Tomorrow Land Part 1

TOMORROW LAND.

Mari Mancusi.

Chapter One.

April 10, 2030.

"I wouldn't go out with Chris Parker if he were the last guy on Earth!"

Fifteen-year-old Peyton Anderson tossed her pink-streaked blond hair over her shoulder, then smoothed the pleats of her navy blue cheerleading skirt as she watched the gawky soph.o.m.ore attempt to dribble the basketball down the court. He turned and caught her looking and threw her a goofy grin. She rolled her eyes and looked away.

"How many times has he asked you out now?" Avery, Peyton's best friend, asked. The slim, athletic brunette turned and stretched against the bleachers, tugging at her own matching skirt. When the holographic scoreboard above them blinked-someone from the opposite team had stolen the ball from Chris and scored-she effortlessly launched into a triple backflip, ending with a twist, then cheered their team on. "Six?" she asked after she was done.

"Try sixteen. Maybe sixty, if you count first grade when he first moved down the street and started stalking me."

"Stalking you, huh? Isn't that overstating things a bit?"

"I wish. What do you think he's doing in here, playing Basketball Dayz of all sims? I mean, look at him. Does he look like a sports sim type?" She gestured to the tall, skinny beanpole stumbling down the court. "Even his avatar is geeky looking." She made a face.

Erin chuckled. "You've got a point. . ."

"Face it, if it wasn't for me, he'd be knee-deep in zombie blood right about now, rolling that whole Knights of the Living Dead VR that all the tech-heads are obsessed with," Peyton said, feeling him staring at her again. "Geez. I should have signed in with my alt. Then, at least, he wouldn't have recognized me."

"Swapping sims just for you? You gotta admit, that's some dedication," Avery declared. "He's like your Jacob!" The two girls had been on an early 2000s movie kick lately, streaming films their parents had grown up with: old fashioned, 2D stuff that didn't even require VR goggles to watch. The Twilight Saga was one of their favorites. The silly fashions alone were worth hours of cracking up. And they loved imitating the slang.

"Well, then, where's my Edward?" Peyton moaned, plopping down on the bleachers and staring up at the ceiling. "I at least deserve an Edward if I'm stuck on Team Jacob."

"Please. You've got Drew. And Drew totally trumps Edward Cullen."

Of course Avery would say that. She was dating his twin brother Todd and had set Peyton and Drew up to begin with. And in some ways, Peyton saw her point. Popular, hot, and ridiculously rich, Drew was the envy of every guy at school and the desire of every girl. He'd done wonders for her social status, too. No one saw her as the weird girl with the even weirder father when she was hanging on Drew's arm.

Still, it wasn't an exactly a 'Twilight-esque love affair and Drew w s ano brooding, romantic hero. The guy loved exactly two things: sports and his reflection in the mirror. In fact, at age seventeen he'd already undergone three plastic surgeries, while most guys his age only got the one. And while sure, the procedures had perfected his physique, no operation in the world could boost a person's brain cells.

It was maddening sometimes. Whenever Peyton tried to talk to Drew about things that were bothering her-real things like the current economy, the ongoing famine, the seemingly neverending war-he refused to listen, laughing her off and changing the subject back to sports or himself. She shouldn't worry about the rest, he told her. The government would take care of it all. They always did.

She sighed. And maybe he was right. Maybe she'd been listening to her dad too much.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Chris waving to her from across the court, then tripping over his own feet and tumbling to the ground. The opposing team's virtual audience went wild as they scored yet again. Peyton groaned.

"I'm exiting," she declared. "I'm jinxing the entire team just by being in here with him." She blinked her eyes twice.

The signal to exit removed her smoothly from the sim and a moment later the gym disappeared, leaving her back in Avery's bas.e.m.e.nt. Peyton pulled off her VR goggles and leaned over to switch off her deck plug-in. She watched her friend do the same a moment later in the armchair across from her.

"I gained a level with that last flip," Avery announced, bouncing excitedly in her seat. "Unlocked the NCAA courts!"

"Stellar," Peyton muttered. "I'm thrilled for you."

Her friend looked a bit embarra.s.sed. "Yeah, well, you'd be just as high if you had your own copy and didn't always have to play at my house. I get a lot of late-night practice once my parents go to bed. That's when the real action on the court happens anyway." She winked.

Peyton sighed. "Yeah, well, that'll never happen. Not as long as I live at home anyway."

"You know," Avery said, "the fact that you don't own your own sim deck in this day and age is almost criminal. Someone should report your dad for child abuse, denying his kid virtual reality."

