Madam’s eyebrows shot up. “Tourists?”
“These people had heard of YUM and you and came here to look. They had cameras...” Mathew took a step closer to Madam then. She could feel his breath against her lips.
“Had?” questioned Madam, feeling her tension turn inward to want, want for Mathew. Mathew’s never-ending determination to have her win was delicious, as was his sudden closeness. He’d never been that close to her before. She could smell him. His scent went to her salivary glands and made her mouth water. Madam licked her lips, erasing her smile and gave Mathew a hard stare.
“Jug has them in the cages. We have the cameras." He paused and reiterated, "They had cameras.” Mathew stood his ground as he spoke, not moving an inch closer or farther from her.
Madam raised her eyebrows higher. She put her lips even closer to Mathew’s and responded with a cheerful, “Good that we have the cameras,” before stepping away from him.
Her want be damned. His inching closer and closer to her was a power play. He wanted to see her squirm. Taking her keys from her pocket, Madam added a flippant, “See you tomorrow,” before leaving the shed.
Mathew always wanted Madam to be out of sight before he left the shed. He never wanted her to know from which direction he arrived or left. The less she knew of him, the better. Madam was a snake in tall grass, never to be trusted, always on the lookout to strike.
Despite her wickedness, despite the destruction she had laid on the land, he loved her. It wasn’t real love but a lick-her-boots devotion he was painfully aware of and could not tolerate in himself.
On the short walk from the shed to his Nutri-Corp vehicle, Mathew heard a gentle click-pop. The sound was distinct. He knew what was about to happen before the first sting of beads burrowed into his skin.
Dread took Mathew's breath away, and he wanted to breathe. He had so few breaths left now; he wanted to relish each one. He’d seen person after person get shot with a Shaky. He’d witnessed the liquefaction of humans from the inside out. Not once had he wondered what type of pain went with it.
He refused to look at his assassin. Mathew locked his knees, willing his body to remain standing for as long as it could.
The beads felt as if a trillion maggots burrowed into his flesh while the vibration abusively rocked inside him. Mathew dropped to his hands and knees, begging his body to vomit out the beads, but the beads had already pierced too far, deep beyond ligaments and muscle.
He managed to open his mouth to scream but felt his skull bones shatter. A brief sensation of his brain jiggling violently in his head. The beads had already torn not only his vocal cords to tatters but most of his neck. In milliseconds, Mathew’s head would plop on the ground, but he had a final coherent thought: Madam would never experience his type of devotion again.
Mathew’s killer didn’t watch the outcome and returned to the woods that surrounded the shed, tossing candy bar wrappers on the ground, gleefully whistling a chocolaty tune.
Hand at his throat, BD’s eyes bulged and blurred with tears. He was choking. On a simple soup noodle. On the first bite of food he’d had in at least a year. How quickly the brain forgets how to chew, he thought.
Hearing BD gag, Chandler jumped up from her seat and patted BD on the back. She barked, “You haven’t eaten in a long time. Calm down.”
That only seemed to increase his panic. Both hands were at his throat now, his face bright red. Chandler turned her tone from authoritative to soft, almost sweet. “Calm down. Easy. Try to take a breath. Think about how you swallow water. Pretend it’s water and swallow.”
BD gave a nod and swallowed, coughed, but kept the food down and got some air in, embarrassment shining on his cheeks. Chandler smiled at him and sat next to him, her hand rubbing circles on his back.
Lola noticed the twinkle in Chandler’s eyes. Did that sparkle come from helping BD or from something more? She was embarrassed to feel jealousy creep up on her. There were more important things to feel at this moment.
Looking away from Chandler, Lola rested her gaze on her sisters. Jen was curled up on the cot with Suzy nestled in her arms. They had snuggled for a long time after everyone got home and settled. The two sisters had whispered to each other. Lola had heard both of them cry at different times, but she did not go soothe them.
Instead, she could only listen and ignore. She had nothing left to give. Their parents were gone but Lola had let go of them the day she’d taken her sisters to the Gardener camp and their parents did not bother to search for them.
