Bridger: a Dystopian Serial

The bridge

The persistent beeping of his alarm tugged Seth to wakefulness. He raised his head and rolled over to hit the snooze. As he did, he encountered the warm form in the bed beside him.

Ohhhh, no.

He flopped back. Char raised her head, started and pushed herself up on her elbow.

"Today's the day," she mumbled.

"I wasn't drunk," Seth said. "Were you?"

"Huh?" Char stared at him for a moment. "Oh! No, no I wasn't drunk." She lay back down, keeping wary eye-contact.

He sighed. For better or for worse, what had happened had happened. She was his wife. He hadn't done anything wrong.

Seth leaned over her and dropped a peck on her lips so she wouldn't feel that he was regretting their night together. He wasn't—not really.

She cupped his cheek and kissed him again. "This was nice."

He nodded.

"But now we have to be professionals again," she continued. "Can we do that?"

He nodded again.

She kissed him one more time, then rolled away. She sat up and dug around on the floor for her clothes. Seth sat up. His head had that balloon-like feel of two hours of sleep. He found his shorts from the night before and put those on and then sat there, semi-stupefied, watching Char get dressed.

"I'll see you later," she said softly and disappeared out the door.

"Get up," he muttered to himself as the door clicked. He got up and woodenly pulled clean underwear out of his dresser. He pulled on the military-grade thermals he'd been given and layered his usual flannel shirt overtop. Seth tugged open the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a bundle of letters—notes to Will, Brett, and Shania, and some of the others saying goodbye. He took out a sheaf of little wallet-sized pictures: him and Char on their wedding day, him and Char with a moose they'd shot near Taylor Bay, and finally a picture of his Mom and Dad, taken only weeks before they'd died. He slipped them into a little waterproof bag and tucked it into the inner pocket of his thermals.

His throat tightened.

God, I'm scared.

He made the bed and left the letters on his pillow. Next he cleaned up his clothes, on the floor where he and Char had scattered them. His chair went tucked under his desk. Finally, he took his pack from the corner where it stood ready and carried it from the room. As the door clicked shut, Seth swallowed.

Three hours later, they stood in full thermal gear by the portal, which had been marked with flags of red tape. Seth stood with the two scientists: a short, stocky physicist named Jeff and a thin, hawk-eyed chemist named Marlene. Char, Leander and her six team members huddled in a group, clutching their weapons and carrying heavy packs.

Linc stood with them, holding onto a still-cuffed Venn. Venn wore the same thermal gear as they did and carried a pack of gear. His pale face was serene beneath his black stocking cap, but Seth thought he could detect nervousness in his eyes.

Erwell and one of the other site managers stood, shifting in their crackling down-filled thermals, looking serious and important.

"Right," Erwell said, checking her watch. A hard wind blew out of the west, reeking of burning synthetic materials. She crossed over to Linc. "Let's go."

Venn turned and surveyed them all while Linc unlocked the cuffs. Char stepped over, and Linc locked one cuff on her wrist, and the other on Venn's.