Hello all! The academic year has officially ended but of course my laptop charger stopped working. Not sure when the next update will be; hopefully it won't take too long but I've got to wait for me new charger. Enjoy chapter twelve in the meantime!

CHAPTER TWELVE

The next day, Isabel's dream seemed very far away. But Isabel knew better than to pretend that it never happened. It had happened. She met the Angel of Death in her dreams, warning her about the Antichrist.

Everyone was gathered in the main drawing room, "socializing," a glass of mineral water in hand, imaginations pretending it was champagne.

The radio no longer belted out Stevie Nicks, and had returned to The Carpenters, making Isabel wonder if she had imagined it, or hallucinated it from sleep deprivation. But the song had been crystal clear. And really, if she had been hallucinating a song, it would have been one by Elsa Mars.

"Surely the mineral water isn't that fascinating," Evie remarked, watching Isabel stare intently at the drink. She didn't like how Isabel was in her head. She was thinking much too hard. What was there to think about? What could possibly require so much concentration?

Isabel looked to Evie, needing a second to process what the woman said. "Oh, no, I'm just…" Just what? She didn't have an appropriate word.

"You're lucky you can tune out this god awful music," Gallant complained as he smacked the radio. The music gargled for a second, and everyone's heads raised in hope, only for The Carpenters to return.

"It changed last night," Isabel blurted out. Maybe she had imagined it. Or maybe it changed for someone else, too. The only way to find out was ask.

Dinah frowned, cocking her head to the side. "What do you mean?" she asked, reminding Isabel of an investigative reporter suddenly hit with a surprising twist in a story but unable to give away any sense of being caught off guard.

Isabel straightened up on the couch, all eyes on her. "I um… I had a nightmare last night, so I came out here to just sort of unwind and the music changed." When everyone's gazes morphed from intrigue to scrutiny, she quickly added, "It could've just been a glitch. But it changed." Fuck, maybe she was crazy.

"Or maybe you were still dreaming," Evie said dismissively, downing her mineral water like a shot of vodka. She held out the empty glass, and Mallory came over and took it. "Think, what is more likely: the music changing or you being half asleep?"

"I was pretty awake at that point," Isabel tried to argue, but it fell flat. So, the music didn't change for anyone else. And now everyone thought she was nuts. She sat back on the sofa and sipped her water, continuing to grimace at the taste that she was sure she would never get used to.

Mallory brought Evie a fresh mineral water, giving Isabel a small, sympathetic smile as she passed by her. Normally, she supported Isabel, but the claim was too much of a stretch.

The radio glitched again, the sound cutting out and replaced with static. Everyone stared at the device, waiting for The Carpenters to return.

But The Carpenters had left. A new chord progression started, and the voice of Maureen McGovern filled the room, singing about how there had to be a morning after.

Involuntarily, a wide grin spread across Isabel's face. She wasn't crazy. It wasn't Stevie, but it was a different song. "I knew it," she whispered, so proud of herself for not losing her mind.

Mallory walked over to the radio and listened closely. "It's a message," she said with certainty. "This radio is from the Cooperative, right? I think this is a message. They're telling us it's going to be okay."

There were cheers from everyone. Glasses clinked, and Gallant started obnoxiously singing along. Even André brightened up.

It was going to be okay. The Cooperative was finally going to come for them and bring them to safety. They were going to get out of here. There was going to be a morning after.

Two months.

Isabel counted. She didn't know what month it was, or even what year it was (surely they hadn't been stuck in the outpost for an entire year yet?) but she counted the days and about two months (give or take a day) had passed since her strange dream and the change of music, which nobody initially believed.

Two months since the radio song changed. It hadn't changed since, and now continued to play "The Morning After."

There hadn't been a morning after. The mornings were the same. Wake up, have a cube, talk to people she didn't like, and spend hours on end in the library until the next mealtime. It grew tedious. And Isabel was really starting to miss "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft." That song was longer and didn't repeat as much because of it.

