As she peeled off her shirt and stepped from her skirt, traceable smoke spiraled around her like a bad memory. Quite aware the Mediator watched her every move, she started into the bathroom.
“Don’t shut the door,” Clive said.
“What the fuck!” Livid, Paniess twirled to face him, which only made his eyes crinkle in carnal delight. “I need some privacy.”
“Leave. It. Open.” By the tone of his voice, he meant business.
Another luxury awarded to the Elites, a recyclable water depot. And while she washed the stench of burning flesh and smoke from her hair and skin, she pondered the morning’s events. Did Pomfrey know of her middle of the night rendezvous with Goshen? Did Clive snitch? Is Rooney in jeopardy?
Clive had been her resource in the past. Today was just as good as any other day to pry guarded info from him. Not bothering to towel dry and still glossy with water droplets, Paniess joined him on the bed.
***
An hour had passed, and Paniess was nowhere to unlocking his secrets. His frequent slip of the tongue and innuendoes seemed under wraps today. It wasn’t unusual for the Mediator to be present during hush-hush meetings. Normally, he enjoyed spilling his guts thinking himself privileged to be in the know.
The chime of the Mediators cellular interrupted them.
“Clive here,” he answered in his brusque fashion of being summoned, the device pressed against his ear. “Right away.” The brightness of the cell turned black. “I’m driving Hailla back to the Infirmary and picking up Doctor Riggley. You have to stay with Mrs. Addler.”
A submissive Clive morphed into Mediator form. Slinging on his uniform and boots and lastly his holster, he strode to her bedroom door. His fingers ringed the handle and stalled.
“I’ve been tailing you ever since Doogan left.” He squared his shoulders and looked at her. “You never should’ve gone to Quigley’s.”
“You motherfucking bastard!” Paniess knelt on the mattress and whipped a pillow at his exiting figure. She caved in on herself, a gully of remorseful tears absorbed into her blankets.
Hadn’t her world collided twelve years ago when Doogan married Keeyla?
Keeyla. The whole village kissed the ground she walked on. Beautiful, sweet, and fought Management like a human rights activist. Months ago when Headquarters announced Keeyla had fallen off a cliff and died, she’d been somewhat elated. Paniess had Doogan back. She sensed he’d been willing to start a new life together and have babies, healthy babies.
Though, she realized he wouldn’t be happy until he found his son who’d been lost in the wilderness. In the midst of gunfire, she helped them all escape, and stayed behind as Fulvio’s informer, and hoped Doogan would someday return.
Paniess dried her eyes. “What am I? A frigging martyr?” She hammered the mattress with her fists and rolling from the bed, tore the blankets off throwing them on the floor. Venting with extreme lunacy, she punted the fabric around the room until sweat trickled along her temple, exhausting herself.
Cursing, she slouched over her dresser. Her breathing rapid, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Damp auburn hair, a disheveled mess laid in tangles over her shoulders. “Life is too hard.”
Paniess brushed the kinks from her hair, dressed and went to her mother. Surely Rooney would be here by now. She had to warn him that he might be in danger.
Gwin was still out cold when she stepped into her vacant bedroom. Clive had not yet returned with Rooney. Her mom appeared tranquil and serene. The sedative had cured the prominent lines sketching her face, skin white as porcelain.
Paniess sat on the border of the bed and took her mom’s hand. “Mom, you’re freezing.” Employing her two hands, she massaged Gwin trying to furnish some warmth. Peering into her face, she waited for her mom’s fond smile. “Mom?”
She touched Gwin’s cheek, cold as ice.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” Her breath clutched, and her heart skipped a beat. “No, Mom. No.” Seeing starbursts, the edges of her vision blurred. Firmly pressing her eyelids, she dragged in a choppy breath. The sound of footsteps caused her to vault from the side of the mattress. Losing her balance Rooney caught her before her legs buckled. “She’s dead,” Paniess said through the burn in her throat.
Clasping her by the shoulders, Rooney gazed into her eyes. “Are you okay? If I let you go you won’t pass out on me, will you?”
“Who cares about me?” She stiffened her weak ankles. “My mother.”
