“We know that something, not of the Earth, did this to us. They categorized us for a reason. They took our healthy from us.” Magnus’ eyes lowered for a moment, before he looked back into the camera. “My thoughts and prayers go out to the families of the missing . . . I hope they didn’t suffer. Whatever did this, took them from us because they were healthy. And we were left behind: the Clean Skins, carriers of faulty genes, and us Striped Ones who are the ill. That is why I’m sending this video to you all; to tell you that we don’t need you. We don’t need the Clean Skins and we don’t need those of you on the outside. We will fortify our boundary and keep ourselves safe. Because if whatever did this comes back . . . they’ll come for the Clean Skins next, or the rest of you. We, the Striped Ones, will be safe. We are ill, they don’t want us, that is why they marked us. And here’s the funny thing: the government and the Clean Skins kept us at bay to protect themselves, but what they ultimately did was protect us.” Magnus’ eyes hardened. “So we are going to keep that boundary in place. Here, in the SZ, Clean Skins are not welcome. You will not put our lives at risk any further. South of Ventnor Avenue, in Victoryville, is striped territory. Any Clean Skins found to be trespassing will pay a heavy price. You will not taint us with your curse, Clean Skins. You will not draw the aliens back here to us,” he said as a slight smile curled the corner of his mouth. “We, the Striped Ones, the sick and diseased ones, will be safe. It’s not survival of the fittest, it’s survival of the sickest. This is the time of the stripes,” he said. “The weak have become the strong. We will be the survivors of this apocalypse.”
The video ended and Richard sat there, everything numb, except his heart, which thumped against his ribcage like a racing thoroughbred. He couldn’t believe this man had been so bold as to openly declare war on the Clean Skins. Bracks was clearly convinced that the Clean Skins were working with the government, that they were responsible for the treatment of the Striped Ones. And there was every chance that the aliens could return. Bracks was right, the Clean Skins, aside from a dodgy gene or two, were healthy. If those things came back, they presumably wouldn’t want the ill and the diseased. Magnus himself was a poster boy for that; a man skating on the edge of death. If those things came back, they would target the Clean Skins or the outsiders. And Richard knew the outsiders would be hoping that the Clean Skins would be first.
He began to pace the alleyway in which he stood. He suddenly wondered whether escaping into the Striped Zone had been such a good idea now, given he was a Clean Skin. But he couldn’t go back either. Where the hell would he go now that Magnus had declared hostility toward Clean Skins caught in the Striped Zone? He would need to hide his chin and neck. His mind rolled ideas around, trying to consider his options. He kept seeing the footage of the riot in Victoryville: the teargas, the gunfire, Abbie Randell stumbling terrified through the chaos.
He stopped pacing, then, and thought of the young Clean Skin mother, Kaitlyn, who Abbie had taken in. His heart began to race even faster and his palms began to sweat wondering just what danger he had put them both in now. The people of Victoryville knew the Clean Skin girl was at Abbie’s. That’s why her house had been vandalized. So what the hell would Magnus Bracks do about it, if Clean Skins were no longer welcome in the SZ?
Whatever it was, he had to stop it. He couldn’t fix the damage he’d caused throughout the town, throughout the world, but he could try and help Abbie and Kaitlyn.
He had to do what he could to fix the terror he had just brought upon them.
*
Deputy Leo Cann slowly awoke to a cracking headache. He opened his eyes and it took him a moment to realize he was lying on a concrete floor of some kind. He lifted his head and surveyed the room he was in. Some kind of storeroom. He saw mops, buckets. Where the hell was he? And how the hell did he get here? He tried to remember what happened last. He remembered the riot and the smoke. Then he remembered Austin trying to force him away from Magnus Bracks . . .
