“Thank you, Chief.”
Vayler Monokeefe was a thin man with stringy gray hair to the middle of his back. He wore cowboy clothes and boots made from ostrich skin. In his early life, Monokeefe had been the managing director of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. And in the photographs from those days his hair was cut short, and he wore black suits, white shirts, red bow ties, and no jewelry. In the new days he liked turquoise. Monokeefe had been married to a man before the plague. The man was gone, and now he sometimes had sex with either men or women, or men and women together. The rehab selection panel chose him for an early rehab so the future would have someone who knew the value of what remained from the past, THANK YOU FOUNDERS. At first he was in charge of collecting art and furniture. Then he took for himself the job of looking for and bringing back all useful material, everything that could be loaded on a truck and stored in a warehouse: drugs, weapons, sporting goods, running shoes, toilet paper. After he took charge of the trucks and the drivers, he took over from Systems the collection of food from the box stores, supermarkets, and warehouses that the Drifters—too weak willed for organized looting—could not break into. The bounty Monokeefe discovered and cataloged, June and Chief taught, could only be from the Founders, as a model for the organization of distribution for this new society. After Vayler’s exploration of the city, he found warehouses and box stores with shelves full of enough food to support a metropolis of three million people, when now there were only thousands. Chief and the committee heads declared the new Gift Economy. There would be work to sustain the systems, work to gather the gifts from the past, but no one was allowed to trade or barter food for service beyond one meal for one session of work. The rule was stenciled on walls around the city: THANK YOU FOUNDERS FOR THE GIFT, THANK YOU FRIEND FOR THE GIFT, FRIEND YOU ARE LIKE A FOUNDER TO ME.
Chief had more to say. “The Drifters are spreading out from Figueroa and squatting in the old houses. Figueroa is getting out of control. After the Burn we’re not going to need so many but we still need most of them, if not all of them, to finish the Burn all the way to the ocean. Vayler, the Drifters are going to get skittish or worse when they smell the fire. The day of the Burn, truck a thousand Drifters and Shamblers to the storage depots and do us all the service of loading up the foodstuffs in the trucks, When the Burn is over, cart it all into town and we’ll keep it warehoused closer to home.”
“Chief, I’d like to honor that request but the quality of the material that Inventory is getting out of the Burn Zone now is high and I want to clear out the Burn Zone before it’s too late to save what’s valuable. I need that thousand as long as possible. We can move the other stuff after the Burn.”
Sinatra intervened. “Vayler. What Chief is saying, which I support, is that we have to get the Drifters away from Figueroa. How much more time do you need for your treasure hunt?”
“Depends on the quality of the inventory. A couple of days.”
Chief looked to Toby for her opinion. “Any risk in putting it off?”
“There’s a lot of flammables waiting to be distributed. Best not to delay for too long but if we have to wait, we have to wait.”
Vayler slapped the table in happiness. “That’s a beautiful neighborhood, many fine collectibles, and we have to be methodical. Thank you.”
“Just get your job done.”
While Vayler and Toby quarreled about prep time, Redwings, Sinatra’s number-one assistant, came up the stairs to the terrace, signaling to Sinatra that he had urgent news. Redwings—dressed as he preferred, in a slut nurse costume—was a verified Hells Angel, initiated into the First Wave because he’d been an electrician with a general contractor’s license. Redwings’s verified name was Robert Harnwood, but everyone called him Redwings because it was the name on his vest and it matched the name tattooed on his right shoulder. No one who came through the DMV ever had a Hells Angel tattoo without being a real member of the club, but they still needed official verification. When ElderGoth sent an Unverified Drifter with a Hells Angel tattoo on the one-way bus ride to the desert, the driver knew enough to call Redwings.
“ElderGoth,” Redwings had said to her. “In respect of the club, I’m having Vayler assign him to an Inventory warehouse.”
He whispered to Sinatra: “There’s a Transport Service deverification driver saying he took shots at a Drifter on a bicycle in the desert past the outlet mall near the Indian casino on the road to Palm Springs.”
Chief told Toby Tyler to stop talking. “Redwings, what’s so important you can’t let Frank listen to Vayler plan for the Burn to make sure Security is prepared?”
“Excuse me, but I have news.” He waited for Chief’s permission to continue.
“Speak.”
“You’ve said before and made it a piece of your philosophy of the rules of doing things in an alert way that we should always be on the lookout for anyone coming through the pass from Palm Springs and I just want to alert you sir to the incident report from the last Drifter dump now that the buses are back.”
“When did I order a Drifter dump? Don’t we need them for Inventory? Vayler?”
“They weren’t justifying themselves. Mostly Shamblers. We won’t be shorthanded.”
“You didn’t tell me you were sending anyone out. I thought you needed them.”
“Wasn’t enough to bother you with.”
“These things should be told to me.”
“Yes, Chief.”
“So Redwings, what happened?”
“Someone was at the site, a man, alone, riding a bike, and he saw the whole thing. They shot at him but, as it happens, he lost them.”
“Why didn’t I hear about this right away, Redwings?”
“You’re hearing about it now, sir. As right away as is possible under the circumstances.”
