Gods Under The Dome

5.1

《Surprises》

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It's nighttime when we reach the fringes of an abandoned property lined by falling white fence. A laminated sheet, nailed onto the mailbox, states this house was slated for demolition in 2077 - almost two decades ago. Guess the Council didn't have enough manpower to destroy all the homes they'd forced people to evacuate.

I lean past Sin, which means I'm on the verge of standing, to spy over the shoulders of our driver. Van headlights roam along a dirt road, illuminating trees on either side. Their branches intertwine overhead, allowing for only freckles of midnight sky to be seen.

As the van slows, a floodlight kicks on and assaults my eyes with too harsh a glow. There's a house, single story, tucked away on a patch of browning lawn, half-hidden by overgrown hedgerows and piles of red brick.  Crows, scrawny, their feathers ruffled and glistening with grease, perch on the hood of a rusted stationwagon whose front tires have begun to sink into the ground.

On the right, there's a shed, and a large, barn. Peeling red paint, bleached by the sun, takes on a rusted hue, like that of drying blood. My hand tenses around the cloth Marava had given me.

With a squeak of brakes, the van pulls to a stop. The driver and passenger get out, their doors clinking behind them before they reappear as they pull the backend doors open. A waft of air, fresh and crisp, scented with fresh rain and heavy pine, a smell that instantly reminds me of Nol and causes my heart to race, sweeps into the van, where I hadn't realized we'd been mired in a stench of body odor, sweat, blood, and gunpowder.

One by one, we file out of the back and give our legs a good stretch. There aren't any stars dotting the sky, but there is a moon, large and full, luminescent. It's light spills across the ground, over my slippers. I dip my fingers in its path, move them to watch how the light dances over my flesh.

"Enjoying yourself?" Nol sidles up to me, hands clasped behind his back.

"As much as I can," I say, moving my hand out of the light. I take a huge gulp of air and relish in the way it doesn't smell like a locker room after a hard day's practice.

Nol stares at my face. I shift my weight, hoping it seems like I'm giving my legs a good stretch. "How's your lip?"

"It'll heal." Just like my hand. Just like all the wounds, seen and unseen, afflicted today. They'll heal, eventually, if they don't kill us. "You?" I nod to his bandaged hand, where rust-colored drops have seeped through the gauze around his knuckles.

He touches that hand gingerly and grimaces. "I think I got out all the metal shavings. Hurts like hell though."

"Yeah. I bet punching a holographic projector's a lot like hitting Kevlar."

He smiles and fidgets in his pockets. "I've got some more," he holds out his hand to me, palm up. "Let me see." A crumpled ball of gauze slips free of his pocket. He grabs it before it hits the ground. His eyes bore into mine. "Your hand, Ten," he taps a forefinger on his outstretched hand. "Let me see it."

I shake my head. Looking at his hand reminded me of Snitch and of all that blood as it oozed over Nol's fingertips. The cold fury in his eyes and the aggression in which he'd destroyed that projector. I couldn't help him then, why should he help me now?

"What I need is a new hand, not some clean bandages." Nol frowns. I give him a perfunctory clap on the shoulder with my good hand. "Thanks though."

"Liars!" Della motions us over. "Line up!"

Tujo grimaces. "I know we saw the Facility implode on itself, but somehow it doesn't feel like we've left."

I nod. "Maybe it's their way of making us feel comfortable."