Gray Skies (5 page)

I feel the butterflies in my belly, Momma.

With the floating dust pushing in and out of the light atop Andie’s head, the electronic photograph covered the entire room. Sammi focused her eyes past the light, and to Declan. He stood next to Andie, with his arms to his sides, hands open, and fingers splayed, as though he were supporting the illuminated world enveloping him. He wore the same expression as their classmates: amazement. Even Ms. Gilly had a face of wonder, and stood motionless, taking it all in, and enjoying every bit of it.

With eyes wide, Sammi sat back in her chair, and immersed herself in the deluge of vivid, and almost magical, imagery.
So much color
, she thought, and wondered if it was actually possible to have a world that was so vibrant. She shrugged off the question, and decided to just enjoy it, taking in every detail that the electronic photograph had to offer. The imagery touched the far walls, and nearly reached the ceiling.

Sammi found herself holding onto her desk as she viewed an enormous valley in front of her; her perspective was like a bird’s. The sides of the classroom were lined with rocky slopes and hills, leading up to rolling mountains that rose high above Sammi and her classmates. The space in front of her was filled with deep green fields, and lush trees. Birds of every feathered shape, color, and size flew across the valley, landing on bowing limbs and leafy branches that stretched in all directions. A tapered creek wound through the curvy hills, and into the valley, and Sammi thought that she could almost hear the sounds of rushing water. Sunlight twinkled from the surface of the creek in a feverish dance, causing her to squint a little. She couldn’t remember the last time that anything had caused her to have to narrow her eyes. Puffy white clouds, as considerable as the mountains, slumbered weightlessly, as if by magic, crossing the rich blue sky, and creating terrific shadows that seemed to swallow everything in their path. What Sammi saw next caused a pang of despair, and a feeling of want inside her: she saw the maker of the shadows. It was the sun, just a hint of it, at first. But then, as it slowly emerged from behind a cloud, the brightness filled the room, shimmering in the eyes of the enthralled faces in the classroom. The sliver of orange and white fire grew to a half moon, and then was whole. She didn’t know why, and she couldn’t explain it, but immediately, she wanted to cry. It was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen.

The next electronic photographs were just as powerful. The classroom saw a city. It wasn’t like their city, though. While the remains of their buildings were caked in heavy resin to protect the concrete and the supporting iron from the looming salty fog, the city in front of her had towering glass sculptures, like upright mirrored fingers touching the sky. It was an amazing city, with highways threading in and out, like the spun sheep-yarn in her mother’s knitting basket. There was no ugly, foul-smelling fog. There was no concern for mordant salts invading everywhere and everything, eating at the metals, and flattening what had once stood tall.

Another electronic photograph showed groups of people and families gathering in a vast park. Large blankets made of luxurious materials were laid with care on the groomed lawns. She noticed that some of the blankets bore flashy red colors that matched her unusual hair. Smiling, she reached up, and rolled a strand between two fingers; she unexpectedly felt a little less lonely. The blankets were covered with baskets of food. There were mothers and fathers of different shapes, sizes, and colors; a few even resembled her, with the same pale skin, bright eyes, and sun-colored hair. They watched their children, who were running about freely. There was no hesitation when they moved; nobody was afraid to walk or run. There were no worries of stumbling over something, no fear of falling, or crashing into obstacles that were hidden by the fog. There was just blissful freedom to move.

The open expanse was greater than any distance that Sammi could ever dream of. Her dreams were always the same as her reality, with fog-laden walks that slowed her step to a mere crawl. She thought of how they measured distance here: by the number of hands you could see before your fingers disappeared into the fog.

It would take a million hands to cover the distance of that park
. As she considered this, the elation she’d felt earlier suddenly drifted away, and she was left saddened by their circumstance. Sammi cast her eyes down to her desk. She’d seen enough.

When the sound of crying reached Sammi’s ears, she knew that she wasn’t alone in what she felt. To her, the crying sounded like the whimper of a small animal that had been trapped by a hunting team, and seemed to know its fate.

