I nod dumbly, repeating the words in my head. With a wave and a wink, he’s gone.
Sure enough, the minute I walk in, I’m put to work, no questions asked. After weeks spent outdoors, being indoors is dreary and suffocating. I keep to myself, as do the other workers. The conditions in the plant are blatantly sub-standard, which is no doubt why I’m able to get work here in the first place. There’s inadequate ventilation and the air is full of throat-clogging dust. Mounds of hemp debris create a fire hazard, not to mention the physical strain we endure, standing at spinning machines or working in the pulping room. My employers are in violation of a dozen different health and safety codes. No one appears to care.
When the workday is over, I’m haggard and dehydrated. I stumble back the way Tuck brought me, losing my way once. Weaving through the thick traffic of people making their way to homes or encampments, I spot J.D. ahead in the crowd and give a tired wave. With the sleeve of my shirt, I wipe sweat from my face, shoving back tendrils of hair stuck to my skin.
“Here. This is for you.”
I drop my arm, curious to see what he’s got. J.D. grabs my hand and pulls it toward him, placing a small apple in the center of my palm.
Oh. My. This is the first time anyone has ever given me a gift. I keep my head down, blinking at the apple.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I force my eyes wide, willing them dry. “Want to share it with me?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
He takes the apple and with his pocketknife cuts it in half, handing me my piece.
And it is good.
So begins a strange, new daily existence. J.D. and I work at our jobs. It is hard, mindless labor. Perhaps hard because it is so mindless. But when the work is done, we meet back at lot sixty-eight and, along with Tamara and Baby Shay who have spent their day selling handcrafted jewelry in the marketplace, we set off to explore Bio-4, searching among the sidewalk vendors for what we want to eat each evening. With credits in our pockets, we purchase fresh kelp and roasted beetles in hot sauce. For dessert, J.D. and I split an apple. Always, I’m reluctant to let even a little of the juice dribble down my chin and lap up the wayward sweetness with my tongue.
The days blend one into another as we get comfortable in our new environment. Occasionally, I feel guilty for not being on the road, heading north like I’d planned, but it’s nice here, in spite of my crummy job. Tamara is a friend and I can no longer imagine waking up without the soft tugs and coos of Baby Shay.
I think J.D. likes it here, too. He appears more relaxed. He still doesn’t say much, but he seems to enjoy a sense of accomplishment from tasks completed, dividing his time between the outdoor ponds and indoor labs. Neither one of us speaks of leaving, although the topic frequently hangs unspoken in the air between us.
Today, we meet after work and discover Tamara has brought us a treat.
“I exchanged a pair of earrings for tickets to a movie,” she says excitedly.
I glance at the ticket she hands me and read the title out loud. “Circus Adventure.” I give her a quizzical glance. This is something new. “What’s a circus?”
“I’m not sure. But the girl who gave me these said it was entertainment.”
I glance at J.D., and he shrugs. I’ve never seen entertainment, but I’m willing to give it a try. After grabbing a quick bite to eat, the three of us with Baby Shay follow directions to a small auditorium tucked behind the power station. It’s dark inside when we take our seats, and there’s an air of expectancy in the room. I’ve seen movies before, of course. At the Garner Home, we watched movies about the proper way to irrigate and how to construct a home recycling station. We saw historical footage of battles and natural catastrophes. But I’ve never watched a movie this way before, with a dark room full of strangers seeking entertainment. So when tinkly music fills the room, I inch forward in my seat along with the others. And watch a movie about the circus.
When it’s over, we exit quietly from the building.
“I don’t understand.” I frown, trying to make sense of the images I saw on the big screen. I feel sad, even though it was clear in the movie that the circus was intended to make people happy. “The circus people we saw were mature deviants: the frog boy and the two-faced cow and the little girl with the claws for hands. Only, it doesn’t make sense. Those people were real and they existed years before the Devastation. Why were they like that?”
