Watch Me Burn: The December People, Book Two (40 page)

Isaac’s phone rang and rang without answer, and Warren gradually lost hope that Isaac sat on his couch watching science documentaries or whatever boring thing he would do on a Saturday night. But just in case, Warren decided to start by visiting Isaac’s apartment in the Commonwealth of California.

He patted the hood of his fifteen-year-old Camry and gave it a little pep talk.
You’ve got an eleven-hour drive ahead of you. But I know you can do it, I have faith in you.

On the drive, Warren topped off the Red Bulls in his stomach with a Venti Iced Americano. When he finished the coffee, his heart raced and he wondered how much caffeine it took to kill a man. About thirty miles from the border, Warren saw an official Oregon road sign that said,
Warning: Entering Texas Empire in Twenty Miles
. And then another one, a little later:
Warning: This Road Leads To The Texas Empire. Turn Around Now To Remain in The U.S.
The signs plus the caffeine kept his heart rate up. He didn’t know if these warnings remained in effect or were just left there from before the bomb. Now that the Texas Empire had fallen, the Texas territory of California had become a territory of the United States.
So it should be safe. Right?

With all the worrying about his brother, he hadn’t stopped to think about entering the old Texas Empire for the first time since his family had escaped as refugees fourteen years ago. He’d made a few bad choices in high school, but he had never joined the forbidden road trips to California to see if the Texas Empire drinking age of sixteen remained in effect. His mother didn’t set too many rules, so he didn’t mind following the one rule she enforced—“Don’t go to Texas. It’s a bad, bad place.”

Now only a few miles from the border, he wished he had asked her why, exactly. He knew the United States and the Texas Empire hated each other like a snake and a mongoose, although the country that played the snake in the story changed, depending on who told it. But Warren’s American high school history class painted Texans as cartoon villains. They called the Texas Empire a lawless place where the convenience stores sold heroin, prostitutes roamed the streets, and people played roulette at McDonald’s. Worst of all, of course, Texas was a monarchy, where leadership passed down from father to son. Their ancestors had founded America in the first place because they didn’t like Kings telling them what to do, so they didn’t like it in Texas either. Warren’s history teacher hadn’t convinced him to hate Texas. He felt the two hundred years of conflict simmering between the lines, and he didn’t get worked up about politics. Live and let live.

The California border had a massive cement fence that could keep out a T. rex or a herd of zombies, and the United States government probably thought the Texas Empire had both. The deserted guard station could have housed a Wal-Mart. In the vacant window of the guard station hung a sign that said,
Border Open: Enter At Your Own Risk.

For some reason, Warren held his breath while he crossed the border, and then expelled it loudly after he entered. The signs got to him. He had to chill out. Isaac lived here and went to school here. The land on this side of the border looked the same as the land he just passed through. He didn’t sprout wings or see little green men on the side of the road as soon as he crossed.

The highway looked smoothed out from recent repair, with new United States green highway signs alongside the old Texas Empire blue ones. He couldn’t see much in the darkness, so he couldn’t spot any potential zombies or T. rexes prowling outside.

Eventually he had to pee, so he stopped and set foot on Texas Empire soil for the first time in fourteen years. The gas station sold guns and liquor, plus a lot of Texas Empire-themed knickknacks placed to either entice tourists or frighten them into turning around. One T-shirt had the entire North American continent colored in with the Texas flag and said,
We’re coming for you
. Another one said simply,
Screw you, America
. Other than feeling bullied by T-shirts, peeing at a Texas Empire gas station didn’t seem different from peeing in an American one. They had M&Ms and Doritos and Coca-Cola and Purell dispensers, and no heroin.

Warren reached Palo Alto in the early morning and wondered if he should second-guess doubting his history teacher. He saw abandoned cars with broken windows and people openly selling drugs. Really openly. At a stoplight, one man pressed a laminated menu of narcotics to Warren’s car window. It looked professionally made, like the menus Warren handed out at the microbrewery-slash-restaurant he worked at.

But aside from the drugs-to-go, Palo Alto didn’t seem too bad. Colorful buildings popped up among the lush green landscape. They even had Starbucks. He drove by the Palace of the Lord of California. Once the monarchy fell, the Governor of the Commonwealth of California lived here instead of a Lord, but he still got to live in the palace. The building looked like an over-blown Spanish mission, with red tile roofs, stucco walls, and lots of archways and palm trees. Not a bad way to live.

Isaac lived in a yellow, cube-like apartment complex, near Pike University where he went to school. Isaac had an IQ of 162, so he began college at the same time Warren did. He had a funky brain, like his mind took steroids. Warren would watch him scrawling notes or solving puzzles, and his eyes would jet back and forth so fast they looked like they vibrated. Isaac’s smarts and premature grown-up-ness made him seem like the older brother … or even Warren’s grandfather, on occasion. He said stuff to Warren like, “You would be a genius, too, if you applied yourself even an iota.”

