Outbreak

by Tarah Benner

  “Right.”

  I turn to go, but he grabs my wrist as though he meant to reach for my hand but thought better of it. The look in his eyes is unsettling — as though he’s making one last request before washing his hands of me.

  “Please, Harper. Just . . . don’t say anything. I know I said a lot of stuff back at the church, but . . . even if this is his fault, he’s still my brother.”

  “I know.”

  He gives me a gruff nod, and I pull open the heavy door and step inside the chamber.

  To my relief, Jayden is gone. I guess she only cared what Eli had to say.

  Natasha Mayweather, Undersecretary of Health and Rehab, is seated on the other side of the thick glass. She’s a thin woman with graying black hair, sharp, beady eyes, and a tight, wrinkled mouth. She can’t be a day over fifty, but she looks at least ten years older — probably from the stress of the job. Her eyes follow me from the door to the chair in front of her, oozing suspicion the entire way.

  “Please have a seat, Miss Riley.”

  I sit.

  “Miss Lyang told me she suspects that you and Mr. Parker may have come into contact with a virus while you were deployed. Do you know why she might think that?”

  I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. I don’t know exactly what Sawyer and Eli said, so I try to be as vague as possible.

  “Yeah, I guess. Eli and I found the drifters’ meeting place, and we overheard them talking about bringing down the compound with a virus.”

  “Where was the meeting place?”

  “This big church.”

  She nods slowly. “And how did you know they would be meeting there?”

  Damn, this woman is good.

  “We knew the town would be crawling with drifters, but we didn’t see anyone on the main strip. The church was the only place big enough to fit them all.”

  “Why did you expect there to be that many of them?”

  I pause, and she seems to read my hesitation as concern for keeping deployment information classified.

  “Don’t worry about sharing the details of your deployment,” she says. “The board needs this information. Even your commander had to give up what she knew.”

  I highly doubt that Jayden gave up anything she didn’t want to, but I don’t say that.

  “Well, we expected there to be at least as many drifters as there were in the other town the last time we were deployed.”

  “And why did Miss Lyang think you and Mr. Parker might be carriers of the virus?”

  My stomach clenches. This is the part I’d been dreading — the part Eli, Sawyer, and I should have talked about to make sure we had our stories straight. I can’t tell her about Owen. I don’t know what I’m going to tell her.

  “They said in the meeting that the plan was already in motion,” I say slowly, desperately thinking through the enormous lie I’m about to tell. “Eli stole something from a drifter’s house a while back and sneaked it into the compound. He could have carried the virus in on that.”

  The undersecretary’s mouth tightens. She doesn’t believe me. “You think you could have brought the virus into the compound after your last mission?”

  I shrug.

  “So how is it that everyone you’ve come in contact with isn’t showing symptoms? How is it that you are not showing symptoms?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what the symptoms would even look like.”

  Her mouth quirks up around the edges. Is that how this woman smiles?

  “Oh, I think you do.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Miss Riley, I’m not stupid. This . . . ‘meeting’ you attended was not the first you’d heard of this virus, was it?” She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms smugly. “You knew all about it.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s save some time and stop pretending you didn’t take a little vacation to 119,” she snaps. “An Operations worker was found unconscious on the supply train and was brought to the medical ward for treatment. He said he doesn’t remember anything except getting a glimpse of a man matching the description of your dear friend Celdon. I know you were with him, which means you know the outcome of this virus.”

  I open my mouth to deny ever going to 119, but she holds up a hand to stop me.

  “Please save your lies for someone with more time on their hands. We know you were there. The only reason we didn’t bring it to Control’s attention was to keep the situation at 119 under wraps. We don’t want to start a panic.”

  I still don’t know who “we” is, so I just wait for her to finish.

  “You don’t think you came in contact with the virus on your previous deployments. Something happened on this one . . . something none of you seems to want to share.”

  I cross my arms, determined not to let this woman wear me down. My brain is moving too slowly to think up some version of the story about the arrowhead that doesn’t involve Owen.

  “Come on, Miss Riley. I know better than to try to get the truth out of Mr. Parker. Insubordination seems to be something he enjoys. But I always took you for the sensible one of the bunch.”

  “Always?” I repeat, rolling my eyes. “What? In the last ten minutes?”

  “You don’t seriously think this is the first we’ve met, do you? Well, I suppose it’s the first we’ve been formally introduced. But I’ve been following your case for years. Progressive Research takes the health of all Recon operatives very seriously — especially operatives who were part of the Fringe Program.”

  I clench my fists on the edge of the chair. She’s baiting me to see what I know.

  After several minutes, she grows impatient.

  “Fine, Miss Riley. I can wait. Maybe a few days in isolation will give you time to think about how critical this information is to the thousands of people living in this compound — the thousands of people you’re putting in jeopardy by refusing to tell the truth.”

  She gets up to leave, and her words trigger the toxic guilt that’s been brewing in my stomach since we spoke to Owen.

  “Wait,” I hear myself say.

  “Yes?”

