the ceiling, expression grave. An alarm buzzed like an incessant mosquito…

I jolted awake, throat tight, tears pooling in my eyes. I wiped them away and pushed up. That dream, which haunted me every few nights, was the reason I was here, sleeping on the cold dirt. Other memories goaded me along too—even when news networks had stopped glossing over the truth, blaring incessant warnings instead, my mother insisted there was still hope. She told me she had a secret that she would share with me one day. A secret that would change everything.

But she left one day and never returned. She and eighty percent of the population, caught in the inferno of humanity’s own making.

I tried not to think of her. The ache had barely dulled since that day. My eyes brimmed again. Twice before the sun had even risen. Focus Elle.

Although the watchers were unlikely to be glued to their screens this early in the morning, the motion sensors could be a problem. But I had mapped them out, which is why I stayed pinned to the edges as I crept to the door. Exits were more challenging. But Tye had taught me a trick. I pulled the drone and remote out of my backpack, then pushed open the door. The fans kicked in, meant to sweep “hitchhikers” off our clothing so that adjoining domes wouldn't be corrupted by flora and fauna from distinct ecosystems. I sent my drone soaring into the vestibule, guiding it close to the ceiling. The cameras swung up to focus on the moving object. With that, I crept through on hands and knees and entered the Launch Pad, a sterile dome, the floor divided into cubicles surrounded by looming monitors. Nothing was launched here except scientists in climate-controlled suits, the only people permitted Out. Most of their research was concealed, but the morsels of info they did release were chronically disheartening. Ten years had passed since we entered the BioHome and still the Outside atmosphere was far from habitable. Life isn’t so bad in here, right? people asked. In my mind, any question that ended with, right? answered itself. Also, officially the domes were called the BioHome. Unofficially, the Terrarium. Enough said.

I inched along until I reached the equipment room. I had to be quick in the off chance someone glanced at the cameras. Good thing I had practiced suiting up. Tana’s father gave me a tour two days before. I had plied him with questions and compliments, requesting a demonstration. He had not only obliged but guided me through a lesson on equipping for a mission. I took meticulous mental notes, which is why I was able to zip up and snap on the two layers without a problem. Then came the gloves and helmet.

With that, I made my way to the hatch. My heart rate spiked. This was completely insane.

But there must have been a connection between whatever was in that attic and my mother's faith in a future that wasn't entirely grim. I had to find out. Sometimes there were choices that didn't feel like choices.

Tye had helped me with the next step too. While it did take some serious badgering to convince him to hack the codes for me, he had finally caved when I explained my reasons. I keyed in the code to the first door, which opened with a gust of warm air. Once inside, the door slid shut behind me, a robotic female voice stating, "secondary barrier secure." After entering the next code, the voice counted down from ten. Far too easy, I thought, as the door to the Outside slid open. Then again, sane people didn't need deterrents to step into a noxious atmosphere, one breath of which meant certain death.

I had assumed my first step would feel cataclysmic, radical. It was strange, sure. But I still had a thick barrier between myself and the elements, not so different from the dome. The sun was just rising, an orange glow illuminating the sky. I was about two miles from my old house surrounded by a vast wasteland that had once been farmland.

After walking for a time, blackened tree trunks rose from the landscape like a macabre installation piece. My heart pounded frantically as though attempting to escape and run back to the safety of the dome.

Finally, the houses came into view, burnt and barely recognizable. Here and there paint peeked through, canary yellow, robin's egg blue, like that black magic art—scrape away the dark paint to reveal the colors beneath. By the time I approached my own house, sweat was dripping down my forehead into my eyes. I kept trying to wipe it away, my hand hitting the fiberglass of my helmet.

My house had been a boxy white colonial with a bright yellow door that my mother painted after my father left. Now the roof looked like a lopsided, melted chocolate cake. Likely the whole thing would collapse on me as soon as I stepped inside.

