around them.
Another scientist in a lab coat walked past Carrington and said, “Hi, Harry. I’m just running a couple tests. I’ll be out in ten minutes.” He marched to the door’s thumbprint access panel. Almost as quickly as he put his thumb on the pad, the door clicked open and he breezed in like he was walking into the public dining area to get water.
“No problem, Dr. Tenaka. We’ll see you in ten,” Harry said with a smile that morphed into a sneer when he glared back down at Dr. Reid.
Carrington tried to remember Dr. Tenaka. That’s right , he thought. He’s a nuclear physicist who kept to himself mostly, and until now, Carrington had no idea where Tenaka worked. So, what was a nuclear physicist doing in a geothermal production plant? And why wasn’t Carrington asked to work with him? Something felt very wrong and he had to figure it out.
“Dr. Reid?” Harry called.
“Yes.”
“If there’s nothing else, get back to work.”
He had a plan, but he wanted to run it by Melanie first. It was very risky and he wanted to make sure she was okay with it. If his suspicions were correct, it would be worth the risk.
“Yes, I’ll get that approval from Mr. Westerling.” He headed up the stairs, one step at a time. Each step lifted his level of anxiety.
14.
Cicada
“Come in,” Max hollered at his front door. The pretense of this being his sanctuary was already gone. He downed the tequila, his first shot in many years, and felt it warm and burn his gut; it was the desired effect.
The morning’s light burst through his front door, as if Helios crashed his chariot right there, setting fire to the earth and depositing Magdalena. She tentatively stepped in, with light appearing to seep from her pores.
Halting momentarily at the pictures on the wall, just long enough for them to register, she was visible from the living room. “Max?” she called out, not seeing him.
“Hi, Magdalena. I'm back here,” Max said softly from the murky rear of the room.
“Why are you in the—”
A click, and a rush of sunlight spilled from the blinds behind Max. He sat at a desk, empty except for a computer monitor on one side and a tequila bottle and a shot glass on the other.
He rose, grabbed both bottle and glass and seized another glass from a bookshelf as he ambled over to her.
As he plopped into one end of the living room couch, a cloud of dust billowed up like a thousand little pinpricks dancing in the beams of the morning light shooting through the open door. He cursed himself for not letting someone in to clean this place in the couple years since he had last been here. He beckoned her to the other end and poured tequila into both glasses.
She accepted the glass. “Thanks, but—”
Max held up his hand. “Please, just one toast.”
“Okay, then what shall we toast to?”
“Safety, or being alive, or”—he thought for a moment—“or how about to you for making it here, or hell, I don't care, let's just have a drink.”
“I didn't think you drank.”
“I don't, but I found lots of good reasons to have one today.”
“Okay, let's toast to safety then.” Magdalena extended her glass to Max's.
“To safety.” He clinked her glass and drank his shot down in one gulp as she watched and took a sip. “It really is good to see you.” Max smiled and poured another drink and held out the bottle to her.
She shook her head and took another small sip.
They sat quietly and without any awkwardness. He studied her and immediately realized she was more beautiful than he had remembered when he came to her aid in Mexico; also, she was older. Maybe it was because she looked similar to his beloved Fatima, and he wanted her to be unattainable, and therefore too young. Plus, she had been on her way to Cicada and he was off to find the Kings. Or maybe it was just the stress of surviving the ongoing apocalypse that made her look older.
But it wasn’t stress. Her face carried the visible signs of
Another scientist in a lab coat walked past Carrington and said, “Hi, Harry. I’m just running a couple tests. I’ll be out in ten minutes.” He marched to the door’s thumbprint access panel. Almost as quickly as he put his thumb on the pad, the door clicked open and he breezed in like he was walking into the public dining area to get water.
“No problem, Dr. Tenaka. We’ll see you in ten,” Harry said with a smile that morphed into a sneer when he glared back down at Dr. Reid.
Carrington tried to remember Dr. Tenaka. That’s right , he thought. He’s a nuclear physicist who kept to himself mostly, and until now, Carrington had no idea where Tenaka worked. So, what was a nuclear physicist doing in a geothermal production plant? And why wasn’t Carrington asked to work with him? Something felt very wrong and he had to figure it out.
“Dr. Reid?” Harry called.
“Yes.”
“If there’s nothing else, get back to work.”
He had a plan, but he wanted to run it by Melanie first. It was very risky and he wanted to make sure she was okay with it. If his suspicions were correct, it would be worth the risk.
“Yes, I’ll get that approval from Mr. Westerling.” He headed up the stairs, one step at a time. Each step lifted his level of anxiety.
14.
Cicada
“Come in,” Max hollered at his front door. The pretense of this being his sanctuary was already gone. He downed the tequila, his first shot in many years, and felt it warm and burn his gut; it was the desired effect.
The morning’s light burst through his front door, as if Helios crashed his chariot right there, setting fire to the earth and depositing Magdalena. She tentatively stepped in, with light appearing to seep from her pores.
Halting momentarily at the pictures on the wall, just long enough for them to register, she was visible from the living room. “Max?” she called out, not seeing him.
“Hi, Magdalena. I'm back here,” Max said softly from the murky rear of the room.
“Why are you in the—”
A click, and a rush of sunlight spilled from the blinds behind Max. He sat at a desk, empty except for a computer monitor on one side and a tequila bottle and a shot glass on the other.
He rose, grabbed both bottle and glass and seized another glass from a bookshelf as he ambled over to her.
As he plopped into one end of the living room couch, a cloud of dust billowed up like a thousand little pinpricks dancing in the beams of the morning light shooting through the open door. He cursed himself for not letting someone in to clean this place in the couple years since he had last been here. He beckoned her to the other end and poured tequila into both glasses.
She accepted the glass. “Thanks, but—”
Max held up his hand. “Please, just one toast.”
“Okay, then what shall we toast to?”
“Safety, or being alive, or”—he thought for a moment—“or how about to you for making it here, or hell, I don't care, let's just have a drink.”
“I didn't think you drank.”
“I don't, but I found lots of good reasons to have one today.”
“Okay, let's toast to safety then.” Magdalena extended her glass to Max's.
“To safety.” He clinked her glass and drank his shot down in one gulp as she watched and took a sip. “It really is good to see you.” Max smiled and poured another drink and held out the bottle to her.
She shook her head and took another small sip.
They sat quietly and without any awkwardness. He studied her and immediately realized she was more beautiful than he had remembered when he came to her aid in Mexico; also, she was older. Maybe it was because she looked similar to his beloved Fatima, and he wanted her to be unattainable, and therefore too young. Plus, she had been on her way to Cicada and he was off to find the Kings. Or maybe it was just the stress of surviving the ongoing apocalypse that made her look older.
But it wasn’t stress. Her face carried the visible signs of
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