On the street, Vanessa tried not to dwell on the loss of her morning meditation in the park or the girl she had found under the bench. It was enough to be alive and walking. The day was overcast and cool. Devoid of cars, the wide street stretched like a calm, gray river. Outside the Zone, rollup doors or iron gates covered the storefronts. Once, they had dissuaded thieves and vandals. Now, pried open or hanging loosely, they were like broken teeth. When the wind picked up, their loud rattle got into her bones. The body of an old woman lay against a gray building. Blue skinned, starved, and dirty, it looked more like a prop than a person. Vanessa shivered and quickened her pace.
At the small Brownstone, she sat on the cement steps and waited. Across the street, the heavy green of swaying leaves soothed her. Parks had always been among her favorite places. Time slowed and the world rested inside their orderly fences. As a girl, lying on the grass, with the city sounds muted by foliage, she had watched clouds and imagined her future. Those dreams contrasted sharply with her current reality.
The People’s Protest had shattered everything she knew. Bedraggled hippies had spawned violence unimaginable, rendering the once peaceful city a war zone. Had the Blue Flu not simultaneously affected the mainland, the rebellion wouldn’t have been so deadly and the administrators wouldn’t have been able to seize the opportunity it provided to implement the NSO. Even though she had lived through it, it was still hard to believe.
She glanced at Isaac’s door. He should have come out by now. Unable to wait any longer, she headed to the bus stop. He was not there and this worried her. Was he ill? He had seemed fine last night. She frowned, upset with herself. Why hadn’t she gone inside to check on him? On the bus, she missed his reassuring presence, a promise that all was not wrong with the world.
Vanessa found a seat, drew her narrow shoulders together, and stared out the window. The bus lurched into motion and began its wide arc around the Zone, picking up workers unfortunate enough to live on the edge. On the street, the patrols circled. They were vultures and she was carrion. Like Prometheus, she mended by night only to be torn apart each day. Averting her eyes, she stared at her hands, fingering the small tattoo on her left ring finger where she had been marked as impure.
At the sorting office, she wedged her body past the sharp knees of her fellow passengers. Their eyes tracked her, but no one spoke. The older workers had retreated so far into themselves that nothing showed on their dull faces. In front of the building, a few of the Fallen drifted, vacant-eyed. Why they were allowed in the Zone during the day? Was it to remind workers that they, too, could share a similar fate? Vanessa grimaced and hurried into the lobby.
Her office was located on the second floor of an old accounting firm. Today, her aching legs couldn’t handle the stairs so she took the elevator. When the door slid open, she entered quickly, keeping her eyes down. The teenaged workers tittered with excitement as they talked about the games they would play on Sunday and the people they hoped to see.
She stole a glance at them, searching for evidence, but their faces looked ordinary. Her stomach knotted and she took a deep breath, trying to maintain a blank expression. Without first-hand knowledge, she would never have suspected the truth. These fresh, young kids were mutants. When they propagated, the mutation would spread. It wouldn’t be long before the Zone was almost entirely populated with this new breed. As the Blue Flu continued to wreak its havoc on the rest of the world, the administrators were killing the last hope for the human race, and nobody knew.
Every day, Vanessa prayed the world outside would recover. If it did, the military would stomp out the NSO and everything it had touched or tainted. Then, the drivers and administrators would scurry and squeal like the vermin they were in their futile attempt to escape. She would be here for that. She would watch it happen.
CHAPTER 7
Michael sauntered into the park, ready to begin the day. As he hooted his first call, a flock of pigeons rose into the sky. The fluttering of wings was a symphony in the silent square. He called again, “Woo wee, looking mighty fine today. Mmmm, baby. I wanna piece of that!” Thrusting his pelvis at a tree, he cried out with his eyes closed.
“Oh yeah, uh huh, so fine.”
“Michael, do you have to be so crass, my boy? Can’t you just say boo, or something?” Isaac asked. Michael jumped backward and the rabbi laughed.