Peyton shrugged. Never mind the sim deck-the virtual reality videogame system that practically every kid had gotten from his parents by the age of three. At her house they didn't even have a Smart TV. There was just a small, dusty, thirteen-inch black-and-white television sitting on a stand in one corner of their living room. The kind of TV they'd made last century, when television was first invented. It was almost as bad as having no TV at all. It got thirteen stations from bent rabbit-ears antennae her dad had jerry-rigged from a coat hanger. And none of the thirteen ever had anything on worth watching, just crackpot broadcasts by old technology enthusiasts and a mind-numbingly awful reality rerun about some obscure, ancient family known as the Kardashians.

When she was younger, she'd begged her dad for a Smart TV like all her friends had hanging in their living rooms. The ones where you could inject yourself into the show and become a character, changing the plot at will. But her dad refused, insisting that those kinds of television sets were dangerous. After all, there was no way to tell what programs the government had put inside of them, what the interactive devices were doing to your brain. Weren't the higher-ups involved enough in their lives? he would ask her. Peyton supposed he was right.

"I've got to kick you out," Avery said apologetically. "Gotta hit the doctor's office this afternoon. I'm... I'm getting my LTF! Can you believe my parents finally said yes? How rolling is that?"

An LTF. A License to-well, you know. It wasn't its official name, of course, but that's what all the kids-and, Peyton knew, quite a few adults-called the Copulation Conditional. Kind of a stupid name, but what did the government expect when they started legislating who could have s.e.x and requiring a license to do so?

"Oh wow. Stellar," Peyton managed to say, trying to make her voice sound enthusiastic. Great. Even Erin now. Seriously, she was going to be the last one left on the planet without the shot.

The AIDS vaccine had been the biggest scientific breakthrough of the 21st century, if not the most controversial, especially after the United Nations had exerted their newfound global legislative powers and made it mandatory for everyone in their majority. It made sense. Africa had been decimated by the disease's resurgence in the early twenties. The virus had mutated, rendering the formerly effective drug c.o.c.ktails useless. And now, from the richest Upper East Sider in New York to the poorest bushman in Australia, everyone over eighteen was required to be vaccinated.

The vaccine was available to those younger than eighteen as well; teens like Erin. But because of certain complications with children in early tests-as well as moral objections across the more religious sectors-it eventually had been left up to the parents to decide about inoculating their families. And Peyton's dad had said "no way" without even offering a reason why.

"Does Drew have his license?" Avery asked.

"Of course. And he's not happy about having to wait for me, let me tell you." Peyton slid her VR goggles into their protective case and handed them back to her friend. "He's constantly suggested we SWL."

"You mean break the law?" Avery raised an eyebrow.

SWL-s.e.xing Without a License-had some pretty severe penalties if you were caught. Extended quarantine to make sure you didn't have a disease or an unauthorized pregnancy, along with exposure through the media for public ridicule and contempt.

But in reality, there wasn't exactly a s.e.x police peeking in windows, waiting to bust people who dared get it on in an illegal fashion. After all, everyone knew how virulent the disease was and how gruesome its effects. How could they not know with those UN Biological Division advertis.e.m.e.nts playing 24/7 on every media outlet? Even if you didn't agree with the laws against unlicensed fornication, it was safer to stick to those partners who had their CCs.

"Let's face it, if my dad has his way, I'll be a virgin until I'm ninety-nine years old and eligible for Medicare." She rose to her feet, not feeling like talking about it anymore. "Anyway, I'm gone. Good luck and I'll see you in school tomorrow."

Erin gave her a small wave and a smile. "See you."

Peyton headed up the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs and into the main house, on her way to the front exit. As she pushed open the bas.e.m.e.nt door, she couldn't help but steal a peek at all the glorious technology, entrenched in the family's modern living s.p.a.ce. Avery's parents weren't rich by any stretch, but they had all the latest gadgets: the refrigerator that reminded you which groceries you needed, the music system that sensed who was in the living room and adjusted its music accordingly. Of course, Peyton didn't have an iChip like everyone else and so it remained on "Sounds of the Twenties"-cla.s.sic hip-hop that had been all the rage in Avery's parents' day-as she pa.s.sed through. The sound system had no idea of her secret love for music from the 1980s... which was perhaps for the best. After all, hearing "I Want Your s.e.x" would have just depressed her.

Walking out the front door, she squinted into the bright afternoon light and gazed around Monroeville, their suburban South Carolina subdivision. The sun was high in the sky and a slight breeze was the only relief from its heat. Her ears picked up the sounds of lawnmowers buzzing, while a particularly loud bird screeched from above. Normal real life sights and sounds were always a bit disconcerting after spending time in a VR deck.

