Storm

IT WASN’T EASY, BRINGING A TOWN TOGETHER the way Steve and Sally had done for Connor today. But as the sun reached its highest point, Lahoma’s Central Square was buzzing with an energy it hadn’t seen since the general’s visit last fall.

All along Main Street, volunteers at grills cooked up tempeh burgers and veggie patties. On the Lahoma Park lawn, kids played games, throwing hoverdisks through hoops and running augmented reality races through virtual lava pits. Floats shaped like rain clouds rode through town, Lahomans dancing on top to pre-Unity classics like “Shelter from the Storm,” and “Purple Rain,” and “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.” The mayor showed up, speaking briefly at his podium in front of the crowd and awarding framed certificates to a dozen mill workers who’d shown exceptional dedication and drive in bringing Lahoma’s weather mill back online. Above them, hanging proudly across the town hall, was a banner to commemorate the day. “Celebrate the Rain!” it read, and everyone talked and laughed about enjoying one last picnic before the evening’s storm, as eagerly welcomed as it was after so many days of dry, hot sun.

For her part, Sally Summers had been running around all morning, delivering food to volunteers and laying out picnic blankets and game stations all across Central Square. Steve Larkin oversaw the float construction, and both of them together went door to door to remind everyone in town not to miss the afternoon’s celebration.

“If this doesn’t cheer up Connor,” Sally had said, “then I have no idea what will.”

And yet now, a few short hours later, she and Steve stood on Sally’s front porch overlooking Main Street . . . and the one person they couldn’t spot in the crowd was Connor.

“Where is he?” Steve asked, growing anxious as the festivities began to die down.

“He must be here,” Sally said. And yet she too hadn’t seen him all day. “He’s been counting on this. He hasn’t been able to stop talking about it!”

Steve frowned. “Keep your eyes peeled, I guess.”

Before them, everyone in town danced and ate and sang and laughed.

And somehow the person it all was for was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t a long list, the things Connor needed to pack. He had his tablet, two shirts, an extra pair of jeans, three pairs each of underwear and socks . . .

He zipped his blue high school backpack in two quick tugs, and he looked sadly once more around the room that had always been his. The action figures from childhood that still lined his dresser, the stuffed animals shoved in embarrassment into the corner behind the door, the powder blue wallpaper he always hated so much . . . seeing it all now, one last time, through the eyes of a soon-to-be fugitive, he couldn’t help but lose himself in the undertow of nostalgia.

The Goodmans’ home. He’d been born and raised within these wooden walls. The floorboards that creaked and sagged in certain spots; the shower that took way too long to get hot; the hallway closet that trapped him once, the last time he played hide-and-seek with his mom and dad, many years ago . . .

He’d miss all of it, good and bad. The very package of the Goodman life itself. It was gone now. And what he was about to do would bury it for good.

Connor lifted his pack from his old, creaky bed—the same one off which his feet had dangled these last few years, the same one that the light hit in that awful way each morning if he slept too late—and he prepared to leave home for the last time in his life.

No great loss, Connor told himself, walking through the foyer to that old front door. Most of the stuff in these rooms had been auctioned off by now anyway. Already it was a shell of the house it once was. Leaving now put the bow on it, sure. But it didn’t do more than that.

When he stepped outside, Connor could hear the happy sounds of Sally and Steve’s “rain celebration” raging down a ways on Main Street. He smiled. It really had been thoughtful of them, he knew, to go through all that trouble on his account.

Invaluable too. Instrumental, even, in what he was about to do next. Though Sally and Steve would never know it.

They’d been great friends, he thought. He’d miss them as much as anything.

Connor leaned down now at the row of flowers lining the front of his old house, and he plucked a tulip from the dirt in the ground. He bounced his backpack nervously against his shoulders. He pulled his baseball cap down low over his face.

And he walked east. To Lahoma’s weather mill, just outside of town.

Logan and Hailey had waited by the mill all morning long. In the earliest hours, the place was buzzing as workers finished to-do lists, crossed the t’s, dotted the i’s, and in every way prepared for the now–world famous reopening and the inaugural, nationwide cloud seeding that would take place later that day.

But come noon, as the mill’s technicians and mechanics and myriad employees wrapped up the last of their duties one by one, each of them began leaving for the town just a short walk or rollerstick ride away.

At first, Logan and Hailey couldn’t for the life of them figure out why everyone would be headed out so soon before the ribbon cutting. But as the noise from Lahoma’s Main Street steadily grew, they realized the town was celebrating. And nobody wanted to miss it.

