Chapter 22: The Reverse Engineering Breakthrough
The book was a dry, pre-collapse tome on mycology, its pages brittle and smelling of attic. Rosa had propped her swollen knee on a stack of textbooks, a melted gel pack draped over it like a sad, blue slug. The common room’s single overhead bulb, fed by a groaning backup battery, cast a weak, yolk-yellow light that made the shadows in the corners deepen. She was trying to lose herself in the life cycle of Cordyceps, a grimly appropriate choice, when the door burst open.
Jason entered first, his usual careful calm replaced by a kinetic, buzzing energy. He wasn’t just carrying Roy in his cupped hands; he was presenting him, like an offering. Lee followed, his glasses slightly askew, clutching a spiral notebook covered in dense, frantic script. Sandy brought up the rear, her freckled face flushed, one of her ginger pigtails coming loose.
“We cracked it,” Jason announced, his voice too loud for the quiet room.“The modulation. The harmonic… the thing.” He let out a short, breathless laugh, his hazel eyes wide.
“You ‘cracked’ what, exactly?” Rosa asked, marking her page with a finger. Her knee gave a warning throb at the sudden shift in the room’s energy.
Lee stepped forward, adjusting his glasses. He spoke quickly, his words tumbling over each other.“The core crystal in the device. We’ve been monitoring its residual frequency emissions—well, the tiny amplifier Roy helped us build has been monitoring them—and we found a pattern.A decay signature. It’s not random.”
Roy, from his perch in Jason’s hands, waved a tiny arm. “It’s a Fibonacci sequence, but inverted.And pulsed. The original frequency that shrank me—and Helen—was a focused, coherent beam. What’s left is the echo, but it’s showing us the carrier wave.”
Sandy pushed her sea-foam glasses up her nose. “By mapping the decay, we can extrapolate the original frequency. Then, Lee had the idea—”
“To reverse the polarity,” Lee cut in, unable to contain himself. “Not just flip it, but introduce a counter-harmonic resonance. If we can generate that and amplify it through the crystal’s matrix…”
Jason finished, his gaze locking onto Rosa’s.“We think we can trigger a reversal sequence. A way back.”
The silence that followed was thick, charged. Rosa could hear the faint hum of the jury-rigged air filter, the drip of a leaky tap in the far sink. Hope, a dangerous and fragile thing, unfurled in her chest, cold and sharp. She looked at Roy, a six-inch-tall man standing in the bowl of his boyfriend’s palm, his face illuminated by the overhead light.
“You think?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.Roy nodded, his tiny features serious.“The physics checks out.In theory. We’d need to build a transmitter, precise to a micro-hertz. It’s not scavenged parts work. It’s fine engineering.”
“And power,” Lee added, his excitement dimming slightly.“A significant amount of stable, clean power. The kind we don’t just have lying around.”
Jason’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. “We’d have to tap directly into one of the main solar banks. The big backup battery array on the roof.”
A cold understanding settled over Rosa. She glanced at the flickering LED strip over the map desk, a reminder of their precarious energy economy.“The ones earmarked for the heating coils through January and February. The deep-winter power.”
“Yes,” Sandy said softly, her cheerful voice sober. “That’s the catch. We can probably generate the pulse.But the draw would be immense. It would drain the reserves we’ve been building all autumn. We’d be going into the coldest months with a deficit.”
Rosa leaned her head back against the couch, staring at the water-stained ceiling tiles. The choice materialized, stark and brutal. Warmth for all, or wholeness for one. A six-foot-five man returned, or eight people not freezing in the dark. She felt the weight of Roy’s eyes on her, and Jason’s, and Lee’s, and Sandy’s.She was the de facto leader.
The call would be hers.
“How long would the process take?” she asked, her eyes still on the ceiling.“The pulse itself? A fraction of a second,” Roy answered. “But building the transmitter, calibrating it… maybe two weeks of focused work. If we had the power.”
Jason set Roy down gently on the map-strewn desk, next to a half-empty can of something unidentifiable.“We could ration more. We could scavenge extra blankets. Seal off more rooms. We could make it work.”
Lee chewed his lower lip, looking from the hopeful architect to the calculations in his own notebook. “The math on heat loss is pretty unforgiving, Jase. Sealing off the north-facing rooms only gets us so far.” His voice was quiet, technical, a counterweight to Jason’s fervor.
Sandy wrapped her arms around herself, a subconscious gesture.“People already get cold at night. Amie’s been coughing. If we drain the reserves for a pulse…” She didn’t finish.She didn’t need to.
The room felt suddenly smaller, the hum of machinery more like a strained heartbeat. Rosa listened to them, her eyes tracing the worry on Sandy’s face, the doubt tightening Lee’s shoulders. She saw Jason’s unshakeable determination, the way his thumb gently stroked the back of his own hand where Roy stood. Her brother was silent, a statue in his partner’s palm, absorbing the cost of his own potential salvation.
