The Answer is a Question

Document description: Civilian journal, handwritten, leather-bound.

Found: Montezuma Shelter Excavation, 27th December 2081.

Collection: Arizona State Library, Digital Archives.

Reference: 2362 X34V

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9th July 2057

The mechanic leaned over the open hood of the truck, a heart-shaped locket on a chain falling out of her shirt. My eyes followed the shiny object involuntarily, just as she looked back up at me.

“Uh…” I said stupidly, knowing it must have looked as though I was looking down her shirt.

But she just smiled up at me and said, “Yeah I can see the problem, it’ll need replacing. What have you got for it?”

What did I have? My salvage runs had not been going particularly well lately. I’d been hoping to get the truck fixed without needing any new parts. I had one option.

“I’ve got a soldering torch, with two spare gas bottles,” I offered reluctantly, knowing it was the only thing I owned that would pay for what I needed. I had no use for the equipment, but it was the only valuable salvage I had made in months.

“That’s too much,” the mechanic said, standing up and tucking the locket back into her shirt. She must have suspected the truth; I desperately needed to get the truck fixed or I’d have no way to support myself. There would be no other reason to offer something so valuable.

“It’s all I’ve got,” I replied honestly. It didn’t matter what it cost, I had no choice.

“Well in that case…” she trailed off, looking out the front window at an approaching customer.

“You’ll owe me one,” I finished the sentence for her.

“What? Oh, yeah,” she said, still seeming distracted, “Can you come back in a couple of days? It’s gonna take a bit.”

“Sure thing, the payment is here,” I said, opening the door and indicating the soldering equipment. I picked up my pack and began rummaging for my face mask.

“Alright, see you…” The mechanic said vaguely, a distant look in her eye. People could be so strange these days.

“Yep,” I said, securing my mask tightly over my nose and mouth then pulling the pack over both shoulders and doing up the waist strap. It was heavy, I had a bad back, and it was a long walk back to the Shelter. I would have to spend the rest of the day walking, but really, what else did I have to do? Without the truck I couldn’t make it to the city for a salvage trip anyway.

I walked out into the street. The sun was high in the sky, but the light it provided was dim. Everything was stained red by the haze, like being inside a smoky darkroom. It had been fifteen years now, but who knew if or when the smoke would ever clear. Well, someone probably knew, but since electronic communications had broken down there was no reliable way of getting information to the public. There were all sorts of rumors, but you couldn’t trust word of mouth. Stories were passed through so many people that hardly a shred of truth remained by the time you heard them. Still, they gave people hope.

It was dangerous to walk so far alone. It would have been safer to find somewhere to stay in town while the truck was being repaired, but I didn’t have anything to spare as payment at the moment. I’d just have to take the backroads and hope I didn’t come across any militia on the way back.

The Shelter had been set up by the government as emergency accommodation, but it had now become a permanent safe haven for those too poor to afford a place in the Biospheres. Sure, the air filtration system and the food supply left a lot to be desired, our quarters were cramped and petty thievery ran rampant, but it was far better than being out on your own. You never knew when the militia would come calling.

Whether it was the fumes seeping through my overused mask or simply exhaustion from the past few weeks, the trek back to the Shelter seemed to pass in a blur. I didn’t see a single person until I entered the compound. Stephen was manning the gate and merely nodded to me in recognition as I walked through. I gave a small nod in return.

There were no children at the Shelter. None younger than fifteen anyway. Most of us had been forcibly sterilized by the government in the months following the disaster. Only those who tested positive for contamination were obligated to undergo the procedure, but many opted to have it done voluntarily. You couldn't live for long out of the Biospheres without becoming contaminated, even if you had avoided exposure in the beginning.

Some people still tried to have children, and I'd heard about a few pregnancies while I'd been at the Shelter, but none had carried to term. Most of us had long decided it wasn't worth the heartache. I was old enough to remember dreaming of having a family and a home of my own, but that was never going to happen for any of us now.

This is how they were finally going to get rid of us. The poor were dying off slowly, poisoned by the inability to afford clean air. Within one generation, the wealthy few that occupied the Biospheres would wipe us out once and for all.

12th July 2057

I'd decided to give the mechanic an extra day before I returned to town. That meant I was able to get a ride with one of the salvage trips that was going into Phoenix.