“Thank you, Andie. I think that is enough,” Ms. Gilly said in an anxious tone, while the sound of crying continued. As quick as a blink, the world in front of Sammi disappeared, and they were back in their classroom. Andie was already lowering the glassy orb that made up his projector, and Declan was stepping forward to comfort the younger children. Tabby Wetton held her palms to her face, and sobbed.

“Tabby? Tabby, what’s wrong?” Declan asked, kneeling down so that his face was even with hers. Tabby paused for a moment, but then shook her head, reluctant to lower her hands.

“Tabby,” he started, and then moved closer to put his hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “Tabby, it’s okay. Those were images of our world a long time ago.” She lowered her hands, and turned to face Declan. Sammi could see that she’d probably been crying since the beginning: her eyes were swollen, and her cheeks were wet.

“It’s so big,” she said, her voice shaky and choked.

“What is?”

“That world!” she cried. “It’s too big! If the VAC-Machines work today, then how could we ever live in a world that big?” Declan consoled her, rubbing Tabby’s shoulder. Sammi could tell that he was considering what Tabby had said. She was considering it, too. Ms. Gilly, who was tapping a finger to her mouth, must have certainly been considering the profoundness of the little girl’s words. Generations removed from the past, they’d only ever known their world as it was today. What would happen later that afternoon? It could be like lifting a blanket that had covered Earth for centuries; the thought of what might be revealed was frightening.

“I’m scared, too,” Sammi said, jumping up as questions exploded in her mind. “Tabby, you’re right to be afraid. We don’t know what the world is going to be like when the fog lifts. We don’t know if it can ever be like the world that Andie just showed us. We just don’t know.” She felt the stares of the children and her peers pressing on her, but she didn’t think that they were seeking out a classroom laugh. She thought they were feeling it, too: uncertainty.

Sammi found Declan’s eyes, and he gave her a nod. She found Tabby’s eyes again, and continued. “But, Tabby, think about what we
could
find, and what we’ll be able to do! Think about being able to run, to actually run as fast as we want! Or to look up into the sky! Our sky! Who knows, but maybe the birds will come back? Maybe butterflies? Maybe we can grow our food
outdoors
, and plant our fruit trees
outside
, and see them grow taller than we are. Just maybe we can do better than we are doing now.” More of the class was nodding, and their eyes began to show enthusiasm, along with something else. Sammi couldn’t put her finger on it, but Declan could. He smiled, and told the class the most important thing—the one thing that Sammi had forgotten to mention.

“And we’re going to see the sun!” he cheered, and began to clap his hands together. The classroom joined in, as did Ms. Gilly. More importantly, Tabby started clapping, too.

“Okay, class,” Ms. Gilly began, nearly yelling over the raucous cheers, while she thumped her hand against the top of her desk. “We’re calling it an early day so that you can all prepare for this afternoon. By the looks of what my time-piece is reading, we’re at approximately seven hours from the
End of Gray Skies
. That leaves plenty of time for each of you to go to your dwellings, and do your check-ins with your floor advisors. They won’t mind that it is early—not today, anyway. That should also give you enough time to do your share of Communal work. But, keep in mind, in seven hours, you will want to be with your families and friends, and…” Ms. Gilly stopped mid-sentence. The disruption pulled Sammi’s eyes up. Grabbing at her mouth, Ms. Gilly seemed overwhelmed by what she was about to say. Sammi could see the emotion in the trembling beneath Ms. Gilly’s fingers, and feel her sentiment.

“In seven hours, you will want to be with your families and your friends when the sun comes out,” Ms. Gilly finished with a shudder in her voice. Sammi wondered who Ms. Gilly would be standing with. She wondered who she called family. Surely she had friends, but she had missed her time; she’d never have children of her own.

Ms. Gilly stood behind her desk, gesturing small waves to the children as they left her class. Sammi wanted to run up to her and wrap her arms around her, kiss her on the cheek, and thank her for being their teacher for so many years, but the sudden feel of fingers touching her own pulled away her thoughts. Declan stepped in front of Sammi, blocking Ms. Gilly from her view.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and motioned toward the door. The butterflies yawned and stretched inside her, pushing out a broad smile that she couldn’t hide, no matter how hard she tried. Declan was intrigued, and bumped her arm with his. “What is it?” he questioned, as Sammi tried again to stifle her grin.