“Maybe I should come help you. They don’t need me at the library and perhaps I am better suited for your job,” he said.
“Shit, Isaac, you scared me to death. What are you doin’ here?”
“I have some news concerning Vanessa Kovalic. It may be important. A young detective from the Watch Tower visited me last night. She is under investigation.”
“Shit! What for?”
“He did not say. But there’s only one thing they investigate, yes?”
“No, non-compliance isn’t usually why they go after assistants. She’s the only original one left. What if they want her to disappear?” Michael frowned.
“You think they would do that?”
“Yeah, Isaac, I do. Those motherfuckers do whatever they damn well please. I’m surprised they’d bother with an investigation. We’d better tell Jeremy. Maybe he’ll listen to reason now.”
As they walked the short distance to the Gate, Michael plucked twigs from bushes and snapped them viciously. He didn’t understand why Jeremy didn’t quit messing around. If he wanted her so badly, why didn’t he just grab her? Or even ask Isaac for help?
They found Jeremy in his favorite chair in the library. The creamy leather complimented his dark skin. He invited them to sit and the rabbi finished his story. Jeremy frowned.
“What do you know about the cop?” he asked.
“I am afraid I know little. He is young, maybe 30, and Hispanic. His eyes are older than his years. I do not think he enjoys his job because he was not very thorough, though he was polite,” Isaac replied.
“You’re right. That isn’t much. I wonder why he was there. Kovalic’s not much of a risk.”
“I’m not cool with this, Jeremy. That cop was at Isaac’s house and now he’s missed work.” Michael turned to Isaac. “What if they open an investigation on you? Maybe you should finally make it official and come stay with us.”
“That is very kind of you, Michael, but perhaps it is too soon. I’m sure I will accept your generous offer when the time is right. As for now, one old man with arthritis is not a serious threat to the NSO. It would, I think, be good for them if I missed more work! Then they could replace me with one of the young trainees and they wouldn’t have to feed me, yes? I will be fine my friend, I am not ready for the Farm yet, though I am very grateful for your concern.”
Michael shook his head. “Okay, but Isaac, no more risk. That cop shows up again, we want to know.”
“Certainly, my friend. You will be the first to know. But now, since I am not able to attend my regular duties, perhaps I will spend a little time with the children today.” Isaac’s eyes twinkled as he shuffled off to the play area.
“Jeremy, why are you doing this?” Michael asked. “If you want Kovalic so bad, why not just take her or have Isaac bring her?”
“We’ve been over that. If she doesn’t come on her own, we’ll never be able to trust her.”
“I just don’t get why you torture yourself, man. You know it won’t make a difference. None of the assistants have known enough and they’re all batshit crazy anyway,” Michael said. Jeremy crossed his long legs and sighed.
“You know why. The NSO’s got to have a weakness. Kovalic’s the last of them and if she has what I think she does, we might be able to stop the fuckers.”
“No way. Maybe a long time ago this shit might have mattered, but not now. Even assumin’ she knows somethin’, and we can finally make sense out of this whole thing, what would we do about it? Stage another protest? Occupy the park? Come on, Jeremy, it’s a fuckin’ pipe dream.” Listening, Jeremy’s skin went a deeper shade of black.
“Yeah, Jeremy. That’s what I want. Can’t you tell?”
“So why the question?”
“Because it doesn’t do us any good. Knowin’ what went down will only make us bitter. It won’t change the circumstances,” Michael said.
“You say that, but you don’t know it. I’m telling you, she’s got what we need. I can feel it.”
“You can feel it? Since when did that come into play? You know what I feel? I feel like you’re losin’ it,” Michael cut in. Then he took a deep breath, leaned forward, and studied the floor. He didn’t want to fight. They all did what they could to keep hope alive. This was Jeremy’s thing. Without the dreams, what was left?
“Sorry, Bro. You didn’t deserve that,” he said. Jeremy grunted in response. Michael looked up, a mischievous spark in his eyes.