There wasn't much left of the once-bustling city. The initial rioting had been bad enough, but salvagers had been picking at its bones for years now. There was hardly any reason to salvage in the area anymore. I'd been thinking I'd have to move on for a while now. Why hadn't I? I had nowhere else to go.

As we pulled up beside the repair shop I thought it looked especially deserted, but so did everything around here. I had a feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but still thought it best to part ways with the salvage crew. I didn’t know them well, and they wouldn’t thank me for holding them up while I went into the shop, especially as they had already driven more than half an hour in the wrong direction for me.

"Good luck," I said, pulling on my face mask.

"We'll need it," one of the men replied.

"See you," I muttered, my voice muffled through the mask.

You would think that living in such close quarters would mean everyone got to know each other well, but that wasn’t the case. No one trusted each other, and most people thought it safer to keep to themselves. I was no different. I'd been staying at the Shelter for four years, but only knew a handful of people by name.

Dust flew in my face as the car sped off, and I squinted over at the shop.

My truck was parked in front of one of the garage doors, so I went to check it out. The key was in the ignition, with the soldering equipment still sitting behind the seat. My conscience wouldn’t let me take it without paying, so I went to look inside the shop.

There was no one at the front desk, but that wasn’t unusual.

No one was in the workshop either. I had come a day late so they weren’t expecting me, maybe they had taken the day off?

There were droplets of oil and who knows what on the dirty concrete floor, but I spotted a patch that looked a little different. It looked like blood. Shifting my gaze further, I saw a bloody handprint on the frame of the door leading behind the shop.

It was none of my business. It wasn’t my problem. But I went to investigate anyway. The blood wasn’t completely dry yet, it must have been there at least a few hours. I was too late, I just knew it.

Passing through the back door, I came to an old trailer parked behind the shop. This must be where the mechanic lived. I knocked on the door but there was no answer. My whole body filled with dread and I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to move. I didn't want to go inside, but I had come this far.

I inched the door open slowly. There was no one inside.

"Hello?" I called, not expecting an answer.

As I looked around for any further evidence, something glinted out of the corner of my eye. It was the heart-shaped locket, partially stuffed between the cushions of the seating area.

Even smeared with blood, the gold shone brilliantly. I wasn't used to seeing jewellery anymore, it had been the first thing people traded away when the monetary system collapsed.

I opened the locket and a piece of tightly folded paper fell onto the table. I unfolded it carefully and read the handwritten message:

If you find this, that means they got to me. Look after Sanda, she is the answer. My sister's address is on the back of this note.

Sanda? Who was Sanda? What kind of a name was that? I'd only ever seen one other mechanic at the shop, a man. And this Sanda was meant to be the answer to what, exactly? I flipped the piece of paper over to find an address in Utah. Okay then.

"Hello," I called again, feeling fairly stupid, “Sanda?”

A quiet creak came from the wardrobe door as a young girl stepped out. I guessed her to be four or five years old, although I couldn't be sure as I hadn't seen a child that young for many years.

"Mommy told me to hide," she said hesitatingly, "but I'm hungry."

"It's okay," I said, removing my mask so she could see my face, "but I think we'd better get you out of here."

13th July 2057

Sanda was a talkative little thing, but she didn't seem to know much about what had happened.

"And then," Sanda exclaimed, "The caterpillar turned into a butterfly! Isn’t that amazing how something can turn into something else completely different to what it was before but I wish I knew what a butterfly looks like because we don’t have them anymore and...”

“Don’t forget to breathe,” I chuckled. I had never been around a child this young as an adult myself. Her excitement was contagious, if not a little exhausting.

I didn't want to take her back to the Shelter. There would be too many questions about such a young child. Who was she? Who were her parents? How did she survive? Had she been kidnapped from a Biosphere? All these questions were running through my head, and I knew that anyone who saw her at the Shelter would ask all of them and more. If anyone came asking about her, no one would hesitate to sell their information.

The fact remained, we needed supplies and the Shelter was our best chance to get them. Fortunately, Sanda was old enough to understand that she needed to hide in the truck while I stocked up.

All I had was an address in Utah, I didn't even have a name. I had no idea what would be waiting for us, but that's where I was going to take the girl. Who knows, maybe there was some truth in the rumors, maybe there was a cure for the contamination and this girl had something to do with it. Or maybe it was a dead end. Either way, there was nothing here for me at the Shelter. It was time to move on.

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