The Neo-Spartans: Altered World (21 page)

* * *

              Elsewhere, little Marisol was on the hunt for food, as usual. She gathered her courage, ducked under the range of the closed-circuit television cameras about fifty yards away on the Citadel walls, and pried open a long-forgotten metal maintenance panel leading to a long dark tunnel. Marisol didn’t know the history of this opening and didn’t care, but its existence was logical. The city had once had plans to become a megalopolis with a vast subway system—of course, that was before everyone’s health went radically downhill and every available public dollar was poured into health care. The subways were abandoned, only their deep, broad tunnels remaining. When the Bangers took over this section of the city, they turned the building, which was now the Citadel, into living space. Later the building was taken over by the Grant Hughes people and the Bangers were forced to leave. But access to the Citadel from outside by means of the subway tunnel had been overlooked. It was this route that Marisol took now. She’d discovered it while following a cat, and had been delighted that the tunnel had led to a loose panel in a pantry filled with food. Imagine, food! Just sitting there for the taking. She held her breath and ran through the darkness, climbed up and pushed herself into the warm, clean, fragrant Citadel pantry.

              She popped open the cabinet in which she was accustomed to finding cookies and coffeecakes and crispy treats. Her jaw dropped as she discovered they’d been replaced by stuff that looked like something she saw some wild rabbits eating right before her mom had made that really tasty stew. She sifted through the things, thinking the goodies might be hidden inside. But no, these were seeds, beans, grains. Stuff she had no clue about. She dumped a bunch of seeds into her hand. They smelled okay. She tossed them into her mouth. Crunchy yukk. Why was all this junk suddenly here? Who the heck would eat this stuff? She quickly popped open a rotating bin where the peanut butter and marshmallow fluff should be. This was even worse: nothing but fruit and vegetables. Where were the Malomars and Oreos and Twinkies? She climbed onto a counter top and threw open a high cabinet. At last, there it was, in all its sugary splendor, packages and packages of premade food. She eagerly ripped into a box of glazed donuts but a noise from overhead made her stop. It was getting louder by the moment. She jumped off the cabinet and ducked back into her crawlspace, but she left the panel open wide enough to see back into the room.

              A ceiling tile disappeared and seconds later a boy dropped through the opening, light as a feather.

              Well, how about that?, Gabriel thought, upon seeing the freshly opened donut box. He picked out a donut and stared at it. And while he stared at the donut, Marisol watched him. A boy parachuting in through the ceiling didn’t happen every day.

              Gabriel pictured what the donut would do to him, the panic and chaos it would cause, that is, if it didn’t kill him. Problem was it was messy and the organ harvesters would figure out that he’d induced his condition. That was no good. It had to look natural. At length, Gabriel set aside the prized piece of glazed gooey glory as Marisol watched incredulous. He kept looking. He ignored the cabinet full of seeds and beans. He opened the drawer full of fruits and vegetables but closed it immediately. Well, at least he had that much good taste, thought Marisol. In the refrigerator Gabriel located a halved seedless watermelon. Marisol’s mouth watered but the parachutist didn’t even touch it. Gabriel kept looking. In an upper cabinet he found a candy container full of wrapped taffy pieces. Marisol had never even seen these before, way up high as they were. She waited with bated breath for Gabriel to pop one in his mouth and enjoy its creamy goodness. Even these he set aside! Instead he found a bowl of fruit, plucked out an apple. He sniffed it and the aroma threatened to knock him over. He stuffed it in his shirt, jumped atop the cabinet and slithered back through the ceiling where he’d come from originally.

              Marisol watched him go, but quickly shook him off—fancy entrance or not, anybody who didn’t have sense enough to gulp down a glazed donut was not worth expending her energy on. She gave it a moment for anyone else to just pop in, and when nobody did, she scrambled in, crammed as much of the goodies as she could in her clothes and jetted away fast. It had all been just too plain weird for her to stay any longer than she had to.