  I swallow a few times to wet my scratchy throat, hating myself as soon as I make the decision to ignore Eli’s plea. “Something did happen on this deployment.”

  She turns back to me and raises an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

  “We met with a drifter after the meeting.”

  “Who?”

  I shake my head, determined not to betray Eli completely. “Just a drifter. I don’t know his name.”

  “What did the drifter want?”

  My mind is racing, and suddenly I have an idea. “He wanted to hand off something we were supposed to deliver to Shane.” I squint, trying to think of Shane’s last name. “Shane . . . Adams?”

  “I know whom you’re referring to.”

  “Anyway, we agreed to smuggle it in to settle my debt with Shane. I thought it was just a pre–Death Storm relic.”

  “What was it?”

  “An old arrowhead.”

  The undersecretary hasn’t moved her mouth once since I started spilling my guts, but her eyebrows are raised in a triumphant expression. “Thank you very much, Miss Riley. I won’t forget that you cooperated, should I be called upon to testify at your hearing.”

  “My hearing?”

  “Smuggling contraband into this compound is not something the board is likely to ignore, Miss Riley. It’s a serious crime. That matter is beyond the scope of my duties, but I’m sure you haven’t heard the last of this.”

  My heart sinks. Not only did I betray Eli, frame Shane, and invent an entirely new story, but I’m probably going to be arrested for something I didn’t even do. Sure, I probably deserve to be arrested for something, but not this.

  “I still get the feeling you aren’t telling me everything,” she muses. “But that’s all right. I suspect you’ll be more forthcoming if it turns out that you are infected. Once symptoms present themsel
ves, most people have less than a week to live. But if we find a way to treat the virus, I’m sure you’ll want to be at the top of the list to receive care.”

  I give her a withering look. Leave it to a board member to use a cure as leverage.

  “Maybe a visit from Mr. Reynolds will help remind you of what this virus is capable of.”

  “Celdon?”

  “I was hoping you’d share what you knew. I brought along Mr. Reynolds as your reward. But I suppose he can also offer his perspective on the tragedy you witnessed.”

  She smiles brightly as though this is just a happy coincidence and heads out the door. She can’t possibly know how much the visit to 119 affected Celdon, but like Jayden, the undersecretary seems to have an instinct for suffering.

  A second later, a messy blond head of hair appears on the other side of the glass.

  Celdon looks as though he hasn’t slept in days. The deep purplish shadows under his eyes accentuate his unbelievably pale skin, and he looks more disheveled than usual.

  “Hey!” After everything that’s happened, I want nothing more than to reach through the glass and hug him. “Where have you been? I looked for you before we got deployed, but you weren’t in Systems or your compartment. I messaged you, like, three times.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I was so worried. Where were you?”

  He sighs. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when you get out of here.”

  Celdon’s gaze drifts around searching for hidden cameras, so I don’t press the issue. Constance or the board probably has this room bugged.

  “So . . . what’s going on?” He lowers his voice. “They said you and Eli might have come in contact with the 119 virus.”

  “Sawyer thinks we carried it in here on this arrowhead Eli brought with him,” I whisper. “But the drifters made it sound like the plan was already underway.”

  “You mean someone with the virus is already in the compound?”

  “Could be. I can’t say anything else right now.”

  “Right.”

  Celdon’s leg jiggles nervously, and I want to ask him what’s really going on. He looks even more run-down than usual, but it’s his caginess that perplexes me.

  Something doesn’t feel right.

  “Sawyer’s in there with you now?” he continues, interrupting my train of thought.

  I nod. “She came in direct contact with me right afterward. There’s another med intern who was with Eli, too.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Do you think you could do me a favor?”

  He nods, but it seems forced. “Yeah.”

  “Just . . . keep doing what you’re doing for Eli, okay? And let us know if you . . . see anything.”

  “I will.”

  Celdon gets up to leave, and it looks as though the motion hurts his joints. “I gotta run. I’ll see you later.”

  He touches the glass with his palm, and I place my hand directly over his. He gives me a half smile and turns to go, but I just stand there with my hand pressed against the window, trying not to cry.

  I don’t want to think that today could be the last time I see Celdon. I don’t want to consider the possibility that I may never escape this room. But the choking fear and paranoia are starting to overwhelm my senses.

  If we are infected, we only have a week and a half to live.

  twenty-seven

  Celdon

  As soon as I’m out the door, I make a beeline for the emergency stairwell. Now that I know where all the cameras in the compound are hidden, I’ve found myself avoiding the megalift and high-traffic tunnels to minimize the chances that I’ll be seen.

  I only have five minutes to get back to my compartment, so I take the steps two at a time.

  I shouldn’t have risked visiting Harper. Any other day, she would have been able to tell something was up. And if anyone from Constance saw me, I’m going to be in trouble.

  In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve already broken several cardinal rules. Rule number one: no fraternizing with old friends or family members until reeducation is complete.

  What a load of bullshit. They just don’t want anything interfering with their patented brainwashing program.