I held my breath as I crossed the threshold. I had imagined everything inside would be unrecognizable. Instead, it was as though someone had made molds, then poured in molten lava, leaving black stand-ins for what had once been our furniture. Bile rose in my throat at the sight. I leaned over for a moment, hands on knees, then pulled myself together. I didn’t have much time.

The staircase was equally charred. When I tentatively ascended, pieces chipped off, but miraculously the steps held. At the top I stared up at the ceiling. The rope pull was gone from the attic hatch, but a metal chain still hung down a few feet. I jumped up several times before managing to take hold and pull. The metal ladder groaned, then unfolded.

I stepped up cautiously. Finally, I poked my head into the attic. It was pitch black. I made my way to the top and activated the flashlight affixed to my index finger glove. My throat closed up. Not out of shock from something I saw, but from what I didn't see. It was completely empty besides burnt chunks of wood and insulation. I crumpled to the floor.

In the same moment, a robotic voice blared in my ears, "Oxygen levels low, forty-five minutes remaining." Maybe I would stay here, let my tank run out. My heart wasn't pounding anymore, it was slow and weak as though it too had been powered by the possibility of what I might find here. After we had entered the Terrarium, I descended into a dark void, getting up only to shove enough food in my mouth to survive. I was alone, an orphan. Now I was tumbling back into that place. It was the dream that had gotten me out of bed back then. But that’s all it had been. Just a dream, the imprint of some archaic, convoluted memory.

My hand scraped the floor as I placed it behind me for support and bumped against something. When I picked up the object, a broken chain came along with it. It glinted beneath the ash. A gold locket. My heart galloped.

Opening the tiny latch with thick gloves wasn’t easy, but as I managed to do so, a wave of vertigo overtook me. My head felt like it was being squeezed from all sides, my whole body twirling and tumbling. I screamed and tried to open my eyes, but all I saw was blackness, then blaring light.

As quick as it had come, the sensation vanished. My O2 monitor must have been malfunctioning. I was running out of air. I lay still, fighting off nausea, head pounding.

"Thirty minutes remaining," the voice bellowed in my ear. It would take at least that to get back. I probably wouldn't make it. Still, I crawled on hands and knees to the stairs, descending as quickly as possible, pausing to shut my eyes as the vertigo resurfaced.

"Oh good, you're up!" someone called out.

I froze.

"I was wondering if you were still alive up there." It was a familiar voice, rising from the first floor. It was only then that I absorbed my surroundings.

The walls were cream-colored, lined with picture frames. The rug was as I remembered, blue flowers and vines woven along the edge.

I was hallucinating, another sign of asphyxiation. I had to get back ASAP.

But bare feet were slapping against the wooden stairs, getting closer. When she emerged, her hair was loose, dark eyes still puffy from sleep, then wide with shock.

Her hand flew to her mouth, then dropped. When my mother was a foot away, she peered into my eyes.

"Elle? Is that you?"

I was dying. It was too late. I had nothing to lose, so I pulled off my gloves, then my helmet while my mother watched intently, palm pressed to her mouth. My hair clung to my cheeks, skin slick with sweat, heart beating a million times a minute. Then my mother wrapped her arms around me. She smelled like coffee and lavender soap; a scent so familiar it was as though no time had passed. The flood gates opened. Hot tears streamed down my face onto my mother's shoulder.

"You made it back to me,” she whispered in my ear. “You found the locket."

A groan emerged from the room that once had been mine. Then, "Mom, shhh. It's Saturday."

My mother pulled back from me, biting her lip. "This is going to be complicated." She was beaming though. I was too as she pulled my hand and led me downstairs.

“I don’t understand,” I said, pulling her to face me.

“I know. I’ll explain,” she said and pulled me into another hug. I relaxed a fraction. Then my eyes caught on the windows, the untouched houses and lawns outside. I released my mother and made my way to the front door, throwing it wide. It was not a nice day by most standards. Thick clouds drifted over head, the air was dense with humidity. But the deep green of the oak leaves, the grass peppered with brown spots, and even the roar of the neighbor’s lawnmower were tangible and flawed and utterly perfect.