He hurriedly examined Gwin for vital signs. While holding her wrist, he noticed her balled fist. Unfurling Gwin’s stony fingers, white pills spilled onto the comforter. His brow gathered over dismal eyes.
“She killed herself.” He plucked the pills from her palm and the bed. “She must’ve taken these as soon as Hailla left, causing her heart to fail. I’m sorry.”
“If I’d come in right away like I was supposed to,” Paniess cried, “she’d be alive now.” Her chest panged with each jagged breath. “I…I killed her.”
“No, you didn’t.” His cadence glum. “If someone is that desperate there’s no way to stop them.”
“You can’t tell my father.” Dumbfounded, she knuckled the tears washing her face.
“I don’t know why. But ever since her operation she’s never been the same,” Rooney said. “And, I can’t hide the truth from your father.”
“You must.” Her eyes snapped to his face. “Do you have any idea what damage this will cause? Tell him it was a heart attack caused by complications of the surgery, plain and simple.” She glided fingers lovingly over her mom’s face, painting an indelible picture in her heart.
“He’ll blame Doogan.” Agitated, Rooney reversed a step jiggling the pills in his hand. “He performed the surgery, and it went without a hitch. Your mom’s been in a state of clinical depression. You know that.”
“Better to blame someone that’s no longer living in Tallas than to blame himself and take it out on the citizens.” She tenderly tucked her mom’s arm beneath the comforter. “I knew about her bouts of depression. I don’t think she could live with the knowledge of what my father was doing. She tried putting on a strong veneer, but underneath she was so...weak.” More tears trickled, wetting her lashes and sprinkling her cheeks.
Reverberations of fast, heavy footfalls sounded from the hall, and then the door barged open. They turned to see Pomfrey run to his wife. “Gwin! Gwin!” He dropped on the bed and lifted his wife by the shoulders. “Gwin.” Shaking the body, Gwin’s head lolled sideways. “Rooney, what have you done?”
Doctor Riggley took a wary step backward and looked at Paniess. She blinked and nodded. “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “But—but—it was too late.” He stuffed his hand into his pocket to release the pills. “I believe her heart had been failing since the surgery. She—” He palmed his hand on the nape his neck.
“No! Her heart was always strong.” Pomfrey ground his teeth. “You’re lying.”
“Mr. Adder, it was a heart attack.”
Pomfrey rose off the mattress, instead of sorrow, his eyes seethed.
“You killed Gwin. You and that traitor Doogan. You both knew all along that she wasn’t going to make it.” He walked to where Clive was framing the doorway, and swiftly, drew the Mediators revolver from his holster. “No need to wait for a trial.” Pomfrey pointed the gun at Rooney. “The verdict is in, and I sentence you to death.”
Paniess screamed as her father pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The heliocraft was the preferred sleeping quarters, reserving warmth during nightly frosts, although cramped. Smelt took a liking to the trucks cushioned seat and the freedom from being crammed in the helio like sardines and the cantankerous snoring, as he put it.
Doogan needn’t worry about Gus’s treatment. Jane had spent half the night swishing rags into a container of water, rewrapping his swollen hand and swabbing his fevered face. In the wee hours of the morning, after his scheduled guard duty
, Doogan injected another dose of penicillin and Gus’s fever broke within a few hours.
At present, Jane was curled under blankets, her forehead a hairs width from Gus’s shoulder. Doogan remembered her wild-eyed shock after being revived from her concussion, and her mulish lock-jawed temperament. She’d folded into a ball in the corner of the helio, refusing to eat, drink, and talk. Even the daily entertainment of Gus’s animated stories and jokes to loosen her tongue hadn’t worked, she scrunched her eyes and hid her face. Doogan reckoned she’d been trying not to laugh, and Gus never gave up. He must’ve made a great impression since she now hovered over him like a nurse in training. Jane was also on the mend.
***
Gus yawned and stretched and nearly knocked Jane in the head. His arm wasn’t throbbing as much, and he wedged sideways to admire the girl sleeping next to him. She whiffed lightly through rosebud lips, and plump eyelashes rested on high cheekbones. So pretty, more than pretty—beautiful, beneath a thicket of dreadlock’s. He stifled the urge to touch her.