Now, there was yet another stranger in their home. Chandler said they would soon leave to the Hills, maybe tonight. They’d go to the Hills, hoping to find people who would not only stand with them but agree to fight alongside them.
Fight, Lola wondered, for what? She’d been fighting to keep her sisters safe, alive. Fighting her own wants, her own needs, her own demons for years. Now Chandler, a stranger who only came into her life a week ago, demanded that Lola fight again but had no answer as to what for?
What will fighting Madam gain them besides the working end of a Shaky?
Lola’s eyes slipped closed, her chin dipping toward her chest. This time she did not bother to ignore her body’s call to sleep. Right now, Lola welcomed the nothingness of slumber.
For a moment, a mere moment, the smallest fraction of time, Chandler felt a twitch of sentiment for BD. Warmth seemed to hover as if heat emanated from his pores. She felt inclined to dip herself into that warmth. Chandler needed to feel covered in something welcoming. She could envision herself wrapped up in his arms, his smell covering her face. She’d feel protected by him, and he would feel cared for by her.
Together they could become one, stand against the world, but then Chandler saw Lola watching her. Chandler could not pinpoint what the look on Lola’s face meant, but it made her put aside wanting to smother herself in BD’s essence. A momentary lapse, nothing more.
Once Chandler cleared BD from her mind, all she could think about was the Shakies and the twitch in her legs to get moving already. To get to The Hills come what may.
Chandler felt cut in two. One half was the woman that was alone, afraid, and kept in a cage. That half of her was the one who cowered in fear. Her other half was a woman ready to stand tall, break the cage bars, and be the fearless person she dreamed to be.
Which half of her would dominate, was a daily, sometimes hourly, coin toss.
She stood and walked away from BD, who now sipped the broth and eyed the noodles as if combatants. Chandler knew it would be foolhardy to go alone to The Hills. She needed the people in this room to go with her. Now was not the time to hide. Now was the time to build a swarm against Madam and YUM.
But she also knew they needed more rest. They all needed sleep, food, showers, clean clothes, some time for reflection, and--Chandler peeked at Lola--some time to mourn. How much time could she give them? How much time could she stay quiet, helpful, without raising the battle flag and telling them all it was time to go?
Would they even listen to her? Lola might yet again be stubborn, stay stagnant. That caught Chandler’s breath and held it away for a few seconds. How would she make Lola understand they could no longer stay here, they could no longer ignore the fight that had to be won? The Gardener camp was not safe anymore and never really was.
Chandler looked at BD, who was watching her, his large brown eyes taking her in. Despite herself, she sat by him again.
“I can’t stop shaking,” he said. BD held his hands up for display. “I also can’t stop thinking about that damn pill. I want the pill. I...”
Chandler took his hands in hers. She said nothing but mentally added time for withdrawals to her list of needs before she pushed everyone forward, before she pushed them to the end of this. This would be a happy ending, they would win, and she couldn’t imagine it differently.
“Eat the damn ravioli, Clarissa,” Micah barked.
When he’d married Clarissa, he’d imagined a sweet little wif
e who followed the Nutri-Corp rules, someone beautiful and compliant to hang from his arm while he rose to the top of Madam’s ladder.
Micah never intended to love his wife. He’d never be the kind of guy who fawned over every damn word out of her mouth. Loving was hard for him. He wasn’t fine-tuned for it. Yet, as Micah paced the floor of his bedroom, he pondered this innate protective feeling he now had for Clarissa and his unborn child. Micah wondered if that was love.
Since he’d never known love, or put importance on it, he didn’t know, couldn’t really perceive how it felt. He wished it was tangible. Something he could pick up, hold, feel and grow to understand.
Micah dialed the number on his burner phone. He knew hate. He knew white hot loathing. That he understood very well.
“I took a bite. One whole bite,” Clarissa yelped. Micah could tell from the sound of her voice that she was still in the chair he had told her to stay in until she cleaned her plate of three ravioli.
