Rebirth (14 page)

“And you think you can trust your spies? What’s to prevent them from turning around and double-crossing him? For all you know they’re just waiting for him—”

“
Yeah,
Cass, there’s a risk.” Dor, usually unprovokable, cut her off angrily. “But you ought to know by now that I pay well.”

“Fanatics don’t care about—”

“These aren’t fanatics. Just opportunists. Like me. People who recognize that there’s not really much difference between the people on the outside of the gate and inside.”

“
Not much difference?
I can’t believe you’re saying that—not after they took your daughter. Killed the mother of your child and a lot of other innocent people.”

“I
hate
what they did,” Dor said, “and I’m going to get Sammi back, no matter what I have to do. I’m not going to sit here and pretend to be a pacifist. Or an idealist, for that matter. I’ll kill them if need be. I’m not naïve enough to think that there’s going to be peace in this new society or new world or whatever the fuck we have now.”

“It’s not idealism to— I mean there’s right and there’s wrong and—”

Cass was so caught up in the argument that when Dor’s hand settled lightly on her shoulder she jumped. Then she was embarrassed, and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, but she was sitting on a cramped sofa in a house that had never been hers, with a man who was not her lover, talking about the violence that they might have to commit. She felt like she might cry, and hated that most of all.

“There’s not enough to go around anymore, Cass,” Dor said, his voice gentler. “That’s the bottom line. One way or another, the population’s going to come down to what the earth can support.”

“That’s not true,” Cass protested—even though she suspected it was. “Three-quarters of the people in California are already gone, dead. With kaysev there’s enough food for everyone who’s left. If people would cooperate—share skills, share the rest of the resources—there would be enough for everyone. It’s just when people start trying to profit from other people’s misfortune that it all goes wrong.”

“Is that meant to be a dig against me? Because I run a business? Let me tell you, Cass, if I wasn’t bustin’ my ass to coordinate supply with need, things would be a hell of a lot worse for everyone than they already are.”

Cass started to argue and then she stopped herself. Because he was right, at least a little.

Most of her anger, Cass knew, was not at Dor, even though it was easy to blame him. Much easier than admitting that much of her rage had nowhere at all to settle, that it was years’ worth of stored anger at people who were long gone, at herself, at circumstances that had been forced on her, at-messes she’d made and hadn’t had the strength to clean up. She’d earned this fury every time Byrn let his eyes linger on her body, every time his furtive hands found her in the dark; she’d stoked it with each man to pass through her doors and back out again; cherished and honed it when Ruthie had been ripped from her, when every scar was laid open at once.

This was a dangerous road to take, and one she had found was drawing her more and more in recent weeks. Until now, until the library burned and Smoke left her, things had started to feel settled. She had started to believe she might be able to have the family she’d never dreamed she could have.

It was everything she ever wanted, so why did she feel so restless? The old A.A. answers were there, right outside her consciousness, asking to be let in—but she didn’t want to try, didn’t want to do the hard work of
living with her discomfort
and
feeling her feelings
and all of those words that were just words. Maybe, if the whole world hadn’t gone to shit, if she had time to herself to do anything beyond the daily struggle of just living, if there was even the luxury of a single A.A. meeting to go to—maybe then, she could try to work through the bewildering maze of her own head. But in the Box, there were plenty of addicts but very few people who had any desire to do anything about it; it was hardly the place for practicing the twelve steps.

Still, she was
sober
. She hadn’t had a drink in almost a year. Wasn’t that enough? Why didn’t that calm some of the anger?

She fell silent and Dor didn’t seem to mind one way or another. He gave her shoulder a final squeeze, and folded his arms across his chest. His legs were extended out in front of him and he crossed his ankles at his feet and settled himself lower in the sofa. He looked like he ought to be sitting in front of a fireplace, or a football game on TV.

