“Hello?”
“Shhhh.” Someone said through the walls.
I sat back on my heels and waited. I could not see a thing other than the faint outline of the walls, but I could feel.
When the scratching was done. I returned my hand to the wall. The slight lip I felt earlier was now more like an inch. Big enough to grab and pull. I did so, and a small section of wall, just a couple of square inches, came away in my hands.
My calf muscles tensed and I waited for what would happen next. I thought it must be the prisoner next door, someone like me. Someone I wasn’t supposed to talk to. Someone who may have found a way to escape.
The scratching noise started again, different in timbre. An almost hesitant sound. Something white uncurled from the gap in the wall and fluttered to the floor.
“Close it,” said a female voice. “It's from Spencer. Say nothing.”
I quickly returned the piece of drywall to its hole and grabbed up the paper.
I explored every inch of the room, looking for a hint of light strong enough to allow me to read the words I knew must be scrawled on the paper. But I found none.
My heart pounded with excitement and frustration. What good was a message if I couldn’t read it? I scrambled back to where I thought the hole had been made and tried to find the lip, but I had returned it too neatly. My fingers grazed the wall a dozen times and found no purchase and I couldn’t be sure I was even in the right spot anymore.
I thought about banging on the wall to get next door’s attention and had raised my fist in the air when I scolded myself for such stupidity. I would bring the prisoner to the wall, along with who knew how many guards.
I forced myself back to my cot and lay with the paper pressed between my hands and chest. I thought of a million things the message could say: maybe it was warning me to get ready for an escape attempt, maybe it was directions for escaping on my own, maybe it revealed the secret for taking down this whole farce of a refugee center.
I decided to force myself to stay awake until there was enough light to read the message. And I did manage to keep sleep at bay for several hours. At least, I think it was several hours.
Something poked into my chest. I was walking alongside a faceless friend. It felt like this friend had just elbowed me in the ribs. “Look,” the faceless friend said. “Look at that.”
I looked across the street, to where she pointed, but there was nothing except fog, even though on our side it was a bright, sunny day.
My friend elbowed me again in the ribs, harder now.
“Ow,” I said.
My eyes flew open.
The one bulb still hung from the middle of the small room, swinging gleefully, as if on holiday. Dr. Ferrad loomed over me, not afraid to touch me, yet still treating me like a dog about to bite. She carried a stick, a short one, some broken off handle from a broom or rake or something, but a stick all the same. This is what poked me.
“Get up,” she said. I thought about jumping her. There was no guard with her. But then I heard the faint crackle and sizzle and saw where the noise came from. A taser in her other hand.
I pushed myself up on my elbows. The threadbare blanket fell away. Something white fluttered onto the cement floor.
The note.
“What’s this,” Dr. Ferrad said.
I jumped off the bed to grab it. My heart rocked in my chest. I had been so careless. She used the stick to poke me back, but I resisted.
She held out the taser, its crackle of electricity clicking like an insect. I backed up a step. Dr. Ferrad took the paper, began to uncurl it.
I bowled into her and the taser. The paper fluttered to the floor. The taser clicked like an insect. My body went rigid with pain. Everything turned red and then the pain vanished.
The taser hit the ground next to my face. I didn't know when I had fallen to the floor, only that I was there, gasping for air alongside Dr. Ferrad's unconscious body. The paper tickled my nose. I snatched it up and read the words:
We have a plan.
That was the message? That's what I had gotten tasered for? Another guard burst into my room. I stuffed the note into my mouth and mashed it into something swallowable. The paper edges scratched my throat on the way down. Without thinking it through, I tripped over Dr. Ferrad and charged the lone guard. He held a stick and taser and wore a white suit. One of the uninfected. I blocked his stick and smashed my fist into his temple.
He fell like a rock, his head bouncing on the edge of my cot railing. Blood began to pool underneath his head, onto the cement. Light from the hallway cast ugly shadows across his still form.
He looked dead.
No, no, no, no.
He was someone’s brother, someone’s father, someone’s son.
The guard groaned and twitched. His eyes fluttered.
I thought about grabbing the taser and running, but he needed help. My hand itched for the weapon. My body demanded I run. My mind screamed at me to escape.
I yelled for help.
I backed into the opposite corner of the room as three men rushed in.
One guard took Dr. Ferrad's and the unconscious guard's pulses. The other two advanced on me. I held up my hands to show I was defenseless. They tasered me into unconsciousness.
Chapter 24
They sat me down on a hard-backed chair in the middle of the room. Someone had placed other chairs far away from me. I'd been drugged for days into a forced coma. They'd woken me now for some reason I could only guess at.
Six chairs, including one for Sergeant Bennings. All but two people in those chairs wore fatigues. One seat remained empty.
I had a sudden flash of insight. “That was Fillipa’s, wasn’t it?”
The side conversations stopped. Most looked at Sergeant Bennings to see if he would say something.
He nodded. “Yes, that’s right. It’s a reminder to all of us. Now. The New Year's celebration will begin in a few hours.” He looked to the other five members. “Shall we hurry this along?” They nodded. Male and female faces, various ages, all exhausted, all looking at me like a creature under the microscope.