Suddenly nature called, and Gus’s stab at being stealth was about as covert as Tibbles tiptoeing through a strawberry patch. Jane’s eyes fluttered open, and she cricked up to a sitting position.
“Are you okay?” Sounding ruffled. “Do you need something?”
“Ah-h...I...” He fidgeted and kicked at the restricting blanket.
“Lay down.” She tilted on her haunches, waiting for orders. “I’ll get whatever you need.”
Heat stole into his face. “Er...I don’t think you should help me with this.”
“Water? Do you need a drink? I can help you.”
Ready to burst and totally mortified, he said, “I have to get rid of some water.” And hoped Fulvio’s snoring had blocked their awkward chat. He scooted from the helio and saw Doogan leaning on the craft, arms crossed, chuckling.
***
The morning consisted of drawing speculative diagrams, mapping the lie of the land. With elbows crutched on the metal frame of the truck bed, the men discussed plans for their settlement.
“Come now, Doogan.” Fulvio’s arm swept through the air like a grand master. “Surely the Infirmary would be best erected in the center of the village instead of the northern end. Don’t you agree?”
“I’m not an architect.” Doogan uncurled his spine, linking thumbs into his belt loops. “Due west we have a monster infested lake, and bordering east the mountain range and at the base a teeming river, that’s the runoff that has the potential to flood in the spring. I’d suggest building at least a half-mile from the river.”
“Hey, mark an X here,” Ennis said, more taciturn than normal. He set his pinkie finger on the paper. “That’s where we found a tankard of gasoline.”
“Right, we need that.” Doogan sloped over the diagram, making sure Ennis pointed out the correct spot. “The helio would be trashed without it.”
“Not only the helio, but we’d be in pieces.” Ennis’s eyebrows arched. “We were gliding on fumes when we found it.”
“A rough landing, bub.” Doogan grinned at his somewhat new friend. “But we made it.”
“Lots of trees to hew ‘round here.” Smelt returned the discussion back to the present.
“Yes.” Fulvio fixed hands on his hips, also gazing at the trees. “The work will be brutal.”
“Fulvio, when’s that call coming in?” Ennis peered skyward.
“Oh yes.” Fulvio fumbled in his pockets for the cellular, then checked the location of the sun. “Almost noon. I’ll turn it on.”
“How can you tell with those mean clouds blocking the sun?” Smelt’s eyes narrowed staring up. “Don’t look good. It’d be best if we bunker down until it passes.” As if on cue, rumbled rolling sounded like stampeding cattle over the mountainous range.
“Who makes the call,” Doogan inquired, “you or Paniess?”
“I leave that to Paniess. She needs seclusion so not to be detected.”
“As soon as she turns it on,” Smelt said, “won’t Headquarters see the signal on their thingamagigs?”
“Years and years ago detection systems were astronomical. But now?” Fulvio’s shoulders rose. “I said this before, and I’ll say it again, their equipment is neither accurate nor exact. I heard they’re working on fixing it. Only Elites, select Executive’s and Mediators are granted devices, which means if a signal bounces around Tallas they’re not too suspicious.”
“But our signal will be suspicious, right?”
Fulvio’s bottom lip bulged, not answering.
Restless and fidgeting from one foot to the next, they loitered around waiting for the cellular to ring. Doogan was the first to saunter away to pack up his belongings; next Ennis drifted to the heliocraft to prepare for takeoff. Gus rooted his arm at the waist and headed for the truck with Jane trailing.
A half hour later, the crew readied to depart, and no call from Paniess.
“So what gives,” Smelt asked, “she gonna call? If she’s not gonna call you should turn that thing off.”
“Hmph.” Fulvio swiped a finger over black enamel, making sure it powered-up. “It’s possible she didn’t get my message or...” His large hand gripped his bearded chin in thought.
“Or what?”
“Or she’s not available. That’s all.” Fingering the device and in the process of shutting it down, they froze. The shrill ring initiated a jolt of surprise; Fulvio waved them over as he pressed the speaker button.
