I choked back anger, tried to reason with him. “C’mon, Eric, you all said how badly we need to get a spy in among them. Now that Reverend Brown—one of their important guys—tells us at school he’s inviting a few teens to be interns for him, so of course I put my name in and—”
“Katie.” Eric turned to face me. “There are disturbing rumors about that reverend and his unsavory appetite for young girls. I even saw him eyeing you today, like you were a Good & Plenty.”
“I know he did. I made sure of it,” I said proudly. Eric was stunned, but I kept at him, “C’mon, you know I can take care of myself, so—”
“No. I won’t let you do it.”
I flared, shouting, “You’re not my father, y’know! Not even my legal guardian!”
He suddenly got calm, low key. “No,” he said. “I’m just some jerk who took you in and loved you like his own daughter.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand, looked me in the eye, shook his head, and went into his room.
I stood there glaring and fuming. I felt so hemmed in. By everything.
Then I found myself looking at the shelf where Eric always left his car key.
Jimmy-Joe Hartman. . .
Whatever disease wuz killin’ all the inmates at Reidsville, it wuz awful ugly. After them blisters, blood started runnin’ from their ears, noses, eyes—even out their dicks and asses.
The main cellblock had got real quiet. Walkin’ through, I seen most of the cons had died or wuz strugglin’ down to last breaths, like they wuz drowndin’ in they own blood. One of the books I started readin’, A Journal of the Plague Year, told ’bout an awful disease like this here, but I’d quit readin’ ’cause it wuz so grim. Now here I wuz, seein’ it ten times worse.
Old Phil was fadin’, too. I sat with him on the concrete floor in the library. It wuz spattered with blood from all the dead guys round us. I was cradlin’ the head of the old librarian. His face was covered with them purple bruises. I axed him, “Want a little more water or . . . ?” Phil shaked his head. I felt so helpless. “Listen, Phil. Thanks fer savin’ my ass, man. Wish to hell I could do more fer you.”
Phil managed a sad smile and a faint whisper, “You can, son . . . I want you to . . . just keep . . .” The old man’s lips quivered, tryin’ to form words. I leaned my ear closer to hear, but Phil’s body clutched up and with a final rattly breath, he wuz gone.
I stared down at Phil fer a long time. Mighty sad. Aching to know what he woulda said, though I sorta had an idea. Then I looked around at all the bodies. My chest felt tight, but I kept on breathin’. Feelin’ what it wuz like bein’ the only one in the middle of all this death who kept on livin’.
Katie McLane. . .
I didn’t have a learner’s permit, and I’d never driven more than a couple of miles on back roads the few times my sister, Lisa, had let me. So driving over an hour from Atlanta in the dark made my palms sweat and my body feel like a coiled-up spring. But I needed to go home. Back to Ashton.
I parked under a sycamore tree near my house. I thought maybe just seeing it might give me some comfort, make my heart feel less shriveled. But it didn’t. I saw Mom’s car in the drive, with scratches on the side from when she’d hit Tina’s. Beside it was a shiny new Cadillac Escalade.
Our old two-story, white clapboard house with its forest-green shutters and the lights glowing inside looked warm and inviting. I even glimpsed Mom through the eyelet curtains of the front window, but I knew that woman was not the frazzled, endearing mother I remembered. Infected by the damn virus, she was hardened and fired up by that ugly dominant streak that drove her to try running Tina down.
In the warehouse I’d told Tina how Dad had broken into the quarantine unit so violently, trying to get me. Tina said he’d become so different, so darkened by the virus that Mom gave him. Like lots of people whose partners got infected, Tina had tried to hang on out of loyalty, love, hoping things would somehow change back. But she said his brutality that night I was outside made her leave him for good. Tina was sad. She’d truly loved the man he’d been. So had I.
I heard Lisa and Mom shouting inside the house. Then some glass breaking. God! I just wanted to go inside and grab them and shake off everything that had happened. To get our family back. But I knew I couldn’t. Nothing might ever change. My heart clutched, and my eyes got all teary. Coming home to Ashton had only made things worse. Suddenly Lisa blew out the front door angrily. I ducked low, watched her get into the Escalade and burn rubber leaving.
