Reduced

by Robin Tidwell

As Abby walked the dark and increasingly deserted streets, she thought about some of the things Henry had said and some things she’d overheard from other diners.

  Sounded as though this new society—the best description she could come up with for now—valued everyone equally, certainly not a bad thing. Abby believed that everyone had value, for one reason or another. But to encourage someone like Henry to be a doctor? Ridiculous!

  Some of the diners had been talking about how they had “plenty of time” before it was their turn. Abby wondered what that was about . . . their turns for what?

  One of the women who, Abby now remembered, had looked paler than the others, had been having an animated conversation with her partner about a recent abortion. The woman had glanced at Henry a few times and Abby had caught something along the lines of, “Thank God I didn’t have to put up with something like that!”

  Abby shook her head. They claimed everyone was the same, yet wanted to get rid of certain individuals; they got everything for free, yet anything they happened to earn was put into the common pot—paying, she suspected, for those fancy weapons, choppers, and mercenaries. She wondered what would happen when the money ran out.

  She had planned to cut through Forest Park, but it seemed as though “they” had necessitated a change in those plans: the perimeter was fenced off, with barbed wire. And sniper towers.

  She moved slowly around the edges, keeping to the shadows. A few blocks past the park and she had arrived at the old hospital. Ducking behind a hedge across the street, she waited and watched.

  The St. Mary’s sign out front had been covered with a white tarp, upon which the newly handwritten lettering stood out: Citizens Medical Services. She could also see a lengthy line going into the doorway of the east entrance.

  Abby was about to enter the queue when a heavily armed guard appeared and, using the butt of his rifle, began hassling an older man. It was then that she realized everyone in line was older, perhaps 60 at minimum. She would have stood out in such a group, but what in the world was going on?

  The line began to move. Some were crying, some looked resigned, a few were laughing like they were attending a party. Abby was pretty sure it was no party. She moved down the street, still keeping in the shadows, and stopped to get a view of the west entrance.

  This side, too, had a line, a shorter one; women only. Most were obviously pregnant, some didn’t appear to be in that condition; maybe they were friends? The mood was festive. Abby frowned.

  She really needed to get inside. Besides, Susan might still be in there.

  There were pedestrian bridges from both parking garages, on either side of the main building, to the first floor. Six more floors rose above that. An elevator tower on the east side garage was as high as the roofline, but the distance between the two buildings was a good 25 feet.

  She shrugged. Looks like the only way in was to blend into one of the already-formed lines, then try to leave the area once she was through the doors. It was such a cliché, it might actually work.

  Abby crossed the street and stood in the back of the line. She was sure she knew why these women were there but, having zero experience with babies or small children, had no idea how she would fake pregnancy. Many of her fellow standees, however, seemed like normal females waiting for . . . something. So she waited along with them.

  A young woman accidentally bumped Abby’s arm. “Oh, sorry,” she said, smiling. Abby smiled back.

  “Not a problem.”

  “Isn’t this exciting?” asked the stranger, a petite girl about the same age as Abby.

  “Um, yeah,” said Abby.

  “Are you okay? Having second thoughts?”

  “No, not really.” Abby was thinking about her plan. Nope, no second thoughts there.

  “Oh, good, ‘cause it’s real easy. This is my third time. I must be really fertile or something!” Several women nearby giggled; Abby felt sick.

  “See, they think we just don’t know anything about birth control, or we can’t afford it. So they gave us this clinic.” She was on a roll now. Many others chimed in:

  “You tell it, sister!”

  “Whoop, whoop!”

  “We just don’t like using that stuff—it’s a real pain, ain’t it, ladies? And this way we don’t have to worry; get knocked up, get rid of those extra cells—it’s not really a baby anyway, am I right?”

  “You bet!”

  “Right on!”

  “Say it loud and proud!”

  “We can do what we want, when we want. My sugar daddies aren’t gonna be no baby daddies!”