He didn’t have the itch. Cass had pretended she’d obliterated the itch the first time she was sober, but that had been a hard lesson…pretending it away just weakened the dam and made room for the tiny rents that allowed it to make its insidious slow way back in. The itch was sneaky; it gained strength from the most unlikely sources. Self-doubt was manna. Shame was its lifeblood.

And there was the stupid part, the part Cass hated more than anything—the part that she would tell God, if there was a God, was a flaw in His design, unfair, counterintuitive, doomed: the genetic part. She still didn’t want to believe it was true, that she, her body, her family history might have been selected in the genetic lottery to betray herself. Some people just weren’t addicts, didn’t have the potential, couldn’t become one if they tried. Cass had learned to identify them only by learning to identify who they weren’t. She could spot an addict from across a room or a bus or a party, and gradually she figured out who didn’t have the itch.

Like Dor.

Cass sighed. This, of all the pointless places for her thoughts to go right now, was probably just about the most pointless. But there were ways to deal with that.

Of the many insipid-sounding A.A. catchphrases and acronyms, one of the most cloying had to be HALT—Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. If you were any of these, it was a signal to stop, take yourself out of circulation, get what you needed, treat yourself gently, rest. Come back strong.

And Aftertime, there couldn’t be a bigger joke. Hungry? The bioterrorists had pretty much set the stage for that, and while kaysev kept you alive, it never, ever completely satisfied you. Angry?
Fucking kidding me?
Lonely…well, Cass could teach a graduate seminar on lonely, on all its shades and flavors. And tired: everyone was tired, all the time. Deep, dreamless sleep had gone the way of hot showers and electric toothbrushes.

But there were still things she could do, things she
should
do. Things she had to do, if only for Ruthie. So Cass bit back whatever she had been about to say to Dor, and focused on breathing in and breathing out, and reminded herself to be grateful. For living another day.

For having her daughter with her.

For the meal they’d eaten, the sun on her face that afternoon.

She didn’t feel gratitude, but she knew that pretending was the next best thing.
Fake it till you make it
. And so she sat, trying to keep her body as still as her mind was unsettled, and faked it.

Dor seemed comfortable with the silence. He occasionally shifted, recrossing his ankles, rubbing a hand over his stubble or through his hair, but his breathing was deep and regular and he didn’t even seem to have to work at it. They were warm now, sharing the knitted comforter. Dor stretched and yawned, and his thigh touched hers, and she stayed very still, distracted from her thoughts, afraid to pull away lest he notice. But he didn’t seem to notice that their bodies were touching. In fact, he seemed like he might just drift off to sleep.

For a man who preferred his own company, he seemed remarkably at ease with her. He probably—no, make that definitely—would have preferred to come on this trip by himself, but he had been nothing but accommodating since they left San Pedro. Now, at the end of the day, he seemed as though he had made his peace with everything that had happened, an almost inconceivable notion.

It was like with the itch. Cass saw it, believed it, but couldn’t understand it. How could he see the things they’d seen today and not be marked by it? How could he not long to numb himself after nearly dying, after seeing what transpired in this house that was so bad? After taking men’s lives? How could he—and God help her, she hated the way the old sayings colored every thought she had, as though A.A. had seeped in and taken over every corner of her brain—just
let it be?

“Back on the road today,” Cass said, her words coming out in a rush. “By the wreck. When you went inside the house. What did you find?”

Dor’s ink-black eyes shifted very slightly out of focus but otherwise he showed no reaction to her question. “You saw. The food, the medicine, the guns—it was all out pretty much in the open.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dor shrugged slightly, but he said nothing and didn’t look at her.

“I want to know about the people,” Cass pressed. “How they were living, what they were
doing
in there. I heard the shots, you know.”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Dor said slowly. “It’s not that I think you can’t handle it. So don’t think that. It’s nothing worse than you’ve seen before. But it won’t help you in any way. Why ask me, when this is a chance for you to stay ignorant of one bad thing? Why not take that as a gift?”