I sat back up—and gasped. Darren was looking in at me.
He raised an eyebrow kinda menacingly, said, “Well, hi there.” Seven months older than the last time I saw him, he had peach fuzz on his chin. His voice was deeper. And because of the virus, he had that chilly arrogance.
I watched him warily. “. . . Hi.”
“Kinda young to be driving alone,” he said. I shrugged, trying to hide my nerves and decide whether to just speed outta there. Darren smiled with that damn gleam in his eye. “You don’t seem too glad to see me.” He seemed to enjoy me feeling uptight. “Makes you nervous, huh?”
I didn’t completely trust my voice. “Yeah.”
“I understand. Does it help if I say I’m glad to see you?”
“A little.” Was he telling the truth?
“I’ve really missed you, Katie.” He saw me studying him. “You can’t tell if I’m genuine or playing you.”
I measured my answer, decided on honesty. “That’s right.”
He sighed, seemed sad. “It’s kinda weird being in college already. Most all the kids are older.” A sly grin crossed his face. “Not as intelligent, but older.”
I was getting edgy. “I think I better go.” I reached for the ignition key, but he grabbed my arm tightly. My nerves zipped to a razor’s edge. I stared into his eyes, which were penetrating. But he released his grip, apologetically.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you, Katie. I just wish you wouldn’t leave.” He studied my face, also noticed how my figure had developed, finally drew a long breath. “You know, I was very frightened. That day I got the gift.”
“Yeah. I was, too.” My hands were damp again. “For you.”
“But once I got all the way across . . .” He shook his head, trying to express the feeling. “It’s . . . beyond extraordinary. And you’ve gotta admit, the Friends have made some remarkably positive changes.”
“Yeah, they have,” I said, “if you don’t mind democracy crumbling or having your teeth kicked in.”
“Well.” He shrugged. “Some people need a little discipline.”
“Darren, we’re not talking discipline,” I said, gaining focus. “A lot of innocent people have been beaten, raped. With no caring or compassion or the slightest—”
“Hasn’t that kind of thing always gone on?” Darren smiled calmly.
“Not like now.”
“Katie, nothing’s ideal,” he said. “But look at the wonders they’ve accomplished in less than a year! How they’ve helped humanity. I mean just—”
“But they don’t have any humanity!” I flared up. “They think they’re some kinda master race!”
Darren smiled. “. . . We are.”
“Not if you lose your human feelings in the bargain!”
“Katie, Katie.” He looked at me patiently, sincere. “I still have feelings. Particularly for you. But at the same time, it’s obvious that we are the next logical evolutionary step.”
“No! I don’t believe people are supposed to be like what my mother or Lisa or—”
“Hey, listen, I don’t think the Friends are perfect, Katie.” He saw my surprise. “Some of them have made really big mistakes. Been overzealous.” I laughed bitterly. “Okay,” he acknowledged, “even cruel. But we could work to change that.” He touched my arm. “You and me . . . I see how lonely you are. And I’ve missed you so much.” I wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. I looked into his eyes, trying desperately to find the old Darren who had bee
n Dale to my Chip. “Stay, Katie. Please. I know right now that must seem frightening. Maybe even wrong. It did to me, too.” He warmed to the subject. “But what happens inside your brain is so utterly magnificent!” His hand tightened encouragingly on my forearm. “Once you see what you and I could accomplish, your doubts will all be washed away. And I’ll be right there beside you.”
Tears were welling in my eyes. I felt an intense longing, but I said, “I can’t, Darren. I’m sorry.”
Darren was weighing my words when I saw something in my rearview mirror. A low-slung red Ferrari was easing toward us. I dropped down in the seat to hide as it glided to a stop right beside my car. I heard a familiar voice: Lisa’s old boyfriend, Charley Flinn. “Yo, Darren, you fixin’ to steal that car?”
Darren sized it up. “Not sure it’s worth it.”
“Want to make yourself some real bucks, grab somma my stock Monday.”