She headed down the street, pa.s.sing Chris Parker's house, wondering if he was still playing virtual basketball or if he'd gone back to Knights of the Living Dead once she'd exited the game. His silly crush on her had always been cute, but was now bordering on obsessive. And if Drew found out... well, let's just say Chris didn't stand a chance against her boyfriend's surgically enhanced fists. And as annoying as he could be, she didn't want anyone hurt on her account. Maybe she should speak to him. Cut him off, once and for all. Though that would be hurting him, too. Albeit in a less physical way.

She arrived home to find her mother sitting at the kitchen table, her tablet propped up in front of her, reading some email. It was the only relatively high-tech gadget in the low-tech room and it was still probably twenty years old. No Smart Oven, no iDishwasher, no Super Fridge like at Avery's house. Like everything else, her dad had forbidden it all.

But despite the lack of modern conveniences, Peyton's mother had made the most of the s.p.a.ce. After all, all the technology in the world couldn't make a room this cozy and warm. It couldn't manufacture the smell of freshly baked cookies. And the pretty silk rose centerpiece her mom had found at a flea market last month gave the room a cheery vibe.

"Hey, Mom," Peyton greeted her, grabbing a cookie from the tray sitting on the stove top. The VR games always made her a bit sick to her stomach and she hoped to settle it with carbs. "What's going on?"

Her mother looked up. "Not much, sweetie," she replied. "Just answering some party invitations. The Nixons are having a huge bash this year, but they waited forever to send out the notes. I'm going to have to go shopping this nanosecond to find something to wear."

Peyton smiled. For as long as she could remember, her mother had always been a social b.u.t.terfly, flitting from party to party, always happiest when she was around other people. That was how she and her dad met, many years ago, when he was still a dashing government employee and she was the child of a state senator. Peyton's grandmother had been ecstatic that her socialite daughter had snared such a great man and patriot. She'd become less than pleased since.

But Ashley Anderson was a woman who stood by her man. During the rough times, during the prison sentence... even afterward. It was hard on her, Peyton knew, to have the neighbors whisper about the crackpot she'd married. Ashley's parents had begged and pleaded for her to walk away over the years, but Ashley always refused to leave. Peyton admired her mother's stubborn sense of loyalty, even if sometimes she wondered if it wasn't a bit misplaced.

Peyton looked down at the invitation. "Sounds fun," she said. "Can I come?" She didn't really have a burning desire to attend an adult party, but she hated to see her mom be forced to go alone. And she knew her father wouldn't touch an invitation like this with a ten-foot pole.

"Of course. If it doesn't interfere with your training schedule," her mother replied, reaching over to brush a lock of hair from her daughter's eyes. "You know how your dad is about that."

"Yeah," Peyton said, rolling her eyes. "Believe me, I know. If I bring it up, he'll probably tell me that I shouldn't bother to buy a dress. 'No, no!' he'll say, 'The End of Days is right around the corner, and there won't be any parties ever again!'"

Her mother smiled and rose from the table. "Yes," she said. "He probably would. But I'll tell you what, sweetie." She plucked a bright red silk rose from the table's centerpiece and stuck it playfully behind her daughter's ear. Then she grabbed her hands and twirled her around the kitchen. "Come with me to the party. If the world does end, I want you dancing by my side."

Chapter Two.

Four Years Later...

The last dance was done. And so was Ashley Anderson.

Peyton swallowed back a lump in her throat as she laid the silk rose down on her mother's silent chest. The fake flower had faded over the last four years, from its original brilliant crimson to a dull, orangey pink, its petals curled and frayed. The simple flower had been a decorative mainstay in their little underground hideaway-a centerpiece for rehydrated dinners, a hair ornament to wear to their imaginary b.a.l.l.s. Now it would serve its final purpose: an undersized funeral bouquet. It seemed wrong, somehow, that an object that had once brought such laughter and joy had now been reduced to a symbol of Peyton's loss.

She fanned herself as sweat dripped between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Walking to the far end of the fallout shelter turned underground apartment, she checked several gauges. The ventilation system hadn't been working properly for months now, and she wondered how long it would be before it conked out altogether. Lately everything down here seemed past life expectancy.

Except for her mother. Ashley Anderson could have lived longer-should have lived longer. Except for the fact that she'd lost the will to do so. But she'd somehow managed to hold on until yesterday, not wanting to leave her only child alone in their underground prison, going crazy with solitude. But once July 1st, 2034 rolled around, the day the time-locked t.i.tanium shelter doors finally clicked open, she was more than ready to say her final goodbyes.

