Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1)

by Ann M. Noser

  “I’ll try my best to make a good impression,” he whispers.

  “Good.” The key clicks in the lock.

  “I figure it’s the least I can do—since you’re on birth control now because of me.”

  “Very funny.” I walk inside. “Mom, I’m home. And I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

  “Really?” She peeks around the corner.

  “Yoshe Wood?” Liam steps forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Liam Harman. I’ve heard a lot about you from your daughter.”

  Mom raises her eyebrows. “Ha. I bet you have.” She shakes his hand which I hope isn’t too sweaty. Mom hates that. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Silvia never introduces me to her friends.”

  “You met Gus once,” I argue.

  She heads back into the kitchen, waving at us to follow. “Gus is a grandfather figure. He’s not a friend.”

  “That’s not true—”

  Liam elbows me.

  “You two must be thirsty.” Mom rattles bottles in the fridge. “You’re in luck. I got our rations today, and with Silvia training for that race, our allotment practically doubled.”

  I pretend to grab Liam’s arm for support. “I think I’m going to faint. Mom, did you just say that I did something right, or am I hallucinating?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Mom glares at me then pours two glasses of mixed fruit juice and hands them over.

  “Thanks. I needed this.” Liam glances around the apartment. “You have a nice place.”

  No, we don’t. Our apartment is bland and gray, but I get the impression Liam’s trying to be extra polite to my mom. Perhaps he feels the need to make up for my typical rudeness.

  Franco’s right. Liam is a momma’s boy. But maybe it wouldn’t kill me to make an effort, too.

  “Yes, Mom, thanks for the juice.”

  I puzzle over the sudden brightness in her face. Maybe she needs to get out more. She’s happier around company. That’s right—I wanted to invite Gus over sometime. Maybe I should get on that.

  “Okay, I can’t hold it back any longer.” Mom beams. “Silvia, I moved up to second chair today. The conductor says I’ll be first before the end of summer, but I have to be patient. That is, unless…”

  “Unless what?” I ask. Mom always drags things out.

  “Well…” Mom pauses, biting her lip. “He said something odd.”

  “What did he say?” I wait to take another drink.

  She shakes her head. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was probably joking, but he said that if you win that Race for Citizen Glory…”

  “Yes?” Come on, Mom, out with it.

  She takes a deep breath. “That I’d get into first chair immediately.”

  Liam lets out a low whistle. “No pressure or anything, Silvia.”

  arly the next morning, I scurry through the foot traffic to get to work. Upon my arrival, the Mortuary is quiet. No rock music. It takes me a moment to find Gus hovering over the computer at his office desk, his white hair as unruly as a dandelion puff. Stacks of papers clutter his workspace. His hand trembles as he reaches for another form.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Something’s happened,” he whispers.

  I point at the papers. “What are these?”

  “There’s a new program we have to use to print out forms.” Gus’s eyes are wild. “And they changed the time of the delivery to late afternoon.”

  “That’s strange. You’ve always gone at night before.”

  “I don’t know what happened.” Gus gapes at the screen like a lost, scared child. “We’ve been so careful. Never a mistake. And now, all these changes. How will I manage?”

  “Let me help you.” I pull up a chair.

  “We have to convert over to the new system right away—today.” He points toward the Mortuary workroom. “Then we set the new forms on those triple-decker carts. Can you believe they’re cramming three bodies to a cart now instead of two? It’s disrespectful.”

  “Gus”—I squeeze his hand—“it’ll be fine. We’ll get it done in time. Liam will have to train without me. I’ll call the gym later and leave him a message.”

  It takes hours to make the necessary changes. We recheck each body. We’re just finishing up when the Handlers arrive. We’ve missed lunch, and now it’s late afternoon. I rub my grumbling stomach.

  “I’m sorry, Silvia.” Gus sighs. “I don’t even have food for the ride out.”

  Two Handlers enter the Mortuary, one short and the other tall. Both of them are strangers to me, but I’ve only done this once before. Gus stiffens but doesn’t say a word. I’m guessing he doesn’t know them, either.

