by Mark Tufo
She reluctantly nodded, still too angry and upset to look him in the eyes.
"Good. Your first assignment will be to report to Isaac so he can take a sample of your blood."
She almost spoke again, but changed her mind before she said her first word. The situation was enough to make her stomach turn, but what could she do? She'd fallen haplessly into it. Was this how everyone got their start in organized crime? Giving blood one day and deploying genetically engineered viruses the next?
He pointed to a dark tunnel on his left. "Isaac should be in there. If not, come back and we'll hunt him down together. He disappears sometimes. God knows where he goes off to."
Virginia held her breath as she slowly approached the narrow cave. Her heart raced when she entered, as if she might find something terrible within its shadows. Chills rushed through her as she turned a corner and moved through another long stretch of darkness. She considered turning around and fleeing the place, but again it hit her that she had nowhere else to go. It was all she could to do pray for the strength to continue.
Taking a deep breath, she turned another corner and entered the small, dim cave.
Chapter 99
FAITH-CORP OWNED some of the largest buildings in each district, having coliseum-sized churches and university-sized arrays of schoolrooms for Sunday class. Families registered their attendance at consoles located throughout the main lobby, and seating was assigned each week during check-in. Thousands of people, mostly Corps, pushed and shoved their way through the crowded seating aisles, many of them wearing their stylish new facemasks and rubber gloves, searching to find their seats before the service began.
The worship associates got started on their first set just as George and the kids found their seats. By the luck of the draw, their seats were in the first tier balcony this Sunday, the highest seating any Corp employee could take. It was only a tier below the Corporate boxes, where the well-dressed pillars of society always sat. Corps and Marts rarely saw Corporates outside of church, and so no one knew much about them beyond what they wore each week and who they were seen with most recently. They stood over the masses in their little cliques, showing off their manicured nails and fine tailored outfits, old money descended down from the fat cats of centuries ago. They never looked down at the several tiers of people lined up below them. It was as if everyone else sat behind an invisible wall that only the rich could see, and no one on the outside even existed within their tiny, separate world.
The worship manager invited the congregation to join his associates in song, and the building filled with the echoes of ten thousand voices united. The sound was rich, but it did little to affect the smug sense of detachment among most of the people there. George and the kids were no exception; they were there because everyone else was, and everyone else was there because they didn't want to be badgered by Faith-Corp associates.
The hymn ended, and the worship manager moved his team straight into the next, directing the congregation to continue singing along. The worship manager kept the music going non-stop for close to twenty minutes, making sure he gave the people their full tithing's worth for the week. He silenced his associates, and a spotlight followed the sermon manager from his entrance to the podium.
A clatter of applause thundered through the building, and the sermon manager raised his hands to silence the crowds. He waited for the applause to end, and then he leaned into his microphone. "God told me ya'll would be excited to come here today!" he said, smiling from ear to ear.
There was another small round of applause, but the manager was able to speak over it and snuff it out with his amplified voice: "I want to talk to ya'll today about family values. Normal human family values." He looked around, to ensure he had gained the attention of all he could directly see, and then he continued. "Do you see any deviants here today?"
Everyone took an obligatory look around their personal vicinities, although they already knew that not one deviant would be among them.
"I talk to more and more people that think it's okay to socialize with deviants, just because they look so similar to us. Do not be fooled; deviants do not have souls. They are the freak result of a godless science, whose creators will surely go to Hell!" There was a small amount of applause, but the manager continued. "Now, I don't think God wants us to hate them, but He does want us to be responsible about how we approach them. You must remember that they are atheists, every last one of them, and therefore they have no morals. They are a poison to the human mind, toxic to the human soul."
There was another short clatter of applause, and then the sermon manager checked his notes and moved on. "God came to me when I was praying the other night, and He told me that there are human beings in our own congregation living just as sinful of lives as the deviants."
There was a hushed murmur of disapproval.
"I was just as shocked," he continued, "but God told me that He would forgive those people, but only if they repented and showed their devotion to Faith-Corp by sacrificing a tax-deductible, one-time donation of one quarter their monthly tithing before they leave today. Praise God!"
"Praise God!" the congregation echoed.
"God wants us to be happy, but He also wants us to live in accordance with His teachings. Satan is ever-present in society, but that doesn't mean he has to be ever-present in our personal lives. Can I hear you say hallelujah?"
"Hallelujah!" the people replied.
"Our lesson today comes from First Corinthians. Follow me, if you would, to chapter fifteen, verse thirty-three."
Most people had traditional paper Bibles, tattered and old, but many of the wealthier members pulled up the verse on hand-held reading tablets. There was a quick shuffling of pages and tapping of commands on tiny screens, and then there was a hushed silence as the congregation waited for the manager to dictate the verse from memory.
"‘Do not be deceived: Bad company ruins good morals,'" the manager quoted. "Do not be deceived," he repeated for emphasis. "The Bible dictates that we stay true to ourselves, as both believers and as human beings. It also warns us to be choosy about our associations. Do not be deceived by atheists, intellectuals, and free thinkers, as they will only lead you astray. God is the only truth, and faith is the only path. Amen!"