“Yeah, I heard you’re going public,” Darren said. “Congrats. Sounds like that new solar cell you invented’ll be great for the environment and—”
“Even greater for my wallet! Check out these wheels! Worth twice Lisa’s Escalade.”
“Where’d that come from, anyway?” Darren asked.
“Microsoft bought her and Jenna’s start-up for five point seven mill. Y’oughta catch yourself a piece o’my action Monday. Hey, whose car is this anyhoo?”
“Actually,” Darren started. I held my breath. Then he said, “. . . I dunno, Charley. Must be a friend o’Lisa’s mom.”
“Well, between us Friends, I heard we really gotta be looking out for Resistance types. They want to nab one, slip ’em some CAV-B, and turn ’em into spies for our team. They’re offerin’ a big reward: stock options in Perini and other stuff.”
From where I was lying low with my face pressed to the front seat, I glanced up at Darren. A slow smile grew on his face as he said, “No kidding? . . . Really?”
“Damn straight,” urged Charley.
“Well”—Darren looked down right at me—“I’ll be vigilant, Charley. See ya.”
Charley nodded and drove on. I eased carefully up to watch him go. I looked at Darren, who was staring after the Ferrari, seemingly as puzzled as I was.
“You’re wondering why I didn’t turn you in,” he said. “So am I.” He looked down, avoiding my eyes. “You better leave.”
I started the car, then looked back at him with longing. “Darren, I—”
“Leave!” His eyes never came up. I saw confused emotions churning in him. I gazed at him a final moment, aching.
Then I pulled away. In my rearview I saw him raise his eyes slowly to watch me go.
Clarence Frederick. . .
The TV was on, and the local news was showing some ghastly video from down at Reidsville prison. A newscaster said that so far no one had any idea what the horrific fatal disease was or how it had spread like wildfire through the prison. I was only half paying attention, occupied as I was with my own personal turmoil.
I finished putting my tie back on as Shelly Navarro came out of the hotel bathroom with a satisfied smile and wearing only a slip over her very full figure. She nuzzled up and hugged me from behind, saying, “I’ve been looking forward to this for some time, Clarence. As you well know.”
Indeed I did. I felt very awkward but made my best attempt at murmuring a positive response.
“And coincidentally,” she said, “this is my second encounter today with a Frederick.”
I felt a chill but maintained a steady voice. “What do you mean?”
“HR had a Frederick apply for a job who was supposedly related to you, and they wanted my approval. I asked to have a look.” She eased around to my front. “And let me tell you, your boy LeBron is a very handsome young man.” Then she pinched my bottom. Like she owned it.
Dr. R.W. Hutcherson. . .
I’d just returned to the CDC from Reidsville that night and was cruising through Lauren’s outer lab when I saw video of myself on the local TV news, standing by our EMT vehicles outside the prison. I was pleased that my expression looked suitably austere as I said to the reporter, “Well, naturally, all of us at the CDC are very concerned, and we’ve launched an immediate investigation. It’s particularly strange that the disease only attacked and struck down all the inmates.”
The news anchor added, “The Reverend Dr. Abraham Brown had a differing opinion.”
The imposing minister was seen before a bouquet of microphones in front of his stately church. “In one sense, yes, it’s a tragedy, and our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those people who died.” He appeared appropriately saddened, then looked directly into the news camera. “But in another sense, it may be a powerful message to all of those who would transgress against God’s holy commandments and the letter of the law. Just look who the victims were: thieves, murderers, rapists, child molesters. I have long felt that what our country needs is a great and sweeping moral cleansing. I think we should definitely take this occurrence as an urgent sign from the Almighty . . .”
As he went on, I scanned across the several lab assistants and noticed Joseph Hartman sitting apart with his elbows on a lab table and his forehead leaning down on his fists. Looked almost like he was praying.
Going into Lauren’s inner sanctum, I saw her behind her elegant desk watching the newscast. She raised one of those perfect eyebrows to me clearly indicating, Well done.
I plopped onto her Georgian couch, clomping one snakeskin boot on her polished coffee table. “Thanks, I thought so, too.” I wasn’t looking at her, but idly spun a nearby Earth globe.
