Impervious (The Ascension Series Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Fran waited on the bench—the one now designated as her and Pete’s meeting place. Her toe tapped an impatient rhythm while she nibbled the ends of her nails. Yes, of course the trip was easier for her than it was for Pete, but that didn't override the impatience she felt. After a short wait, the vent sounded, and Pete slithered out head first. He stood, wiping his pants before coolly wandering to the bench.

“Mini skirt and pocket boots?” He snickered and waved a hand around like a snobbish West-Winger. Fran ignored his attempt at humor and got right to the point.

“I’m working at the Ranch starting tomorrow.”

Pete winced and trembled with an overly-dramatic shiver before pinching his nose with a thumb and forefinger.

“Smell you later.” He laughed.

Fran blew out an exasperated breath. “You don’t get it. I’m going to find the portal.”

“Huh?” Pete dropped his hands onto his lap. “It’s just… I mean… What about what Chan wrote?”

“Chan? What are you talking about? I didn’t see anything written by Chan.” Fran shook her head, at a loss for words.

Pete turned to Fran and looked into her eyes. “You didn’t see the testimony he added to Doc’s diary?”

With his clean face and wetted, mashed-down hair, she suspected Pete thought this meeting constituted a date or something. Fran ran a self-conscious hand through her own hair as a little heat crawled into her cheeks.

Pete cleared his throat. “If you haven’t read Chan’s notes, there's some stuff you probably don’t know yet.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to get out.”

“So it wasn’t all just madness?” Fran felt a moment of relief. Then when she realized what Pete had just said, her heart raced. “Wait. He got out? Chan escaped?”

“Um, sort of?”

Fran didn’t like the look on Pete’s face, and, even more, didn’t appreciate being kept in the dark. She held a mint tight between her front teeth ready to give Pete a verbal spanking.

Then, they both felt it. The static electricity.

“I’m outa here,” Pete whispered. He hurried from the bench, swiped the code, and disappeared in less than four seconds.

Fran thought about Pete’s words for half a breath and then burst into the stream of residents. She shouldered past a group huddled around a gaming board and past a cluster of chatty femmes. As she rode the lift up to the third floor, she tapped an impatient toe, and upon reaching her residence, raced through the doorway, straight to the flip-flop.

She yanked the balled up blanket from the mattress as she searched for her reader, and located it tucked into the crevice by her pillows. What was her problem? Was there a small piece of her that didn’t want to believe? Self-chastisement continued until the reader came to life.

Fran scrolled past Doc’s signature line and through ample white space, before she saw her mentor’s handwriting. She choked back a sob like she’d been hit in the gut. She remembered how he used to tap his stylus onto his thumb when deep in thought and then tuck it behind his ear between notes. Grief tore through her as she looked upon the meticulous lettering and she ran a finger over the familiar handwriting.

My beloved brothers and sisters,

I know my decline has begun. I must pass along the word to you before I am no longer able. Dr. Benjamin Leiben is indeed a sane man. I knew him well, hired after he lost his sight at the hand of the Council—by order of Marcus—not long after voicing renewed interest in the portal.

Of course, Marcus could have simply finished him off, but as Doc already mentioned, Marcus' soul had turned wicked and his lust for power insatiable. I will not get into the gruesome details of the disfigurement, but I will say that Marcus reveled in Doc’s torment.

My children, the Epoch has surely arrived. Indeed, the earth is healed. To date, no one has uncovered the location of the portal, and so we all sit like prisoners in Marcus’s made-up world of power. Yet one discovery has led to an escape from this prison. And the decline is the answer.

You see, the Council does not wish to house our sick bodies. Not the weak ones, the sick ones, the hurting, and the lame. So, they place us at the doorway. They think it is our death sentence. Yet, we know it is the beginning of our new life. The Ranch is merely our waiting room, so lift up your eyes and believe. Take heart and rejoice. My brothers and sisters, you may find the journey to be hard, but be of good cheer because I will be waiting for you on the other side.

Every muscle in Fran’s body quivered. Every nerve hummed. Did Chan mean that each person who endured the decline still lived? Fran remembered the Post Primer from her last visit to the Ranch. Even if the earth wasn’t a swirling heap of ash, he couldn’t even feed himself, never mind care for himself in an undomesticated environment. So, how does Chan think they will live?

Faith?

That was the Rebel mantra, right? They stood on the platform of hope, yet, when being completely honest with herself, Fran realized it had never felt tangible or real. More like trying to grab onto a wisp of smoke, a veritable fairy-tale. Had the Epoch represented little more than a symbol for her? A means to defy the reality of her life and justify her anger? Now that the possibility stood before her as a means to an end, she wanted to believe. But it was all wrong—nothing like she’d hoped. And, the very notion of losing
everything
all over again…

Fear sniffed out her weakness—a sensitive heart unable to withstand the pain. That’s why she pretended. That’s why she’d built the scab. A tear sprung. One weak, ugly tear. She dangled over the precipice of belief, and fear whispered into her ear,
If you pull the scab all the way off, you might bleed to death.

