by Shanon Hunt
She picked up her phone and dialed 911. Campus security.
“How can I direct your call?”
“May I speak with Eric Ortiz, please?”
She’d casually thank him for stopping by to check up on her. It was very considerate of him.
“One moment.”
She picked at the scabs on her palms while she waited. Her blood, not his.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr. Ortiz isn’t answering his line. Can I give him a message?”
In the pit of her stomach, she’d known he wouldn’t be there, yet the operator’s words still shook her, the way James’s words had shaken her after her C-section. He didn’t make it. It was a feeling of impending doom. “No, thank you. I’ll try again another time.”
She dropped the phone onto the bed next to her and rolled over. A sour taste filled her mouth, yet she couldn’t seem to swallow. The fetus squirmed inside her, as it had been doing far more frequently lately, reminding her once again that its time was almost up. She lifted her shirt and studied her pale white belly as it stretched, forming grotesque, distorted shapes, testing the limits of her skin elasticity as if an alien monster were preparing to burst through. Was her skin strong enough to hold it in? Would the dark tendrils of veins that extended across her belly and down her sides rupture, filling her abdomen with blood?
She felt imprisoned by this creature that had invaded her body and hijacked her internal organs. She was nothing but a life support system for it, useless and worthless in her own right. Perhaps this was her destiny. She breathed deeply, submitting to her subservient rank. She was but a humble carrier, one of hundreds. A vessel for an evolved human.
And in that moment, her mind opened and the recollection of that night with Eric Ortiz flooded her like a tsunami. The splashes of memories, the fragments of their conversation that had haunted her for two days fell into place like dominos.
Her eyes flew open.
“Oh god, what have I done?” she whispered. She sank into her bed and curled into a ball.
The earth will be purified.
It was all over. They would be coming for her soon, and when they discovered what a monster she was, they’d force her outside the Colony walls, where her lungs would fill with poisonous air. The poison would travel through her arteries, through her extremities, and back to her heart, which would instantly turn black and stop beating. And then the wolves would shred her corpse, just as they had shredded Eric Ortiz in her dream. It had been a dream, right?
Layla’s belly tightened as a dull ache spread from the front of her lower abdomen to her back. She stretched her legs, taking some pressure off her diaphragm, and took in a slow, deep breath. This wasn’t the first false contraction she’d had, but it seemed so aptly timed that she wondered if the fetus was trying to deliver a message: You are my host, and I need you safe and sound.
She rubbed her hand over the hard lump that jutted from her side—a foot, maybe. “The work of the Colony is the only priority, isn’t that right?” The foot bump disappeared. “We have an important mission to fulfill.”
And right now, her only priority was to make the problem disappear.
24
March 2024, California
Nick took a seat next to Jordan as he clicked through his computer for the file.
“They must’ve tracked my phone,” Jordan said, “because they found me here in LA when I was hiding out at the university. I got a cryptic text asking me to meet them at this restaurant.”
He opened a video file. The camera work was a bit shaky, but Nick watched as lanky Jordan sat down at an outdoor table with the man and woman he’d pointed out earlier. The traffic noise and sounds of downtown LA obscured any chance of hearing the conversation between Jordan and the recruiters.
“Jenna took the video,” Jordan said. “I figured if they were top-secret government people, they’d pat me down for a mic or something, so I didn’t wear my body cam.”
Nick had always prided himself on his interviewing skills. He was patient; he took time to build rapport, to allow the subject or source a moment to get comfortable. But not this time. Right now, he just wanted to shake the story out of Jordan. “What did they say?”
“They gave me a really hard sell. It was insulting. They tried to convince me that if I ever wanted to work in the field of genetics again, I needed to hear them out.”
“And?”
“And I was like no way, forget it. That’s not how I work.”
Nick pointed to the video. In it, Jordan hopped up, pushed in his chair, and moved toward the exit. “That’s all? Where’d you go next?”
“Nowhere, it turns out.”
Two men at another table sprang up to intercept him. After a verbal exchange and lots of frustrated body language, Jordan returned to the table with the recruiters.
Nick wrung his hands like a junkie waiting for a fix. “And?”
“The dudes were actually very polite. They asked me to please continue the discussion, to hear ’em out, so I went back.”
“Well, who do they work for?”
Jordan shrugged. “They stuck with the top-secret story, but they softened their pitch and tried to bribe me with a fully equipped lab and everything I needed, including the virus. Human subjects.”
Nick recoiled. He couldn’t imagine voluntarily being anywhere in the vicinity of the virus.
“I was tempted, not gonna lie, but in the end I told them I was getting out of genetics research. Wanted to open my own DNA analysis shop and call it Jordan Genes. Get it? Like the designer jeans?”
Nick was distracted by movement on the screen. “What’s that? What’s she doing?”
“She wrote a phone number on a piece of paper. Too top-secret for business cards.”
“Wait. Back that up, like five seconds.”
Abder leaned in and took over.