              Meantime, Gabriel navigated his way back to his cell, but the cells were identical and retracing his path proved trickier than he’d imagined. But there, just ahead of him was a breadcrumb to follow: the open ceiling panel he’d left behind. He scrambled toward it but pulled up abruptly. He produced the apple and contemplated it. Covered in pesticide and inhibitors, its rind rich in poisons. The sugar in it would make it connect with his system in a matter of seconds. He took a big breath… and ate it as quickly as he could, right down to the core, which he stuffed into a crack. Instantly dizzy, he summoned up the strength to slide through the space, and replace the ceiling tile as he stood on the bed and counted it out: “seven, eight, nine…” and like clockwork, by the time he got to ten, his eyes were watering and a rash was blooming on his face. Scores of little circular zits, like pox gone wild, had exploded on his arms and hands. Gabriel reeled, fought off what felt like grim death to keep his balance as he struggled to get to a call button next to the door. He fell against it and a wailing siren rang.

              In seconds, two white coated technicians appeared at the door; they looked in and saw Gabriel lying on the floor, gasping for air, suffocating. One of them got on a walkie-talkie as the second tech slid back the door and dashed inside. Pustules had started to develop in a sea of purple pimples. He took Gabriel’s pulse and slapped on a device to measure his blood pressure. Dr. Mallory arrived.

              The technician looked to Mallory. “His heartbeat and blood pressure are off the charts.”

              Mallory knelt beside Gabriel. “Can you hear me?” Gabriel nodded. “Has anything like this ever happened to you?” Gabriel shook his head no. A stretcher flew in and a respirator was placed on Gabriel’s face. IVs were attached.

              Mallory stood up and paced. “This is no good. He’s meant to be Grant Hughes’s liver. Take him to the infirmary. If he recovers we’ll use him for research. God knows what kind of diseases can be cultured in genetically unmodified beings. This could be a stroke of luck in the long run. Meantime, Grisner has his work cut out for him.”

* * *

              Quinn had to get to Marisol. The kid was like a natural navigation system for this place, and intuition or wishful thinking led Quinn to believe the girl knew where the Citadel was. Quinn moved through the thick, daily crowd jamming the streets of the Sanctuary. It struck her how many people were out there with no particular goal, just living, chasing fun and distraction. She dialed down her purposeful walk, worried that her typical Neo-Spartan gait might make her stick out as a foreign body. Simply loitering felt uncomfortable, but soon she fell into its rhythm and it took her to Magda’s street. She picked a corner for her stakeout, where a bunch of young Bangers were monkey-barring their way down a non-functioning electrical tower. It was a good disguise, she thought, as she did her best to fake an involved interest in the acrobatic feats of the Bangers. She knew she couldn’t just sit and wait for Marisol to come out. It was risky anyway, but Quinn couldn’t sit on her hands and wait. Quinn was beginning to get twitchy when her target popped out of the shanty house. She settled a few feet away from the threshold to play with a bizarre collection of what had once been ragdolls.

              Quinn rambled over to her as if it were by pure chance, and greeted her enthusiastically. Marisol was happy for this unexpected company. She quickly roped Quinn into a ragdoll tea party, using leaves and pebbles plus other street junk that fit her imagination. Quinn patiently played along. The spare parts that stood for dolls saddened her a bit: here was this great, cute kid and all she had at her disposal were discarded parts, not even a half doll. She stopped for a moment and watched Marisol, completely immersed in her make-believe world. She was not bothered, she was just fine.

              “Hey, Amanda is rude, she is not a good hostess.” Marisol was looking accusingly at Quinn but Quinn had no idea what she had done wrong. Marisol nodded at the set of legs Quinn was holding.

              “She forgot the cake and she is not talking to me,” Marisol continued with her complaint. Quinn got it. Her little sentimental distraction had turned Amanda into a bad hostess. She straightened the rag doll legs and put them on the piece of brick that was supposed to be a chair.

