Free Eve of Destruction by Patrick Carman Page A

down on the concrete near the door, her head hanging as if she’d fallen asleep.
    â€œLooks like we’re taking a little breather,” Kate said, and she sat down, too.
    The video feed on the main screen started popping back to life, accompanied by the sandpaper sound of static, but nothing could have prepared me for what appeared on the monitor.
    It was the bomb shelter, where Mrs. Goring had been. That part hadn’t changed, but Mrs. Goring wasn’t sitting there anymore.
    The world underground was in chaos, but up above, in the gloom of Fort Eden, someone else was staring back at me.
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    8 I did some research on this, and it turns out color TVs started arriving in the U.S. in 1953, but the programming lagged behind. Most people didn’t have color sets until the late ’50s, so networks just kept putting black-and-white shows on. The missile silo was built in the early ’50s, or so Mrs. Goring said. The color monitors down there must have been some of the first of their kind.



4:00 PM–5:00 PM
    â€œWho are you?”
    That was the first question she asked me, and I asked her the same thing right back. We had a silent standoff for all of five seconds, her staring at me and me back at her. Even in the fuzzy glow of a fifty-year-old monitor, this girl was cute. Blond hair pulled back with a royal blue bandanna that matched the color of her eyes; brilliant white skin, like porcelain, and a delicate nose.
    â€œI’m Amy. Are you one of us?” She was looking around a lot, like she was nervous someone might find her.
    â€œUmm . . . I don’t think so. I’m Will. Why are you at Fort Eden?”
    â€œYou wouldn’t understand,” she said, and it seemed like she was about to leave, but then she took a deep breath, letting it out as she stared at the floor. When her face came back up, it was different. There was fear in her eyes.
    â€œI don’t trust her, something’s not right.”
    I tried to ask what she meant but she just kept going.
    â€œWhere are you? Where am I ?” she looked around the bomb shelter as if she had fallen down a rabbit hole into an alternate reality.
    Amy was confused, and I had a feeling I knew what she was doing at Fort Eden. I wanted to talk to her, but there was no time—any second now Connor and Alex would show up on a monitor or Kate would start yelling at me. Or worse, Mrs. Goring would come back to the bomb shelter and catch Amy standing there.
    â€œDid Dr. Stevens tell you to come here?” I cautiously asked.
    â€œYes! You are one of us!” She wasn’t yelling, she was whispering excitedly, so I read her lips more than actually heard her words. Amy moved closer to the monitor, still warily turning back to the door of the bomb shelter again and again. “She’s your doctor too, right? Are you getting cured?”
    â€œ. . . Not exactly,” I said, trying to buy some time. “I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”
    â€œIt’s scary, right? I’m not sure I’m doing it. She’s not what I expected.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMrs. Goring. She’s, I don’t know. I mean she’s the best, right? Some sort of miracle worker. I just don’t know.”
    â€œHow did you get into her basement?”
    â€œEasy, I walked.”
    Her answers left a lot to be desired.
    â€œHow many of you are there?”
    â€œYou have a lot of questions, Will.”
    â€œSorry, it’s just . . . listen to me. Don’t let her know you found this place. She won’t like that you’re talking to me.”
    â€œWhy? Are you bad?” She laughed nervously, but then she asked me again: “Where are you?”
    Before I could answer she was off the screen, as if someone had called her away; then she was back, but only for a second.
    â€œI have to go, but I’ll come back. Don’t go anywhere. And