But hadn’t she just learned that good turned out to be bad and death might even mean life? Could that mean weakness might even be strength? Fran pulled back the flimsy covering she had employed to block the voice of fear and looked her enemy in the eye. As she suspected, as the wound reopened, a second tear followed. And then a third. They converged and burned a trail down her cheek, seeping into the corner of her mouth. She tasted the salt and felt the sting of the old mourning and grief.

In a flash, three single tears became a river and the river an ocean as unhealed hurts were exposed once again. The current pulled her in and tossed her about until she was sure she would drown. Could she fight the waves of despair? Would she even be able to stay afloat after having fought for so long?

She stood and paced the length of her living quarters. Her body shook. Every sad goodbye and spasm of death converged into a single mountain of agony. She wrapped shaky arms around her midsection and hugged the pain as it rattled through her body. Soon, she dropped to her knees as the face of her mother appeared in her mind―her beautiful, curly haired mother. The one who had chased butterflies and laughed with Fran until their bellies ached. The one who had nursed her fevers and constructed smiley faces from mundane peanut butter sandwiches. The one who had given her life and cared for the children of Impervious after their own parents were stripped from their lives. The one who had lived in a perpetual place of hope even after losing her own husband.

Fran’s body rocked with grief. Sobs erupted as her soul retched, purging the foulness of her sorrow. She cried for the lost years. Wept at the injustice.

Could there be hope? Was there a place where this pain could be turned back around? Was there even the slightest chance her mother might be alive? And what if Chan’s theory proved wrong? What if she allowed herself to face the Beast only to be swallowed whole? Could she survive?

Fran wept big ugly tears until her soul emptied of heartache and then she laid her heavy head onto the glossy coated gray concrete. The coolness felt good on her tear-ravaged cheeks. She closed swollen eyes, and her breathing slowed to the shivering hiccups of a child.

After a while, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling—a mass of nothing but one tiled square after another. She stared until the pattern converged into a blur of swirling white. Her taut muscles released, and a sigh escaped from her lips. As she became more aware, the back of her hand began to itch, and Fran peeled away the bandage. The eyes of the wolf stared back. Cold, hard blue eyes. Focused and undaunted.

Chan had trusted her with the truth. He had faith that she would move forward. He believed in her more than she believed in her own self. She looked down at the bangle encircling her wrist. Tomorrow, she would enter the Ranch. Tomorrow, she would find her way out.

Chapter Fifteen

The following day, Fran stepped into the Ranch and met with Jan, the Ranch caseworker.

“You’ve been given charge of four residents, Ms. Monde. Rooms S41-S44.” Jan palmed a reader as she ticked off the information. “Most residential care is automated, so your main task is to keep the declining residents company as you tend to each of their unique needs.”

Jan turned on her heels. “Follow me please.”

Fran clapped a hand over her nose and mouth to ward of the scent of the Beast and scurried along the empty hallway behind the efficient caseworker. They paused in front of a doorway which opened into a closet containing sheets, blankets, and smocks, as well as blue canvas uniforms folded into neat piles and stacked onto metal shelves.

Jan pointed to the uniforms. “Take a set and make sure you are garbed in a clean uniform each day.”

Fran pulled a set of scratchy, low-quality Canvies from the pile.

Jan gestured with a smile. “Across the hall is a changing room. You can leave your clothes in locker 22. At the end of the day when you change back into your own clothes, please place the soiled uniform into the receptacle. Tomorrow, you’ll come in here for a new pair.”

Fran crossed the hallway to where Jan pointed and waved a hand in front of the indicated entry. The portal whooshed open, and she stepped inside of a small chamber containing a few lockers and a single plastic bench. Before the door panel slid closed, Jan poked her head inside.

“After you’ve changed, please check in on your wards—S41-S44. Everything you need to know about them is available on their VDU.” She hesitated a moment and rubbed her brow. “Did I forget anything? Oh yes, of course. When all four residents have fully succumbed, your penance will be considered paid.”

Jan’s cheery expression disappeared as the doors closed.
Seriously? You can say that with a smile on your face?
Fran shook her head and then changed into her new uniform.

Her stomach balled into a knot as she stood at the entry of the first resident’s quarters. Just like Chan’s, the room housed a bed, locker, and shelf with an old fashioned computer. An aged man in a wheelchair sat in the center babbling to himself. Fran rapped on the doorway before entering. “Hello?”

His babbling continued without interruption. Fran stepped around the man to the video display and waved a hand in front of the screen. To her chagrin, the screen remained dormant.

