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  “Declan?” he heard a voice shout from the group. “Declan… Declan!”

  He slowly opened one eye, peering out, afraid to see what waited for them. Ms. Gilly’s round face seemed to swallow the world, staring back at him. His heart filled with shock and disbelief when he saw her wide grin and a fresh tear falling onto her cheek. She leaned in and peppered his face with kisses.

  “Ms. Gilly?”

  “Declan, my boy, are we glad to see you!” his father’s voice called out. Kneeling next to Ms. Gilly, his father looked ten years younger. Declan frowned, confused by the sight. His father patted his shoulder, firm and strong, without any hint of his hands shaking. And the smell? Declan searched for it, but found nothing that reminded him of potato juice. But it was the life in his father’s eyes that convinced him something terrific had happened.

  “Dad?”

  “We came for you,” his father said. “We came to save you.”

  “It’s good to see you,” Declan told him. “And you too, Ms. Gilly.”

  “Oh please… Janice,” she exclaimed. “Call me Janice.”

  There were others with them, and by now Declan felt their presence all around them. He couldn’t tell how many but wondered if his father had brought them from their Commune.

  “Declan?” Ms. Gilly asked, motioning to Sammi. Declan removed his arm, revealing Sammi’s long red hair. A gasp escaped from Ms. Gilly as she covered her mouth. Sammi raised her chin from the safety of Declan’s cover, opening her eyes to greet them. Ms. Gilly shook her head and pushed back until the fog stole the features of her face. “That’s not possible!”

  “Hi Ms. Gilly,” Sammi said, sounding cautious. “Hi Mr. Chambers.”

  “Declan,” his father said. “How… how can this be possible?”

  “So it is true,” a voice blurted from the fog. Declan covered Sammi, his instincts raising concern. “What the mortician spoke of. It was the truth.”

  A tall man appeared from the fog, kneeling down to take a look at Declan and Sammi. His long face showed no expression, but his eyes wandered back and forth, consuming every detail.

  “Declan, this is the leader of the group helping us,” his father began to say.

  “You call us the Outsiders,” the tall man said, and at once Declan shrank back with Sammi. “These are my people. You’re safe with us.”

  Declan uncovered Sammi as the fog opened up to reveal the bodies surrounding them. They were in a pocket, and for the first time, Declan could see almost all of the group that traveled with his father and Ms. Gilly. Men and woman and children—families—just like the ones he left in his Commune. They fixed their eyes on the strange couple huddled together at the center. Only they weren’t from his Commune; they were as the leader had said, Outsiders—just not the monsters that he grew up learning to fear. Declan stood, stretching out his back and legs and then leaned over to help Sammi up to her feet.

  “That’s not possible,” he heard a voice call out from the group. The voice sounded familiar but was like a distant memory perched on the edge of being forgotten. “She’s dead. She can’t be here!”

  Before Declan could put a face to the voice, he saw Harold approach through the fog like a slow moving shadow. Sammi’s murderer leaped forward in the way a predator hunts. Only, Harold did not have the eyes of a hunter today. Instead, he had found something that was impossible. And before Declan could say a word, Sammi was gone from his side, her hands raised and balled into fists. And at the sight of Harold, the pent rage that spawned his travels to the machine exploded inside him. But before he could do anything, his father’s arms wrapped around his chest and held him back.

  “But Dad, he’s a murderer!” Declan screamed, watching as Sammi threw her arms at the ghastly expression in Harold’s face. Satisfaction needled into Declan’s heart when Sammi’s hand landed a solid punch. Harold cowered, covering his head as he tucked into a ball falling to the ground. Sammi screamed and violently swung her arms, punching her murderer. When her feet began to move, kicking upward and connecting with Harold’s head, the leader of the group pulled her arms away and held her.

  “You monster!” Sammi screamed, and then began to cry. “I had a life! You stole that from me!”

