Page 1 of Mistaken

Chapter1

“Doyou know what this is about?” Monica Weiss asked, and Sarah Wolfe shook her head.

“Not a clue,” she replied. “But I’ve mostly been working at Pajarito’s or the co-op this week, so I probably missed out on any gossip that might have been circulating at City Hall.”

The two women had just entered the auditorium at the high school, the usual place for these sorts of gatherings in post-Dying Los Alamos. The world’s only all-human community was nominally run by a city council made up of five members, but most of the time, the councilmembers — Miles Odekirk, his wife Lindsay, Brent Sutherland, Shawn Gutierrez, and Nora Almeida — were pretty much content to let the people in the town do their own thing.

Well, besides strictly following each week’s duty rosters, an institution born out of the chaos immediately following the plague that had killed off most of the world’s population, a disease created by the djinn so they could claim the earth as their own after millennia of watching it be ravaged by humans. The rosters were a way of making sure everyone in the community pulled their own weight — and learned as much as they could about the individual tasks required to keep them thriving, whether that was installing solar panels or harvesting corn — which was the reason why Sarah had split her time this past week between the co-op that supplied the town’s food and Pajarito’s, the restaurant on Trinity Boulevard that was a holdover from the time before the Heat and had only become more popular since.

“And I’ve been out weeding and watering the community garden,” Monica said. She was a pretty woman a few years older than Sarah’s own twenty-eight, married but without any children so far. Her fair skin was now tanned a few shades darker than it had been a couple of weeks ago, before summer had begun in earnest, which bore out her comment about spending most of her time doing garden work.

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Sarah replied.

Dylan, Monica’s husband, waved to them from one of the rear rows in the auditorium, and the two women headed over so they could seat themselves in the folding chairs he’d saved. He was in his mid-thirties, a man who’d lost his family during the Dying and had finally decided it was time to move forward, marrying Monica only a few months earlier. As far as Sarah could tell, he seemed like a decent person, and she could only wish them well.

God knows her own romantic life hadn’t been so great lately.

Her own fault, she knew; she’d dated a few survivors who were close to her age, and had even moved in with a guy she thought was compatible enough, only to realize after six months that their relationship definitely wasn’t meant for the long haul. Just one of the many problems involved in living in such a small community; the dating pool wasn’t very big, and Sarah realized she’d tried to settle because she knew her prospects for finding the man of her dreams were virtually nil.

Not that she’d ever even had a man of her dreams. Not really. Back in the before time, she’d been far too focused on what had seemed like an exciting, burgeoning career to worry about seriously dating someone, let alone marriage or kids.

And then everything had changed, and even now, almost five years after the horrible sickness everyone called the Heat had almost annihilated human life on earth, Sarah still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with herself.

She stared down at her hands, which once had been pretty and graceful and now seemed already worn and older than their true age, fingernails cut short and several scars from grease burns and random cuts marring her skin. Maybe the scars would fade eventually, and maybe they wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter, since she knew she’d only acquire new ones.

The murmurs in the crowd quieted down as the five councilmembers made their way onto the stage and seated themselves in the folding chairs that had been set up behind the long table placed near the front. Sarah studied them as they went — gawky mad genius Miles; handsome and perpetually unruffled Shawn Gutierrez; gorgeous Lindsay with her long dark blonde hair and green eyes; Nora Almeida, plump and motherly; Brent, who always seemed a little unsure of himself, as if he thought someone would surely come along at some point and tell him that he had no right being a member of the group that kept Los Alamos running.

It was a habit Sarah had acquired a long time ago, to watch people carefully, to see how they moved their hands and their bodies, to note the subtle shifts in their expressions. Her coach had told her once that acting was all about absorbing what people did and reflecting it in a way that an audience would immediately recognize, and she found herself still falling into that same habit even though there was no chance of her ever gracing a stage again.

If nothing else, her quiet observations of those around her helped to prevent her from being surprised by very much.

It seemed that Lindsay — who was generally the one who ran these meetings — thought everyone in the audience had quieted down enough, because she leaned forward and spoke into her microphone.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” she said. “We have a few pieces of business we wanted to get out of the way, and it just seemed easier to have everyone gather here rather than trying to get the news out through the bulletin board or the intranet.”