Abstruse crackling filtered through the cell. “I’m sorry,” a strained tone hollered. “I’m sorry. Rooney’s been shot! Rooney’s...I...”
“Fulvio McTullan, I presume.” Slick and slimy, a voice trumped Paniess’s cries.
Pomfrey Addler
“No reply?”—a snorting pause—“So a one sided conversation, I see.”
“Don’t listen to a word he says,” Paniess barked in the background. “It’s not true. It’s not true.”
“Shut her up,” Pomfrey growled. Her shouting subsided to a gagging sound.
“Fulvio, Fulvio, wherever have you been?” His voice slithered through the cell like a whispering snake. “I’ve finally discovered your informants. For years, I’ve suspected Goshen, but how clever of you to recruit my own daughter to betray me.”—breathing heavily—“Your last...visit...caused quite a stir. Citizens are now aware of the true traitor. Your loyal, trustworthy citizens feel blindsided by your sedition. It has to end. By the end of a noose when you’re captured.” His comments laced with disdain. “Fulvio, are you listening? Answer me...or Paniess will suffer. Do you understand?”
“Answer him,” Doogan said in a low undertone.
“She said don’t listen to him,” Fulvio whispered. “He won’t hurt his daughter.”
“You lying piece of shit,” Paniess swore, muffled. “Don’t believe Pomfrey...don’t—” —then a painful scream.
“Dammit,” Doogan cursed, “say something.”
Fulvio receded a step; fingers pulled at his lip.
“Unlike you and Doogan, who abandoned Tallas and its citizens,” Pomfrey’s voice resonated. “I lead these wretched souls. I have dedicated my life in preserving harmony. Immolation is imperative in forming a perfect civilization, and now, I will sacrifice my own flesh and blood in the name of justice. True to my word as a righteous leader, Paniess will stand trial for baiting and abetting a conspirator. She will be found guilty. Five days from today, Paniess will face a firing squad.”
Click
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Paniess cried, “You son-of-a-bitch.” She struggled, attempting to claw free from Clive. “Why are you doing this?” She glared at her despicable father. “Clive, let me go.” Her father looked to the Mediator and after a faint nod his hold relaxed.
“You’ve lived extravagantly compared to other citizens, and you repay me by doing this.” Pomfrey flaunted a cellular under her nose. “I didn’t believe Coot when he said the signal was coming from my home.” He grazed fingers into his shorn
hair. “My home,” he denounced a second time. “How long, Paniess?
Her face knotted marring her beauty. “Not long enough.” She gritted her teeth, staving off the sting of tears. “You’re not God. But you think you are.” She cribbed her left hand into the palm of her right, one finger bent and crooked.
“God abandoned us thirty years ago.” His hands primly brushed the lapels of his charcoal linen suit. “It’s my responsibility to govern with an iron hand, or there’d be no survivors. No Tallas. Critical decisions are necessary to appease avaricious citizens.”
“You egotistical pig.” She bounded off the mattress of her bed. “You pick and choose who lives and who dies, who eats and who starves. Do you think your name will go down in history as a savior? You’re a bloody tyrant.” Animosity hardened her bones. “The day you killed my baby is the day I turned my back on you.”
“It wasn’t a baby.” He tsked; a scornful tweak attacked his lip, distorting his nose in the process. “A mutated thing that never should’ve breathed life.”
“You finally admit it. You killed my baby.” Saturating grief threatened to expose her feminine weakness. “Did Mom know?” A ghost of sadness slashed through his expression, and just as fast the planes of his face solidified.
“Let’s not bring that saintly woman into this,” he said.
Gwin’s death had depleted the last ounce of human goodness her father claimed to contain. More devious and conniving than ever, he’d blamed Doctor Riggley for her demise. It had been two days since they buried Gwin in the cemetery behind the mansion, surrounded by a filigreed-trellis enclosure. Her mom’s body had lain in state, guarded day and night in the grand ballroom, and it had been mandatory for the populace to show their respect. Goshen Quigley had been buried, devoid of pomp, in an overcrowded graveyard on the south bend beyond the barrier.
Paniess glared at the man she loathed to call her father. “So now what?” Her voice sounded dull.
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