The System #2 (21 page)

“Why are you afraid?” Lucy repeated.

“I’m not
afraid
,” Maxine sighed. “I’m cautious and
I’m
not careless. I know who I’m dealing with, and I’m being smart. And you should be too. This is our entire
future
.”

Then she stepped backward and stretched, crossing her arms over her body. She had fortified herself against anything else Lucy was going to lob at her—her eyes narrowed, her body was grounded—but there were just enough cracks showing that Lucy felt all her fight leave her.

When her mother’s emotions were already heightened, it didn’t take much to trigger an even greater storm. Whatever her mother felt about this place, she wasn’t going to divulge it to Lucy in the middle of the Sky Room.

Without comment, Lucy grabbed the paper menu and scanned the brunch items. Pancakes and scones, French toast, eggs. She wondered at the food supply and how the restaurant operated. She wondered many things, but she was afraid her questions would set her mother on a rampage. So, she filed them away.

The young waiter returned. And they ordered. Just like they would have a few months ago, at a real restaurant, above ground.

“Thank you,” the boy replied without making eye contact and Lucy watched as he flitted about to the other tables. Maybe he had been a waiter before the Release; was he just continuing his role in a new place? A new world? Same life, new place. Something about that notion depressed Lucy.

What was the point of surviving if everyone kept falling back into the ruts of their old life?

A murmur spread among the diners and Lucy looked up and saw Huck, with Gordy and Blair, enter the Sky Room. Her eyes followed as the trio was led to a table in the corner. They sat and arranged themselves, and like a wave, the others in the room began to take note of their presence—chatting in more hushed tones, leaning into the tables, nodding in their direction. The shift in energy was clear.

Blair held her body straight and tall, holding herself up with perfect posture. It was as if she was a marionette and the puppeteer from above was pulling her string taut and rigid. At any moment a string could break and Blair’s body would tumble into a heap. The young woman brushed a piece of hair off her forehead and smiled at her brother and her father, then leaned in and laughed.

It was like she knew she was being watched. Every action was for show.

The sight of her made Lucy’s skin crawl, her heart rate increase, and her breath become shallower. She instantly felt a pain in her chest; without thinking about it, she brought her hands up to her chest and monitored the rise and fall of her breathing. Her mind wanted to put her back in the tank with the waters rising, submerging her, but Lucy pushed it away—Blair was irrevocably tied to her memories of drowning. That pain was stamped on her brain and Lucy tried to push away the growing anxiety.
 

Huck scanned the room, waving at the people and smiling. He made eye contact with Lucy, and she dropped her hands from her chest and blushed, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He nodded deeply to her, acknowledging her presence with solemn reverence. All eyes in the Sky Room turned to Lucy, eager to see who was deserving of Huck’s focused attention: including Blair, whose demeanor shifted, her smile faded.

Hoping that everyone would look away, Lucy bent her head downward and counted to ten before gaining enough confidence to resume normalcy. She wrung her hands in her lap and wished she could just disappear from this place.

A hush passed over the room.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” Lucy asked her mother without looking up.

“Because Huck Truman made a display that he knows you personally. Because you’re important.”

Lucy wanted to cry. “Important?” her voice cracked. She braved the embarrassment and looked up at her mother, whose own face mirrored Lucy’s uncomfortable demeanor.

“Shortly after we arrived, Huck put the System on lockdown. Either you’re in here and you’re safe or you’re out there and you are on your own. There were a few people who missed their planes or families, like ours, who were separated. Huck made a big show that he would deny them entrance. Now, no one ever showed up…that we know of. Until you. And then people found out about the tanks,” Maxine grimaced at the vague reference to Blair’s attempted murder. “The circumstances surrounding your arrival are causing a stir. And Huck doesn’t like unknown variables. Dissent isn’t acceptable.”

Maxine looked weary and sad.

Lucy could only think of one thing, her mind wandering to the person she had left behind. “But Ethan—” Lucy started and her mother silenced her by reaching across the table and giving her hand a squeeze.

“Your father told me that...” her mother’s chin wobbled. She steeled herself and took a sip of coffee. Maxine cleared her throat, “Huck’s plan—” She shook her head, too overcome with emotion to say the words.

“He’s not going back for Ethan?” Lucy asked plainly.