“Know what I think?” he asked.
“What?”
“I think you just want to tap that. Got to admit, she’s a looker. All curvy and shit. You always went for the juicy ones,” Michael said.
“Fuck you,” Jeremy retorted, but a hint of a smile flickered across his lips.
“Come on, be serious. That’s it, right? Ain’t no women on the streets got any extra skin, that’s for damn sure. I ain’t even seen you flirtin’ with anyone in longer than I can remember. You’re tryin’ to get laid!”
Jeremy reached out and punched Michael’s shoulder. “You’re an asshole. You know that? I should kick your ass,” he said.
“Yeah, you could try.” Michael jumped lithely to his feet. He weaved and ducked, throwing mock punches at his friend. By the time they got to the kitchen, they were both laughing.
After a quick bite, they parted ways. Jeremy went to check on the garden and Michael left to resume his duties in the park. In addition to the regular calls he chimed throughout the day, he kept an eye on the comings and goings in the neighborhood and tracked the movements of the various cell members as they went about their business of hunting and gathering. Like the shepherd of a strange flock, he watched for wolves and counted the bodies until they were all safely ensconced in the basement for the night.
Later, in the hush of the sleeping cell, Michael eased open the heavy, steel door and jogged through the dark maze of the tunnel into the cool, night air. Keeping close to the building and stepping softly, he traveled its length. Then he climbed to the top of the dumpster, jumped the short distance to the dangling fire escape, and scaled the ladder. Breathing heavily, he hauled himself over the escarpment and onto the roof.
Michael stopped to catch his breath and savor the view the rooftop afforded. The city had originally been a garbage dump. In the early part of the nineteenth century, barges were loaded from large, metropolitan areas to the south and sent up the newly built canals to be off-loaded in the pristine waters of the great lake.
Eventually, the canals lost their viability as shipping lanes. Then they were used primarily for pleasure craft. One of the wealthy boaters who frequented the mostly abandoned canals financed the resurfacing of the dump, created an island, and built recreational homes for the nation’s elite. Just before the turn of the 20th century, a small company used new technology to successfully drill for oil in the freshwater lake. The city had grown up around this industry.
The island floated like a great jewel, the lake a thick blanket wrapping it in isolation. There was no way off without a boat. One could try to swim the seven miles to the shore, but the lake was cold year round and who would want to swim anyway? From what Michael had heard about the Blue Flu, prospects for survival were better here than anywhere else.
He moved toward the center of the roof where large HVAC units were clustered. Against the far one, he had a crude den. Sleeping bags and pillows made a comfortable nest. A small, wooden crate served as a table and a solar powered lantern provided light when he needed it. A tarp, colored in city camouflage, covered the camp when he was not there.
After folding the tarp, Michael pulled a bulging notebook from his jacket pocket and reclined against the pillows. His view faced the wagon wheel spokes of the Zone and its hub of twinkling lights, but he preferred to gaze at the stars.
A city boy all his life, Michael had never thought much about the stars because, most often, they had been blocked by the glare of electric lights. Since the rebellion, the dark inner-city no longer reflected its urges, hunger, and ambition into the night. Now, the sky went on forever. The heavens had opened, rendering the neighborhoods, towering buildings, and graceful boulevards nothing more than a minute, a dream, and a collective hope.
Michael caught a movement and tracked a satellite streaming across the sky. The lines of the poem he had been composing earlier in the day came back to him. He turned on the lantern and let the pages of his notebook fall open to his unfinished entry from the night before. Uncapping his pen, he scribbled the lines, remembering briefly that what he wrote would never be read. Like him, the thoughts he transcribed would be consumed by the passage of time.
CHAPTER 8
On the top floor of the Watch Tower, Lewis, Captain Smith, and Chief Bowen enjoyed second break. Empty plates littered the dining table and a drop of horseradish clung to the corner of Smith’s mouth. The men were celebrating a plan that would help Lewis convince the other administrators to act. When they did, and Priscilla 279 was released, the men would control the world. Chief Bowen raised a glass in toast, but Smith interrupted him. “Seriously, Lewis, do you think they’ll go along this time?”