"Amen!" the people repeated.
The sermon manager gave the worship manager a subtle nod, and another hymn rose up from the stage.
George exchanged glances with Shelly and Kurt, all of them getting anxious for the service to finish. Kurt started fidgeting and growling his frustration. He hadn't understood half of what the sermon manager had said; what boy his age would? Worse yet, a handful of the female worship associates now fought to see which among them could sing their shrill voices the loudest. Meanwhile, the managers stood by the stage door, engaging in a private conversation that only the two of them could hear over the din of singing voices. Whatever they were talking about, the worship manager seemed to think it was very funny.
Shelley grabbed Kurt and sat him on her lap. "Just another minute or so, sport," she whispered.
The worship manager went back to his post as the associates came to the end of their song, and with a wave of his hands, he ended the service.
George stood, turning to Shelley. "Can you get him to his class?"
Shelley nodded.
"I'll meet you both later in the shuttle garage, then," George said, and then he pushed his way into the crowd to rush across campus to his class.
Shelley and Kurt waited for the crowd to thin, and then together they made their way to the long hallway that led to classroom buildings C, D, and E. The lights along the hallway flickered, threatening to go out, somehow continuing to hang on. Kurt held Shelley's hand as they moved toward the building where both of their classes were held.
A news associate stood with a small crowd standing around him, his cashier associate moving past each person with his scan gun. Shelley, still having George's debit card in her bag, dragged Kurt to the news crowd
and paid to join the audience.
"These guys are always so boring!" Kurt whined.
"I just want to hear a few minutes," Shelley said, tightly gripping his hand to make sure he stayed with her.
"Everyone is on high alert, unsure when or if the deviant resistance group will strike again," the news associate began. "Officials urge residents to wear facemasks and gloves when out in public until further notice. Any questions?"
A young woman raised her hand, and the associate called on her with a point of his finger.
"Have any official statistics been released on the number of people who have died from the HD-1 virus?" the young woman asked.
"None at this point, although officials do warn that the virus is deadly and able to live on porous surfaces for several days if not weeks. Anyone with a high fever is to report to Medical-Corp for mandatory quarantine," the news associate confidently replied. "Any more questions?"
The news associate looked through the crowd then continued with his report. "Shuttle delays have been on the rise, mostly due to increasing rain and hailstorms. While Trans-Corp workers are doing all they can to compensate for the delays, they do wish to relay their appreciation for your continued patience. Current construction of additional power supplies, which would allocate more reliable electricity to Transportation-Corp, are still awaiting Corporate approval. Any questions?"
He surveyed the crowd. Seeing no raised hands, he continued, "Info-Corp has received warning that flash blizzards may be only a day or two away. Authorities say you should expect cold warnings in halls and shuttle garages, with nighttime lows of negative twenty. Commuting workers can expect early-leave shifts until the warning has passed. Any questions?"
Shelley raised her hand, and immediately he called on her.
"Can you tell us more about the deviant terrorists?" she asked nervously. "Does the Police-Corp have any leads?"
The news associate shrugged. "Sorry, but we haven't received anything about the terrorist acts since Police-Corp managers opened up their investigation." He turned away from her. "Now on to more of today's news. . . ."
A pair of hands went over Shelley's eyes from behind her. "Guess who?" a young man said playfully.
"Stephen?" Shelley turned to face him, pleasantly surprised to find the familiar classmate standing behind her.
"I haven't seen you in school for a few days. Are you okay?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"Daddy had to move her to the Mart School," Kurt said, making innocent conversation.
Shelley coughed.
"Is that true?" Stephen asked her, shocked.
Shelley nodded, her embarrassment growing so heavy that she felt like she might buckle beneath the weight of it.
"I'm really sorry," he said looking genuinely disappointed. He looked at his watch. "I should get going. I'll see you around." Stephen gave her a short wave over his head as he turned and fell into the moving crowd behind him.
Shelley angrily turned to Kurt. "Why did you have to tell him that? I didn't want anyone to know yet!"
Kurt shrugged. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Humiliated and no longer interested in the news, Shelley pulled Kurt by the arm to their building.
"I said I was sorry!" Kurt said.
Shelley dropped Kurt off at the door of his classroom, and then hurried down to the end of the hall.
There were thirty other teenage girls Shelley's age in the room, one of whom was Charlotte. Charlotte and Shelley often had classes together throughout the years, both in Sunday class and in the Corp Education System. They had been friends since first grade, when both of them tested into the system. Charlotte was troubled, but the two of them had fun together growing up.
Charlotte waved her over to a saved desk, and Shelley stared indecisively for a moment before crossing the classroom and accepting the seat.
"Where have you been?" Charlotte asked.
"Long story," Shelley said, her flat voice warning that she was in no mood to explain.
Charlotte shrugged, then she turned to look at the notes already written on the dry-erase board.