Of course, in a way, she'd already said goodbye years before-her heart still beating, but her mind too addled with pills to be anything more than a restless ghost. On the good days, they'd played old-fashioned board games and planned imaginary parties. They'd dance to the old record player her dad had brought down and watch old 20th century videos on something called a VCR. But lately the good days had been few and far between.

Still, when Peyton realized what had happened-how many pills her mother had taken-she was furious. But her mother refused to apologize. She'd lived her life. The world had moved on and she wanted to move on with it. Would Peyton really begrudge her a dance with the angels?

Her mom had made her choice. Drugs over her daughter. Death over life. And there was nothing Peyton could do about it. She wondered what her father would have said when he found out what his wife had done. Would he have called her a coward? Remind Peyton that only the strong would survive in this brave new world? Tell her it was better this way-that now she had nothing to slow her down from her mission?

She glanced over at the door. When it unlocked itself yesterday, she'd been too wrapped up in caring for her mother to push it open and see what was outside. Who had survived? Who had died? What had happened to her friends? And most importantly, what had happened to Chris? Had he and his brother found a way to stay alive? Were they out there somewhere? Would he remember her? Recognize her if he saw her again? Some days she barely recognized herself.

She shook her head. It was more than likely she'd never find out what happened to the Parkers. After all, it wasn't as if she could just iGoogle them. And perhaps it was better this way. At least she could imagine he and his brother were alive somewhere, up in the mountains, living a happy, safe life in a brave new world. And she could avoid the most likely scenario: that they, like almost everyone else, had died. Or worse....

Peyton twisted the air conditioning temperature gauge to its coldest setting, then headed back to her mother's bed, swallowing the lump in her throat as she looked down at Ashley Anderson's fragile frame. The woman looked so peaceful now, lying there as if she didn't have a care in the world. And maybe she didn't anymore. The idea should have made her happy, but instead it made her angry. Her mother had taken the easy way out, leaving her only daughter alone to face the world.

Until she found her father, that was. She never thought she'd be so eager to reconnect with him.

Feeling tears threaten, Peyton headed back to the makeshift gym and pulled on her boxing gloves. She raised her fists and smacked the punching bags as hard as she could, trying to exorcise the pain and fury welling up inside of her. To get it out of her system so she could move on. Because that's how her father had trained her. To focus on emotion was to be self-involved and short-sighted. And Peyton was, at the end of the day, her father's girl. He'd made sure of that. Even before the apocalypse.

After a few rounds versus the heavy bag, Peyton realized she was only prolonging the inevitable. Putting her gloves away, she reconciled herself to going. There was nothing to hold her back now, nothing to keep her in this sterile place, this sanctuary, this prison. She had her mission, after all. She had to find her father. She had to save the world. She didn't have any time to waste.

"Goodbye, Mom," she said, leaning over to kiss her mother's cold forehead one final time. "I hope you've found your dance partner at long last."

As Peyton stepped out from the underground bunker, she was immediately struck with wonder at the outside world. After four years inside, she'd forgotten how vast it was, how beautiful. The sky was painted a vibrant blue, sprinkled with puffy cotton-like clouds. Wildflowers tumbled across sagging porches and poked defiantly through cracked pavement. Her favorite oak tree was still standing, strong and majestic in the center of their front yard, its branches stretching high into the sky, as if to worship the heavens.

The scent of honeysuckle tickled her nose and Peyton sucked in a large breath, delighting in the fresh, clean, and warm air that seemed so much sweeter than the stale re-circulated stuff she'd been stuck breathing for the last four years.

It was strange. For some reason, down in the shelter, she'd always envisioned the outside world to have become a gray wasteland, strangled by stormy clouds that mirrored the loss of humanity below. She'd expected a graveyard, a desolate landscape, a world with acrid winds and a sepia palette. But, it turned out, nature hadn't mourned man's destruction after all. If anything, it appeared to be celebrating its newfound freedom from gardeners and landscaping, a once-tamed suburbia transforming into a feral forest full of emerald life.

She stuck out her arms, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin for the first time in four years. She wanted to skip down the street, dance, cartwheel. Run for ten miles without stopping. Enjoy a world without boundaries after years in a cage.

After doing a little shimmy of joy on the front porch, she stopped herself, looking around, self-conscious, even though she knew there was no one to see her. The thought sobered her a bit. This beautiful world would most likely be empty. Or practically so. And now she didn't even have her mother by her side. A new emotion gripped her heart: sadness, the beauty of the world fading as reality sank in. Though she'd mourned her previous life for four years on the inside, it was different to suddenly experience its loss firsthand. Back in the shelter this reality had seemed unreal, distant. Like something from a film. Actually stepping out into the world and seeing the empty, debris-filled streets, the houses crumbling from years of neglect, made the whole situation a lot more real and a lot harder to swallow.

