CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lunch was canceled, leaving nothing for anyone in the afternoon to do. This left plenty of time for laying around and actually talking to each other. Over a year in this place, and everyone still felt like a stranger. Isabel supposed if she was going to starve to death with these people, then she ought to know more than their names.
It wasn't going well.
"I can't believe we're going to die down here," Coco whined, continuing to lament like she had been doing for the past two hours or so (though it felt much, much longer).
"Well, the bright side is: we're already six feet under," Isabel said. She felt eyes on her and looked around at the group. "Oh come on, that's funny." But no one was laughing.
"Great, so we're going to die down here listening to the world's worst comedian," Gallant complained. He was sprawled out on one of the sofa's like a nineteenth century widow who had come down with a case of the vapors.
"We should just kill ourselves," said Coco. "We should just kill ourselves and get it over with."
"No one is stopping you," André replied flippantly.
"Stop," Isabel chastised him. "No one is killing themselves… if only for the fact that if someone does kill themselves, we'll probably be forced to eat them. I don't know about any of you, but becoming one of the Donner party isn't one of my aspirations."
There was silent agreement among the group. Maureen McGovern's voice was soft, still going on about the morning after. She wouldn't shut up about it. The radio couldn't turn off, so they all settled for the lowest volume to keep from going crazy. However, it seemed going crazy was inevitable.
It was infuriating. It wasn't supposed to be this way. The end of the world shouldn't have happened. They shouldn't be sitting underground, rotting away while some corporation that was meant to save them continued to ignore them.
"What if the Cooperative doesn't exist?" Isabel murmured, the soul crushing thought entering her mind.
No one heard her. Perhaps she hadn't said it aloud at all. Isabel debated on just leaving it at that; this idea could create a riot. But it bothered her. It bothered her that no one else was bothered. There was supposed to be this group looking out for them, but there was no indication that they existed. Yes, there was the radio. Yes, there was Ms. Venable and Ms. Meade. Beyond that, though? Emptiness.
Isabel spoke louder this time, "What if the Cooperative doesn't exist?"
The room came to a screeching halt.
"Why would you even suggest such a thing?" Evie scoffed. "Of course the Cooperative exists. We gave them our money."
That was a fair point. The Cooperative must have existed at some point because they all got tickets; proof of payment. But that was all before the world ended.
"What if the Cooperative didn't survive the apocalypse?"
Saying it out loud scared Isabel. It should be impossible. The organization that created the outposts shouldn't have perished. But there was a chance it could have happened. There was no communication from the Cooperative, so who was to say that it survived?
"The radio changed songs," Dinah reminded everyone. "The Cooperative reached out to us through the radio. They must still be alive."
"The radio's changed before," Isabel pointed out, still a bit salty that everyone so easily dismissed her claim that the radio changed one night. "And I doubt that they were using Stevie Nicks to send a message. For all we know, the radio could've been a fluke. Maybe radio waves are fucked up because of the fallout. I mean, we don't even know what the Cooperative is."
No one could argue against that. The Cooperative gave them tickets to survival. But what was the Cooperative?
No one really knew. The ideas started rattling around in their minds. Most of their minds anyway. Evie was disinterested. Dinah was more interested in watching everyone else. Isabel watched as Coco's eyes got bright.
"Do you think the Cooperative is really the Illuminati?" Coco asked, oddly excited by this prospect. "You know I'm very into conspiracy theories. I've watched all of Shane Dawson's videos."
It was clear that out of everyone, André was the most annoyed with Coco, even compared to Isabel. Her claim that the Cooperative was the Illuminati made no sense! How could someone so dumb get this far in life? "If the Cooperative was the Illuminati, why don't they just call themselves the Illuminati?"
"They could have changed the name so that people would trust them. Like, would you really buy a ticket from the Illuminati?"
"I would," Gallant said.
André rolled his eyes. Were these people hearing themselves? "Oh and let me guess, you always believed that Ted Cruz is the Zodiac Killer?"
"Ted Cruz isn't the Zodiac Killer," Isabel interjected. She would know; she had met the actual Zodiac Killer at the annual Devil's Night hosted at the Hotel Cortez. Dead killers only, and last she checked, Ted Cruz wasn't dead. Well, maybe he was now. "And the Cooperative isn't the Illuminati… but maybe they're like the Illuminati."
Dinah leaned forward in interest. She could see the gears turning in Isabel's head. It was fascinating to see her think when she spent so much time being quiet. "What makes you say that?"
"Secret organization with access to resources that protect people against nuclear fallout? They obviously have money and power, like the Illuminati." But there was something else that was tripping Isabel up: did they know what the Hawthorne school was before turning it into an outpost, or was it only because this place was underground?
Did the Cooperative know about witchcraft?