Tamara runs her fingers lightly through Shay’s hair, combing back curls. “I think we’ve forgotten. Sometimes, nature gets things mixed up all on its own. Even without toxins left behind by chemical bombs or human beings casually discarding garbage into rivers and streams, our genes and chromosomes are imperfect instruments. Mistakes happen.”
I kick at loose pebbles in the street. “I guess.”
She reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze, causing me to look up. “You didn’t like that movie, did you?”
“No.”
“Me neither. If I see the girl who gave me those tickets, I’m asking for my earrings back!”
She makes me smile and with a quick hug, she’s off to put Shay to bed.
Feeling restless, J.D. and I wander through the streets of Bio-4. I know my way around the biosphere now. Its wide spaces and intersections are familiar to me. But nothing is as familiar as walking side by side with J.D. Without effort, our strides synchronize to each other’s pace in a rhythm that’s as natural as breathing.
Usually, we walk in silence, but I want to shake off the sense of unease caused by the movie. Perhaps conversation will help.
“Has Tamara told you about Shay’s daddy?”
“No.” He darts a glance in my direction. “What’s the story?”
“His name was Eric. He and Tamara were living underground at AgTech. Eric was doing research on soil and how it’s connected to global climate change. He got sick and died. Tamara thought his sickness might have come from contaminants in the soil he was testing, but Eric swore he was careful. He always wore protective gear; always kept the samples secure. Tamara said men showed up one day asking about Eric’s data. She told them he’d kept all his research at the lab.”
“Was that the truth?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Tamara started to feel scared. She thought she was being watched. Then she found out she was pregnant. So she put Eric’s research notes in a safe place and joined a group of travelers. When the travelers stopped in Bio-4 to restock supplies, she stayed here to have the baby.”
“Does she know what was in his research?”
“She didn’t say. But whatever it was, it may have made him sick. And it might be why Shay…is the way she is.”
J.D. is quiet, processing this information. Initially, I hadn’t given much thought to the fact that Tamara and Shay were alone. They were like so many others. An intact family with a healthy mother and father and healthy children, too—now that would have been unusual. But I can’t help being curious about this soil business. If there’s something in the soil that killed Eric or caused Shay’s mutation, then who’s to say that it’s even safe to eat the beans growing here in Bio-4?
Eventually, my eyelids grow heavy, and I signal to J.D. that I’m ready to head back toward the camping lot. We take the next turn side by side.
“What does J.D. stand for?” I ask him.
He tips his head back to stare up at the dome, then turns and gives me a wink. “Juvenile Delinquent.”
I watch him warily. “Go on.”
“Didn’t Tuck tell you? We were rowdies together. Whenever I got caught, some official would pull up my file from the databank. There was a flashing icon at the top of the file. It said ‘JD’—for Juvenile Delinquent.”
This is more believable than his earlier garbage about “Just Deserts” and no doubt has an element of truth in it. Still, there’s something in his tone. It sounds too glib, too pat, like he’s said it a few
too many times. It’s a game to him.
I shake my head. “Nope. I don’t believe you.”
He gives a half-smile and then with a wave he’s off to meet Tuck for some nefarious purpose. I enter the lot and notice that Tamara has fallen asleep, her body encircling Shay on the cushion they call a bed. I lean back on my own bedroll, my eyes soft on the dome above me. At night, it feels like I’m in a moonlit bowl. This barrier between me and the sky is filtered, providing only a dim, diffused light during the day and the merest hint of starlight at night. The moon is still there though, a bright distortion in the dark.
Lately, I’ve found myself thinking about my mother. I remember so little. Watching Tamara sing Shay softly to sleep each night awakens shadowy impressions from my past, hugs and lullabies I thought I’d lost. After so long without anything, I suddenly recall caresses and comfort. The memories bring both heartache and joy.
I have memories now of my mother’s hair, swinging down in a dark veil whenever she reached down to pick me up. And sometimes I think I remember her laughter, open and full of warmth. But I remember sadness, too, and I don’t know why. That’s when I turn my thoughts away, to Slag.