With the scene by the mill much quieter ever since, Logan and Hailey decided to check up on the goings-on a bit closer to town. They circled the side streets now, kicking rocks at one another from the dirt in the roads, waiting for something to happen.

“Looks like a fun picnic,” Logan said, peeking in on Main Street from an alley between two storefronts.

Hailey shook her head. “It’s too small a town for us to blend in with the crowd. Look at that—everyone knows everyone. No way we go unnoticed.”

“I don’t know, might be worth it . . . ,” Logan joked in a sing-songy voice. “They’ve got soy dogs.”

“No picnic!” Hailey scolded. “No soy dogs!”

“Hey, I bet you and I would destroy the competition over at that hover-dodge game,” Logan said, pointing out to the Lahoma park.

“Yeah? Those kids are seven.”

“Just saying,” Logan said.

And so it was that Logan and Hailey had their own little picnic, right there in the shadows, as they kept their eyes peeled for anything suspicious.

Connor Goodman arrived at the weather mill with his shirt tucked in and the tulip in his hand and his head held high. He didn’t slink around back. He didn’t walk quickly. He didn’t look nervous. Not one thing about him was suspicious.

But as Connor knocked on the main door, he calculated his heart rate. One hundred thirty beats per minute. Not exactly the resting rate of someone who was supposed to be relaxed. And for a moment, it frustrated him that he couldn’t control his heartbeat the way he could most everything else.

Unsurprisingly, it was Steve’s dad, Mr. Larkin, who opened the door. Mr. Larkin was the head of security at the mill, of course, and the person who had caught Connor’s parents in their final act. If anyone was going to miss out on a wonderful afternoon picnic just to be a thorn in Connor’s side, it was bound to be Mr. Larkin.

“Connor!” he said, with just the smallest hint of unease hovering in his voice. “So great to see you. You’re early for the ribbon cutting ceremony. That shouldn’t be for another two hours or so.”

“I know,” Connor said. “Are you the only one here?”

“Yes . . . ,” Mr. Larkin said slowly.

“Oh. Well, my apologies for disturbing you, then. It’s just . . . I came by to pay my respects.”

Mr. Larkin wasn’t sure he understood, so Connor held out the tulip for him to see. “Before we reopen this place. I really think . . . well, I feel as though it might do some good for me, just personally, emotionally, I mean, if I might have the chance to visit, just this once, where my parents died. Lay a flower down from their favorite flower bed, say a few words . . . It wouldn’t take more than a minute . . .”

“You could come back for the ribbon cutting,” Mr. Larkin said. “And do it then. We’ll be holding tours for the kids.”

“Mr. Larkin,” Connor said, sticking his foot out and wedging the door open with it. “You know I can’t do it properly, right out in the open, with a whole crowd here. And do you really want me skulking around during all your big ribbon cutting festivities?”

Mr. Larkin eyed him just a moment longer than one might expect. “Okay,” he said. “Follow me.”

When Connor pictured himself, pictured the movie of him, the way he must certainly have looked to anyone who might be watching, he imagined the whole scene as an action sequence, larger—much larger—than life. The quick cuts, the slow-mo, the zoom-ins . . . the low-angle shaky cam following close behind, the pulsing sound track underscoring the edge-of-your-seat suspense . . .

But in fact there was nothing glamorous about the way Connor hit Mr. Larkin when he got inside. There was nothing clean about the way he knocked him out, and dragged him into his office, and magnecuffed him to his desk, and locked the door behind him.

It took Connor a minute to compose himself after the whole ordeal was through. But once he had, he ran quickly into the missile launcher field. And from that moment on, Connor Goody Two-Shoes was all action.

It took him over an hour to crank the missile launchers down by hand. But it was an hour he’d bought himself. And it was an hour Steve and Sally had given to him.

He was standing at the control panel overlooking his good work when he saw the two dots running toward the mill from Lahoma.

“Who in the world . . . ?” he said aloud.

He saw their faces. Outsiders.

He braced himself for trouble.

Logan and Hailey took one look at the skewed missile launcher angles, and immediately they were furious with themselves for spending so much time spying back in Lahoma.

“Of course the picnic was a cover,” Hailey was saying. “What were we thinking?”

But in Connor’s haste, he hadn’t locked the main weather mill door. Logan and Hailey barged in easily, taking fast control of the situation.