Cass shook her head. “No. I—look at me, Dor, please look at me.” Wrong, wrong. But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t keep the words in. “I need to know everything. I need to
feel
everything. It’s the only way I can…”

The only way I can keep fighting the itch.

But of course, Dor didn’t speak that language and so didn’t know what she was talking about.

“I can handle it,” she said, changing tactics. “I…insist you tell me. We’re partners, and you need me, and I deserve a full accounting of everything that affects me.”

After considering her words for a moment Dor finally relented, but he didn’t look happy about it. “There were four of them. The two out front and another man and a woman. The men…were doing all right. The woman, not so much. I did what I had to do. I changed the balance, the way I thought was right. The worst of them are dead, and so help me, that’s all you need to know.”

“
No
. Everything.”

His eyes bored into hers and his expression darkened and smoldered. For a long time she thought he would storm from the room, his body tensed with furious energy, his breath coming ragged and hard, but he stayed, sitting rigid and miserable until he could manage to continue.

“All right, but I still think it’s a mistake. They were well supplied, not just the food but they had a lot of firewood stacked out back, and they had a little generator, too. They had gas out back in a couple big tubs. Looked like fifty gallons or more. They take it out of the cars that come by, I expect, siphoning it off after they kill everyone and drive the cars out back. You can see from the second floor windows, there’s more farther back in the woods. They’ve been at this for a while, Cass.”

Her head had started buzzing at the word
kill
. “How do you know? Maybe they let the people go, told them to head down the road, or they could have driven them farther down themselves, made them get out and—”

“No.” Dor’s voice was hard. “You wanted to know, so you’re going to know, but I’m
not
lying to you. Ever.”

Cass nodded, chastened.

“They kill them. The one inside told me.”

“Just like that? He just volunteered that up to you? Because—”

“He didn’t volunteer
anything
. After I shot him in the knee. I made him tell me a few things. And then after he told me, I shot him in the head.”

Cass thought about that. Counted.

“There were only two shots. What about the woman?”

“The woman, she wasn’t there by choice.”

“What do you mean, not by choice?”

“She was shackled to the bed in one of the bedrooms. They used metal cuffs that were too small and there was, she was bruised and cut, you know, the cuffs cut into her ankles but she had, her toenails were painted. Pink, I could still see the pink nail polish. She was…they took her from one of the cars. Do you understand what I’m telling you? She was young and if they hadn’t beaten her in the face I think she might have been pretty. They killed the ones she was traveling with and they kept her for themselves. They…used her.”

“Oh my God…”

“I made him tell me where the key was. To unlock her. It was the last thing he told me before I shot him in the head. I told him if he told me, I would let him go free. They kept the key on a hook by the front door, just like where you’d keep your car keys.”

The buzzing in Cass’s head grew louder, like flies, dozens of flies. The place behind her eyes hurt. Her mouth felt too dry to talk, but she had to ask.

“Wait—where is she? Was she hurt? Could she walk?”

“She’d only been with them a couple of weeks. She’d lost track of the days so I don’t know how long, really, but she still looked reasonably healthy, physically. Cass, I left her plenty of food and medicine and a gun and bullets.”

“You could have brought her. We could have taken her with us.”

Dor was already shaking his head angrily. “Damn it, Cass, I knew you’d say that. I knew that’s straight where you would go. What would we do with her? She’d slow us down. She wasn’t right in the head—not anymore. There’s no way we could bring her to the Rebuilders. They wouldn’t want her. They’d be suspicious. That house is sealed tight and she’s armed and she has provisions for months, if she’s careful. Most people have a lot less. A
hell
of a lot less.”

Cass knew he was right. Knew it was the only way. And she had a chance. If she was careful, like Dor said, she had a chance.

Anyone who had survived this far had already proved they were tough. The weak died, it was as simple as that; if they didn’t starve or catch the fever, they simply lost the will to keep trying, and grew careless. They killed themselves and took ridiculous chances and went out of their minds entirely, until everyone who was left was crafty and wily and determined to live.