  “Ready to load?” barks the tall Handler.

  “Yes.” Gus hands him the papers, his face pale.

  After the Handlers head for the loading dock, I turn to Gus. “There’s something wrong with the Handlers, too, isn’t there?” I murmur in his ear.

  He silences me with a motion of his hand. I follow him to the truck. The Handlers make quick work of loading the bodies, and then we’re off.

  As soon as the engine starts, Gus jumps to his feet and jerks open the drawers of his rolling tool box with a loud bang. He pulls out a screwdriver and a Kelly forceps.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper from my seat.

  He puts a finger to his lips then leans close. “They could be listening to us, right now. Don’t say anything you don’t want the whole world to hear. Keep your eyes peeled for any signs of a camera.”

  I begin to babble as Gus traces his fingers along every inch of the truck interior. Getting to my feet, I take the opposite wall. As we search, I talk about the books Gus lent me, the eye surgery we watched together the day before, and how much I’m enjoying the summer weather.

  “That must make training for the race more pleasant,” he replies absentmindedly.

  I pause to stare at Gus as he digs again in his rolling cart. The air seems to press in from all sides. He raises his gaze to mine and gestures that I should keep talking.

  I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. “Actually, you wouldn’t believe how hard training for this race is.”

  “Oh?” Gus grabs parts from the drawer and fits them together. The resulting contraption looks very much like a baby monitor. He fiddles with the knobs, the device crackles, and he holds it up in the air.

  I back out of his way. “Mom doesn’t like all the sweaty laundry, but she’s really happy about the extra food rations we get because I’m training.”

  Gus squeezes through the racks of bodies to wave the device in slow circles around every surface.

  “I really hope I do well in this race.” I hug myself for warmth against a sudden chill. “It would mean so much to my mom.”

  Inch by inch, Gus scans the interior of the truck while I talk utter nonsense. In the two years we’ve worked together, I’ve never seen Gus upset before. He’s always been the calm in my storm. Now, the roles appear to be reversed. He’s more scared than I am, and I don’t understand why. But I’m sure I can help him, just like I saved my mother. Only, with her, I knew what we were fighting. Here, I’m not so sure. There are a million questions to ask: Why is Gus so scared about these changes? Why does he carry a bug scanner with him out to the Incinerator? What’s he worried the New Order will find?

  Truck tires stutter beneath my feet.

  “We must be getting close,” I warn. “Remember the potholes?”

  Gus dismantles his bug-detecting contraption with lightning speed, all the while mumbling under his breath. “I think it’s clean, but… something’s not right. I’m not sure who or what tipped them off.”

  I help Gus sort the pieces into the drawers. “You know I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  Gus wipes sweat off his brow. “Yes, I know. And let’s keep it that way. At least until I can be sure you’ll be safe—’safe’ being a somewhat relative term, of course.”

  I grab the key to lock the tool ca
binet, and Gus waves my hand away.

  “I’m not done yet.” He digs in the drawers again. “Not by a long shot. I may be old, but I’m not dead… yet.”

  Grasping a handful of tools, he kneels next to the nearest body transport cart and fiddles with the wheel. After a moment, he laughs. “Typical. These carts are junk, made on the cheap. This will be so easy; it’s almost beneath me.”

  “Anything I can do?” I watch him work, wondering what the heck he’s doing.

  “Yeah.” He points at the bodies. “Loosen the identification papers here and there. Not all of them. Just more than half. Make it so they come flying off as soon as the bodies are lifted.”

  Feeling through the metal grate, I slip the papers to one side. Meanwhile, Gus adjusts screws and applies grease, sabotaging the wheels of the brand new transport carts.

  After another fifteen minutes, he stands up, satisfied. “This will make them reconsider changing a system that wasn’t broken.”

  The truck bounces through a series of ruts, dislodging one of the identity papers to the floor. I reach for it, and Gus stops me.

  “Leave it. Let’s just rest.” He dumps his gear into the tool chest, locks the doors, then leans back into the side bench and closes his eyes as if taking a nap.