She said, “Bradford wants this disease—”
“Spread to other prisons.” I nodded. “Already in the works. So we solve two problems at once: make room for more inmates and also—”
“Lower the crime rate.” She nodded, pleased to interrupt. “It’s a powerful deterrent.”
I spun the globe again. “Incidentally, what did I hear his lordship telling you about the Chinese and Russians? They getting edgy about the populism ramping up even more over here?”
Lauren’s hackles rose. I loved getting to her. “That was a privileged communication, Dr. Hutcherson. And would you please stop spinning that?”
I looked right at her, smiled, and spun the globe again. “Y’know what?” I said casually, standing up. “I’ll go have a little powwow with Mitchell myself.”
Lauren was annoyed, but relented. “Yes. The Russians and Chinese are nervous about the populist agenda and reports of the United States building up militarily.”
“Right. And I’m gonna tell Mitchell we gotta get this show on the road. It’s time we got busy picking up all the best draft choices so we’ll be the ones calling the national shots.”
Simone Frederick. . .
Clarence was just coming in the door that night. I was angry and getting into it with our son. “LeBron, you haven’t got time for a job. You need to spend that time studying! What were you thinking?”
“That I’m eighteen and can do what I want.” He was so cocksure and surly.
“I oughta smack you. Where is this job? With the police?”
“I tried, they don’t have part time. But Everett needed extra security for some big shipment coming up and—”
“Wait: Everett?” I turned on Clarence. “Did you know about—?”
“Not till tonight. I didn’t like it either.” He pointed at LeBron. “And you should not have used my name.”
“Why not? Got me hired,” LeBron said with a strange little smile, “and that Navarro woman was real nice about it.”
I was speechless, but Clarence said, “Listen, son, you’ve got to be very careful, watch out about that woman.”
I laughed angrily as I walked out. “Yeah. I’d say we all do!”
The Documentarian. . .
The worn linoleum floor in Joseph Hartman’s kitchen was uneven. The thin layer of plywood beneath it had swelled and shrunk many times over the years. Various secti
ons of the small house had the same or similar symptoms. Built in the middle years of the Great Depression, it was constructed with meager, shoddy materials, which Joseph had attempted to repair or replace over the years since he first mortgaged it in 1987.
In spite of its poor quality, Joseph determined to make it the best home he could on his modest salary as a custodian. He was a good handyman who could fix leaky plumbing or frayed wiring. He’d painted and repainted the kitchen to freshen it, and considered it a small triumph when he managed to get the lopsided cabinet doors to actually close evenly. It had been a good home for him. But it had felt sadly lacking since his beloved wife, Nathalie, had died of melanoma eleven years earlier, leaving him to finish raising Claire and James Joseph on his own. Joseph knew he hadn’t been a good enough father to the boy. He’d made mistakes that allowed James Joseph on to a bad course. Joseph prayed about it endlessly, but there was still a hole in his heart.
He stood at the chipped sink in his kitchen that night, slowly washing his one dinner dish, staring out the kitchen window at the darkness. He was thinking about Nathalie, Claire, and James Joseph, who had shared this old house with him and once made it a home. And who now were all lost to him.
The old overhead light fixture flickered and went out. He glanced up at it, then in to the small living room beyond, with its threadbare furniture, where the lights had also gone off. He sighed, tiredly. He knew the patchwork fuse box needed repair. He resolved to attend to it tomorrow and sought a candle to get him through the night.
He opened a box of wooden matches and struck one. As its light flared in the darkness, Joseph gasped. He was startled to see a man’s horribly bruised and bloodied face staring in from right outside the back window.
We know all this because his son has told us.
Jimmy-Joe Hartman. . .
Poppa shouted, “Oh Lord, have mercy!” He rushed to open the back door. I staggered in, leaned against him. When them purple bruises on my face got smeared, Poppa seen that they just been painted on with somebody else’s blood. I wuz exhausted, pantin’.
“James Joseph, son! Oh Lord God! I thought you wuz dead!” He eased me onto one of them old ladderback kitchen chairs and grabbed a cloth to mop my sweaty brow, confused about the bruises wipin’ off.
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