He’d been trying to stay calm, and in turn was trying to keep the young, strong Austin calm. Leo had been so relieved to hear that he wasn’t contagious, all he wanted to do was go to Claire and Lena, but then this mess had broken out. So he’d been trying to play it as calm as he could, knowing how important it was to make it out whole. But it hadn’t worked. Austin had been edgy, and somehow Leo knew it wasn’t just an adrenaline rush boosted by the crowd around him. No, Austin looked like he was being boosted by something else, something chemical, something synthetic. Earl had told him about the reports of steroid use, but Leo was starting to think that maybe it was something else Austin had been dealing. Methamphetamine? Austin had been too worked up and he’d been spoiling for a fight. And all Austin’s boxing down at the gym had worked, because his punch had been hard and fast and had dropped Leo quickly, leaving him seeing stars. He didn’t have time to react before he received a boot in his gut, and then . . . well, he didn’t remember much after that and figured that was why his head was throbbing like it was.
He moved to push himself up off the floor. It was hard work given the state of his head, but he did. He swayed and felt the back of his skull. His fingers came away with congealing blood. He went to rest his hand on his gun, needing some reassurance, but his holster was empty. His eyes quickly confirmed that it was gone, as was his comms gear.
“Shit,” he whispered.
He moved over to the door of the storeroom and pressed his ear against it. He heard voices outside, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He placed his hand on the doorknob and tried to gently and quietly twist it, but it was locked. He rested his forehead against the door for a moment, trying to catch his breath, let his aching mind think. He looked around, thinking the mop and bottles of cleaning fluids could make for weapons, but if he was where he thought he was—somewhere Austin had put him—then he knew they wouldn’t do much good. He’d seen Bracks’ supporters down at the gate. Many of them had been armed, and now one of them was roaming around with his own gun. Depending on how many were on the other side of that door, a mop and bottles of cleaning fluid would only do so much.
He exhaled heavily and moved to sit back against the shelves opposite the door. He realized there was nothing he could do but wait. Wait until someone came in who he could try and talk some sense into, or wait until Earl realized he was missing, and he or the military came in after him.
Either way, until then, he was in a real goddamn mess.
*
Mayor Russo slumped into his chair and lowered his head into his hands.
“He’s out of his goddamn mind.” Chief Blackstone shook his head, still staring at the TV in shock.
Russo finally looked up. “You think?” he said sarcastically. “He just declared war on Clean Skins!”
“I heard what he said!” Blackstone bit back.
“Mayor,” Eva put her head around the door, “word is that the site it was uploaded to has crashed from all the hits, but it’s already gone viral on hundreds of other sites.” She disappeared at the sound of the phone ringing.
Russo looked at Blackstone. “What the hell are we going to do about this? The Victoryville SZ just declared war on Clean Skins and anyone else who tries to cross that wall. This is a goddamn nightmare!”
“I’d better put in a call to Leo, make sure he’s okay.” Blackstone straightened and headed for the door, just as Eva came back, a nervous look on her face.
“Mayor,” she said nervously, “I have a Colonel Levin on the line.”
“Jesus Christ,” Russo whispered, closing his eyes.
*
Dr. Lysart Pellan knocked carefully on the door. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here, but he had nowhere else to go. After receiving the call from Harvey Meeks, which he hadn’t answered, he’d been terrified that the government might use the phone to track his location. He immediately destroyed it and left the motel as soon as he could.
It cut him a little inside to know that his daughters
would not be able to contact him, but he told himself that he would call them as soon as he had a safe moment to do so. Then he’d been struck by the harsh reality that their phones, too, would probably be hacked and his calls traced. His head and shoulders drooped. He’d done this to be able to reunite with his family, but the truth was he’d now pushed them further away. How long did he have, hiding from the security forces in this small town?
The door finally opened and Dr. John Seevers stood there.
“Dr. Pellan?” he asked, confused.
“John,” he smiled sadly.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, darting his eyes cautiously to the street behind him.
“I, er . . . I had nowhere else to go.”
John stared at him, studying his face, as understanding slowly dawned across his own. “You?” he asked. “You were the one who spoke to that reporter. You made the discovery?”