  “How can you look so calm?” I ask.

  He smiles and opens his eyes enough to wink. “Years of practice.”

  In less than five minutes, the truck makes a sharp turn, dislodging more papers, then backs up and parks.

  Gus leans close. “Follow my lead.”

  I nod.

  The doors clang open behind us.

  Gus busts out the open doors, shaking his head. “Either you guys drive crazier than the previous Handlers, or these transport carts are worthless.”

  The Handler standing closest to the door frowns. “Oh, great. Another complainer.”

  Gus gives my back a little push. I jump up, dashing around after the loose papers on the floor.

  “Just look at this mess!” he continues. “We worked so hard filling out these new forms, and now they’re not even attached to the bodies. Using tags worked so much better.”

  Once I get out of sight behind a cart, I step on top of a couple sheets, making sure to leave footprints to mar the fresh printing.

  The Handlers begin unloading the bodies. Within minutes, they’re arguing with each other.

  “Get out of my way!”

  “I can’t. The dang cart got stuck on the ramp.”

  “What the Hell is up with the front wheel?”

  Gus rolls out his perfectly normal tool cart and gestures for me to follow. As we steer it up the steep ramp, he glances toward the Northern sky.

  “Is it weird being here during the day?” I ask.

  “Do whatever you can to kill time,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s important.”

  Once we reach the main Incinerator Room, I make a slow job of matching up the lost forms with the right bodies, zipping open each bag to check the corpses.

  “Your family misses you,” I murmur to each body before closing their bag.

  Heavy footsteps approach.

  “Come on. Come on.” The taller Handler reaches out a black-gloved hand. “Let’s get this show over with.”

  I glare at him. “That’s not how we usually treat the dead.”

  He sighs and turns to Gus. “Can you reel in your overly-enthusiastic employee? We’re on a schedule here.”

  Gus shrugs. “She does great work. I understand you’re new here, but you’ll soon learn that it’s best not to interfere with the way things are run.”

  “What the Hell is wrong with you people?” The Handler shakes his head. “Fine. I’ll take my meal break while you finish. Just hurry up.”

  Gus catches my gaze across the room. We continue our work in the summer heat. The main Incinerator Room radiates like an oven. Sweat trickles down my back. As slowly as we can, without raising suspicion, we line the body transport racks behind the conveyer belts. Then we stand by the tool chest eyeballing each other, stalling again.

  “Aren’t you done yet?” the taller Handler calls out as he stomps back into the room.

  “Of course,” Gus replies. “We were waiting for you.”

  “Why the heck didn’t you come looking for us?” the Handler snaps as the shorter one follows him into the great room, stretcher in hand. “We’ve been waiting for—oh, never mind.”

  “Careful with those stretchers,” Gus warns. “They don’t seem as sturdy as the last ones.”

  “What the—” The shorter Handler almost loses his grip. “This piece of junk is coming apart right in my hands.”

  A small smile plays on the corner of Gus’s mouth.

  “I hope they don’t drop any of the bodies,” I mutter loud enough for them to hear. “That would be so disrespectful.”

  Gus turns to me and whispers under his breath. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  As the bodies travel down the conveyer belt, spaced further apart than usual due to the difficulties the Handlers are having with the carts and stretchers, the Incinerator comes to life with a loud hiss. A heat wave presses against me while flames dance up the walls of the furnace.

  I fan myself, melting from every pore.

  Gus offers me a water bottle. “Silvia, why don’t you step outside and cool off a bit?”

  “I’d love that.” I turn to go.

  Gus taps my shoulder and leans close. “Keep your eyes and ears open.”

  My legs shake slightly as I leave the room. I gulp down the water, wiping my brow with my arm. The busy Incinerator workers scatter like ants through the hallways. Nothing looks suspicious, not on the surface, at least.

  The sun starts to set as I step outside. Purple and pink clouds stain the horizon. I gaze into the warm glow, treasuring this gift. You can’t see sunsets very well in the city. The buildings are too tall. The colors fade, and darkness follows. The effect seems so dramatic out here with no streetlights to keep the night at bay.