Rosa contemplated quietly, then looked down at her brother, standing in his boyfriend’s hand, a silent conversation through expressions. His sharp eyes met hers. He saw the trajectory of the discussion, the grim arithmetic of eight versus one. He gave a single, small, definitive shake of his head. No.
She heaved a sigh, knowing that she was having to play the voice of logic: the bad guy. The sound was weary, pulled from a deep well of responsibility. “We can’t,” she said, the words flat and final. “It’s not a calculation we get to gamble on.”
Jason’s face fell, the hope leaching from it like color from washed-out cloth. “Rosa—”
“No.” She pushed the mycology book aside and leaned forward, her bad knee protesting.“Lee’s right. Sandy’s right. A coughing fit turns into pneumonia without warmth. Frostbite isn’t a maybe; it’s a guarantee if we’re rationing heat that drastically.” She held Jason’s gaze, her own softening even as her voice stayed firm.“I want him back more than anything. You know I do. But not if it means trading him for one of you later.”
Roy placed a tiny hand on Jason’s thumb, a gesture of calming solidarity. “She’s right,” he said, his voice carrying clearly in the stifled air. “The system is balanced on a knife’s edge. You pull one major block, the whole thing teeters. We wait.”
“Until spring,” Rosa affirmed, nodding at her brother with a pained gratitude. “The solar gain increases, the days get longer. The reserves aren’t as critical. Then we revisit this.”
Jason looked down at Roy, his expression crumbling into something raw and desperately sad. He didn’t argue. The logic was a cold, hard cell, and they were all now locked inside it. He simply brought his hand closer to his chest, a protective curl.
The excitement that had burst into the room was gone, leaving only the dull reality of another postponed dream. Sandy shuffled over and placed a hand on Jason’s arm, squeezing gently. “We’ll keep the data safe,” she offered.“We’ll refine the model. So when the sun comes back, we hit the ground running.”
Lee closed his notebook with a soft snap. “I’ll start running projections for spring power budgets. We’ll know the exact day we can safely do it.” He offered a weak, apologetic smile toward Roy. From Jason’s palm, Roy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve waited this long. A few more months just means I’m extra motivated to help you all not freeze.” He attempted a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Rosa watched them, the weight of the decision sitting heavy in her stomach. It was the right call.It was the only call. But watching Jason’s slumped shoulders and the forced acceptance on her brother’s tiny face made it feel like a defeat. The quiet of the room was no longer peaceful. It was the sound of hope, carefully folded and stored away on a high shelf, just out of reach.
It was the sound of hope, carefully folded and stored away on a high shelf, just out of reach.
The conversation bled into practicalities after that, a tactical retreat from the emotional crater.
Sandy and Lee began debating spring planting schedules, their words a low, comforting hum. Jason said nothing. He simply carried Roy out of the common room, his steps heavy on the linoleum, heading for the sanctuary of their shared space. Rosa watched them go, the ghost of her own stubborn climb from chair to bed haunting her. She gave it five minutes, then hauled herself up, the mycology book forgotten on the couch.
The hallway was a tunnel of silence, lit by one flickering emergency fixture. The weak light made the scuff marks on the floor look like scars. She focused on the rhythm of her own limping gate, the drag of her bad leg, the way her braid tapped against her spine. As she passed the closed door to Roy and Jason’s room, she heard it. It wasn’t loud. It was muffled, choked, a sound being pressed into a pillow.A man’s sob. Then another, deep and ragged. It was Jason. She knew the subtle, wet hitch of Roy’s breathing when he was distressed, but this was Jason’s voice, breaking apart behind the wood.
Her own breath caught, sharp in her throat. She stopped, her hand hovering near the peeling paint of the doorframe.
Her heart twisted, a physical ache beneath her ribs. She knew she was part of that hurt. Her knee, a throbbing monument to her own recklessness. Her utter disregard for an injury that was then torn. If she hadn’t been laid up for more than 5 months, and taking attention off of the search for a reversal, maybe everyone could have focused on the crystal sooner. Maybe they’d have had time to scavenge for extra batteries before the deep cold set in.
The logic was flawed, she knew it was, but guilt was not a logical creature. It was a cold, dense stone in her gut.
She couldn’t knock. She couldn’t go in. Her presence would be salt in the wound, a reminder of the trade-off they’d just been forced to make. Her fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into her palm. She changed direction, her original path to her room forgotten. She turned toward the stairwell door at the hall’s end, the one marked with a faded ‘ROOF ACCESS’ sticker.
The concrete stairs were cold, leaching warmth through the soles of her boots. Each step sent a jolt up her leg, a painful echo of her earlier climb. She pushed through the heavy fire door at the top, and the vast, indifferent sky opened above her.