“Excellent,” Sergeant Bennings said. He looked at me. “Let's begin.”
“What’s there to say? I’m infected.”
“There is no question about what we are required to do with you. I hope you've given some thought to what we asked?”
“Yes, your Dr. Ferrad gave me a lot to think about.”
“Whatever stunt your friends are trying to pull,” one of the other six said. “It won't work.”
“She's the one who entered my cell late at night without a guard,” I said.
“What are you trying to say?” One of the men in fatigues spoke. He looked younger than Sergeant Bennings but not by much. His hair was short and stiff, his chin doughy.
I kept my face emotionless. I didn't know exactly what good this lie would do me, but any trouble I could bring Dr. Ferrad's way seemed justified since she didn't seem to care how she experimented on us Feebs. Anything to help throw them off the scent of whatever plan Spencer had cooked up couldn't hurt either.
“Maybe she was trying to help me escape and we got unlucky when one of the guards caught us.”
“This is becoming a circus,” Sergeant Bennings said.
The two men glared at each other across their little semi-circle. All other conversation and movement stopped to watch the power struggle between the two of them.
“If there are accusations against Dr. Ferrad's loyalties, we should hear them.”
“She is casting dispersions on Dr. Ferrad to waste our time!” Sergeant Bennings said.
“You have a biased opinion on this matter,” the other soldier said.
“I have killed plenty of infected,” Sergeant Bennings said. “I have proved my loyalty.”
“It’s Dr. Ferrad's loyalty in question here.”
“It is not,” Sergeant Bennings said. “This is a hearing to follow standard procedure. Nothing mor
e.”
“Why was she in the room with this infected?”
Sergeant Bennings sighed. “I ordered her to do so. It was under my orders. Is that sufficient?”
“It breaks protocol.”
“So it probably would, if there were any protocols for this.”
He stroked his chin. “Camp Mendocino—”
“Camp Mendocino gave me full authority in this situation.”
“Camp Eagle is who I'm worried about,” an older woman interrupted. “Especially when they find out the two of you have been bickering in front of the infected like you're five year olds. They're making fresh bread tonight to celebrate the New Year. I don't know about you, but I might kill someone if I miss that. Can we get on with this now?”
The doughy-chinned soldier coughed and folded his hands in his lap. “We can continue this conversation later.”
Sergeant Bennings tilted his head as if trying to stretch the tension out of his neck. “Very well. Is there anything you would like to share with us today? Anything about the companions who helped you break into this protected space?”
“Except it's not the last holdout, is it? There are other camps after all.”
The older woman sighed and threw up her hands.
“One of our guards died in that attack,” Sergeant Bennings said. “Dr. Ferrad's assistant is now in a coma. They were both innocent. Guilty only of trying to find a cure to all this.”
“I…I don't understand.” Only Dr. Ferrad and a guard had entered my room. I thought I'd killed him, but he had moved. I had seen him move.
The woman gave me a quizzical look.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“She doesn't know,” the woman said.
“She knows,” Sergeant Bennings said. “She's acting.”
“I've been drugged for I don't know how long,” I said, a headache creeping in between my temples. “I have no idea what I'm supposed to know.”
“Two days,” the other man in fatigues said. “You've been out for two days.”
“And during that time you're friends came to bust you out,” Sergeant Bennings said. “They showed us certain weaknesses in our security here. Thank you for that. We're on watch for them now. It won't happen again.”
I folded my hands in my lap. I hoped Spencer and Maibe and the others were far away from this place, but either way I wouldn't give him any information on them. Even if I did know anything.
“Your silence speaks for itself. This is disappointing but not unexpected. We often find a certain weakness in those who are infected. They are no longer truly human and do not have human concerns at the forefront of their mind.”
I only cared to know one thing. In spite of feeling betrayed and abandoned, I did not want Dylan hurt. “What’s going to happen to Dylan? Why did you imprison him?”
“Yes, your husband. If I were a crueler man, I would use threat against him to get you to talk, but I am not capable of such things today.”
Another panel member, a man dressed in civilian clothes sniffed and wiped his cheek.
A woman in fatigues spoke. “Fillipa was a vital member of this panel. No one is above the rules of this facility.”
“But that does not mean we are immune to the heartbreak inherent in our decisions,” Sergeant Bennings said.
“What about Dylan,” I prompted.
“We have decided that he did not mean to protect the infected woman,” the doughy-chinned man said, “but instead wanted to prevent potential bodily fluid contamination.”
“We do not shoot anyone except from at a distance,” a woman said. “The risk for infection is too great. Your husband did us a service by preventing the poor decisions of exhausted soldiers. He has been given another chance to return to normal duties.”
“You should know,” Sergeant spoke. “Your husband was very difficult to handle when we first brought him to safety. He wanted to immediately set out in search of you. He tried to run off alone with weapons and a vehicle. Not until that woman in your party, Jane? Not until she arrived and said you were dead did he give up.”
Dylan had tried to come after me.
Sergeant Bennings’ words heartened me, though I did not understand why he had decided to share them.