  Sighing, I turn back to scan the dirt parking lot. The overhead lights flicker on, one in each of the distant corners of the lot.

  As the last one sputters to life, I see him.

  Franco Harman.

  Half-hidden at the far edge of the parking lot.

  Glaring at the Incinerator.

  And staring at me.

  ur eyes lock, the empty parking lot a vast space between us. I hold my breath. Why is Franco here? Is he going to yell at me now?

  Footsteps shake the metal ramp of the Incinerator as the Handlers approach.

  In the distance, Franco backs away from the overhead light, ducking under a cloak of darkness. The trance lifted, I step out of the way of the Handlers rolling out the transport carts. The unruly wheels catch and swivel on the ramp. The Handlers curse and shake the carts as they attempt to load the truck.

  “Oops. Sorry about the language.” The shorter one catches my eye. “But when I took this job, I was told it was easy.” He smiles.

  Suddenly, he’s a real person. He’s not the New Order; he’s just an employee. He probably has a family and, under other circumstances, I might learn he is kind, or funny, or good with children. However, right now, he is the enemy, and my job is to stall for time. I’m a little fuzzy on the details of the war Gus is fighting. All I know is I’ll always be on his side. No matter what.

  I smile back at him, hoping it doesn’t look pained or fake. “I’m new at this, too, but it seemed to me that the other racks worked better.” I stand out of the way and make no offer to help as the Handlers struggle through repeated trips up and down the ramp.

  Trying not to be obvious, I sneak glances into the dark edge of the parking lot, searching for Franco. Is he still out there? I hope he doesn’t launch into another environmental tirade and start screaming at me, too.

  After the last cart has been loaded, the shorter Handler clears his throat. “When will your Supervisor be ready to go?”

 
“I’ll ask him.” I casually stroll back to the main Incinerator room.

  Gus is still fussing with his tool chest. He glances up. “Anything interesting out there?”

  Just Franco. “The truck’s all loaded. The Handlers are asking if you’re ready to leave.”

  “Why’d they have to move up the schedule?” Gus’s shoulders slump. “Oh, well. I guess I can’t stall any longer.”

  I stare at Gus, willing him to tell me what’s really going on here. He could at least give me a hint.

  I help him push the tool chest outside, making it look more difficult than it is to move in an effort to fool the Handlers. We carefully ease it down the delivery ramp and onto the truck. Then Gus stands at the opening, tapping his hand on his side. If I didn’t know how relaxed he normally is, I wouldn’t think anything of it.

  I take one more glance toward the spot where Franco stood. Nothing but black sky.

  A loud crack and wheeze interrupts the quiet night.

  “What the heck?” The shorter Handler steps in front of me and grabs the weapon attached to his utility belt.

  I peek over his shoulder as a shower of gold-colored sparks fly through the air.

  Alarms wail from within the Incinerator facility. Workers dash around, wide-eyed, yelling orders muffled by the constant, booming explosions overhead. But their voices fade in the beauty of the Northern sky filling with silver and gold fire, spilling from the sky like a sparkling fountain.

  “Well, isn’t that pretty?” Gus checks his watch. “Look at the time, folks. Let’s get going.”

  A hazy glow rests on the horizon a moment before another bright flame shoots up into the sky and bursts into a millions pieces of light. A chorus of whistles sing through the night air as sparks tumble to the earth. Tearing myself away from the wondrous splendor, I step into the back of the truck.

  “Nope.” The shorter Handler takes my arm. “You’d better ride up front with me to be safe. We don’t know what we’re dealing with out here.” He points at the sky.

  I look to Gus, who settles down with a content sigh. “Best to be safe, I guess. Silvia, I’ll see you when we get back. I’m beat. It’s time for a good nap.”

  The taller Handler climbs into the back with Gus. I get down and walk around the truck, staring at the sky, then hop into the passenger seat. We pull out of the parking lot. The wheels catch in a pothole just as the truck headlights outline Franco’s tall form on the side of the road. After a long moment, he’s lost again in the darkness.