  Fortunately, the line began to move and Abby was spared a scene-causing sock to the woman’s jaw. She still felt sick, but managed to choke it back down and consider her plan further.

  Once through the doors, she’d grab an unattended white coat and a stethoscope—they always had those in the movies, right? And start exploring. Shouldn’t be too hard . . . maybe.

  Finally, it was her turn inside. “Name?” asked a bored voice. “Um, Susan. Susan Smith.” Abby inwardly grimaced. Really? That’s the best she could come up with?

  The official didn’t seem to notice. “Sign here.”

  The girl who’d been in line with her was next. “Well, hello there Tasha, back again?”

  Huh, Abby thought. Didn’t need to ask that one’s name.

  While Tasha chatted with the official, Abby took a chance and slipped into an empty room. They obviously weren’t expecting anyone to stray, it seemed that all these women were perfectly fine with the choices they’d made.

  There was a second door in the room that Abby had entered; she opened it cautiously. A closet. With the requisite white jacket hanging on a hook. Perfect. She put it on and carefully opened the door to the hallway. The guard was still chatting with Tasha, flirting, actually, and Abby stepped out boldly, striding down the hallway towards the lobby of the hospital.

  As she crossed the open space and walked past the empty fountain in the center, she noticed a similar scene at the head of the line of older people. One stepped forward, gave her name, and a doctor appeared and escorted her to the elevator.

  There were guards, too, armed and standing at attention.

  “Name?”

  “Frank Sanders.” The elderly man was weeping, but making every attempt to stand up straight. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance.

  “Wait here for the doctor. Next?”

  Without thinking, Abby approached. “Come with me,” she said. The man followed her obediently. They stepped into the elevator; there was a guard inside as well, and he pushed a button. The car descended rapidly.

  Abby escorted the man through the open elevator doors and down a hallway. There were few people in sight, and sounds of crying could be heard from behind some of the closed doors. Abby stopped at a room where the door was ajar; it was empty. They stepped inside and she motioned for the man to sit.

  “Tell me what’s going on here.”

  The old man blinked. Then again. Abby knelt down in front of him and took his hands. “Please. Talk to me.”

  He cleared his throat. His hands shook. “You must be new here. I was in the death line.”

  Abby had suspected, but Frank confirmed it. “What the hell?” She jumped to her feet.

  “Shhh.” Frank pointed up, to the ceiling. Abby doubted there was anyone listening or watching, but she lowered her voice.

  Frank blew his nose noisily and cleared his throat again. “I’m seventy years old. It’s my turn. Should have gone before now, but I managed to avoid it. I might be a little slow at getting around, but I’m in good health. No reason for this. No reason at all.

  “But that’s why I’m here. And everyone else in that line. When you turn 60, you’re supposed to come in voluntarily. But sometimes, when they get bored, they do a round up. Like cattle,” he said indignantly.

  Abby was stunned. There had been talk, sure, before the “incident” as they were beginning to call it, but she’d pr
etty much ignored the rumors. There were a lot of rumors, after all. Many people had passed this one along but she’d dismissed most of them as fear-mongering whackos. Huh. Probably better not make that mistake again.

  “Tell me more, Frank.”

  And Frank did. Much more. More than Abby thought she could handle.

  First he told her, after so many folks had dropped dead, they rounded up all those still living. They started cognitive testing, physicals, took blood samples. Then the questioning began. They wanted to know who was missing.

  Most of the bodies, Frank knew, had been disposed of by the government; some, he claimed, had merely disappeared. Abby could corroborate that, at least. But she was pretty sure Frank was an observant guy, and still had all his marbles. She kept listening, taking mental notes.

  When people came up still missing, he went on, they started using those bombs on the outlying suburbs; then they moved out into the country, taking out the smaller towns. Whenever they found someone alive, if it wasn’t too much trouble, they brought them in. For testing.