Nick watched closely as the woman slid a sleek leather folio from her bag. The glint of metallic lettering in one corner of the cover flashed in the noon sun. “Did you notice what was printed on her folio?”
Jordan shrugged. “Her initials?”
“Hang on.” Abder paused the video and zoomed in until the folio filled the screen. He opened Photoshop, dragged the image over, and opened the sharpen tool.
“They’re all computer wizzes in India,” Jordan said with a wink.
“I’m not Indian, asshole, I’m Egyptian.” Abder brushed his cursor over the letters.
Nick’s heartbeat picked up as the blurry letters became clear.
EGNX. The same goddamned organization responsible for the LXR drugs. Responsible for the death of Peter Malloy. Framing him for blowing up Vitapura. Now responsible for the virus. Small motherfucking world.
Nick spun around. “We need to find those recruiters.”
25
October 2022, Mexico
The afternoon sun was low on the horizon as Layla turned the corner to start the steep walk up the hill to the security building, her armpits already damp. She jolted when she heard Mia’s voice.
“Layla? Where on earth are you going?” Mia jogged to catch up with her. “I was just coming over to challenge you to a game of cribbage.”
Damn it. “I was just going for a walk.”
“Okay. Well then, I’ll walk with you. You shouldn’t be moving around so much.”
Layla whirled around to face her friend. She and Mia had been as close as sisters ever since her purification. They’d never once argued. She knew every one of Mia’s secrets and vice versa. They’d always supported each other.
“I’d rather be alone,” Layla said, trying to mask the edge in her voice. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“That’s what friends are for. Come on. Let’s walk this way so you don’t have to climb the hill.”
“No, Mia, really. I just want to be alone.”
Mia pursed her lips. “Is it James? Are you in a fight?”
“No—”
“Is it about the GS-4 thing? Listen,
if it’s bothering you that much, I can talk to him. You’re probably going crazy at home. The bitterness can build up when you’re all by yourself, and…”
Mia’s voice seemed to swell with each word until Layla heard the snap inside her head, followed by the eruption of fierce heat from inside her gut.
“Get the fuck out of my way and leave me alone!” Her hands flew up on their own accord and shoved.
Mia stumbled and landed on her backside, sending up a puff of dust. She blinked rapidly up at Layla, her mouth falling open. Layla didn’t move to help or offer an apology. She simply went on her way up the hill, toward the security building.
The long walk gave her time to come down from her fit of anger and feel remorseful for pushing Mia to the ground. She’d call later and apologize. But right now, she needed to focus on her story.
A blast of blessedly cool air hit her as she passed through the revolving doors. She approached the security reception desk, a somber look on her face.
“Oh, hello! What can I do for you, Sister Layla?”
“I’m afraid we have a situation on my campus. I need to have a word with Mr. Aroyo.”
Several minutes later, an imposing figure in the uniform of what looked like a military general strode through the double doors into the reception area, approaching without so much as a smile. She’d never met the man, and James had described him as formidable but fair. She was certain he knew who she was, but he didn’t bother with a proper introduction. He scowled at her, as if she were interrupting his important work.
She couldn’t lose her nerve now. She lifted her chin. “I have a situation, and I need to review the security camera files of my inductee housing and the surrounding area for the last seven days.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Security files are confidential.” He pivoted.
“The situation may involve inappropriate behavior from one of your guards toward several young women.”
He halted and scanned the open reception area. Without looking back, he barked, “This way.”
Perfect. The Colony had a zero-tolerance policy for any behavior deemed disrespectful. It included physical aggression, bullying, and of course, sexual harassment.
He led her down a hall to the corner office and closed the door behind her. He leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of inappropriate behavior?”
He didn’t offer her a seat, but she took one anyway. She leaned back and touched her fingertips together, a relaxed and confident posture she’d seen James assume a million times.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Until I have evidence supporting the accusations I’ve been hearing from some of my young female inductees, I’d rather not formally press charges.”
“Evidence of…?”
“Because if what I’m hearing is true, it will not reflect well on the security organization chosen to protect us from the poisoned world,” she continued, “nor on the Colony as a whole. For the time being, I’ve asked those involved to kindly keep quiet until my investigation is complete. My hope is that this situation can be resolved quickly and quietly. But first I need the facts.”
Her voice remained steady, and for once she felt in control. Capable.
He was clearly taking this more seriously now. “We don’t have a procedure for civilians to review video footage. Eugenesis has strict regulations concerning privacy.”
She pushed herself out of the chair. “I assume that means you’re unwilling to accommodate my request. In that case, I’ll have to move forward with a formal complaint. Once that happens, I imagine dozens of additional complaints from other young women will emerge—you know how quickly rumors spread around here—and we’ll have a full-blown #MeToo movement on our hands. The council will not be happy to know that you refused to cooperate so we could keep this under the radar. They don’t like to be burdened with administrative problems.”
She hesitated long enough for him to respond. He might call her bluff; James would never let an issue like this climb all the way to the council. But perhaps he didn’t know James like she did.
His jaw tightened. “Well then, the files are in the control room. Knock yourself out.”