Because Miles and several other technically minded people had managed to get a sort of limited internet running in the town, just simple email and a few sites that posted community information, but still way better than what they’d had before, which was basically nothing. Sarah wasn’t at all technical, so she had no idea how they’d accomplished such a feat, but she had to admit it was nice to simply boot up her laptop each morning to check that week’s duty roster rather than having to go to City Hall to take a look at the physical one posted there.

Lindsay glanced at her husband then, and Miles nodded. Even after all this time, he still didn’t seem all that comfortable speaking in front of crowds, and right now, he mostly looked resigned, as if he knew he was the one who needed to talk next but wasn’t very happy about it.

“A bit of news about the Millerite,” he said, naming the odd mineral that had been found on a farm in Cedar Crest about six months back. The farm had once belonged to a family named the Millers, hence its name. The pyrite-looking crystals had strange properties and could block a djinn’s powers in a way that wasn’t physically debilitating like the devices Miles had created so many years ago, those odd little boxes that had been the only thing between them and destruction for much of that time. As everyone in the audience seemed to perk up at his words, he went on, “Months of experimenting appear to have confirmed that its half-life is approximately thirty hours. This makes it still useful, of course, but it also limits what we can do with it. For now, we will have to continue to rely on our devices to keep us safe.”

A murmur went through the crowd, although no one seemed inclined to speak up to ask any further questions. Sarah supposed she could understand that; while it might have been nice to have a way to block the djinns’ powers without making them drained and weak, it also wasn’t as though the immortal elementals had much to do with day-to-day operations here in Los Alamos. The community was friendly enough with the djinn/Chosen population in Santa Fe — the former state capital was home to those elementals who’d disagreed with the decision to spread the Heat, along with the human partners they’d saved — but they certainly didn’t rely on the djinn to keep things running.

Well, except for a few special cases, like getting insulin for Nora Almeida when Los Alamos’ one and only nurse practitioner discovered the councilwoman had diabetes, or providing the heat pumps they were using to slowly replace the much more energy-wasteful air conditioning units in town. Summers now were cooler than they’d been even a few years ago, but there were still stretches where temperatures were downright uncomfortable without some form of cooling.

And really, Sarah couldn’t even say for sure whether the elemental-repelling devices were necessary anymore. The djinn had all settled down in the houses their elders had assigned them, and even the few bloodthirsty types who’d made it their mission to hunt down immune humans and kill them had also appeared to have laid down their swords, so to speak. After years of tumult, the world seemed ready to settle into a new pattern, one where the djinn went their way and the humans went theirs, and never the twain should meet…well, except for communities like Santa Fe, of course.

But she supposed it was up to wiser minds than hers to decide when it was time to turn off the devices and trust that there was no longer any reason for enmity between the two races. To be honest, she’d gotten so used to knowing that Los Alamos and the countryside around it — stretching into Española and the Rio Grande valley, where they did most of their farming — were protected by the devices that she barely thought about them from day to day.

“That said,” Lindsay put in, taking up the thread of the topic from her husband, “we also think it’s time to begin expanding northward. We’ve done great work in Española and its environs, but there’s a lot of good country up near Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch — fields that could be made fertile again, not to mention the Rio Chama and Abiquiu Lake, both of which would help us supplement our food supply with fresh fish.”

Sarah found her eyebrows lifting slightly at those comments. It wasn’t that the area Lindsay was talking about was off-limits, but the people in Los Alamos also hadn’t made much effort to expand in that direction, either. There was some fertile land up there, true, and yet the country was also rough and difficult to navigate, especially with the way many roads — other than the ones they used regularly — were beginning to buckle and fail after years of neglect.

On the other hand, Los Alamos kept growing…and growing. Some of the people who’d gotten started early already had three or four kids, and although there was still plenty of housing to accommodate them, it wasn’t only about keeping roofs over people’s heads. You also had to find a way to feed them all.

“We don’t have any recent surveys of that area,” Miles added. “And that’s why we’re looking for a couple of volunteers to go scouting. We’d like one person to go to Ghost Ranch, and another to head over to Abiquiu Lake and the Rio Chama and see what the local trout population looks like. It should be an easy enough expedition, just a day in either direction, since we’ll drive you to the northernmost point along Highway 285 before we send you on your way.”

For a moment, no one seemed inclined to say anything. As far as Sarah could tell, the expedition didn’t seem especially dangerous, not when the volunteers would have a companion for the first part of their trek before heading off in different directions.

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