  Most people didn’t have jobs anymore, unless they worked for or were recruited by Co-OpCom. He himself dealt in the black market, which was thriving, because being over 55 disqualified you from benefits. He sniffed. Like he would accept anything from them . . .

  So that’s how he’d survived so long. He didn’t need their handouts, he kept to himself, but eventually they came for him. And here he was.

  “Now,” said Frank. “I told you everything I know. I’m ready for my shot.” He rolled up his sleeve, and sat there, stoic until the end.

  Abby was aghast. “Frank, I’m not here to kill you. I’m on your side.”

  “But you’re a doctor! You might not be as evil as they are, but you work for them!”

  “No, Frank, I don’t. I’m . . . I’m undercover. Black market. I came here from . . . down south.”

  Frank’s eyes widened. Abby hoped she’d done the right thing in telling him the truth. Then he smiled.

  “Well, then,” he said, rolling down his sleeve and straightening his collar. “How can I help?”

  Abby began to pace. She needed to think. Frank could certainly be useful—he had already given her a lot of information. But what could she do for him in return? She’d spared his life, in a way; at least he had thought so at first. But they both knew that wasn’t entirely true. So now she had Frank to watch after, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the job. In his own words, after all, he’d said he moved slowly—that might not be good enough to get him out alive.

  “Do you know anything about the hospital? How to get around, where the testing is taking place? Anything?”

  “Of course,” said Frank. “I conducted a lot of business here, up until a few days ago. Why do you want to go to the testing floor?”

  Abby wasn’t very forthcoming. “I just need to check on something. Someone.”

  “Fair enough,” said Frank. “There are some parts of the building that aren’t being used, but I can get us in and all the way up. Just stick with me.

  “And lose that coat. You’re not a doc anymore.”

  The two of them left the room. They saw no one except the elevator guard and they walked right past him as though they had every reason to be there. Frank held open the stairwell door for Abby. “After you, my dear.”

  He was right, thought Abby. He was rather slow. She was at their first stop, the third floor, and Frank was just leaving the first. She tried to be patient.

  They exited the stairwell and Frank motioned for her to follow. They paused at the nurses’ station, where a large woman waved Frank on and went immediately back to her paperwork. He opened a door marked “maintenance” and shut it quickly behind them, then pulled the light cord.

  Just past the door was a panel. Frank expertly removed the screws with a tool he took from his back pocket. “They didn’t frisk me very well when they brought me in,” he said with a brief smile.

  The opening he uncovered was fairly small, but it revealed a larger duct. Frank apologized. “We have to get past the fourth floor this way. No friends on four. Just move carefully, but it’s a lot better insulated than you’d think.”

  Abby went first, so Frank could move the panel back into place. She was surprised to see there were screws on this side as well, obviously altered from the original. Then again, Frank was full of surprises.

  It took a good 45 minutes to crawl up two floors. While the ducts were slanted a great deal, they crossed back and forth many times; Frank, predictably, was much slower than Abby and she took the opportunity to catch her breath.

  Frank listened near the panel for a few minutes before deeming it safe and removing the screws. Both were happy to finally to be upright, on their feet. He replaced the panel and checked outside the maintenance room door. Then he took Abby’s arm and they strolled out.

  A nurse at this station waved them on as well, and Abby relaxed slightly. Just one more floor. They climbed the stairs, Frank lagging a bit again, and came out on the seventh floor. This floor wasn’t nearly as quiet. Abby could hear moans from behind almost every door and screams coming from at least one room.

  When they reached the nurses’ station, however, this one all but ignored them. She slammed a clipboard down on the counter and Abby jumped. Before she could react further, Frank grabbed her arm and yanked her into a nearby room. Apparently he could move faster than he’d let on.

  She started to speak, but Frank clamped his hand over her mouth as footsteps approached. She shook him off, but remained silent. After a few minutes, Frank whispered, “Okay. Who’s the friend you’re looking for?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Abby retorted. “I said ‘something.’”

