The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection) by Misty Provencher Page B

that moment.  Steven climbed into his own box as if he were climbing into a Maserati on the show room floor.  He gave the doctor the thumbs up.  It'd been lights out immediately.
    But he never expected to wake like he had, in the pitch black showroom, with him falling out onto the white tiled floor, now buckled and dusty and snarled with tree roots.  No waiting staff and no lights, save the bulb from his chamber door. 
    The room smelled of compost and there was a tang of metal that caught in his nose.  The empty space beyond his chamber was now filled with only ten or so more rows of chambers stretching into the dark.  The chamber bulb made the space glow like a fridge opened for a midnight snack.
    He finally remembered Chloe, and stumbled from the chamber to his right to the one at his left, unable to remember which she was in.  He shrieked when he found her, not out of relief, but because there was a dark orange bug creeping across her forehead.  He pried open the lid, intent on smashing the intruding creature.  But as he hoisted the lid, one of Chloe's wires popped off her neck like a wobbly elbow of macaroni and a soft beeping sounded from the side of the chamber.
    The bug zipped into the air, flying away on thin wings.  The millions of dollars they'd spent on the fancy chambers, the hours they'd spent listening to the spiels of the beautiful oasis they'd wake to, and all the technical mumbo jumbo about the high tech safety measures—and there was no Doctor Welson waiting with a butler's tray of spare parts, to re-attach Chloe's wires or fumigate her chamber or to tell Steven what to do.  There was no manual. 
    Chloe gurgled.  Her rib cage sunk, with an audible sigh.  Steven smiled down at her then, expecting her to open her eyes and look around and tell him what to do next.  But she didn't.  Instead, she turned blue. 
    Steven didn't know CPR, but tried to do it anyway.  He cracked her ribs trying to pound a heartbeat back into her.  Nothing worked.  It took more time than it should have for Steven to realize Chloe was gone.  And more time than that to accept that she'd left him completely alone.
    His legs began working again before his brain did.  He hobbled away from his and Chloe's chambers, his muscle memory retracing the path he'd followed into the place, back when he was clothed in the Archive's jammies.  The curtained walkway was gone, two aisles running down the room now, defined by the space between the chambers.  He stumbled his way along in the darkness until he felt a handle protruding from the wall.
    Clive had shown him the crank.  The memory flooded back: he had to turn it and it would generate the lights.  Steven's muscles were linguine, but he cranked it, throwing his body into the motion.  A dim, blue light slowly glowed to life, leading him to the doors from the chamber room.
    Steven stumbled through the pair of doors that swung like they belonged in a cafe kitchen.  The Supply stretched out in front of him.  Steven felt the wall for another crank and found it, turning it until his shoulder ached.  The light was soft and clear in this room.
    For its military-sounding name, Supply was an enormous dining room.  The round banquet tables were still decorated with elaborate centerpieces, although the fake flowers drooped from their stems, weighed down with dust. 
    Steven caught sight of the outer doors at the front of the Supply.  The salesman had given Chloe another wink, before knocking a knuckle on the metal doors. 
    "Remember, if these babies are sealed, then hang out in the luxury of The Supply, the spa, or the library, with the other Archivers, until these doors unseal.  They're programed with all the latest technologies to open automatically under only the right conditions."
    "What if they don't open?" Steven had asked.  Clive blew it off with a short laugh and a clap on Steven's back.
    "They will!" Clive laughed.  "Don't you read the papers?  The scientists