              “Amanda is so sorry, she is a little tired,” Quinn apologized.

              “Why is she tired?”

              “She was bungee jumping all day,” blurted out Quinn, thinking this made as much sense for a Banger kid as anything else.

              “Well, that sounds like fun, she shouldn’t be tired,” countered Marisol.

              Quinn’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t had time to visit her food supplies.

              “What if she were hungry and hadn’t eaten in a long while?” asked Quinn.

              “She’s such a dummy, she should’ve looked in the shiny pantry,” Marisol shot out with great conviction.

              “The shiny pantry?” Quinn tried to be more curious than interrogative.

              “Yes, it has lots and lots of yummy food.”

              Quinn stopped playing and was all ears. She didn’t know the Sanctuary well, but the place didn’t seem to be the kind that boasted stores with shiny pantries.

              “Sounds like a special secret place. Maybe you could take me there or–”

              Quinn couldn’t finish her sentence because suddenly she felt Magda’s presence. Quinn wondered how long she’d been there.

              “Take you where exactly?” asked Madga.

              “Nowhere,” said Quinn quickly. “Just kid stuff. A doll party.”

              Magda looked hard at Marisol, who managed a shrug.

              “Uh-huh… I think you better get your crafty derriere and move it out of my sight if you don’t want me to move it out of the Sanctuary. What kind of trouble are you looking for?” demanded Magda.

              “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want trouble,” stammered Quinn. “I just saw her, we played…” the lie was not coming out of Quinn’s mouth easily.

              Magda shook her head at this pathetic attempt. “How’s that lie working out for you? I warned you,
chiquita
, if you wanna make it here you better forget your agenda.” Magda plucked up Marisol and shoved her toward the door. Quinn stood there looking for words, but Magda was not in the mood for discussion. Arms akimbo, she made it clear that Quinn was not welcome here. Quinn started to go, but stopped and turned again. She was so close to learning something, so close to getting an answer.

              Magda’s cold stare doused all hopes.

              “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,
comprende
? Now beat it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

              The stadium was filling up with people. The raucous Bangers were fighting over better seats. Shielded from the unpleasantness of the common crowd, the select Eugenics guests were escorted to their box seats by Julius’s most muscled boys. Quinn stood in the holding area, listening to the noises of the roiling crowd that reverberated above her head. She didn’t have her heart in her throat this time. The panic and fear of the first games were gone. It was amazing what experience can give you. She was not the tiny spec who was at the mercy of the immense, amorphous mass hungry for violence. A few days before she had walked into that arena and the deafening noise of the crowd felt like a giant tsunami wave about to crush her, obliterate her from existence. But she had found it in herself to win, and in an instant she was on top of that wave, not under it. She was a victor, a hero, and the crowd was at her feet. Now, the same energy was gathering momentum and spreading in circular ripples, making the weaker, less experienced ones shrivel in fear, and the veterans draw power from this invisible source. For Quinn it was important to stay calm. She let the tumult of the stadium wash over her like white noise. She steadied her breathing and focused on the rhythm of her heart.

              The roller coaster of cheers and laughter thundered through the arena and gradually died down. It was fighting time. Quinn and the rest of the fighters walked into their designated area and sat down, ready to take their turns in the arena. Quinn didn’t watch the fights. She didn’t want to be distracted. She let her eyes roam the faceless crowd. All those people wincing and clapping and slamming their fists into phantom opponents, living the fantasy at somebody else’s expense. This was not the time for judgment; she needed to empty her brain. She tried to blink away the image of the crowd when something got her attention and snapped her eyes wide open. Like a lens, she zoomed in on a figure in the special guests’ box. The solid frame of a man was standing up; something in the arena must have excited him, but that was as far as he would go to show involvement. He watched the brutal pounding the two fighters were inflicting on each other, in perfect stillness. Not a muscle moved, not even a blink. Just a cold glow in his eyes that suggested tremendous satisfaction in destruction.