“Did you swallow the bite?” Micah asked, hitting send on the phone number he’d dialed. Clarissa responded with silence. Shaking his head, Micah quietly fumed. He’d called this number for days with no answer. He’d been force-feeding Clarissa for days with no progress.
He needed to get the hell out of Nutri-Corp City soon.
Micah hit the END CALL button on the phone and once again shoved the burner phone in his pocket.
“I need someone on the outside,” Micah stated, staring at the young Nutri-Corp officer. The officer was thin like everyone on YUM, but there still remained a bit of high school jock to his posture and stance.
The officer watched Micah with a steady gaze. Micah hoped his lead had been right about this guy. Micah kept wanting to look at the Shaky the officer held, but he reminded himself to keep his stare on the man's face.
The officer sniffed, leaned down and dug into his boot, and produced the phone.
“I put an outside phone number on it,” the officer said. “The number is my brother, Damon. He stayed in New York, never came over to this part of the states. When I came here, Nutri-Corp hadn’t made it past Texas. Tell him you know me. Tell him to come to get me the hell out of here.” The officer shoved the phone into Micah’s hand as if he was handing a twenty-dollar bill to a bum.
Micah looked down at the phone. He hadn’t seen a flip phone in years. Did they still work? He opened it. Yes, wow, it looked like it was working.
“When’s the last time you talked to your brother?” Micah asked shoving the phone into his front pants pocket.
The Nutri-Corp officer’s face turned to stone. “Don’t put the phone there, man. Hide it somewhere, bro.” The officer looked over his shoulder, eyeing the alley entrance.
Micah took the phone out of his front pocket and looked down at himself. He didn’t know where to hide it.
Shaking his head, the officer said, “Put it back in your pocket.” He looked disgusted with Micah. “Hide it when you get the chance.”
Micah switched the phone to his back pocket and repeated his question, “When’s the last time you talked to your brother?”
“I talked to my brother last week. I call him once a week. He said he and a film crew where coming to get me the hell out of here. They would expose Nutri-Corp.” The officer sniffed again, then went on, “He said he’s seen YUM on the streets of his town. She’s smuggling it in. It’ll take over.” The officer stopped to sniff.
Micah realized the officer’s sniffing was his tic. Normally Micah would start counting the time or pace of his sniffing, but right now he needed to focus on getting information. Yet, Micah the jerk couldn't help but crack a joke.
“Allergies?” asked Micah mockingly.
The officer tilted his head to the left and once again gave Micah a disgusted look.
“Call him. Then find me. I have someone on the inside that can help take Madam down. I’ll set up a meet between him and you.”
The officer did not sniff then, but Micah could see that he needed to; he held it in, doing his best to prove Micah wrong.
“Let it out. I wasn’t judging you on the damn tic,” Micah blurted out. “What’s your contact’s name?”
“Joe,” answered the officer before turning and walking away. Micah could hear him sniffing as he turned left at the mouth of the alley.
Micah had a sudden revelation. The Nutri-Corp officer’s looks weren’t of disgust but the desire to punch Micah in the face.
Clarissa’s eyes were bright red from stress, crying, both. Micah had never seen her look so wrecked. The plate in front of her was empty. After four hours she had finally eaten all three ravioli.
Seeing the grief on her face, Micah was forced to speak up. “Think of the baby. You need to eat for the baby.”
“But if she finds out,” Clarissa said. “Her daughter was a YUM baby. She’s fine...and if she finds out, she’ll...”
Clarissa’s words were a slobbery, white-hot mess from her waterfall of constant tears.
Unable to tolerate his wife's crying any longer, Micah went to his briefcase and removed a large manila envelope. He pulled a piece of paper out of the envelope and slapped it on the table in front of Clarissa.
Eyes blurred with tears and flecks of mascara, she squinted at the page. A list names, numbers, dates.
“Stillborns,” Micah responded flatly.
“But… But… There are at least eighty on this page,” said Clarissa. She had focused now, thoroughly reading the names and stopping only to glance at Micah on occasion.