Lewis considered the question. All the administrators had been hand-picked before the rebellion. At first, the fourteen men had been ambitious. Over the years, they had succumbed to lethargy and lust, content to let Harry Rose make decisions for them. If Lewis had a nemesis, Harry would be it. The administrators’ allegiance to the senior designer had stymied Lewis until now.
“I think so. You know Harry’s got a soft spot for the Kovalic woman and her disappearance will spook him. It’ll be a good reminder that things aren’t quite so safe. He’d rather move forward than risk the possibility of an uprising and the rest of them will do what he says. The trick will be keeping him mollified until everything’s in place,” Lewis replied.
After lunch, the trio parted. Lewis took the elevator to the ground floor where his chauffeur waited with the sleek Mercedes Benz he had claimed for official duties. He settled in the back seat and told the chauffeur to go to his new assistant’s home. Fresh and striking, with bright, blue eyes and silky, blond hair that fell past her hips when released from its tight bun, Lucy inflamed him. As they traversed the short distance, he rubbed his hands in anticipation.
She greeted him shyly when he stepped into the apartment. As per his request, she wore nothing except the high heeled, open-toed sandals he favored. Her hair was neatly bound on top of her head where it would remain until he was ready to let it down. At nearly sixteen, she was slim, smooth, and charming.
“How are you today, Lucy?” Lewis asked, dropping his jacket to the floor. She bent to retrieve it and neatly draped it over the back of the powder blue sofa.
Her eyes averted, she replied, “I’m fine, Sir. I have the morning reports for you. Would you like to see them now?”
“Not yet. We have other business first. I need you to take down a letter for me.”
Lucy moved to the desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Climbing on top, she bent one knee to support her notepad and positioned her hand so he would have a clear view of her body. When she was settled, he spoke.
Dear Harry,
It has come to my attention that you are unhappy with the decline in the workforce of late. I want to reassure you that the decline is little cause for concern. Still, I feel it my duty to explain the reports you have been receiving.
As
we’ve discussed, our promising adolescents are completing their training and need assignments. Necessarily, some of the older workers are being replaced. In addition, two separate incidents have affected the worker population in the last month.
First, there was a small outbreak of flu that I suspect is benign. Regardless, I felt it wise to remove infected individuals quickly before the disease had opportunity to spread. Technicians at the Farm are studiously evaluating the nature of this flu and I will forward their conclusions to you at the earliest opportunity.
The second incidence was an increase in the number of live births, for which I am sure you are equally grateful. However, the new mothers are absent from their assignments to nurture the darling babes. It is my understanding they will return soon.
I am looking forward to seeing you at the upcoming meeting and to addressing any additional concerns in person.
He concluded the letter and then, at the sight of Lucy, so open and vulnerable on the desk, he stepped in front of her, reached around her small frame, and removed the pins from her hair. As it tumbled in silky, golden waves around her shoulders, he groaned softly. “Oh, Lucy, I will have you now.”
Later, stretched out on the large, silk covered bed, Lucy briefed him on the morning reports. The childcare centers needed additional workers and more space. A childcare driver had voiced concern regarding maternity leave. In his opinion, four weeks maternity leave was insufficient for proper mother-child bonding. He worried the surge in new births could compromise quality of care if the staffing issue wasn’t addressed quickly. His hope was that Lewis would consider lengthening maternity leave while new recruits and facilities were retained.
Lewis grimaced. Any decision regarding adjustment to the Design required a full vote. Giving mothers additional time away from their assignments might solve the problem with childcare, but would create headaches in other departments. They would have to slow the culling of the worker population. The quarterly meeting was going to require finesse. Until then, the Farm had its needs. On that point, he didn’t compromise. It was time to meet with Jeb.
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