“Step away from that control panel!” Logan yelled. “Right now!”

Connor was silent. He stepped back. But he didn’t pull his hand from the tablescreen.

Logan could already hear the ticking from the panel in front of them. He knew all of them were on the clock.

“It’s already done,” Connor said. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

“Okay, buddy, listen,” Logan said. “Let’s all just take a deep breath. Calm down. Let’s talk this through.” For a second, Hailey wasn’t sure whether Logan was talking to Connor—or to himself.

“Who are you?” Connor asked. “You’re no Lahoman.”

“That’s true,” Logan said. “My name’s Logan Langly. This is my friend, Hailey Phoenix. We’re from Spokie, originally, just outside of New Chicago. Not far from here, in fact. Though most recently we came here today by way of Sierra, and Beacon before that—”

“Cut to the chase!” Connor said.

“Fair enough,” Logan said. “Connor—I cannot let you destroy this weather mill.”

“You shouldn’t have come here. You’re in over your head,” Connor said. “This isn’t any of your business at all!”

“Not quite the case,” Logan said calmly. “You see this here?” He pointed to his wrist.

“You’re Markless,” Connor said.

“That’s right. And so I have a vested interest in you not pulling that trigger right now,” Logan told him. “Because a lot of my friends depend on the cloud seeding this place does. A lot of people, Connor. Innocent people.”

“You don’t understand,” Connor said. “I don’t want to do this—I have to do this.”

“Why? Because you think you need to finish the job General Lamson asked your parents to do?”

For the first time, Connor’s hand left the control panel. He stood there, stunned. “How do you know that?” he asked. “How in the world do you know that?”

“Doesn’t really matter how I know it, Connor. What matters is that right now, General Lamson is not acting with this country’s best interests at heart. It’s okay to disagree with him on this, Connor. It doesn’t make you a bad person to disobey these particular orders.”

“My parents died carrying out these orders,” Connor said. “They wouldn’t have just done that. They wouldn’t have just abandoned me if it hadn’t been important. So don’t stand there and tell me this isn’t with the country’s best interests at heart!”

“Connor—I believe in your parents’ intentions, I do. But do you even know why Lamson wanted so badly to shut this place down? Do you even know what it is you’re fighting for here? Who it is you’re fighting for here?”

Connor looked at him coldly. “Do you?”

“Connor, think about this! If the general’s motives here were for the good of the country, then why wouldn’t he just tell everyone that the weather mill can’t reopen? It doesn’t make sense!”

“I don’t know!” Connor said. “I don’t know why. I just trust him, okay? I talked to him. Personally. He must have his reasons!”

This wasn’t working, Logan realized. Connor was stubborn and scared and angry about his parents. It was a dangerous combination.

Logan was beginning to fear that Connor couldn’t be reasoned with. Quickly, he sized up the boy. Athletic, muscular, tall . . . He was at least a year older than Logan, and it was a year that made a difference. He guessed Connor had forty pounds on him . . .

No way he’s going down without a fight, Logan feared. And that’s a fight I’ll never win.

But in all this posturing, neither of the boys had noticed Hailey’s escape. She had grabbed an extra pair of Mr. Larkin’s magnecuffs that had fallen to the floor during Connor’s attack, and she was running now, across the mill, out the door, fed up with the whole miserly thing.

Suddenly, they could see her through the control room’s window. Where she proceeded to magnecuff her hand to a pipe on the outside of the wall. She then placed the key in her mouth, ready to swallow, if it came to that. Without even a moment’s hesitation, Hailey had turned herself into a human shield. She hoped Logan might be a somewhat better negotiator over the course of the next five minutes than he was during his first.

“Get off of there!” Connor yelled through the glass of the control room, suddenly going very red with anger and fear. He turned to Logan. “She’s gonna kill herself!”

“No,” Logan said. “You’re going to kill her. You are. If you allow this launch, then you’ll have to watch that innocent Markless girl die.”

“Oh, come on, don’t do this to me!” Connor pleaded. “Don’t you think this is hard enough as it is?”

“You will kill her,” Logan repeated. “Allow this launch at these angles, and you will watch her die.”

“Get her off of there!”

“No!” Logan yelled. “Connor, don’t you get it? If you destroy this mill, it won’t matter whether or not Hailey gets off that wall—you’ll have killed her either way! Her—and hundreds of thousands of Markless just like her.