Were they a council of witches?
"How are you so sure they aren't the Illuminati?" Coco asked, offended. Why was she being dismissed so easily? She could be right!
"Because lizard people don't exist. That's actually super antisemitic." Isabel supposed she shouldn't be so quick to shoot down Coco's idea. But this wasn't the Illuminati.
Was it?
No. No, it couldn't be.
Isabel stood up. She needed to get away from these people; get away from all the talking over each other and theories that were throwing off her concentration.
No, even if she was alone she wouldn't get anywhere. She didn't need to think, she needed to ask questions.
"Where are you going?" Gallant asked, though not at all surprised that Isabel was abandoning them. She seemed so determined to separate herself from the group; to enforce the idea that she wasn't one of them. It annoyed the shit out of him. She wasn't better than any of them. If anything, he was better than her. He was the most sought out hair stylist. Who was she?
"To get some answers."
Gallant frowned. "How? We're underground with no internet connection."
"Don't need it. We've got a primary source."
Isabel left everyone behind to get to that source. She wanted answers, and there was one, perhaps two people who had those answers.
Three knocks, and Isabel walked in. Ms. Venable was right where she expected her: at the desk, pouring over paperwork (though Isabel couldn't imagine what kind of paperwork there was to do during the apocalypse).
"Knocking isn't terribly effective if you enter without a response," Ms. Venable deadpanned as she filled out her observations, something that had become a daily ritual for her as there wasn't much else to do in this place. "What do you want?"
"To know about the Cooperative."
Ms. Venable's pen stopped mid-stroke. She looked up to meet Isabel's eyes. "Why?"
Now that was interesting. What did it matter? Ms. Venable spoke so highly of the Cooperative; their saviors. Was Isabel not allowed to be curious about the organization? "It's because of them I'm alive, right? I don't even know who they are. What they are. Am I not allowed to know?"
That curious mind of hers was going to cause trouble, but she was done sitting around, waiting for things to happen to her. She needed to be proactive. This organization saved her life. She could hear Constance's voice nagging her in the back of her mind, telling her to get off her ass and do something. Well, here she was: doing.
Ms. Venable tilted her head to the side. Dismissing Isabel would be easy; a wave of her hand and Isabel would vanish, like a magic trick. Instead, she sat back in her chair. "The Cooperative is a group of the elite."
"So Purples."
"No. Greater than that. Elite when the world was still in one piece. The greatest minds society has ever known."
"And are they still alive?"
"Of course―"
"I don't believe you." Isabel's expression was hardened. "It's been almost two years since the world ended. The Cooperative hasn't reached out to us at all. So either this entire outpost was just an elaborate set up, or the Cooperative didn't survive."
Silence.
Ms. Venable mulled over these words. She didn't believe the Cooperative didn't survive. How could she believe that? "The Cooperative is alive and well, and we will have contact any day now," she said, sounding absolutely certain.
The alarms interrupted, startling Isabel. Her eyes went wide. Alarms were not a good sign. Ever.
"It seems someone is here," Ms. Venable said, rising from her desk, appearing calm. She was supposed to be the level-headed leader, after all.
Isabel, on the other hand, was not calm. How could she be calm? The world was supposed to be dead! "Who the fuck is here?" Who could it possibly be? Her first thought was: zombies. She had come across ghosts, witches; honestly it was about damn time zombies showed up.
"How does that saying go? Speak of the devil and he shall appear; perhaps it's the Cooperative. Excuse me."
Ms. Venable left Isabel, picking up the pace as best she could when she knew Isabel could no longer see her.
So, Isabel was alone, not knowing what the hell was going on. Part of her considered going back to the others to tell them that someone was here. But she ultimately decided against dealing with that headache. She didn't have enough information for them and no doubt she would be bombarded with questions that she wouldn't be able to answer.
She remained in Ms. Venable's office, waiting for what felt like two hours. In reality, it was much less than that. She straightened up when she heard footsteps accompanied by the click of the iconic cane.
Ms. Venable paused in the entryway of her office, having expected Isabel to be gone by then. "Miss Noble, I see your curiosity was once again too powerful to fight off."
She came further into the room, Ms. Meade in tow and one other person: a man with long flowing hair that gleamed like silk. It was jarring, quite frankly.
"Introductions would be appropriate, Ms. Venable," the man said smoothly, yet forcefully.
"Yes, of course. This is Isabel Noble. She took her father's place here at the outpost," Ms. Venable explained. "Miss Noble, this is a representative of the Cooperative: Michael Langdon."
"What?" Isabel asked, her brain glitching for a moment. She thought she heard the last name Langdon, which was just her mind making a mistake when processing the last name. She was missing her family, that was all that was.
"Michael Langdon," the man himself said, and there was no mistaking what he said.