  “No one comes up here unless they’re desperate, young lady.

  Now give me a name.”

  “Susan Murphy.”

  “Stay put,” said Frank, and he slipped out the door.

  He was back within minutes, and gestured for her to follow. They walked down the hall just a few feet, and he held the door for her. Susan was lying in the bed.

  Abby looked at Frank questioningly and he nodded. He moved over to a chair near the door and Abby walked to the bed.

  Surely this couldn’t be Susan. Her flaming red hair was dull and thin; she was so emaciated and hooked up to so many tubes that she was barely recognizable. Abby took her hand and stood there, silently, tears welling up.

  Suddenly, Susan’s eyes flew open. “Mike?” she croaked.

  Abby bit her lip. She shook her head. There was nothing she could do here for Susan, and she had no idea where Mike was . . . or if he was even alive.

  Susan shed no tears, but shook her head side to side, very slowly. She was obviously in pain. Abby turned to Frank to ask what the hell what was going on here, but he put a finger to his lips.

  “Abby.” At least Susan recognized her. “Get out.” Abby felt Susan squeeze her hand, barely, and she knew. She leaned down and brushed the woman’s hair off her forehead and kissed her cheek.

  “Goodbye,” she whispered.

  Frank and Abby retraced their steps, but this time stopped on the first floor. They made a mad dash out the door to the parking garage, and didn’t stop until they were safely hidden between two SUVs. Yes, indeed, Frank could move fast when he wanted to do so.

  “Now what?” asked Abby.

  “Now,” said Frank, “We go back to my place.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Fortunately, Frank lived quite near the hospital in a high-rise building, but only on the second floor. No need to unlock the door, he explained, as the goons who brought him in didn’t allow him to lock it in the first place. Why bother? He wasn’t supposed to come back. He did, however, lock it behind them, but left the bright red death notice intact on the outside.

  Frank seemed to have discovered a new lease on life since he learned that Abby didn’t intend to kill him. He even, he showed her, had a hiding place in case of just such an event as he’d exp
erienced. Of course, he added abashedly, he’d been taken by surprise and hadn’t had a chance to get inside it.

  “Now,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

  “Nope,” Abby responded. “You first.”

  “Well, you remember that last war? About 25 years ago?” Abby nodded. She’d been a toddler, but she remembered the talk of the day and of course she’d studied it in school. “I was in that,” Frank continued. “Overseas. My wife and I both made it through, then retired here and thought we’d never leave. Of course, I saw the whole thing coming. Early on, too. We lived up in North County and things were changing might fast. Just went from bad to worse.”

  “After Evelyn died, I moved down here. And when things really got bad, I started trading. Black market, like I told you. Not so much guns and ammo, although I have my own personal stash. Mostly food. And favors.”

  Frank looked at Abby. “Now, young lady, it’s your turn.” Abby hesitated. She wasn’t sure how much to tell Frank.

  “I was warned by a friend on the inside, so to speak. She put together a group and we went into hiding. Now I’m here to get information.”

  “Huh. That’s pretty basic, but good for you, girl, on keeping things close to the vest.” Frank studied her face for a few minutes. “Are you here alone?”

  “Yes,” said Abby.

  “No, you aren’t. But you’re not a bad liar either.” Frank smiled. “So what’s your next step?”

  A bit reluctantly, Abby pulled out Noah’s list and handed it to Frank. He scanned it quickly, then gave it back.

  “So, you have a doc in your group, huh? Tell you what, I’m gonna get a little shut-eye and you keep watch. Wake me up in a couple hours.” He crawled into the hidden space and within minutes Abby could hear light snoring.

  With that racket, Frank wouldn’t stay hidden for very long.

  Abby made herself comfortable and looked around the room. It was a small apartment, a studio, and simply furnished. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and sat down in a comfortable chair near the window. The curtains were drawn but for a crack, and so she watched and waited.