Viral Nation (9 page)

Bennett kept moving as he answered. “We do important work at Waverly-Stead. Energy is precious; we have to allocate it to the places it will do the most good.”

“All work is important,” she said, mostly to herself. Bennett stopped walking, but when Clover turned back to him he just started up again and didn’t say anything.

The wall to Clover’s left opened to another elevator bank. She glanced up at a chandelier, bigger than she was with at least a hundred lit bulbs. Bennett followed her gaze.

“How much do you know about Waverly-Stead, Miss Donovan?” Bennett asked as he guided her through the door into office 1812.

Clover guessed she knew as much as anyone did about the Company. They’d taught her some in primary school. She’d studied in the library for the entrance exams. “Edward Waverly and Jonathon Stead started the Company to manufacture and distribute the suppressant.”

May eighth was a day of celebration for the whole country. That day, Waverly and Stead released the suppressant. Three weeks earlier, on Clover’s birthday, Ned Waverly stumbled into a portal deep in the ancient waters of Lake Tahoe—a doorway between present day and exactly two years in the future. When Waverly came through it, he found that a drug had been developed that cured the virus and kept healthy people from being infected. He got his hands on a sample, brought it back to his own time, and found the chemist, Jon Stead, who had developed it. With Waverly’s help, the suppressant
was discovered two years early and ended the Bad Times eighteen months ahead of schedule.

They saved millions of lives. According to the histories, fewer than twenty thousand people were left in the United States when the suppressant was developed in the original time line. Waverly and Stead were able to save almost that many just in Nevada by developing it early.

They won the last Nobel Prize in medicine, or any discipline, ever granted. People all over the world practically worshipped them. They were heroes. After the Bad Times, once the virus was controlled, their Company privatized nearly every part of what remained of the United States of America.

They worked with the government to build a wall around a single city in each state to create safe places for survivors to grieve and start to live again. Clover had no idea what was outside the walls of Reno now. When she thought about it, she pictured a jungle, growing wild and overtaking whatever human-made things might have gotten in their way over the past sixteen years.

She knew from reading the classified ads that some of the walled cities thrived; others struggled. But it had never occurred to her to want to venture outside her city. The idea that she’d see beyond the walls today erased any last bits of guilt she felt over not going home before meeting with Bennett. If she’d waited for West to come home and then argued with him, there might not have been enough light to really see.

“Well, you do know something about Waverly-Stead,” Bennett said, stopping her in the middle of wondering out loud how the absence of people had affected the black bear population in the Sierra Nevada. He held out his hand and Clover hesitated before letting go of Mango’s leash to shake it.

Bennett pulled his hand back and wiped it on his slacks. “I believe that letter is for me?”

“Oh.” She passed the envelope, now hopelessly crushed, to Bennett. “It’s from Mr. Kingston at the Academy.”

“Yes.” Bennett led her into his office, already lit with three lamps even though it was empty before they walked in, and offered her a seat before he opened the letter and read it. Took his time, too, making Clover sit, squirming in her chair, for what felt like an hour but was probably only five minutes. Too bad his curtains were drawn. What a waste of energy, using electric lights when the sun was shining. And leaving those lights on when no one was even in the room?

“Very interesting, Clover,” Bennett said as he set the letter on his desk.

The switch from
Miss Donovan
to her first name probably meant something. “What’s interesting?”

“Your entrance exams were extraordinary.”

“I know. You’d think Kingston would want me there, wouldn’t you?” Clover rested her hand on Mango’s head, and he propped his chin on her knee. “My dog does
not
bite, by the way. Mango is very well behaved. And no one would want to room with Heather Sweeney. Have you ever met her? She’s really awful. I mean—”

“No. No, I haven’t met her. I may know her father, though.” Bennett leaned back in his seat. “And unlike the Academy, we work with service dogs quite often here at Waverly-Stead.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely. There are skills we need to continue to ensure the health and safety of this country’s citizens, Clover. We don’t let anything get in the way of developing and making use of those skills.”

“You mean those people,” Clover said.

“Excuse me?”

“The skills belong to people.”

“Well, yes. Yes, of course.” Bennett tapped his right forefinger
against his temple. “Your mind is a gift, Clover. At Waverly-Stead, it is an asset that will allow you to help your fellow citizens.”

“Help them how?”

“As a Time Mariner.”

Clover choked on her next breath, and Mango lifted his head. “Kids aren’t Mariners. No one is, until after they graduate the Academy.”

“You’re right. But some lucky children—children with skills the Company depends on—are on the Mariner track. They start as Messengers. Do you know what a Messenger is?”

Clover recited a primary school textbook definition. “Messengers travel forward and gather the news from two years in the future, then bring it back to be analyzed so that problems can be solved before they occur. Messengers are the front line in the defense against a return of the Bad Times and essential to the operation of the world’s most effective justice system.”

Bennett smiled, showing a mouth full of very white, very straight teeth. “Exactly. Messengers protect us against another civil war or outbreak of disease. They are a big part of making sure that we can all live without fear. Waverly-Stead is dedicated to making sure that the Bad Times never happen again.”