  “Let me go Dad,” Declan pleaded, wriggling his arms. His father held firm, surprising Declan with his strength. “She’s going to have a baby, let me go to her.” His words carried a far greater strength than anything physical, and his father let go.

  “Declan,” his father answered with the sound of disbelief and surprise.

  “Oh my,” Ms. Gilly said, standing to take his father’s hand. Declan went to Sammi, and she immediately fell into his arms, sobbing. The earlier rage quickly turned to anguish for her.

  “It seems that much of what your mortician spoke of is the truth,” the leader repeated. “The machine does bring people back.”

  Sammi cried into Declan’s shoulder, and he saw on the faces of his father and Ms. Gilly uncertainty and fear—the same trepidation he had seen when everyone thought he was dying of the flu. Harold did nothing but kept his piggy face fixed on the ghost from his past.

  “Why is he here?” Declan asked, disgusted by Harold’s presence.

  “They’re reforming him,” Ms. Gilly answered. “The Outsiders. Can you believe that.”

  “You can’t reform an evil like that,” Sammi spat sharply. “You shouldn’t let him be here. He doesn’t deserve your help.”

  Harold stood back up and shook off Sammi’s attack, snorting a piggy laugh. Immediately, the leader snuffed out the sound with the back of his hand. Harold’s head whipped back, shutting him up. Declan felt satisfaction when he saw the blood beneath Harold’s nose, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

  “We believe in reform,” the leader added. “We believe in purpose, and that everyone is here to fulfill one.”

  “Sammi’s right,” Ms. Gilly argued. “You can’t reform him.”

  “Enough!” the leader of the group demanded, raising his arms and voice. “Not another word of this.”

  “Declan, tell us about the machine,” his father asked and then motioned to Sammi. “Tell us how any of this is possible.”

  “They used us, Dad,” Declan said. “The machine… the machines, they were never meant to help us. They used us. They’ve used all of us.”

  “You know the truth then?” the leader of the group questioned.

  “We do,” Declan answered. “Dad, Mom… Mom and Hadley, they were there too.”

  His father stabbed a look over his shoulder toward the machine and then slumped his shoulders, shaking his head. “What is it you are saying?”

  Declan briefly saw the man that he had left behind—the one that lived his days in the empty bags of potato juice, too afraid to face the loss of his family. And for a moment, Declan wished that he had said nothing at all.

  “The machines were never meant to end gray skies. They are the cause of it. And our Commune, all of the Communes, we’re just the workforce used to run the machines.”

  “The morticians,” the leader added. “And sometimes, the executives.”

  Declan nodded, agreeing. “That’s right, but how do you know.”

  “Are they with you?” Richard said, darting in and out of the fog, moving closer to the machine, searching. “Sammi… Declan, did they come with you?”

  “No, Mr. Chambers. I’m sorry, but it was too late for them,” Sammi answered. The words seemed to be stuck in her throat. Emotion welled in Declan, and he shuddered with the truth and the fear of Sammi telling it. “When you’re brought back, you’re brought back to work. But it only lasts a year, unless you leave the machine, like I did.”

  “Then they can come back again?” his father asked, his voice lifting with hope.

  “Dad!” Declan nearly shouted, trying to douse his father’s expectations. “I’m going back in. I’m working with two others who are like Sammi, who aren’t driven by the machine. We’re shutting them down. Al
l of them.”

  Richard lifted his hand, words hanging in the air as he tried to find the right ones to say. He crossed the small opening in the fog to take Declan’s shoulders. Ms. Gilly followed, the uncertainty on her face, becoming more concern, but it wasn’t for Declan or Sammi.

  When his father found the words he wanted, he said, “But they might have come back, and you’ll look for them. Right?” His father’s eyes were maniacally wide, stealing any composure he had moments before. “You’ll find them and you’ll bring them out of the machine!”

  “No Dad—” Declan began to say.

  “We can use this,” A voice interrupted. Harold had left the group; a danger Declan had overlooked. He returned carrying a package cautiously around Sammi to stand next to the tall man. “I helped build it.”