The rooftop air was a slap of brittle cold, scented with ozone from the solar panels and the distant, clean smell of coming snow. The garden was a skeleton of wooden frames and dead vines. The humming water filtration system seemed quieter up here, dwarfed by the expanse. She walked past the rows of silent batteries, the very storehouses of the power they couldn’t afford to spend. She went to the western parapet, where the skeletal trees of the campus gave way to the silent, gray sprawl of the emptied town. She placed her hands on the cold concrete edge, the roughness anchoring her. She needed to be alone with the consequence, with the wide, freezing sky as her only witness.
The wind picked up, carving through her thin shirt with impersonal sharpness. She didn’t shiver. The cold was a cleaner feeling than the guilt, a simple, physical truth she could lean into. Her knee protested the stillness, a dull, hot pulse that beat time with Jason’s muffled crying in her memory. She replayed the last 6 months, the pride of her recovery.
That pride was ash now.
It had stolen focus. Her injury had become a logistical sinkhole, costing them time, attention, resources. She saw the links in a damning chain: her limp slowing scavenging runs, Jason constantly checking on her, Roy trying to overcompensate with his tiny, ingenious fixes. All while the crystal’ data sat waiting. What difference had her bravado truly made? The math was murky and unforgiving.
Below, the world was monochrome and still. No movement in the skeletal trees, no lights in the town’s blank windows. The silence was complete. It felt like judgment. She was the one who’d said “we wait.” She was the one who had to hold the line.
The right choice could still carve you hollow.
Her fingers, curled on the concrete ledge, had gone numb. She welcomed it.
The metal roof door shrieked behind her, a harsh sound in the quiet. Rosa didn’t turn. Boots crunched cautiously across the gravel rooftop. “Hey,” Sandy’s voice came, gentle as a touch. “Thought you might be up here.”
By the time Sandy came looking for her, it was after midnight and the temperature was dropping to the negatives. Rosa was sitting on a bench, her good leg pulled into her chest, chin resting on her knee. She was in just a t-shirt and jeans, not feeling the cold. Sandy was dressed in her light winter jacket, carrying one of Rosa’s heavy sweaters.
“You’re gonna get hypothermia, Ro,” Sandy said, her breath clouding in the air. She draped the sweater over Rosa’s shoulders. The weight was sudden, foreign.
“I’m fine,” Rosa murmured, but she didn’t shrug it off. The wool smelled of their room, of dried herbs and safety. The contrast almost hurt.“Sure you are.” Sandy sat beside her, leaving a careful inch of space. She followed Rosa’s gaze out to the darkened campus.“Jason’s asleep. Finally. Lee made him some of that fake chamomile stuff. Roy’s… well, he’s with him.”
Rosa nodded, the motion stiff. “He hates making him cry.”
“He doesn’t blame you, Rosa.Not for a second. Neither does Jason, not really. He’s just… sad. There’s a difference.”
“I know.” The words were brittle. Knowing didn’t un-hear the sound. Knowing didn’t recalibrate the power budget or heal her leg any faster. “It was still the right call.”
“Yeah,” Sandy agreed softly. “It was. Doesn’t make it suck less.” She tapped her own glasses. “I’m the morale department, remember? I’m supposed to notice when the commander’s morale is in the tank. You’ve been sitting up here for three hours.”
“Just thinking.”
“About how it’s your fault?”
Rosa finally looked at her. Sandy’s face was pale in the starlight, her freckles faded, her expression kind and utterly unwavering. There was no point in lying.
“The pieces connect, Sandy. My injury. The distraction. The delayed research. If I’d been at full capacity—”
“If you hadn’t taken that shot at the walker, distracted it, there’s a chance none of us would have survived that day.” Sandy interrupted, her tone firm. “That’s the only ‘if’ that matters.” She poked Rosa’s sweater-covered arm.“This guilt trip? It’s a luxury we can’t afford. Roy can’t afford it. Jason definitely can’t.”
The simplicity of it was a shock. Rosa stared at her. “He was crying because of a choice I made.”
“He was crying because the world is shit,” Sandy corrected, her voice dropping. “He was crying because he wants his boyfriend back at full size so he can hug him properly. You’re just the person who had to say the hard part out loud. That’s your job. We trust you to do it.” She hugged herself against the cold.“Lee’s already downstairs recalibrating the battery monitors. He’s looking for every stray joule we can save. Jayden’s talking about a run to the hardware store for more insulation next quiet day. You made the call, and the team is moving. That’s how this works.”
The words settled slowly, melting the icy edge of her isolation. Sandy was right. The self-flagellation was a spiral, a useless drain. The problem wasn’t her guilt; it was the coming cold. The solution wasn’t rehashing the past; it was engineering the future. She let out a long, visible breath, a white plume that hung between them and vanished.“Okay,” Rosa said. It wasn’t resolved, but it was accepted.She pulled the sweater tighter, finally feeling the deep chill in her bones. “Let’s go down. It’s freezing.”
“Now she notices,” Sandy smiled, standing and offering a hand.
Rosa took it, leaning on her as she got up, her bad leg stiff and throbbing. Together, they moved toward the screaming hinge of the roof door, leaving the vast, witness sky behind. The next problem was waiting, and the team was already working.