Clover pulled up whatever information she had about Messengers. Since the scope of what they did was so narrow, there weren’t very many of them. Being a Messenger usually led to becoming a Time Mariner, traveling forward through the portal under Lake Tahoe and working with the information the Messengers collected. There were more Static Mariners, those who didn’t travel through the portal, than Time Mariners. Everyone on the Mariner track, including Messengers, made up the Company’s military ranks.

Clover didn’t exactly know how those on the Mariner track were chosen, mostly because it wasn’t described very well in her
schoolbooks or lessons, and it had never occurred to her that she’d ever need to care.

Apparently, they randomly swooped kids up from the Academy. Not exactly something they bragged about.

“How can I be on the Mariner track if I don’t graduate from the Academy?” she asked.

“You’ll learn here. Starting today with your first mission.” She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Your guardian will continue to receive your rations and extras, of course, since Messengers don’t live in the barracks.”

“My guardian?”

Bennett raised a dark eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. “That’s your brother, isn’t it?”

Right. Her brother, who had no idea where she was. “Can I talk to him about it first?”

Bennett gave her a tight little frown and shook his head. “There isn’t really anything to talk about, is there?”

“My brother will be really worried if I’m not there when he gets home from work.”

“He’ll be made aware of the situation.” Bennett leaned back in his chair and watched her, like he was trying to gauge something. She couldn’t figure out what, and that made her nervous.

“I’d really like to go home before I make any decisions. I can come back tomorrow.” Clover came to her feet. A tight knot gathered in her belly, and she clenched Mango’s lead in both hands to keep from flapping them as excess energy surged down her arms. “I have to talk to my brother. And my father.”

Bennett walked toward her. “Your father. James Donovan. He’s an executioner, isn’t he? Such important work. And I’m certain he’ll be pleased when he learns of your important role.”

Clover held her ground on shaky legs, and for a minute she was
sure she felt the whole tall building sway under her. “I need to go home now.”

Bennett didn’t move. “Did you study the Vietnam War in primary school?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ve heard of the draft?”

This was absurd. “Are you saying I’ve been drafted?”

“We don’t call it
drafted
, sweetheart.”

“My name is Clover.”

“Yes. And you have a certain set of skills that makes you invaluable to your country.”

“What skills?”

“The important thing is that we recognize them, and we are equipped to help you learn to use them.”

Clover didn’t know how to answer that, so she changed the subject to give herself time to think. “Can I look out your windows?”

Bennett froze, as if she’d shocked him with her request, then shrugged. “Of course.”

Mango followed her closely to the closed curtains. She figured out how to open them while Bennett sat down in his chair, watching her. The view was startling. Like nothing Clover had ever seen before. She could see over the tops of all the trees and buildings and houses below. The gray concave curve of the wall cut a line between the relatively manicured occupied part of Reno and the wilder area beyond.

If the window were on the other side of the building, Clover would have been able to see the farms. As it was, she could just make out the gate, standing wide open. Two people, as small as ants, milled near it. “Are there just two guards at the gate?”

Bennett came to stand beside her. She felt his breath blow over her head and took a giant side step away from him.

“Yes,” he said.

“All this work, to build the wall, and the gate is left open with just two guards?”

Bennett smiled slowly when she looked at him. She tried to place the look that swept over his scarred face. Irritation? Maybe pride. She couldn’t be sure. “Waverly-Stead has helped build America into a country where the virus and violent crime, are a thing of the past. Who would want to leave their city?”

Clover’s brow furrowed as she thought about what she knew of the walls. “They weren’t built to keep people in.”

“That’s right. And there is no one to keep out anymore.”

“I really have to go home,” Clover said.

“After your first trip through the portal, you will. I’ll make sure your brother gets word.”

“Mr. Kingston said I could work at the farm with West.”

Kingston’s forehead wrinkled. “I would be personally offended if you were wasted with the dirt slingers.”

Bennett led Clover and Mango outside, across a
courtyard, and behind the main building to a tower so tall that Clover had to lean back and crane her neck to see the top.

They entered a small lobby on the first floor, at the end of which was another bank of elevators. Overhead, Clover saw a giant chandelier that matched the one she’d seen in the main building. At least on this one, the bulbs were unlit. Gas lamps attached to the walls cast a soft, flickering glow instead.

“What is this place?” Clover asked.

“The first three floors hold the offices for the Mariner and guard units,” Bennett said. “The next two are our physical training facilities, and then the barracks up to the top.”

This elevator didn’t have any mirrors. Just brass handrails and cream and muted pink candy-striped wallpaper that looked to be about as old as the building itself.

Bennett pushed the number seven button and then let his hand fall on her shoulder.

“Please don’t do that,” she said, sidestepping away.

Bennett dropped his hand to his side but continued to stand a little too close as the elevator took them up.

Bennett led Clover to room 745. It looked like the
hotel rooms she’d seen in movies and books. That made sense, since the building had once been part of a resort casino.

Clover wondered if every room in the barracks had the same dark, pressed-wood dresser and table and chairs. The same bed, made up with a white comforter and two pillows. Heavy, dark red drapes were parted and allowed a breeze through the half-opened window, billowing the lighter curtains into the room.

“There’s a uniform hanging in the closet. You’ll need to hurry if you’re going to make the lake in time for the next mission.”

Clover stood watching Bennett watch her. “Are you staying in here while I change?”

For the first time, Bennett seemed flustered. “I’ll wait in the hall.”