Shelley also looked, but the writing was so illegible that she gave up and decided just to wait for the Sunday class associate's lecture. Shelley glanced around the room just as the last of the students were finding their seats. She saw two girls staring over at her, whispering back and forth about the latest gossip. By the way they looked back at Shelley, what they had on her was rich. They giggled, and another girl leaned over to see what all the fuss was about.
Charlotte noticed the girls as well. "What's up with them?"
"Stephen," Shelley said almost under her breath, her throat knotting.
Assuming the scenario was one of kiss and tell, Charlotte pretended to be indifferent about it. "Stephen is a jerk. I wouldn't believe anything he said about you."
Shelley gave Charlotte an uneasy smile. "What do you mean by that?"
Charlotte shrugged. "Live and learn."
The Sunday class associate came into the room, taking a moment to get her materials organized while the students quieted. She took attendance, and then she cleared her throat as the last few voices dwindled.
The two girls gossiping about Shelley continued whispering and giggling between the two of them, and the associate cleared her throat again. This time she was louder, glaring directly at the girls, making her request of their attention unmistakably clear.
"Is there something you'd like you share with the rest of the class?" the associate asked.
One of the girls pretended to try to contain herself, nudging her friend. "You tell them!" she said.
The other girl looked back over at Shelley, who stared back, silent and anxious. Her eyes were wide with fear, begging the girl to let the matter die.
The Sunday class associate sensed that something was amiss, and she picked up her hand-held computer. "Our sermon today was in First Corinthians, chapter fifteen, verse thirty-three. Can anyone refresh the class's memory?"
A handful of students raised their hands, and the associate called on Charlotte.
Charlotte read from her paperback Bible: "‘Do not be deceived: Bad company ruins good morals.'"
"Can anyone tell the class what exactly that means?" the associate asked.
The same handful of people raised their hands, and the associate picked on a shy-looking girl in the back row.
"Sometimes you can think someone is your friend, but they're really deceiving you?" the shy-looking girl said, opting at the last moment to turn her answer into a question.
"Close. Anyone else?"
"You're only as good as the people you associate with," one of the giggling girls said out of turn, glancing over at Shelley.
The associate nodded. "That's correct."
Unable to take another moment of the girls' torment, Shelley got up from her seat, bowed her apologies to the Sunday class associate and left the room.
The associate poked her head out the door as Shelley ran down the hall. "Excuse me! Where are you going?"
Shelley did not turn to the woman as she replied, "Back off!"
"I'm going to have to mark you as truant!"
"You do that!" Shelley turned a corner and fell out of sight.
She ran until she was halfway to the shuttle garage. Remembering that she would have to turn around eventually to pick up Kurt when classes were over, she stopped and took a moment to catch her breath before returning to the C building. She stood across the hall from the corridor leading in, trying to decide what to do with herself for the next hour, when Charlotte came out. She could tell by the look on her face that Charlotte was working to digest a heavy load of unwanted information, her face contorting with deep contemplation as she moved across the hall.
"Whatever you're going to say, you can just save it," Shelley growled.
"What kind of fiend do you take me for?" Charlotte asked, looking offended.
Shelley shrugged. She wasn't sure what to expect from anyone
at this point. More than anything, she couldn't bear to set herself up for anymore heartache. Clearly, the gossip about her change in status had already moved beyond just Stephen and those two girls. She had to wonder, though, why the news prompted Charlotte to go looking for her.
"You don't need a Corp education," Charlotte said. "I bet my buddy Dean would give you a job right now if I asked him."
Shelley shrugged again, feeling reserved but also wanting to give Charlotte the dignity of some type of response.
"You're good company," Charlotte said. She pointed to the building. "And you're better than all of them."
Shelley nodded, although she knew Charlotte was sugarcoating the situation.
"I should get back." Charlotte grinned deviously. "I told the class associate that I was going to try to bring you back with me, but I'm assuming that's not going to happen."
Shelley gave her a sideways glance. "Do you blame me?"
Charlotte shook her head. "See you around," she said, and began toward the building's main door.
"Hey!" Shelley called across the hall.
Charlotte stopped and turned. "Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"Sure." Charlotte disappeared into the building, leaving Shelley alone in the quiet hall to contemplate the few options that remained in her life.
None looked promising.
Chapter 100
GEORGE AND WILLIAM didn't say a word to one another during the entire shuttle commute. They had acknowledged each other's presence in the garage, each making his boundaries clear, each avoiding eye contact with the other.
George had finally shaved and showered, doing his best to present himself as clean and pressed as possible for the inevitable meeting he would be having this morning with his manager. He tried to think of what he would do if one of his associates missed two days of work due to drunken and disorderly conduct. Would he start the paperwork for position termination, or would he hear him out and consider the fact that everyone made mistakes? He didn't know his manager very well, and the man was painfully difficult to read. George had no idea what to expect, and already he sweated profusely. He looked down with deep embarrassment as he realized he had sweated through the underarms of his shirt, and he quickly buttoned up his jacket in attempt to mask the offense.