***
Layla leaned back in her chair and took in the expansive wall of videos in front of her: forty monitors in an eight-by-five rectangle, each switching views every ten seconds or so. A thick-set surveillance guard sat at a workstation next to her, a bag of potato chips open next to his keyboard. He’d been kind enough to show her the computer folders containing the last seven days of videos, organized by date, time, and camera number but gave her no additional guidance on how to find the specific views she was looking for.
She rolled her chair back to get a better look at the entire wall of screens. The views and angles appeared random, but it only took her a couple of minutes to recognize the pattern. Each view change appeared to be a different cluster of the campus.
She waited for the view to cycle around to her cluster. Her eyes moved from screen to screen, back and forth, up and down, as her brain began categorizing the views: outdoor versus indoor shots, views with a sun glare, cameras pointed at a path, views of building entrances. She pushed her chair back a little further, her eyes bouncing around the monitors. Another cycle back to her campus. It was like building a puzzle. Her mind was clear, her vision laser-focused.
The surveillance guard’s chair groaned as he shifted position, and she could feel him watching her intently, but she didn’t care. She was on the verge of finishing the puzzle. Her eyes darted to each screen as she followed the mental path. Monitors eight, thirteen, twenty-two, three, thirty-seven, twenty-nine, six. That was her walk from her house to the recruiting center and into her intake room. She ran a path from the infirmary to the purge room and back to the cafeteria.
“Ha!”
“What on earth are you doing?”
She turned to the guard, eyes wide, grinning. She’d mapped the entire cluster through the lenses of forty cameras in a matter of minutes. How? She had no idea. She dropped the grin and shrugged. “Just getting the lay of the land.” She was sorry she’d aroused his curiosity. She needed to work privately. She kept her eyes on the monitors until he swiveled away from her and powered on his tablet.
Time to go to work. She opened the folder from Saturday, hours 00:00–04:00, Camera 8, and fast-forwarded until two figures emerged from the dusk, one in white. A pregnant ghost.
Mr. Ortiz! One moment!
Layla watched him turn back toward her. There was no audio, but his voice rang out in her head.
Sister Layla, you’re barefoot. I should walk you back and help you clean up.
No, I’m fine, she replied. You mentioned wolves making their way onto the campus. I believe I know how they’re getting inside. Can I show you? I’d like to know what you think.
The two figures, herself and Eric Ortiz, moved off-screen.
Layla tilted her head just enough to ensure her office mate wasn’t looking over her shoulder. With the mouse, she right clicked the video and selected Send to Trash. Then she opened the trash folder and selected Delete Permanently.
She glanced sideways again and opened the folder for camera 12. She scrolled through until the same two figures appeared, moving away from campus.
Are you planning to breastfeed? he asked. You know it’s the most important thing a woman can do for her baby.
Mmm, maybe. Here. It’s right over here.
Again, the two figures moved off the screen, and again, she deleted the video. Beyond that point, they’d walked out of the range of the cameras. There was nothing more to delete. She closed her eyes and lay back against the chair, warmth washing through her as she replayed the rest of the scene in her mind.
The light of the full moon lit the path, but Layla knew the way well enough even without the moonlight. This was one of her favorites walks with James. But this walk was different. She had only one reason to be out here.
<
br /> He is poison. He is the plague. He will be purged. The earth will be purified.
The sharp gravel felt like shards of glass beneath her feet, but she carried on without so much as a tentative step until veering off onto a hard dirt trail. The divots of soft, sticky mud there cooled her inflamed soles. It was cold that night, colder than most nights, and she fought to keep her teeth from chattering.
“I just have to ask—I can’t help it,” Ortiz said. “Can I put my hand on your belly? Feel the baby?”
“Sure, in a minute. We’re almost there.”
They reached the canyon cliff. It was one of her favorite places on the whole campus. She and James called it their bench. They’d spent countless hours here, their feet dangling over the edge, talking about their future. This was where they’d first kissed. Where they’d fallen in love.
She gazed out over the shadowy canyon. So majestic. Magical.
She took a step down onto a flat rock with a slight overhang. “The wolves—or maybe they’re coyotes, I’m not sure—are down in the canyon. They can climb up right here, I think.”
Ortiz remained behind her, perhaps afraid to stand too close to the ledge.
Despite the cool air, a tinge of salty sweat came to her on the gentle breeze. It was slight in comparison to the overlying reek of the poison, but she delighted at his struggle as he grappled with his instinctive fear of standing on a dark cliff and his paraphilic attraction to her pregnancy.
The fetus stirred.
“The baby, he’s moving,” she breathed. “Would you like to feel?”
That was enough. He stepped onto the ledge beside her. She took his hand and placed it on her belly. The fetus responded with a vigorous kick.
He exhaled in a heavy sigh.
“Poison,” she whispered.
“What?” His eyes were clouded, dreamy, his entire focus melting into that warm palm on her belly.
“You are the plague.” With her free right hand, she gave him a hearty shove.