It was the silence that felt the eeriest. Not that her middle-cla.s.s suburb had ever been a bustling metropolis, but there had been sounds all the same: the droning of lawnmowers pushed by dads on their days off, the screams and laughter of kids playing wild games of tag, cars streaming down the nearby interstate, beeping away their road rage. Planes flying overhead. Normal, everyday, take-them-for-granted sounds. All were now swept clear by an overwhelming, almost suffocating silence. There wasn't even birdsong.

A realization she had half-suppressed for too long rose up and choked Peyton. Everyone and everything she knew and loved was gone. Her friends, her teachers-everyone had succ.u.mbed. Only her father was left. Out there. Waiting for her. Waiting for her a.s.sistance in rebuilding the world he'd known would fail.

She focused on her dilemma. How was she going to get to where he was? His destination had been far, hundreds of miles away, and she truly doubted she could get the rusted old car in their driveway to start. Not that she had any idea how to drive; after the Highway Congestion Act of '24, you had to be eighteen to take driver's education in South Carolina, and she'd been way too young when they'd gone into the bunker. Besides, with no working gas stations and the streets filled with debris, it was probably better not to depend on cars. Maybe she could find a bike or something.

First things first, though. She should find supplies. And while it was tempting to just hit a few of the nearby houses to see what they had in their pantries, it was also too morbid an errand for her to face. She didn't want to see the remnants of her former neighbors tucked into their beds or lying sprawled on the floor, thank you very much. She'd try to find a store instead.

Steeling herself, she stepped from her porch and set off. Something in the middle of the pavement a short distance away made her pause. A small figure, more than half decayed, lay in the street, its skeletal hands clutching something shredded and pink. It was... a teddy bear. Peyton fell to her knees, bent over, and threw up, suddenly glad her mother wasn't here to see this. Wondering if perhaps she was the smart one after all.

"G.o.d, Peyton, get a grip," she muttered to herself a moment later, wiping her mouth, embarra.s.sed by her weakness. She'd known it was going to be like this, after all. That she'd have to be strong and push all the horrors to the back of her mind. She didn't have time to mourn humanity. She couldn't be distracted by the past. What was done was done, and it didn't do any good to cry about it. After all, as her dad would say, a Razor Girl didn't cry. When they were sad, they spit.

Peyton did exactly that. She felt a little bit better, wiped her mouth again, this time with her sleeve.

But just as she was about to rise to her feet, her ears caught a sound in the distance. A voice, cutting through the dead air. She froze in her tracks, straining to listen. Was she hearing things? Was it only the wind? Some old holo broadcast set on repeat?

But no. It came again. Real and human and not that far away either.

"Guy! Where'd you go?" the voice cried. "Hey!"

People? Real-life people? Had her father been wrong? Had humanity survived, or at least more than expected? She felt a surge of hope rush through her, then forced herself to temper it. She'd been locked inside for four years. She had no idea what the outside world had become. These people could be savages, rapists, murderers, thieves. Doing whatever it took to survive in their harsh new reality, even if it wasn't in the best interests of all mankind. Or to her in particular.

Yes, they could be trouble. But then again, they could be able to help her. And Peyton had to admit, at this point she needed all the help she could get. And if they turned out to be no good, well, it wasn't as if she was incapable of defending herself, thanks to her dad.

Having made her decision, Peyton staggered to her feet and set off down the street as fast as her legs would carry her. Praying for the best, but preparing for the worst.

Chase swore under his breath as his brother's shout filled the otherwise still air, echoing through the neighborhood. "Way to be subtle," he muttered. "Why not just call them out and invite them to brunch?"

Crouched on the rooftop of a dilapidated garage, he inched forward, careful not to make any sudden movements. As he'd climbed the weather-beaten structure, it groaned in protest, sounding as if it could collapse at any moment. But it was still the best vantage point for seeing any Others wandering the nearby perimeter, and Chase wanted to be sure the coast was clear before making his score. It wasn't like they saw Others every day, but the creatures always seemed to show up when you least expected them. Whenever you let your guard down, bam, that was when they got you.

"Chase! Guy! If you don't come out now I'm going back without you!"

His brother's voice again. Louder, more urgent. Did the bungler really think he was lost? That he hadn't slipped away on purpose? Probably. Tank wasn't known for his brains. Just his foolhardy protectiveness of those he took under his wing-which was practically anyone and anything these days. Tank never approved of Chase going off on his own, and he certainly wouldn't have approved of Chase's intended mission if he'd known it.