Foreverland Is Dead

indicating hibernation.
    She looks to her left before entering.
    The furnace and hot water heater are in the corners. Generators and battery banks, all stacked and wired: power storage for the solar panels and wind harvesters. With all the computers, the power consumption must be considerable. Three wind harvesters still seem like a lot, but some could be backups in case of failure.
    Or whatever’s behind the next door.
    Miranda flips the light switch, goes to the large monitor.
    BREACH. The word flashes over and over.
    Roc had shattered the window and activated the security system. And if she can’t turn it off, she’ll go insane and may never escape.
    She touches the spacebar on the keyboard—
    It stops.
    The screen sputters to life. A program opens. An interface scrolls with numbers and words, nothing that makes any sense. She’s afraid to click anything that might start the alarm again. Besides, Roc is probably still stalking the brick house; it’s better to keep the windows covered up for now. Despite the claustrophobia.
    The computer below the counter whirs. The other computers answer the call, spinning awake, green lights flickering.
    The generators kick on. All the monitors light up.
    Miranda backs up.
    Images appear on a dozen screens. The far left monitor displays a view from the front porch. Evidently floodlights have been activated, illuminating far out into the meadow.
    The monitor flickers to another view, this one overlooking the garden. Several seconds later, it goes to the back of the house, eventually cycling around to the front.
    The other monitors are glowing with eerie green light.
    Night vision.
    The inside of the dinner house and the kitchen are displayed in infrared. There’s another monitor showing the inside of the bunkhouse, the views focusing on each of the beds. Four beds are filled. The fifth bed—the one tucked in the corner—is Miranda’s.
    The sixth is also empty. Cyn.
    Miranda watches it cycle through again. She’ll never survive out there. Not in this weather.
    Not in the wild.
    The next monitor illuminates views from another building. At first, she thinks it’s the barn. But there’s no pasture, no fence. And none of the other buildings are around. Just trees.
    It’s in the woods!
    No one really goes back there. Three of the views are just trees, but the fourth shines brightly on a path leading up to it. Miranda leans closer, something is at the end where the path turns sharply.
    A ghostly chill passes through her. That’s a leg.
    The dead body. It’s there. That’s the body down the path. None of the girls have ever gone past it to discover the cabin in the woods. The four views—presumably from four different cameras—are frightening. But the fifth one is shocking.
    Miranda jumps back, covers her mouth to hold back panic. Tension holds her eyes wide and her jaw clamp shut.
    An old woman.
    She’s inside a tiny room, lying on some sort of hospital bed. She stares at the image, a ghostly green visage of a comatose old woman. And then it’s back to the trees.
    Miranda watches the cycle. The path. The body. The woman again.
    Suddenly, the brick house feels much less like a tomb and more like a fortress. The last place she wants to be is outside. Something’s in the trees.
    The generators kick off.
    All the monitors go green. The floodlights must have turned off to conserve power. The cameras switch to infrared.
    She glances at the unopened door. The last frontier. Her last hurdle of fear. She’s had enough, though. The adrenaline is wearing off. Exhaustion takes its place.
    Miranda goes to the couch, curls up beneath the blankets, still hearing the beeping in her head. She falls asleep.
    Much later, the generators start up.
    Miranda lifts her head, staring at the clock. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning.
    The candles have burned out. The hallway appears brightly lit. Maybe the floodlights have turned on, but she doesn’t care. Miranda closes her eyes and goes back to dreaming.
    Dreaming that final door leads to oceans and beaches and yachts.

25

    Cyn hangs in that place between sleep and wakefulness, disconnected from her thoughts and body. She’s rudely yanked into the world by fiery spikes deep in her feet.
    Ceiling. Wall.
    Daylight shines through a window, late morning.
    She’s wearing her coat, boots, and stocking cap in her bed beneath the covers. Sweat soaks through her thermals and cotton shirts.
    Her memories are fragmented and cluttered,