  There’s no written rule that says I’m not allowed to hack into security footage from the Fringe and use what I find to sabotage Constance’s plans, but I’d bet that’s a no-no, too.

  I reach my compartment with two minutes to spare, sweaty and out of breath. My reeducation packets are delivered every hour on the hour.

  First I receive a message to verify my identity that automatically erases itself from my inbox after thirty seconds. Then I receive a file that disappears from my hard drive after an hour. If I miss one, it’s gone for good, and I can’t afford any screwups right now.

  Sliding into my chair, I pound in my computer password and reach for a cold box of takeout. Instantly, my monitors are blanketed by a dozen rotating security feeds from the Fringe and my message window.

  The clock hits eighteen hundred, and a new message appears in my inbox from an unknown user. I open it.

  The message is completely blank except for a long link. I already know it’s malware, but I don’t have any choice but to click and let it download onto my computer. The malware does its thing, and a tiny red light illuminates the top of my monitor.

  A shiver rolls down my spine. I imagine some tech guy like me watching from Constance headquarters. He verifies my identity, and another message appears in my inbox.

  There isn’t any text — just an attached file. I click on it, and it immediately starts to download. A video appears, filling half my screen. It’s a still shot of a lower tunnel, but the nondescript walls and doors make it impossible to tell which section it’s in. The tunnel is completely empty, and the camera pans slowly from one door to the next.

  A low monotone voice comes over my speakers, speaking in a rhythm that seems designed to put me to sleep.

  Imagine a world where the last vestiges of humanity have been wiped off the planet. Your friends are gone . . . your colleagues are gone . . . you are gone. There’s no one left to remember Celdon. There is no one left to remember the horrible atrocities that destroyed the last remaining pockets of civilization . . . no one left to remember the sanctuary of the compounds . . .

  I roll my eyes. Constance has a flair for the dramatic, but at least it’s personalized.

  The threat is very real. While the board focuses on the horizon, where thousands of hostile survivors are plotting the compounds’ destruction, we must turn our attention inward to more subtle threats we face on a daily basis . . .

  These threats start small, but when magnified over days, years, and generations, they are poison to the order and stability that ensure the survival of the human race.

  Acts of defiance, no matter how small, weaken the compound. When order unravels, the people you once trusted can be the biggest threat to your life and the future of humanity.

  Constance has sent me twenty-four videos so far, and each one has been more of the same: Defiance in the compound weakens the compound. A weak compound is a threat to the survival of the human race. Constance saves humanity. Long live Constance.

  My first order of business as Constance’s newest lackey? Make better videos.

  Through all the gloom and doom, I feel my eyelids start to droop. I reach for an Energel, but my hand just nudges half a dozen empty tubes, sending a few clattering to the floor.

  I’m exhausted, but I can’t fall asleep. If I miss one of Constance’s reeducation lessons, they’ll see that as a lack of commitment. They’ll think I’m a slacker, which is exactly what I don’t want. Slackers can’t be trusted, and I need them to trust me completely.

  To counteract the effects of the narrator’s dull voice, I do a quick scan of the security feeds. Constance would definitely not approve of my extracurricular espionage, but I already feel as though I’m betraying Harper, and I refuse to drop the ball on the one t
hing she asked me to do.

  She would kill me if she knew I’d joined up with Constance, but I have to know what happened to my mother.

  I don’t blame Harper for lying to me. The lie was much kinder than the truth. But if my mom really is out there somewhere, I have to find her.

  To gain access to that information, I just have to go along with Constance’s brainwashing program and behave myself. Once I’m in, I can find out exactly what they know and stay one step ahead of them if they try to take Harper off the map.

  I just have to be convincing.

  Watching footage of the Fringe isn’t doing much to keep me awake. There’s not a drifter in sight — just abandoned buildings, rusty cars, dirt, and tumbleweed.

  But then the window changes to a new feed, and three figures appear in my peripheral vision. I freeze the feeds so the view doesn’t change and enlarge the window.

  Three men are walking down the street at a brisk pace. Two of them look alert and confident, but the third is definitely acting shady. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and keeps glancing around as if he expects to be jumped at any moment.

  His eyes bounce from building to building in a scanning pattern, and I realize he’s checking the corners for cameras.

  He knows.

  The men stop at a building just out of the camera’s line of sight. The other two seem to be speaking to someone standing in the doorway.

  The third man’s gaze travels higher, and then suddenly he freezes. I don’t move or breathe. It feels as though he’s looking right at me.

  Somebody calls the man to the door. He steps up and raises his sunglasses so they can see his face. When the person in the doorway verifies his identity, the shady guy puts his sunglasses back on — but not before I get a good look at him.

  He looks just like Eli.

  My heart starts pounding harder. Owen is alive, and now there’s video evidence. Not only that, but the camera got a clear shot of his face. Anyone who knows Eli would think this man was his twin, which is going to raise a lot of questions I’m sure Eli doesn’t want to answer.

  I have to warn Harper, but there’s still another twenty minutes left on my reeducation video. Then I’ll have maybe fifteen minutes before the next file arrives.