If the Cooperative was behind this, why couldn't they have chosen better songs or bands, like Nirvana? No, not Nirvana. That would have made Isabel terribly homesick. Her brother loved Nirvana.

God, she hadn't thought about Tate in so long. Sometimes Isabel hated that she cared about him. She shouldn't. He was a murderer; he shot up his school. And a part of her would never forget that and would never forgive him for it. But she met and became friends with him before knowing all of that, and that part of her still cared.

"You're quiet," Ms. Venable remarked, not even bothering to look up from her book.

Isabel did look up from her book. "I'm always quiet," she pointed out.

"This is different." Ms. Venable paused a moment, still not looking up from her book but her eyes no longer focused on the words. "Contemplative." She finally met Isabel's eyes. "You're thinking too hard again."

Feeling called out, Isabel's cheeks turned a light pink. It was barely noticeable in the firelight.

It was late, and the library was cozy. The two were indulging in this strange nightly ritual that sprouted out of nowhere a few weeks prior. Ms. Venable once caught Isabel reading the hours away at night when everyone else had gone to bed; books that were from the top shelf and unreachable. That night in particular, she left Isabel alone. The next night, she joined, sitting in the other overstuffed chair. Isabel hadn't said anything in complaint and it somehow turned into this routine thing between them: coming into the library after everyone else, Ms. Meade included, went to bed.

Isabel had been annoyed at first. This was her time to herself to not worry about anyone bother her. And she knew that Ms. Venable only stuck around to observe her. But after a few days, Isabel grew used to it. Now it was something to look forward to.

"The end of the world made you weak."

"You didn't know me before the end of the world," Isabel pointed out.

"I know the woman who first came here. Fresh off the plane. Devastated. Broken." There was no argument. Ms. Venable knew she was right. She had seen it in Isabel's eyes. This young woman faced hardship, but nothing could have prepared her for the apocalypse. "I thought perhaps you would repair yourself after some time. But you settled into your new shell."

"I thought you liked me submissive."

Ms. Venable allowed herself to smirk at Isabel's word choice. A broken young woman, but occasionally amusing nonetheless. Only occasionally. "I never said I didn't." She raised her chin slightly as she watched Isabel bite her lower lip, a habit she gave up on trying to quit. "What has you so quiet?"

Isabel was not about to delve into the entire tragic back story, mainly because the basic outline wasn't terribly sad. It was the details that created drama, and there were too many details. For it all to make sense, Isabel would have to explain that her birth mother gave her up for adoption after her son shot up his school, and that Derek Noble adopted her and they moved to Los Angeles to the house where Isabel was originally conceived, her birth mother living right next door; it was too complex.

Instead of delving into all of the details, she said, "The song on the radio changed two months ago."

"I'm aware."

"We all thought it was a message from the Cooperative, saying they were coming to save us. But it's been two months and no sign of rescue." There was no hiding how disheartened Isabel was to admitting this out loud. It was admitting helplessness. "What even is the Cooperative?"

Ms. Venable marked her page before closing the book and setting it aside. "The Cooperative is the reason you're alive. They created the outposts. They created the rules."

"Like the unauthorized copulation? I still don't get that one. Protected sex is a thing."

"It's too much of a risk," Ms. Venable said, electing to not tear into Isabel for using such vulgar language in front of her. "We cannot take the chance of ending up with more mouths to feed than we prepared for."

"Gay sex?"

Ms. Venable preferred it when Isabel was contemplative. "All forms of fornication are prohibited."

"Unless authorized," Isabel reminded Ms. Venable.

There was a pause, Ms. Venable studying this strange glint in Isabel's eyes. "You are just determined to get under my skin, aren't you?"

Isabel shrugged, returning to her book. "What can I say? I'm bored, there's no alcohol, and I have mommy issues. It's a recipe for disaster." She pretended to read for a few moments as she soaked in Ms. Venable's stare. She dropped her cocky act as reality settled once more. "Is the Cooperative going to come for us?"

She didn't expect a yes, but that didn't stop the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach when Ms. Venable said, "I don't know."