“Why didn’t they tell me directly?”
“It isn’t in the rules to tell you everything everyone sees.”
“Show me where it isn’t in the rules.”
“That’s a troubling but excellent direction, sir, seeing that I never saw the rules writ down.”
Chief faced Sinatra. “Redwings isn’t behaving.”
“Redwings is always the same, Chief. He answers questions in his own way.”
“I try my best, Chief.”
Chief was quiet again before asking Redwings: “Was the man going to or coming away from Palm Springs?”
“They don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes sir, Chief. I asked that very question, knowing you’d want to ask it yourself, sir, begging your pardon.”
“Was there a description of the man?”
“Sir, Chief, sir, those folks who did the dump aren’t possessed of the most clarified minds, so to speak.”
“They’re verified, right?”
“Verified, yes sir, yes sir. Verified, but there’s verification and then there’s verification. These folks was Transport Service workers, rehabbed late, because they was diesel mechanics, and the buses are diesel, you see. They saw a man. They shot at him as they’re supposed to but they missed as they’re not supposed to, so to speak.”
“How far from the nearest town?”
“It was out by way of Banning, not far from the San Gorgonio Pass.” Chief wouldn’t let anyone go beyond the pass. He said that NK3 was still active in the desert and they needed to stay away.
“Where there’s no reason for a man to be out riding a bicycle, and was it a road or mountain bike?”
“It was a mountain bike, sir. They’re sure of that, Chief. But there is a reason. The sand drifts on the freeway make biking hard, and a mountain bike has the tires and gearing to power through.”
“Vayler, is there still an Inventory run out to Covina tomorrow?”
“Yes. And where we just found an underground garage where an Audi dealer stor
ed cars. Frank loves Audis. These are perfect. Top of the line.”
“It will take at least two nights to pedal from where our man is. He won’t travel during the day, so just establish a base camp on the 10, around West Covina.”
Frank didn’t like the way Chief was giving work meant for Security to Vayler, and asked, “What’s the fear of a lone rider from Palm Springs?”
“A lone rider from Palm Springs could still be infected. We have to stop him. Do that, and bring home a new Audi.”
Sinatra saw Redwings give him a “makes sense” signal with a tilt of his head. And it was true he loved Audis. Sinatra still had something to say. “Chief, I’m more concerned about the Drifters and Shamblers and how they’ll be nervous around a big fire.”
Chief smiled. “That was my concern, too, but then you may have heard that I went to the Playa and talked to The Man.”
“What did The Man tell you?”
“The Man? He was implacable. It was The Woman who spoke to me in her special way, to say, ‘Not to worry.’ So what does that tell you?”
“It tells me not to worry, Chief.”
The meeting was over.
Pippi wondered why no one had asked Chief why he was more concerned about a man on a bike than about the attack on the Security convoy and the murder of the pilot. She switched from the telescope aimed at the airport to the one pointed at the ocean. June said the ocean was full of whales but Pippi had never seen one.
Chief kept a dozen telescopes on the deck. Even the most raucous partiers settled down when it was their turn to look at the stars. At his orgies, Chief invited his favorites to the deck where—naked and drunk or stoned—they took turns at the telescopes. Mythology encouraged these night-sky parties. “This is the same sky we saw in the old times and the same sky our ancestors saw.” Pippi was up at the telescopes most nights. East of Center Camp, on the same ridge, just past the H LYW OD sign, was a large telescope under the green copper dome at the Griffith Observatory, but the dome needed electricity to run the motor to open it and the power lines to the observatory were down. Pippi asked for help to get it started, but it was outside the Fence and Systems needed all spare power to keep Figueroa electrified because Drifters and Shamblers were scared of the dark.
Marci, Eckmann, Tiny Naylor
Marci was peeing in the alley when Eckmann and Tiny Naylor, one of the LAX crew, walked up behind her. Eckmann never wasted time with greetings. “They think the pilot is dead, but we have him at the airport and he’s hurt badly. If we don’t get a doctor, he will die. Get me the keys to a Security car. We’re going inside.”
“You need a pass for that.”
“We have them. From the people we killed. Nobody recognizes faces anymore. It’s not a problem.”
Dr. Kaplan, Dr. Piperno, Sarabeth
In the operating room, Dr. Paolo Piperno showed Seth how to wash his hands with the sterile soap. “We’ve been through this before, Dr. Kaplan.”
Sarabeth, the nurse, kept her shiny leather pants on but covered her breasts in a medical smock, to keep the blood off her skin.
The man had been the driver of the boat. He’d been cut up badly by the explosion but had been left for dead without being shot.
“The sign on my office wall says DO NO HARM. Let’s get to work,” said Piperno.
Seth didn’t know what to do but he wanted to be polite, so he stood beside Piperno.
“Find the metal and glass that went into his skin.”
“Really? I didn’t see the video for that.”
Piperno was angry. “Well, I’ve never seen a verified medical person, doctor, or nurse be so uncomfortable in an operating room. You should feel like this is home if you’re a real medical person. Even with a lost memory, the environment in a hospital has what we call redolence. As we say, redolence leads to evocation leads to recollection. Recollection, Dr. Kaplan. Does being in here help you recall anything that would be of use to the community of Center Camp?”