Her mother shook her head.
 

“But we have to go back!” she snapped, her voice rose above the din. A few heads turned in her direction, their eyes lingering before returning to their meals.

“Be quiet,” her mother warned.

Lucy leaned her head close and whispered. “How can anyone like it here? My
friend
is gone…maybe dead. My brother wouldn’t be allowed to rejoin his family?”

“It’s worse than that, Lucy,” Maxine lowered her voice too and matched Lucy’s whisper. “No variables. Huck,” she thumbed her finger over her shoulder, “wants
no
variables.”

Lucy didn’t understand. Then she felt afraid. Maxine was brazen, it was true; before the Release, Lucy would think her mother was a total embarrassment—her outspoken opinions seeped into every facet of their existence. But how could her mother openly discuss the man who held their fate in his hands without fear or worry? Lucy looked at Huck and his family, ordering their meals, and the people at the other tables a few feet away. She gulped. Their discussion felt dangerous.

“Should we talk about this here?” Lucy asked her mother.

Maxine smiled and reached across the table. She took Lucy’s hand in her own and gave it a squeeze. “Your father isn’t entirely certain that our apartment is safe. The Sky Room is loud and busy. Public. And safe.”

“Mom—” Lucy continued to hold her mother’s hand in her own. “What did you mean? No variables.”

She drew in a sharp breath and grimaced. “Grant isn’t supposed to be alive. He had exposure to the virus…he isn’t supposed to be here…he’s an unknown variable.”

Lucy had never known her mother to have trouble spitting things out. She pulled her hands away and placed them in front of her on the table. “Just tell me.”

“Your father has been instructed to create a second virus. For a second release. To…erase the probability of survivors.”

The news wasn’t a total shock, but then Lucy understood what her mother had alluded to earlier. “A new virus?”

Maxine nodded.

“So, people who were vaccinated previously—”

“Aren’t safe anymore.” Maxine confirmed the worst news of all: Scott King was working on a new virus that would eventually be used to kill his firstborn son.
 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Darla and Spencer were the first to sprint out of the den and toward the back; fearless and united, they stumbled out onto the covered porch and then halted in their tracks, scanning the area with guns drawn. Wordlessly Spencer motioned for Darla to take one side of the patio, but before they could fully explore the yard and the surrounding areas, Darla recognized that something was wrong.

“The food,” she said, her mouth dropping open. “Spencer…where is all our food?”

Stopping on the steps, Spencer scanned the porch and then swearing loudly, he took a giant leap out onto the lawn and rushed to the side yard. He fired a warning shot up over the open gate, but Darla yelled after him.

“Don’t fire, don’t fire,” she screamed, running to the side of the patio.

“Joey!” Spencer called. Then he pointed to Darla, “Tell Joey to grab a gun.”

She crouched down and looked at the emptiness of the patio—earlier that day they had mountains of the ready-to-eat meals that Ethan’s father had left them, in addition to the other canned goods and non-perishables salvaged from the surrounding neighborhoods. Altogether they had collected over six months of food for the entire group and all of it was gone.

Darla had suspected someone was squirrelling away food, but Joey had started the nightly inventory and the small disappearances had stopped.
 

The shock of the empty porch was almost too much to handle.
 

Joey wandered to the porch and whistled loud and low. His face went white and he tapped his foot
 
“How on earth—”

“Right under our noses,” Darla groaned. “Teddy!” she called back into the house. “Teddy!”

The child appeared just beyond the screen, pressing his nose against the mesh. “Yes, mama?” Teddy asked, tentative and unsure. He knew that something had gone wrong and he frowned and rocked on the other side of the door.
 

She turned to Joey. “Go tell the others what happened…but don’t be all alarmist…can you exude calm leadership? Seriously. Calm, leadership,” Darla commanded. “And meet Spencer out front.”

With a salute, Joey disappeared back inside as Teddy joined his mother on the porch and Darla, with a furtive look around, put her hands on Teddy’s shoulders and smoothed his curls with her hand.

“What did the man look like?” she asked Teddy. “Do you remember what the man looked like?”

Teddy shook his head.

“Can you remember anything? What he was wearing? Did he say anything to you?”

For a second, Teddy pondered all the questions. Then he raised a finger, “I remember! He asked me if my mommy was inside.”

