The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2) by Ramona Finn (ebook reader play store .TXT) 📗

“He was good to me,” he said. “We were enemies—they made us enemies—but he was always decent. He’d come keep me company—”

I felt, more than heard, Lock’s breath catch. He swallowed audibly and kept going, dry throat scraping.

“It’s not me who should be saying this. He had folks waiting—still does, maybe. He was a husband, a father. A friend. I knew him a few weeks, enough to know that, but I don’t have those stories, the ones you’re supposed to tell. Good-time stories, ‘remember when.’ I don’t—I don’t—”

“It’s okay.” I fumbled for his hand and found his wrist instead. I grabbed on awkwardly and gave it a squeeze. “He, uh... He stole your buggy that first night, then got mad when you got sick in it.”

Lock snorted wetly. “I didn’t even throw up.”

“I think he still had fun, though. Lita never let him drive.”

“I remember that,” said Lock. “He told me, in the pit. Said his kid was the same, always taking charge. He was learning to read, and he’d take over story time, grab the book and just go for it, like...” He leaned down and touched Derrick’s face. “We’ll find your folks, if they’re out there. Let them know where you are. Give ‘em some peace, maybe.”

Derrick lay staring, resplendent in Lock’s coat. It was big on him, soft and heavy. His hands lay cold on his chest, lined brown with dirt. It didn’t seem fair, gold at his wrists and the desert under his nails—such a fine garment, come too late to warm him. Too late to comfort him after all his hard scrabble. I turned my face to Lock’s chest and tried to remember how to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” said Lock, whether to me or to Derrick, I couldn’t be sure. He wrapped his arms around me and we stood in the cold, stood till our lantern guttered and our shadows danced on the walls.

“We should go,” I said. “It’s scary down here in the dark.”

Lock nodded, and we left Derrick to his rest. We trudged back to the elevator and sweated our way to the top. I didn’t think we’d speak again, not in this dead place, but Lock stopped me in the main hall, his hand on my arm.

“I think they’re alive,” he said.

“Who, Lita and—”

“Most of them.” He gestured back the way we’d come. “Lazrad didn’t do that, back at the mine. At least, I don’t think she did. I think they did it themselves, to block her from the rigur.”

I frowned. I had no room for hope, no room to see it shattered. “What makes you say that?”

“Look around. There’s nothing here.” He nodded at the fissure, at the thin light from outside. “They took the projectors. Decemites wouldn’t do that. And over there, where the village was, I’m not seeing dead sheep. Someone took those, and no way it was anyone from Echelon.”

I stood chewing that over. It made sense, on the face of it. What would Lazrad want with sheep, or a mine blown to rubble?

“We should look for a radio,” I said. “If they’re out there, we need to find them, tell them what we found. They need to know there’s more Domes. Ones that might sell them gretha.”

“Yeah.” Lock perked up slightly. “Where’s that one you used, with the fancy name?”

“What, the Carillon?” I chuckled. “If you’re right, and they did get out, Jasper definitely took that with him. But his lab was full of old junk. Could be worth checking there.”

We refueled our lantern from one we found on the wall and made our way to the lab. I breathed a sigh of relief, finding the Carillon gone. Jasper’s computer was also gone, and most of his books. He’d left his flasks and his bottles, and they lay shattered on the floor. Lock glanced at my bare feet and waved me back from the mess. I watched as he dug through the wreckage, upending boxes and shaking out drawers.

“This was a radio once.” He held up a bundle of wires that were knotted up at one end and hooked to a plastic shell. “Now, if I could just find the rest of it...”

I picked my way past the glass and crouched down beside him, raking through chips and batteries, old keypads, broken tools. “Why would anyone keep all this?”

“Here’s why.” Lock plucked a melted something, trailing a speaker from one end. His grin seemed almost genuine, barely frayed at the seams. “This should do. Let’s get it outside, and we’ll see who’s listening.”

I tried not to get my hopes up as we sat in the sun, Lock tinkering with his radio while I kept watch. Still, my pulse picked up at the first burst of static. Lock connected the dial, and I found myself holding my breath. A burst of music came through, and we grabbed hands and cheered.

“Someone’s alive out there. They’re—”

“We can’t talk on this channel. We still need to—”

“It’s working. You got it working.” I grabbed him and hugged him, breathing his warm scent. Lock laughed and hugged back, rocking me in his arms.

“Lemme just scan the dial. We can celebrate once we’ve found ‘em.”

I nodded and stepped back, sniffling in spite of myself. Lock knelt in the dirt and ran up the frequency. The speaker sparked with static into the shortwave bands. I rubbed at my temples, reminded uncomfortably of Lazrad’s lab, that strange, buzzing hum. It had filled my whole head, like I was the radio. But what kind of broadcast—

“—down the escarpment. We—”

I yelped. “Was that—?”

“From the radio.” Lock grabbed the receiver and hit TALK. “Hello? This is—this is, uh, we’re friendly. Can you hear us?”

A faint voice piped up, then a harsh burst of static. Lock jiggled the dial, held the radio over his head. He barked into the speaker—hello? Hello?—but only white noise came back, hissing over the air.

“It’s okay,” said Lock. “It’s a weak signal, is all. We just need to get close to