“Is there anything else you would like to share with this council?” The woman said. “We will not threaten your husband. Yet, your refusal to act now could well undo all that we have built here to keep people like your husband safe.”
I huffed a laugh. That’s why they had chosen to share those details about Dylan. They hoped it would somehow change my mind enough to spill my guts. For all I knew, they had made up every word.
I sat straighter in the chair and held my silence.
“Unless there is anything else,” Sergeant Bennings said, he looked to either side of his panel members. They shook their heads. “Excellent. All in favor of execution by hanging of this individual say 'Aye.'”
All members of the panel said, “Aye.”
“Opposed?”
Silence.
“Make the announcement. Take this prisoner to the stage.”
The guards fitted the animal control loop around my neck as Stan whispered, “Sorry about this, Corrina.”
The loop found the groove of my skin that had not yet bounced back from the last time the dog-catcher's noose had been used on me. The rope settled back in as if it had found its home, raw and burning.
Chapter 25
Within fifteen minutes Sergeant Bennings had me taken to the stage, behind the closed curtains, up on the gallows, next to three unused ropes.
That first breath of air outside had been a relief, its cold freshness wiping away the hot, humid smells of so many humans breathing, urinating, defecating, sweating in those cages. Rope bound my hands behind my back, cutting into my skin, stretching my chest so that my ribs ached with each step and breath. I did not begin to shake until they replaced the animal noose with the human one. Plastic nylon for thicker plastic nylon. Slip knot for noose knot.
Executions made excellent examples of what happened to people who did not follow the rules, especially on New Year's Eve. Sergeant Bennings must have had a flare for the dramatic. What better way to set the tone for the New Year than to usher it in with a hanging?
I wondered if Jane would watch in her soup line. I wondered if Stan would be one of the guards on the stage. I wondered whether Dylan had set up the electronics.
A ghost-memory of a bright, clear day spent on the beach in Santa Cruz rose up. Sand and surf and stunning moments of peace. The smell of saltwater, the crust of sand between my toes. The sound of those ocean waves matched the blood pounding in my ears.
The scarlet curtains opened. The ocean waves overlapped the moat and the people standing on its other side. They looked so small from here.
I thought of Fillipa’s last words. Mostly I wanted sleep, mostly I wanted to curl up in Dylan’s arms. Something wet tickled my cheek. I tasted saltwater and knew it must be tears. I turned my head and wiped the water off with my shoulder. They would not see me cry. At least that.
Jane and Dylan belonged together now. This was their world. The world of the uninfected. The remaining humans—
But even as I played the pity game, my mind rebelled. Being infected changed nothing about who I really was. It changed nothing about Maibe and Leaf and the others. We were still people—people with problems like memory-fevers and ghost-memories and memory-rushes to deal with now.
Sergeant Bennings stepped onto the stage next to me.
He began speaking but I did not hear the words. Instead, my eye caught on movement, a figure in dark clothing, a dark mask over his face, creeping onto the stage, unnoticed by the two guards standing on either side of Sergeant Bennings.
He rushed at me but I could not make out the face. It was Spencer or one of the pup-boys making an impulsive decision. He must know he would get caught. Why would one of them take the chance?
Someone from across the
moat shouted and pointed.
Sergeant Bennings and the guards turned.
The figure crashed into me and the noose tightened and the pressure made me gag. He steadied me and I took in a ragged, shallow breath, the sharp pain in my ribs at the crash keeping me on the edge of suffocation.
As if in slow motion, the guards raised their guns, but Sergeant Bennings waved them off. He held out hands to me as if in supplication.
I saw the glint of a knife and understood my rescuer meant to cut away the bonds. The rope loosened and fell away.
Sergeant Bennings yelled something, but the ocean roared louder than ever in my ears and I could not make out any words. I raised my hands to loosen the noose around my neck, not sure what the next move would be. I decided to trust that Spencer would have a plan for this, even if I couldn’t think of any way out.
Before I reached for the rope around my neck, before I barely moved, he yanked my arm back down. I felt a sharp slash on my left hand.
My hand was pressed palm to palm with my rescuer’s.
He tore off the mask. Dylan’s blue eyes looked at me, wide and sorrowful. His hair was wild, the look on his face even wilder. He held his bloody knife in one hand and his other hand pressed against my cut.
“What did you do?” I tried to take my hand away, but he wouldn’t let me go.
“What was necessary,” Dylan said.
Chapter 26
“I tried to look for you,” Dylan said. “When Jane told me you had been killed. It felt as if it was my sister all over again. They wouldn’t let me leave.”
The fog rose like steam from the moat. A soldier dressed in one of those white pillow suits adjusted the noose around my neck. The blood on Dylan and me had required the suit.
I couldn’t look at him. It made me sick to think of him infected and executed alongside me. “You shouldn’t have done it,” I said.
Dylan stood a few feet away from me. A noose now around his neck. Both our hands were tied behind our backs.
“I can’t stop them from doing this, but I can make sure I go with you.”
Feast of Weeds (Books 1--4) Page 26