“This isn’t some victimless crime, Connor. It won’t be some mere inconvenience for people if America loses its weather mill. You’re killing people with this decision.” He pointed to Hailey. “And that’s what that looks like.

“You can’t wash your hands of this, Connor. You can’t look away. You’re making a choice, right now, one way or another. Are you a killer or aren’t you?”

“No!”

“Are you a killer or aren’t you!”

“I’m not!” Connor yelled. “I’m not!” He stumbled back now, away from the panel. His face was sweaty and hot, and he put it in his trembling hands. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Not to you,” Logan said. “For you. You have a long life to live. I don’t blame your parents for doing what they did. They had good reasons. And I’m sure they were good people. But you don’t have to throw everything away just to prove they were right. It isn’t worth it, Connor. General Lamson isn’t worth it either.”

Connor fell to the ground, as though unable, any longer, to bear the weight of what he’d started.

“You don’t understand,” he said weakly. “It’s already done. I activated the launch process before you’d even arrived. There is no abort. We have four minutes to evacuate.” He looked at Logan as though hoping for forgiveness. For absolution.

“Hey,” Logan said. “Listen. That’s okay. All of this is still okay. You have to—look, all you have to do is reprogram the launch angles. You do that, and these canisters go right to where they’re supposed to go, all over the country. No collision with this mill. No destruction. No drought. No famine. This is salvageable, Connor. But you have to take a deep breath—and you have to begin right now.”

Connor frowned so hard now that it looked like he might fall apart. “I aimed the launchers manually,” he said. “I never learned how to work the console itself. I can’t reprogram them. I don’t know how.”

“Well, I do,” Logan said. “And I think I can fix this, if you’ll agree to let me near it.” Logan took a tentative step forward. “Will you?”

Connor exhaled sharply and pulled himself up off the ground. He walked over to the control panel. He looked at it, defeated. “Okay,” he said. “Work fast.”

It took three minutes and thirty-three seconds.

But Logan did it. He reprogrammed the launch angles. And Lahoma’s weather mill reopened without a hitch. Ahead of schedule.

The rumble of rockets filled the cavernous mill, shaking the ground and flooding the field with a tangle of smoky trails. Overhead, twenty-five cloud-seeding smart-canisters soared off in all directions, leaving behind nothing else but the bursts of their sonic booms, which thudded against Logan like hard punches to the chest.

They were gone. Flying out to every corner of the American State.

There was no stopping it now.

A great storm was coming.

The sky quieted. And for a moment, Connor stood paralyzed.

Hailey reentered the mill and walked over to them both, dropping the magnecuffs into Connor’s open hands.

“Well, that was one way to solve the problem,” she said, pointing up to the sky and the already-spent missile launchers down on the ground. “’Course, being as close as I was to the canisters at the time, I myself might have gone with the ‘don’t launch quite yet’ option, but, you know . . . reangling them worked too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, raising an eyebrow at her sarcasm. “Duly noted.”

“You all right?” Hailey asked Connor. “’Cause you don’t look all right.”

“We’ve betrayed him,” Connor said, shell-shocked by the whole ordeal. “The leader to whom I Pledged everything . . . He made his request. He had his reasons. And I’ve directly betrayed him . . .”

“That’s right,” Logan said comfortingly. “And you should be proud of yourself. It was the right thing to do.”

Seconds passed. Connor shook with guilt and fear. “What if we’re wrong? What if we’ve just ruined this great State?”

“I’m not wrong, Connor. You’re a hero today. It was a close call.” Logan smiled. “But you are a hero.”

Already, the first drops of rain fell lightly onto the weather mill’s sheet metal ceiling.

In the distance, Logan could hear Lahoma’s workers running furiously toward the mill.

“We’re about to have company,” Hailey said. “Time to go, Logan, you think?”

“In a second,” Logan said.

He put out his hand.

He waited for Connor to shake it.

Escape from Lahoma was easy, thanks to the River horses, which weaved and tossed their heads upon Logan and Hailey’s return.

“No apple,” Logan said to his horse. “Sorry.”

“Treats when we get home,” Hailey told her own.

“Yeah,” Logan said. “And sleep.”

As Logan and Hailey rode off into the vast, empty plains, a serene silence fell over them. For miles and miles, neither Hailey nor Logan said a single thing.

And that whole time, all Logan could think was—disbelievingly, miraculously, thankfully, so thankfully—We’ve won.

Whatever else happens next . . . on this front, right here, right now . . . the Dust has won.

Lily’s mission was complete.