What will I find there? Desolation, certainly. But will there be memories of my mother there, imprinted somewhere on the landscape? And will I recognize them when I see them? Are there places I’ve been? Horizons I’ve seen? Will images from my dreams suddenly fit themselves like lost puzzle pieces onto a scene before me?
Of course, there’s also the task I’ve set for myself. The lake. The sheer idea of it is daunting, to refill the basin that once provided one-fifth of the world’s fresh water. It will be a far cry from the tiny puddles and sinkholes I’ve created so far. But if I can do this one thing, it will be enough.
On my day off, I hang out in our space, stretched on my bedroll reading a borrowed book. It’s quiet. Tamara and the baby are at the market. J.D. is at the farm. Most of the other campers are out at jobs. I like my days off, the monotony of them, when I can enjoy peace and quiet. Today, my peace and quiet is fleeting.
I look up at the sound of pounding feet and J.D. nearly falls over me in his haste, his breath coming in great, gulping pants.
“We’ve got to get out of here. Now!” He grabs up his bedroll, a pair of socks, and his backpack.
“What’s the matter?” I haven’t moved from my spot on the bedroll. I watch in amazement as J.D. hurriedly gathers up his belongings. “Slow down.”
“There’s a man with a mustache,” he says quickly, biting down on each word. “He’s showing your picture in town.”
I try to digest this, absently aware of the fact that I’ve never seen J.D. rattled before. Even when he first saw me making water, he was excited, but accepting. This is different. He resumes his packing while I try to make sense of what he’s just said. It must be a mistake. Who on earth would have a picture of me, let alone be trying to find me?
“You must have imagined it,” I say, finally. “There is absolutely no man who would be looking for me.”
“I’m not imagining it. He had your picture. I saw it.”
“Oh.” I frown, searching my memory, trying to figure who it could be. I’m clueless. “Who do you think he is?”
‘He looked official. He had the suit of a territory official and a photo of you. I’d gone into town to make a few purchases, to pick up pans for the farm. There I was, standing in line with these pans in my hand, and this man is in front of me, showing your photo to the shop owner.”
“There must be some mistake. I can’t think of anyone…unless….”
J.D. stops what he’s doing and looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Unless what?”
I shrug, trying to laugh it off. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me. Of course, I’ve never known anyone who left before.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The orphanage must have reported me missing,” I say, keeping my voice calm. J.D. knew I’d run away from the Garner Home for Girls, but not much more than that. “Of course, I can’t imagine why Matron would go to the trouble. It’s not like she harbored fond feelings for me. But how else could this man have a photo of me?”
I try not to show it, but I’m shaken by the knowledge that someone’s looking for me. It’s unexpected and inconvenient. I like being at Bio-4. It’s been a nice breather, a source of food and shelter and human interaction. But—I give J.D. a long look then start packing up my backpack—it’s no longer safe.
“We can’t leave without saying good-bye to Tamara,” I tell him.
“We don’t have time.”
“She’ll worry about us if she comes back and we’ve just disappeared. I have to say good-bye, J.D. I have to kiss Shay.…” My voice breaks. The enormity of what we’re doing hits me. We’re going to leave this place for good. And I’m going to leave people I love. This is a new experience for me.
“Fine,” he agrees, reluctantly, “but you have to hurry. We don’t know how much of Bio-4 this guy’s covered or if there are more people out there like him, showing your picture to shopkeepers. Someone may recognize you.”
We finish packing and head toward the street market. Both of us keep our eyes peeled, anxiously scanning passersby for any sign of J.D.’s man with the mustache. For the first time since our arrival here, everyone looks suspicious, and I shrink into myself, trying to be invisible. Every time I see a man who looks official, I tense, my stomach clenching.
Finally, we spot Tamara. She’s kneeling on a large blanket with Baby Shay on her lap. Beside her, a small rack holds bracelets, necklaces and earrings fashioned out of polished stones. I have one of her pieces, an anklet, which Tamara made for me out of golden Tiger Eye beads. I treasure it.