“Hmmm.” She tried again with no response before spying the palm-sized device next to the unit. Mom had told Fran about gadgets that Grandma had used with her computer. She snickered as she remembered Mom calling it a mouse, and then rolled the plastic thing around until the screen came to life. She employed the plastic mouse to chase a white arrow around the screen before reaching the icon that read, “Resident Information.”

Once she clicked the buttons at her fingertips, data scrolled across the screen for
Bob
. Fran smiled and turned around.

“Hello, Bob. How are you?”

Bob continued babbling, and Fran returned to the video display to read through his history. Bob had been a schoolteacher at one time. She faced Bob and scrutinized his mannerisms as he babbled. Although unable to understand the words, Fran did notice familiar gestures like those of her old teachers—a lift of a brow, nod of the head, and occasional pointing of a finger. She experienced a surreal shiver. Although his classroom ceased to exist in this world, Fran had a suspicion that somewhere in Bob’s world, he continued to teach.

She watched him for a few more moments and then shrugged. He seemed content. She moved on to meet her next ward.

Room 242 belonged to John—a fact he plainly stated as soon

as Fran entered. Although he seemed lucid, Fran soon discovered that on John, everything hurt. All the time. And John demanded relief.
Pronto
. She tended to a few of John’s nonexistent ails before moving on with a promise to return soon.

Room 243 brought a surprise as it housed a celebrity from her childhood. Fran remembered watching Marie Morigeau perform on the main stage a decade prior. With her head resting on Mom’s soft shoulder, Fran had felt as if she could float on the notes of Marie’s lovely music. Now, however, the same woman hummed a continuous monotone note as she sat in her chair with unseeing eyes. Fran felt a stab of grief and moved on to the last room.

Fiona in room 244 barked out orders and kept Fran scurrying from one task to another. She insisted her room was stifling, and Fran smiled and adjusted the temperature. A moment later, however, Fiona claimed she was going to freeze to death, and demanded a blanket. She growled that her throat was closing up from thirst, and Fran rushed to get her some water. However, when she returned, Fiona slept comfortably in her chair. Fran huffed.
Must be from the West Wing
.

Given a guess, Fran estimated Marie to be the oldest of her wards, at about thirty five, and John and Bob not too far behind. Fiona’s age remained more of a mystery. With a face full of makeup and her head donned with fashionable wig, she resembled a woman in her early twenties. However, the decline gnawed on the rest of her body, giving evidence that twenty had been a long time in Fiona’s past.

Although Fran’s quirky patients suffered from various levels of decline, they were her team. Team Fran. She pledged to stay with these four until the end… Or until she found her way out—whichever came first.

Over the next few days, Fran began to enjoy the eccentricities and banter of her team while touching their soft hands and whispering words of encouragement. It lulled her emptiness, reminded her of the hope that lay ahead. She knew it would be hard to say goodbye to every one of them. Yet, knowing where they were headed when their time came, she would celebrate a silent victory.

In between visits, Fran nosed around the corners of the Ranch hoping to find a clue as to the whereabouts of the portal to the open air. Although she now understood the tidy layout of the Ranch, the location remained a mystery.

After assuring Fiona to be comfortable, Fran slipped from her room and padded down the hallway in the papers booties referred to as proper footwear. Her back itched from the scratchy low-grade material she wore, and with a roll of her eyes wondered who in the world ever thought up the idea of making scratchy, canvas shirts. If she saw that person on the outside, she planned to give him a piece of her mind.

As she swished along the hallway, the buzz of a venting sounded, and Fran hurried to the nearest shaft just as Pete wriggled from the opening. Although not quite as combed as it had been a few days prior, his wavy hair still looked cute tucked behind his ears and his brown eyes, just as captivating. She liked Pete. As a matter of fact, maybe she even
really
liked him. Their gaze locked, and Fran lifted her chin toward a deserted room a few doors down.

She hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed Pete over the last few days, until he wiggled his brows with unexpected levity.

“You’re a handful, Mr. Pete,” Fran laughed.

“That? Coming from the Wolf?” He stepped closer and reached for her hand. “Let’s see this bad boy.”

On inspection, Pete let out a low whistle. When Fran giggled, he dropped her hand and lifted his gaze. “So, did you read Chan’s notes?”

“Mm hm.” The smile felt good on her face.

“And?”

“
And,
I’m going to find the portal.”

“Really?” Pete stepped forward and draped his long arms over her shoulders. Fran released an easy breath and didn’t even push him away. In reality, she kind of wanted to close the six inch chasm and get lost in his cheap cologne.

“Mm hm. Why wait for the decline, right? But, I’m going to need some help.” Fran took a baby step forward and wedged her head in the hollow beneath his chin.

“Just name it.”