  “What is it?” Declan asked, but directed the question to the leader of the group.

  “When we learned the truth from your mortician, we decided to blow up the machine. To end gray skies.” Harold belted a heinous laugh and made an explosion motion with his hands. Declan was intrigued by the idea, and immediately thought of how a bomb could help.

  “If you can show me how to work it, then I know exactly where to place it,” he told the leader. “The machine has a soul where it feeds, and shutting that down will cripple the machine.”

  “But if the machine can bring your mother and sister back…” Declan’s father insisted but was unable to finish. The pain Declan saw hurt him in a way that he had felt the day of his mother and sister’s cleaning. What if he could bring them back?

  “We’ll leave that to you and your Commune,” the leader answered. “But our plans move forward.”

  “And I’m delivering it,” Harold added proudly, pulling the cover away from the package. “I found the pieces to build it, so I get to set it off.”

  Declan’s heart dipped with a sudden ache when he saw what was revealed to them. Harold turned over one of the rusted cylinders, exposing a patch of metal with markings from Andie the android. And below it, Declan saw the large graying button he had pressed so many times during class.

  “Where did you get this? Declan demanded.”

  “Harold told us of the android and the energy cells,” the leader answered.

  “We scrounged for the other parts and then wired them up to as many energy cells as we could steal,” Harold added. “Once we reverse the polarity on the energy cells BOOM, they’ll detonate!”

  “It’s Andie,” Sammi yelled, and placed her hand on the large button.

  The little android sputtered to life, shaking, sending everyone backward in a quick step. The rounded end of Andie’s head turned as he voiced his familiar greeting, “Hi-Everybody!”

  “Oh My!” Ms. Gilly yelled in astonishment. “You… you stole my android!”

  “We took what was needed,” the leader countered. His tone was flat and unemotional.

  “You stole from my school?” Janice yelled out. “Who does that?”

  “Re-Calculating,” Andie’s voice warbled in a myriad of static hisses and pops.

  “Shut-up,” Harold yelled, thumping the android on the head.

  Rage fired inside Declan again, but he knew it wasn’t just for the lovable android he had grown up with.

  Not now, he told himself. In time.

  “Do you think it’s wise to hit him like that?” Declan’s father asked.

  “Stupid thing can’t hurt us,” Harold answered. His voice shrilled with annoyance. “Can’t do anything until we detonate.” Harold lifted a small box that had been fashioned from some of Andie’s other parts. At the center, Declan saw a single green button, a simple switch that had at one time been used to adjust Andie’s projector.

  They’ve tied it into Andie’s projector, he thought. Direct to the energy cells.

  “Hi Ms. Gilly… is it time for our lesson, today?” Andie’s voice chimed with all the robotic inflection that had been programmed to entertain children.

  “Turn him off!” Ms. Gilly screamed. Emotion rose in her voice and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Oh Please! Turn him off!” Declan reached forward, pressing the graying button on the androids front panel.

  “Uh Ohhhhh,” Andie’s voice faded, ending in a rapid rush of draining static pops.

  “We packed all the power cells we could fit,” Harold said excitedly. “This is going to blow the machine into a million pieces.”

  “I don’t think so,” Declan answered, shaking his head. His voice sullen, his gaze fixed on Andie.

  “You don't know what you’re talking about,” Harold snorted. His voice cracked as he chided and guffawed.

  “Yeah, yeah I do.” Declan answered. “Anything you do will have to be done from inside the machine—deep inside the machine. If you set Andie out here, you’ll only blow a huge hole in the sand.”

  “Declan is right. Put Andie… I mean, placing the bomb on the outside isn’t going to do anything,” Sammi added. Declan saw that she had gone to Ms. Gilly to try and console their teacher.

  “Like I said, I know exactly where to put the bomb,” Declan repeated. And though he hated seeing Andie in this state, he knew that what the Outsiders had planned was brilliant. “Just show me how to detonate it.”

  13

  “Ms. Sammi,” the leader addressed her. “Can you tell us what happened to you?”