A chill traveled down Darla’s spine. “Good,” she told her son, steadying her voice, and forcing a smile to comfort him. “Anything else?”

“No. Just…is he a bad guy, mommy?” Teddy asked, wide-eyed.

Darla kissed Teddy on the cheek. “Yeah, buddy. I think he was a bad guy.”

“Oh,” was all Teddy said, but he looked clearly conflicted. “Am in trouble for eating the bad guy’s chocolate?”

“Not at all.” Darla looked at Teddy and turned his head so she could look in his eyes. “You are not in trouble, Buddy. But it’s time to go inside and stay with Ethan, okay? Don’t come out here again unless mommy calls you.” Darla directed Teddy back into the house and as the screen door shut behind him, she sighed. Such a life for her little man. Then she hopped down into the backyard and bent to examine the grass. As Oregon drifted closer to May, the rain made sporadic appearances and the lawn was still damp, the ground underneath soft. Darla instantly noticed the wheel tracks in the mud next to the lower step—whoever stole the food had to have made several trips. It was an undertaking that seemed suspicious in both scope and execution. The thief was brazen or he was stupid: he would have spirited away wheelbarrow load after wheelbarrow load right under their noses. It was a feat.

Although, if it weren’t for Teddy stumbling upon the robbery, Darla supposed they wouldn’t have noticed for a couple more hours. Did the man know their schedules? Was he watching them? Where did he come from?

It seemed unlikely that anyone from Nebraska would venture all this way to kill them through slow starvation.
 

Spencer marched back to Darla through the open gate with Joey on his heels.

“Wheelbarrow,” Darla said pointing to the tracks.
 

“Moron,” mumbled Spencer. “If it was our stash he was after, why take it all at once? If you have the element of surprise, of people not knowing you exist? Why tip your hand? He could have bought himself a week or so…you know that we’d all think Joey was just screwing up the inventory.”

Joey scrunched his nose. “Hey now,” he challenged, but then he met Spencer’s gaze and shrugged. “Whatever, man.” He bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet.

“Maybe he’s planning on leaving the area?”

“He will if he’s smart,” Spencer said. He hacked and spit a mucousy stream of saliva to the ground.
 

Joey fidgeted with the gun at his side and looked between Spencer and Darla in turn. “He can’t be far, right? We can find him. Let’s go. Let’s take off—a couple of us in each direction.”

“He’s gone,” Darla said matter-of-factly. “And he has everything we need with him.” She kicked the grass and swore under her breath. They’d survived without devastating hardship—cold meals, no showers—because they had food and water. Now, every day would become about scrounging for sustenance and nothing more; they were about to feel the pain of this existence in the most visceral way possible: hunger. Thirst.

“In words hardly ever spoken,” Spencer said, “I think Joey’s right. We know these neighborhoods; there’s no way someone took off on foot with all our supplies…and a car or a truck only gets you so far. Any of the major roads are still blocked.”

“We have to try. That’s everything we have,” Joey whined.

Darla closed her eyes for a second and then sighed. “He knew the stash was here. Right?” The men nodded. “And he knew we were here. He had a car…that we didn’t hear…”

“He parked it a block away. Left it running?”

“How did we not hear that?” She looked to the ground, ruminating on all the ways this was even possible. “Okay. We split up.” She looked up and checked her weapon and then started marching toward the front.

“Hold up!” Spencer called to her back. “Who’s with who?”

Darla spun and rolled her eyes. “You two, head west. I’ll head east.”

“By yourself? You want us to grab Gloria? Ainsley?” Joey asked. He took a step back toward the porch. “The man could be dangerous.”

She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Please, boys. Please. If he’s dangerous, I’m better off by myself. I don’t have time to find a thief and babysit.” And with that, she jogged out toward the front of the house, her gun drawn, and on high alert for anything that seemed out of place.

 
The bodies in the yards were even more disgusting as time passed. Skin rotted away to reveal gelatinous insides, some of which spilled out into pools on the ground. All over the neighborhood the stink of death and rot drifted with the wind; but the King House crew had become accustomed to the smell, and only occasionally did the odor elicit any response. Darla had traversed the neighborhood, the offshoots of the subdivision, many times.