Finally giving up, she answered, “I’ve got a secret.”

“A secret?” Declan sounded more intrigued.

“I’m going to tell you what it is… later.”

“Promise?”

“I promise!”

Sammi grabbed her things, and held Declan’s hand as they waved goodbye to Ms. Gilly.

3

Surprise was on the faces of both Declan and Sammi, as they abandoned the safety of their classroom. The fog this early afternoon was a finer mist, not its usual pillow-like gray.

“Thinner,” Declan mumbled
.
Visibility outside of the classroom was more than twice what they were used to; they could see twelve hands ahead of them. Declan tried to remember the last time that he could see that far.

Are the VAC-Machines already working?
Are they lifting the clouds back to where they belong?
He shrugged away the questions, and did what they’d always done when the fog was thin: played.

He felt silly, and was sure Sammi was feeling it, too. They knotted their fingers together, and stretched their arms out, spinning round and round. He held a wide grin, and his excitement fed on the danger, when he felt his hair touch the sea smoke. The extra hands of sight were like a newfound toy. A few of the younger children twirled past them, running in a game of fast-tag. Declan reminisced, and wanted to jump into the game with them, but instead, he held Sammi’s hand, returning her broad smile.

They slowed, and then stopped when they heard the sound of bodies colliding in a dense thud. He heard shallower thumps when the fast-tag game abruptly ended, and the children all tumbled to the ground. Breathless groans soon followed, and Declan covered his mouth, trying to swallow the laughter that was rising in his throat. He’d played fast-tag more than a few times, blinded by the fog. It always resulted in the same bruised finale. Sammi slapped his arm for laughing, but soon smirked, before hollering to the children.

“No cracked heads?” she called out in a tone that he thought sounded only half-joking.

“We’re fine,” a child’s voice replied from behind the veil of gray.

“Okay, then… no more running in the fog. You can play fast-tag indoors, where it is safe. Do you understand?” she scolded. Her voice sounded stern, but amused. Declan mocked Sammi’s reprimand. She fixed her eyes on him, nudging a pointy shoulder into his chest.

“Don’t make fun of me. They could’ve been hurt.” Declan turned his teasing smirk down, and batted his eyelashes at her until the stern look she’d held was gone. She playfully slapped him again, but then wrapped her hands around his arm, and they continued their walk. Declan liked being close to her. As if she’d heard his thoughts, Sammi pulled him nearer to her, and wrapped one of her hands around his, locking their fingers together.

Out of the fog, a young mother and her two children bounced off Declan, colliding and knocking him to his hands and knees. The ground was unforgiving and wet. He cringed, and his leg ached almost immediately where his knee had kissed the hard stone. The mother whispered a breathless apology, only to see one of her children blindly race ahead of them into the fog. She shook her head with weary frustration, and moaned a disgruntled turn of words. Declan watched her grab hold of a tether strap, and jerk downward in a hard swing of her arm. Though thin and frayed, the weave of braided goat’s wool offered no stretch, and creaked against the strain of the child’s weight. The tether strap held strong, and he heard the child thump onto the ground, and then yell out a complaint to his mother.

I’ve done that… more than a few times
, he remembered fondly, thinking of his mother and sister. Though most of the time, he recalled, it was his sister racing ahead to hide in the fog. If not for the tether straps, their mother might never have seen them again.

The young mother knelt down next to Declan, and pulled the braided wool in toward her body. She dragged her child out of the fog until he was safely next to her. Sammi, who was already laughing, helped Declan back to his feet. He grimaced when he tried to put any weight on his leg; pain pushed into his thigh, coming from the pulse in his knee. He tried to shake out the throb, but it only seemed to make it worse. He sighed, and gave Sammi a simple smile, wanting to join in the humor that she was enjoying. As the mother chastised her child, she offered another apology, and then briskly disappeared into the fog. As their steps faded, silence and blindness surrounded the two of them again.