Even in the weak early morning sun, people lay by the pool, and Warren felt their eyes on him as he walked by. But people looked at him everywhere he went. Warren knew he stood out. He had hair so black it had a blue sheen, and pale blue eyes. That, plus his height, made him somewhat of a spectacle. Unlike Isaac, who tended to slouch and wear a lot of gray, Warren had no problem standing as tall as he could. He smiled at some pretty girls in bikinis. They smiled, but then grabbed their towels and shoes and headed straight for a first-floor apartment. He couldn’t imagine why they would run from him like they had seen the bogeyman, but women frequently did things that baffled him.

Warren climbed the stairs to the second floor and found Isaac’s apartment. He turned the knob, then tried to open the door, but found it locked, of course. What had he expected? Did he think he would show up, knock on the door, and Isaac would explain how the whole thing had been a misunderstanding? He rammed the side of his body into the door a few times, more out of frustration than anything. The door looked sturdy and probably had at least one solid lock. Warren might resemble Superman a little, but he couldn’t break down doors.

“Are you Warren?” A small redheaded girl stood in the doorway of the neighboring apartment. Her petite stature and pink pajama pants made her look about fourteen years old, but most likely she attended Pike University, too.

“Do you know me?” Warren asked.

“I know Isaac has a brother named Warren. And you have to be his brother. You look just like him.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Jessica. I go to school with Isaac.”

“Are you friends with him?” Warren had found Isaac’s first friend, and a female to boot—a historic moment.

“I suppose. We’ve worked on group projects together.”

“Do you have a key to his apartment?”

“No. Why? Where is he?”

Warren didn’t want to say the words out loud. He stared at her awkwardly for a moment before responding. “He’s missing. We think he may have been kidnapped.”

Her mouth parted in shock. “Kidnapped? Are you serious? I saw him yesterday.”

“I’m trying to find out any information about what might have happened. Could I talk to you for a minute?”

She glanced inside her apartment, and then back at him warily. He didn’t blame her. He had not slept, had drunk enough caffeine to get an elephant wired, and just tried to knock down a door. Maybe those girls downstairs
had
seen the bogeyman.

“You don’t have to invite me in if you don’t want to,” Warren said.

“It’s okay. My roommates are home.”

The inside of the apartment matched the girl. Stuffed animals littered the couch and it smelled like a day spa.

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked politely.

Tired and strung out on caffeine, Warren couldn’t even tell if he was thirsty.

“No, thanks.” He sank into the plush, white couch. “You’re from the U.S., too, aren’t you?” Warren asked.

“How did you know?”

Warren shrugged. “You’ve just have a lot of nice stuff.”

“I’m from Duluth, Minnesota. I came here for their robotics program. They don’t have anything comparable in the U.S. And I don’t know what makes you think they don’t have nice stuff in the Empire. They have all the same stores. They have more stores, in fact. Fewer tax laws, although a lot of that is changing, of course.”

“You’re studying robotics?” Warren didn’t know science geeks came in such a fluffy, pink variety.

She nodded.

“Isaac came here for the genetics program,” Warren said. “They don’t have as many regulations on human genetic manipulation, or whatever.”

“Yeah.” She chuckled to herself, like she thought of a private joke. “I want to help,” Jessica said. “I know you are close with your brother. He doesn’t talk much, but he mentioned you to me a few times.”

“Do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt him?”

“I barely know anyone who
knows
him, let alone wants to hurt him.”

Warren rubbed his forehead absent-mindedly. The tiredness hit him like a wave and he wanted to lie down and sleep right there on her couch.

“But something strange did happen,” she continued. “Last night, I talked to Isaac. He actually called me, which he never does. I went over to his apartment, and he was really sick. He could barely make it to the door to let me in. He thought that maybe I should take him to the hospital.”

“Why didn’t you?” Warren couldn’t conceal a touch of anger in his voice.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should have. But he changed his mind. Decided he was just having a panic attack.”

“What was wrong with him?’

“I don’t know. He just kept saying he felt funny. He said something about adrenaline and his skin burning, but mostly he just kept saying he felt funny. He had turned off all the lights and electronics in his apartment. It was dark and he … scared me a little, so I left.”

“Do you think it was a panic attack?” Panic attacks didn’t seem completely out of character. At sixteen, Isaac lived alone and went to college in a strange place. He could have cracked up a little.

Jessica shrugged. “I don’t know. What does a person feel like when they have a panic attack?”

“I’m no expert. But, maybe short of breath, fast heartbeat … panicky.”

“No, I mean, how do they feel to someone else? What does their skin feel like?”

“What do you mean?”

“I grabbed his hand to help him up. His hand felt really hot.”

“You mean he had a fever?”

“No. It was hot, but it was more than that. His hand vibrated. And touching him made my heart beat fast, too, and the hairs on my arm stood on end.”