Free Tomorrow Land by Mari Mancusi

wasteland of dust-caked commercialism, a vivid reminder of how the world once was.
    Peyton sneezed.
    “Maid’s day off,” Chase quipped, beckoning her to follow. “Come on. I think the gang’s in Toys.”
    “Toys?”
    “You’ll see.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a flashlight, flicking it on. A weak beam did its best to pierce the darkness, but as they walked briskly through the aisles and farther from the skylight, she wondered how Chase could even see. Her own implants compensated, switching to night vision. Thanks, Dad.
    At the back of the store a much brighter light appeared, if localized. As Chase promised, they were nearing the Toys section, and a minute later Peyton caught high-pitched giggles accompanied by a loud whirring sound. They turned the corner and came upon a small circle of children all sprawled out on the floor. The light, she realized, came from a couple of lamps powered by a generator that was producing the whirring noise she’d heard.
    Peyton took a closer look. Toys she remembered from her childhood were scattered everywhere: beautiful Barbies with long, flowing hair, dashing Ken dolls with their anatomically correct parts. (She and Avery were scandalized to learn they hadn’t always been manufactured that way.) These kids had every toy she could think of except the electronic ones, and sim decks, which were likely too expensive to run with limited battery power.
    She did a quick count. Eight children, ranging in ages six to fourteen, and about as many nationalities. The oldest two, a girl and boy, were arguing in a corner, while the younger ones contented themselves with play. There was even a set of boy triplets with shocks of carrot-colored hair and matching pug noses. But what seemed strangest of all was their outfits: a total mish-mash of colors and patterns, not a single one of which matched. Even stranger, the kids all wore makeup—even the boys. Or was it war paint? she wondered, because the swirling cheek and forehead designs appeared almost tribal. The whole thing reminded her of a book her dad had once made her read: The Lord of the Flies . Of course, Walmart was no jungle, and these kids had no hope of a rescue plane swooping down anytime soon.
    “So they’re all orphans?” she asked Chase in wonder. “And you brought them all here?”
    A laugh sounded behind Peyton, making her jump. “Chase? He would have let them all be killed if it was up to him.”
    Peyton whirled around to see a good-looking, barrel-chested man approach. He had long dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a trim beard. He walked up to Chase and Peyton and held out his hand. “I’m Tank,” he said. “Chase’s brother.” He looked her up and down. “I wondered where my little brother had gone. Ran off like an idiot. Now I see why.”
    “He always thinks the best of me,” Chase grunted. “Tank, this is Peyton. Remember the Andersons? From down the street?”
    Tank gave her a double take. “Peyton Anderson?” he repeated with a whistle. “ Damn . Aren’t you all grown up?”
    Peyton felt her face heat under his gaze. “Don’t mind him,” Chase quickly interjected, giving his brother a dirty look. “He’s a bit desperate. Four years without porn sims, you know. Or real life girls, for that matter.”
    “Hey, what about Anna Simmons?” Tank protested. “When we were still at the refugee camp?”
    “Yeah, right. That happened.”
    “If she told you otherwise it was only to keep you from getting jealous.”
    “As if I’d touch that slag with a ten-foot pole.”
    Peyton squirmed, feeling uncomfortable and out of place amongst the casual banter and friendly play. It was as if she’d just come out of a sim, and the real world still felt a little, well, unreal. It was going to take some getting used to, being around people again. Sure, she had had her mother down in the shelter, but the woman was always so drugged out it was tough to hold many real conversations. It was amazing she