“Probably more than that. This is all I could print and smuggle out.”
Micah had spent the last two weeks sneaking as much incriminating information about Madam that he could, something he’d take to whoever was in charge of whatever was left of the United States.
Clarissa stood, clutching her stomach. “I’m going to vomit.”
Turning to the kitchen sink, she leaned over it, head down, but the sink stayed spotless. Micah didn’t move; he sat and waited to see if this would finally turn Clarissa to his side. Or would he have to make her his prisoner until their child was born.
“I suspect Dolly was not born while Madam used YUM. I doubt Dolly takes it now. Because Madam knows. She has to know.” Micah tossed that out there. It was his theory, but he had no evidence. But hundreds of stillborns in Nutri-Corp City was a sure bet that Madam wasn’t taking YUM when she was pregnant. Micah wondered if she had ever taken it at all.
“What are we going to do?” Clarissa asked, turning away from the sink.
Micah noticed for the first time she had the tiniest of baby bumps. Nothing anyone on the outside would notice, but he could see it. That was his kid in there.
“I’m working on it,” Micah responded, putting his hand on the bump. He had the urge to place his face against it, hoping his child could feel the warmth of him near it. Instead, Micah remembered what kind of guy he was, and that wasn’t the kind of guy who got mushy. He stood, snatched the document from the table, and announced it was cocktail time.
Jen was sound asleep when her little sister twitched in her arms. She didn’t remember falling asleep holding her. She only remembered Lola walking up the path, her face a blur as Jen’s eyes settled on Jacob, who was carrying Suzy.
Jen and Lola spoke no words to one another in that moment but hurried to get Suzy in a shower. They washed her with cold water to shock the fever, and the girl shook, almost as if in convulsions. The sisters worked fast. After scrubbing Suzy from head to foot, they brought her in, dressed her, poured liquid, herbal medicine down her throat, dried her hair, and laid her on the cot.
When had Jen lain down next to Suzy? When had Jen wrapped her arms around her? Jen didn’t know. She pushed her nose into Suzy’s hair, acknowledging that her little sister didn’t feel so little anymore.
“Chamaca....” Jen whispered, “Chamacita cochinita. Stinky little girly.”
Jen pulled free from her sister, who opened her eyes, smiled, and gave Jen the middle finger.
A shadow fell on both of them. They looked up to see Lola, who’s eyebrows shot straight up with a grin plastered on her face. Lola shook her head, rolled her eyes, then flipped off her sisters with both hands.
Lola sat on the couch next to the cot, and the trio laughed together.
Suzy sat up and looked at her hands and legs and pulled the covers off to reveal her pristine feet. “I’m clean,” she said as if that were a shock.
“For once,” answered Jen.
“For now,” said Lola.
The three sisters laughed again. Suzy flopped back down on the cot and burrowed under her covers. Lola and Jen who looked at each other. Lola gave Jen a slight shrug and turned away to hide the tears that welled in her eyes yet again.
Danny drove fast, too fast, but steadily toward the cages. He had an urgency in his gut to move forward as quickly as possible. He needed to get to those people out of the cages, but what came after he wasn’t sure about.
He knew that he and Dolly would head to the Gardeners’ camp, but what of the nanny, what of the people from the cages? Could he leave them in Old Town? He had a Shaky. He could force them out of the car, but he wasn’t sure he could stomach that.
Danny noticed that Dolly's eyes stayed glued to the windows. She greedily watched the world whizz by. He’d hadn’t realized it until then, but his little sister knew next to nothing of the world outside of their fenced-in home. He thought Madam had taken Dolly to Nutri-Corp City once, maybe twice.
The view flashing before her eyes was the first she’d gotten of a world that their mother did not construct.
Almost to the cages, Danny swallowed his panic. He listened to their nanny pray in the backseat. She prayed in some language he did not understand; it sounded like the Spanish he’d heard the Martinez sisters speak but not really. Jen’s Spanish was always mixed with English, as if the two languages did a constant tango in her brain.
Garden : A Dystopian Horror Novel Page 20