His Silent Voice prompted him, and Seth repeated what his Silent Voice said. “Give me time.”
“I don’t think time is going to help,” said Piperno. “When this gets back to Chief he’s going to ask me: ‘Paolo, did the only possible witness to an ambush die because you let an incompetent doctor learn his way around the body with someone so important?’ If I answer yes, it’s the one-way bus ride for me, Dr. Kaplan, the one-way bus ride to you know where. I’m beginning to doubt you even were a doctor. I’m beginning to think the computer made a mistake, and either you’re not the Seth Kaplan who was a real doctor, or when you filled out your application for a driver’s license, you thought it would be a big joke if you put down that you were a doctor. That’s what I’m beginning to think, Dr. Kaplan.”
“My picture is on the wall of my office.”
“June Moulton teaches us that there are conspiracies, Dr. Kaplan, that can arrange the past to look like the present. But we’ll talk about that later. For now, didn’t you study those surgery videos?”
Seth hated the surgery videos. The doctors’ hands moved too quickly inside the wet flesh, although it impressed him that everything inside the body wasn’t just blood. When no one was looking, which was most of the time, he watched the movies he found in a drawer in the sleeping room where the interns used to go between shifts. The movies were stories about women who stayed home and had sex with the plumber and the mailman or the woman who lived across the hall, or everyone together. They were better stories than the surgery operations and no one was going to test him on them.
“I don’t think I watched the right ones,” said Seth.
“Then just stand there, out of Sarabeth’s way. Sarabeth, are you ready?”
The nurse said she was. Piperno pushed a metal probe into the bullet hole and the patient pulled away from the pain. Seth watched the doctor and nurse, but his thoughts turned to the family he used to have when he was at the hospital in the old days. His Silent Voice told him: “Pay attention to the surgery.” Seth did as the Voice told him, and Piperno did not push Seth away when he stood beside the surgeon to get a better look. Seth was pretty sure that the patient was dead. Sarabeth said what he was thinking: “He’s dead, Dr. Piperno.”
“I hate when that happens,” said Piperno. “It’s just so rude of people to die when you try to help them. Call for burial,” he added, and Sarabeth got on the radio to find the burial crew. Piperno put a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “We did what we could, and I apologize for my impatience with you.”
“So it’s over?” asked Seth.
“As we say, our lives go on, his doesn’t. You’re thinking, what do we do with the body, right?”
His Silent Voice said, “Just say ‘yes.’”
“Yes.”
“We take the bodies to Runyon Canyon, it’s a ravine above West Hollywood, in the hills. We dig a hole for them and put rocks over them. It’s kind of messy up there and I don’t like talking about it.”
Seth left the operating room, thinking again about his wife and children. So they were dead, too, like the man on the table. He’d seen death before but never with so much blood. He understood better now how death worked, what life needed to keep going. Life needed blood.
On his way down the hall from the operating room, two men walking toward him grabbed his arms as they passed.
“Come with us, Doctor. We need help. Our friend is hurt.”
“How do you know I’m a doctor?”
“You just left surgery and you’re covered in blood. This way, he’s just outside, this way.”
Five minutes later Seth was in the trunk of a motor pool police car, gagged, with his head on a clean pillow from an Emirates jet. He heard a woman talking to the men.
The woman said, “They’re not going to miss this car. It wasn’t part of the regular motor pool. But I should go back.”
One of the men sa
id, “No, Marci, your job is done.”
“Sweep,” she said.
Seth didn’t know what he was doing there, but it was warm and no one was yelling at him. He thought about the letter he found in his office desk drawer.
Seth, I beg you. The rehab takes ten days, two weeks, more. By the time the doctors give each other rehabs, the rest of us will be finished. I promise you, we all promise you, make a video of how to do it and once we’re done, we’ll do you, and you’ll be fine. You were important and you can be important again. Please Seth.
The letter was signed, Marty. The name meant nothing to him.
Hopper
The bike store lock yielded in two snaps of the bolt cutter.
Hopper tested the bicycles in the shop, for fit and weight, pumping air into the tires of the bikes he wanted to ride. Some were steel, others were carbon fiber, very light. There were energy powders to mix with water. He put them in his pack.
He compared two bikes outside, not sure if he wanted straight handlebars or dropped. Dropped bars pulled him forward, cutting wind resistance, but he wanted to sit up and look around. Better to lose a little time. He took the carbon fiber mountain bike, black. The price tag on the bike said:
$3,200 $2,900 $2,500 $1,750 MAKE OFFER
He picked a bike messenger bag on a strap and put his food, set of hex wrenches for the bike, binoculars, and his change of clothes inside.
On his way back to the road to the city, he passed a Ralphs supermarket. THANK YOU FOUNDERS was sprayed in white on the heavy steel plates that were bolted to the entrance and welded together. They were marked with a green triangle.
The loading dock was sealed the same way, but a side door was open. There was no food. The shelves were empty except for cleaning supplies.
NK3 Page 6