“What’s wrong?” she says at once, perceiving our alarm.
“We’re leaving.”
“Now?”
“Right now.” I reach out and hug her, then bend down to plant a kiss on the soft cheek of Baby Shay. Her dark, solemn eyes gaze unblinkingly at me with trust and innocence. My heart shudders, breaks. Will I ever see her again?
“If anyone comes around asking about me, just say….” At a loss, I glance at J.D.
“…just say you spent time with us briefly when we were in town,” he finishes for me, “but we never confided in you where we were going or what our plans were.”
“It’s true,” she says softly. “You never have.”
“Bye, Tamara,” I whisper, giving her another swift tug. She hugs me hard, and I can’t hold back the tears sneaking out the corner of my eyes to slide down my cheeks.
“Be safe.”
I nod, jerkily.
“We’ve got to go, Kira,” says J.D.
I know he’s right and with one last, wet smile for the baby, I follow him out of the market. My eyes are so filled with tears I can barely see where we’re going. This is hard, so much harder than taking that first step away from the orphanage.
Turning a corner, I spot the fortune-teller’s shop, the one I visited my first day in Bio-4. I wipe my eyes and place a hand on J.D.’s arm, slowing him down. “Remember I told you about the strange fortune teller woman? That’s her place, there.” The old woman is standing in the doorway of her shop, her white eyes staring in our direction. I turn to J.D. “I’ve already had my palm read,” I tell him, trying to temper my anxiety with humor, “maybe you should give it a try, get a psychic reading for luck before we hit the road.”
He turns to glance where I’m pointing. At that moment I realize the woman with the white eyes is not looking at us, she is looking beyond us. Hairs prickling on the back of my neck, I turn, locking eyes with a man standing across the marketplace. The look of startled recognition in his dark gaze is sufficient for me to know who he is, even before I register the mustache and the attire of a territory official.
I must have transmitted my alarm to J.D. because he snaps his head around in time to see the man pointing in my direction and shouting to someone. Not taking the time t
o see whom he’s shouting to or if there are more than just the two of them, J.D. and I shrink back into the crowd, darting between bodies.
“He doesn’t know you, J.D.,” I shout, in between panting breaths as we dodge and weave out of sight. “We’ve got to split up.”
“No!”
“Yes! Listen to me. Maybe I can create a diversion to focus attention elsewhere. Then it will be easier to exit the dome unnoticed.” Snaking as fast as we can through the crowd, we slip down a side alley. Ahead is the hemp factory. My idea is immediate and awful. Perhaps the idea is immediate because the scenario I’m envisioning has played out so many times in my bored, factory girl daydreams that it feels inevitable. “J.D., I know what I’m going to do. We have to split right now. You go to the farm. Act like everything is normal. I’ll meet you there.”
He glances at me uncertainly. Sweat is pouring down his face and his shirt is soaked with it. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“No. Just go.”
He gives me a final look then pivots in the other direction, pounding down the pavement toward the perimeter.
Taking a deep breath, I slip around the corner of the factory and enter through the employee entrance. Trying to compose myself, I swipe my arm across my face and settle my breath.
Starting a fire is one of the worst crimes. Every thing, every place is so dry and fires can quickly spin out of control. If I get caught, there’ll be hell to pay. All the fire-fighting chemicals require a mixture of seawater and dry chemical powder for activation. Seawater is not purely drinkable, but it is no less precious in these times and must be brought in through miles of pipeline to the Biosphere.
Taking the stairs toward the second floor, I hear someone approaching, and I try to compose my features into an expression of nonchalance.
“I didn’t know you were working today,” says a familiar voice, a woman from the soap-making room.
“I had something I needed to do,” I reply vaguely.
On the second floor, I check to make sure no one’s around, before slipping into a storage area. The air is thick with dust and lint and floating particles of hemp.
Dry Souls Page 5