  Sammi shrugged shyly, feeling as if she were twelve again and standing in front of Ms. Gilly’s classroom. From somewhere deep inside her, she heard and felt the stinging taunts: Sammi Sunshine Sammi Sunshine Sammi Sunshine.

  “It’s okay,” Declan said, running his hand up and down the length of her back. “We’re safe.”

  “Are we?” she asked and flicked a look in Harold’s direction.

  “He won’t be a bother,” the leader added. “Never again.”

  Sammi went on to tell them what they already knew. She told them about her death and that her last memory was the warm light on her skin and that in her final moments just before her death, she really did feel like Sammi Sunshine.

  She told them of her next memory, of being inside the machine and thinking that she had gone to a better place.

  “A better place?” someone asked.

  She explained the technology and the rooms and the clothes and the food and how everything just worked. But then she explained how she had to follow the lights.

  “It was like breathing,” she told them. “There was never anything to question, because nobody knew what to question.”

  She talked about Declan’s mother and sister and how they helped bring Declan inside when he almost died.

  “The machine told us to bring him in so that this could happen,” she said holding her middle. She felt a small thump, and then smiled. “It’s a part of their plan for when the machines are done.”

  She went on to tell them what happened to Declan’s mother and sister, and Declan briefly spoke of what he had found deep in the center of the machine.

  And then she told them what had happened after she conceived their baby, when she lost the lights, rejected and disconnected by the machine like a painful amputation.

  “But a small miracle happened, I became aware,” she said. “And once I was aware, I saw the machine for what it was.”

  “There are others too,” Declan added. “That’s why I’m going back inside. I gave them the index card from the executive floor.”

  “Why did you do that,” Declan’s father asked. “Will they know what to do with it?”

  “They can use the numbers,” Declan assured them. “And I’m going to cripple the machine so that it stops running.”

  “Can you use this?” Ms. Gilly asked, handing her a small pouch. Sammi turned the pouch over in her hand, looking at the fragments of coveralls sewn together. She handed it to Declan. He loosened the cinch and peered inside and picked up the fragments of an index card. She saw what might have been dried blood covering some of the numbers. “It’s from my chosen. He was an executive t
oo.”

  “I think I can,” he answered, closing the pouch and tucking it away.

  He is going to go back in, she thought, and a terrible notion leapt up, telling her that she would never see him again. He’s going to go back in to stop this.

  As Declan and the others talked about their plans, Sammi spied Harold’s sneer. He licked his lips as he watched her. She shivered in disgust and covered her middle—a motherly protection. Sammi stepped aside, just enough so that she stood behind Declan, trying to block her view of him. But she could feel his stare continue, even in the absence of seeing him. She shivered again, but this time it was with fear.

  “The Commune’s mortician?” she heard Declan ask. “He was involved?”

  “The mortician, or morticians—we don’t know how long—brought the blood to the machine,” Ms. Gilly answered.

  “That explains the reanimation,” Sammi acknowledged.

  “The what?” someone asked.

  “The machine uses the blood… brings those from the Commune back so they can work—” Declan went on to explain, but Sammi had become distracted. She watched as Harold moved from side to side, catching glimpses of her each time. He was teasing—teasing like he’d always done. “—but what comes back is only a glimpse of who they were… that is until they become aware, waking up.”

  The voices of the conversation went on and on, drowning in a sea of dead hymns and rhymes as the memories of that day come back to life. She could smell the salt and the damp must hanging in the theater’s air. She could hear the feral cat’s crying mewl and the sudden sting from a cat scratch when she tried to free it from Harold’s snare.

  But she was the one that had become trapped. She’d walked into his snare… she just didn’t know it. She could hear the memory of the balcony’s wood splintering and feel the weightlessness of falling, and the impossible rise in her gut as the air passed through her hair. When she hit the floor of the theater, and the metal post drove into her body, Sammi jolted herself from the memory, bringing everyone around her back into focus.