Fran enjoyed the vibrations of his voice. She hesitated before pulling away and holding up her wrist. “I need to get this thing off. I’ve been thinking about how to do that, and wondered if maybe Folsom could fashion something.”

“Hmm. I’m sure he’d consider it an honor to at least try.”

Fran smiled. “Thanks, Pete.”

“Mm Hmm, I’ll swing by his niche after I leave.”

A sudden howling in the hallway interrupted their soft banter. Fran recognized Fiona’s boisterous screams and the corners of her mouth took a dive.

“I have to go.”

She raced out of the room as a crash sounded and a deep male voice rang out between howls. She rushed down the hallway and around the corner, almost colliding into a guard as he towered over Fiona’s chair. Fiona cowered and wept as the guard shouted out insults and ridiculed her. Fran positioned her body between the two and looked up at the assailant.

She hadn’t seen him since her school days, but the blood in his eyes still evoked the same response. With a rumble in her throat she snarled, “Freddie.”

Behind Fran, Fiona continued to whimper. Freddie’s face lit up, and he bore his teeth like an animal.

“What are you going to do, Monde? Kiss me?”

He puckered up and lunged toward Fran. When she ducked, Freddie stumbled onto Fiona’s lap which made the old woman screech even louder. Freddie spit out a string of curses as he stood and then launched Fiona backwards. Fran sucked in her breath as the chair careened into the wall. Freddie laughed. Although she wanted to pummel his fat face, Fran rushed to the aid of the Fiona instead.

“He hurt me. That man hurt me,” Fiona whimpered.

Fran rubbed her shoulders to help soothe the poor woman. Then she turned back to Freddie.

“What were you thinking?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Monde, she’s halfway to death’s door. I was just helping her along.”

Fran harrumphed. “She’s looks very alive to me.”

“We’ll see,” he snickered. “When you’ve been here as long I have, you learn to see the signs. This one? I’m betting she’ll be gone before the week's out.” He grunted and shook his head before heading back down the hallway. “Have fun.”

Fran continued to sooth Fiona, as she moved her back into the safe environment of her own room, stroking Fiona’s faux head of hair and whispering words of encouragement. Finally, Fiona’s chin dipped and a light snore followed.

“Don’t worry, Fiona, soon you’ll be heading out.” The words slipped from Fran’s lips a moment before her drawn brows lifted to her hairline and a strange congruency of grief and joy flooded her soul. Fiona would be heading
out
soon. It was an arrow pointing straight to the portal. She ran from the room and swished down the hallway.

“Hey, Freddie. Wait up.”

Fran followed Freddie into the small break area and watched with sick fascination while he dissected his food. He tore a brown gooey sandwich, or pie, or something, into pieces and slurped on the ends. Although repulsed by his table manners, Fran decided sharing a meal might help mend fences. She retrieved her lunch from the cooler, popped the lid from a cold aluminum cup, and scooped a spoonful of applesauce into her mouth.

“So, where do they go?”

Freddie looked up. “Who?”

Fran shrugged while trying to contain her disgust. Her eyes seemed to roll on their own these days, so she lowered her lids to cover their inference.

“The post-primers. You know, when we send them off. Where do we send them to?”

Freddie snorted. “Who cares? They’re just gone, that’s all.”

“Well, someone has to bring them to wherever they go. Don’t you do that?”

“Nope. That's done by the higher-ups. The old guys.” He continued dissecting and chomping.

“Superiors?”

“I guess.” He shrugged. “All I have to do is swipe this little button.” Freddie held up his com device, and his chest puffed out.

“Wow. Do I have one of those?”

He sputtered brown bits of food onto the table. “Sure, Monde.” He shook his head. “You know, I’ve racked up two years in this joint. Maybe if you can make it that long, they’ll give you the chance to send off a few. For now? Just be glad you’re not pulling diaper duty.”

Fran couldn’t decide whether to be excited or sad for Fiona. Nevertheless, she stayed close to the woman’s side for the next few days, and just as Freddie predicted, her health did take a dive. When Fiona barked, her orders became more and more delusional until Fran understood they no longer dwelt on the same plane of reality.  Not only that, but her body began a rapid descent as well. Although Fiona held her own spoon on Tuesday, by Thursday, the food trolley stopped in her room three times a day to shovel in the porridge. Fran stood by and watched as the mechanized arm scooped globs from a tall bucket and dumped the contents into Fiona’s awaiting mouth. Sometimes the gruel made it in. Sometimes it didn’t. Either way, the arm kept moving.

When Friday rolled around, Fran stopped by to wake Fiona. The woman's eyes barely fluttered when Fran called out her name. She placed her face next to Fiona’s. The weak stream of breath trickling from the resident’s nose and mouth indicated such a vulnerable state, Fran feared if Fiona didn’t get out to the open air immediately, she would expire in this tortured world.