Lysart stared back, but didn’t answer the question. Instead he motioned indoors. “May I come in?”
John glanced behind him into the house, pausing for a few seconds, then closed the door over a little more. “I’m sorry, Dr. Pellan, I can’t . . .”
Lysart’s face fell a little.
John’s face looked both nervous and ashamed. Lysart eyed the red stripe running down his chin. “It’s not safe around here. Things have gone crazy.”
“I know,” Lysart said gently, “that’s why I’m here. I need somewhere to stay, John.”
His colleague averted his eyes, shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Pellan. You’re a Clean Skin.”
The words hit Lysart like a slap in the face.
“I can’t have a Clean Skin here,” John told him. “It’s too risky. They’ll find out. I’m sorry.” John went to close the door, but Lysart stopped it.
“I’ll stay hidden,” he said, his voice weak, his eyes pleading. “Please. I won’t cause you any trouble.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. You have to go. Please don’t come back here.” With that, John closed the door in Lysart’s face. He stood there in the dark, staring at the wall of wood in front of his face that was John Seevers’ front door, an utter feeling of hopelessness swallowing him.
He turned around and faced the deserted street. It seemed to echo how he felt inside. He was alone, cut off from his family, and hunted by those in authority who would make him pay for sharing the truth.
He was a Clean Skin stuck in the Striped Zone with a target on his back in more ways than one.
*
Abbie and Kaitlyn panicked when they heard a knock at her back door, which led off the kitchen. They both looked at each other and Kaitlyn’s eyes went wide with fear. Why would someone knock on the back door? For a moment Abbie worried that it was soldiers, come to arrest her for being at the gate during the fracas. But she hadn’t done anything. And she certainly didn’t condone what went down. Her mind raced as she blinked her still stinging eyes.
“Maybe it’s Josh,” she said standing from the couch. “Maybe he’s hiding from someone.”
“Be careful!” Kaitlyn whispered.
Abbie wiped her swollen red eyes, then headed into the kitchen to snatch up a knife as she made her way to the back door. She placed her hand on the doorknob.
“Who is it?” she said firmly, trying to sound brave.
“It’s Richard Keene,” a man’s voice answered quietly, “the reporter. We spoke on the phone.”
Abbie paused in shock. He was the last person she expected at her back door. She pulled the curtain back and peered out the window. The man was looking over his shoulder, but turned back to face her at the movement and flash of light. She recognized him from his news stories.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“To talk. Please.” There was a desperation in his eyes, a pleading, a sorrow. She studied his Clean Skin stubbled chin, then looked up as a loud bang and yelling sounded in the distance. Richard flinched, looking toward the sound, then back at her, worriedly. Then they heard what sounded like gunfire.
She dropped the curtain and took hold of the doorknob again.
“Are you sure?” Kaitlyn whispered loudly behind her, standing by the door to the living room, clutching a small statue she’d grabbed from the TV cabinet.
Abbie shrugged nervously. “I can’t leave him out there. He’s a Clean Skin.”
She unlocked the door and Richard Keene quickly slipped inside.
“Thank you,” he breathed, panting a little with nerves, and darting his eyes to Kaitlyn.
Abbie locked the door again, straightening the curtain. Richard was taller and trimmer than he looked on TV, wearing black jeans, an olive green T-shirt, and a dark-brown jacket with a red backpack slung over his shoulder. He held his hands up in surrender, looking at the large knife in her hands, that she now realized she’d been holding up defensively at him.
“I’m not here to cause any trouble,” he said in that calming voice of his, sea-green eyes imploring hers. “I promise.”
She studied the reporter a moment, and believed his words.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He lowered his arms a little, although he still held them in a placating manner. “You’ve seen my report? You know the truth about the stripes?”
Abbie nodded.
“I’m on the run. The government . . . there will be questions they’ll want answered about the revelation.” He swallowed nervously. “I saw the news, the riot. I saw you there among the crowd, and I saw the video Magnus Bracks released afterward. I was worried that you might be in a whole lot of trouble.” He looked over at Kaitlyn. “Both of you.” He turned back to Abbie. “You heard what he said about the Clean Skins?”
Abbie nodded, lowering the knife. “I didn’t know what that meant,” she said. “They know she’s here. They’ve always known she’s here. He let her stay because Charlie was a Striped One like the rest of us.”
She saw Richard’s eyes fall to her chin and neck, eyeing her welt, fascinated.
“Charlie?” he asked.
“Kaitlyn’s son.”
“Oh,” Richard glanced at Kaitlyn again.
“I don’t know why things would change now,” Abbie added.
“I don’t know either,” Richard told her. “But I wanted to make sure you’re alright. I wanted to make sure no harm came to either of you,” and he looked at Kaitlyn again. “It’s the least I could do.”
“That’s why you came here?” Abbie asked. “To the Striped Zone? You must’ve known it was dangerous.”
Richard sighed. He pulled the curtain back and glanced out the back door window, then finally dropped his hands, resting against the wall behind him. “I crossed over before Magnus made his announcement.”
“And you’re still here?”
He gave a sad smile, eyes dropping to her welt again. “I wanted to make sure you were alright first. I saw you in the riots, saw Bracks’ video, knew Kaitlyn was here.”
She studied him again, brow furrowed a little, her fear softened by his kindness. It looked like he hadn’t slept, and the clothes he wore, she was certain, had been the same in his last few reports. She eyed him sympathetically. She had been marked, but at least she hadn’t been displaced from her home.
“It just kinda blew up,” he continued. “I wanted people to know the truth but I never thought it would turn out like this. I thought this would unite people again, knowing the Striped Ones weren’t contagious. I never meant to put anyone in harm’s way.”
Abbie looked at Kaitlyn, still hiding back by the doorway to the living room, statue in hand.
“Well, we’re fine,” she said, trying to ease his mind. He looked like he had enough to worry about. Then she added, “Thank you, but we’re okay.”
He smiled, motioning to the knife in her hands. “I can see that now. You’re taking care of yourself just fine.”
&n
bsp; She gave him a brief, awkward smile in return, then finally put the knife down on the kitchen bench near her. “What will you do now?”
Richard shook his head. “I don’t really know.”
“Do you have somewhere to go?”
His face fell a little. “No, but I’ll figure something out.”
“It’s dangerous out there. It’s not safe for someone like you. A Clean Skin.”
Her words seemed to hang in the air, and the silence sat for a moment, she eyeing his clean chin, and he her marked one.
“I know,” he eventually said, “but I’ll be okay. I made my bed. Now I guess I have to lay down in it.”
They heard what sounded like more gunfire in the distance. They both looked over at the closed door, and Richard peered behind the curtain again.
Abbie stared at him, feeling uneasy about sending him away. Out there into the night, out into the chaos.
“You can stay here tonight,” she said, then quickly added, “in the basement.”
Richard looked at her a little surprised. “I don’t want to burden you.”
“You wanna go back out there?” she asked bluntly.
He didn’t answer.
Abbie shrugged. “I’m already harboring one Clean Skin. What’s two?”
Richard stared at her, his eyes thoughtful as he mulled things over.
“No one saw you come here, did they?”
“No,” Richard shook his head, “I don’t think so.”
Abbie shrugged again. “Well, if you stay hidden until this blows over, we’ll be fine.”
His mind seemed to visibly turn over, until a resignation washed over him. His eyes and shoulders softened. “You’re a good person, Abbie. That’s why I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She gave him a sad smile, then held her hand out and gestured him toward the kitchen table. “Have you eaten? You look like you could do with a meal.”
Richard moved over to a chair and sat down, running his hands through his curly brown hair. He sighed heavily, gratefully.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I really mean it. Thank you.”
The Time of the Stripes Page 25