Love Bug

by Goodhue, H. E.

  “So you’re all infertile,” Remmy clarified. “You have to make new Reds from people you kidnap.”

  “Pretty much,” Jessica shrugged, “but only those like you, the ones that show promise. The others are used to stock the pantry.” Jessica snorted and then added. “We don’t really have a pantry.”

  “Hence the whole ‘fight or food’ lecture,” Remmy spat. “I get the whole making new Reds thing, but why bother eating the others?”

  “Good question,” Jessica smiled and ran her tongue across her wicked looking teeth. “And one that I really don’t have an answer for. It’s just something that we’re compelled to do, something that the virus makes us do. I guess it’s nature. Birds gotta sing, bees gotta buzz, and Reds gotta eat.”

  “Lovely,” Remmy spat sarcastically.

  “Like I said, Remmy, look at it however you need to,” Jessica shrugged. “I really do hope you make the right decision tomorrow. That you decide to fight instead of to be food.” Jessica got up and walked towards the door. She paused in the doorway, framed in silvery moonlight. “Sleep tight, Remmy. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She clacked her teeth together and slammed the door. Even with the door closed, Remmy could hear her laughing and gnashing her teeth.

  -30-

  Eldritch found himself oddly bored. His Em-Pak controlled and dissipated emotions and feelings and boredom was not one of them. In fact, Eldritch suspected that his Em-Pak and a lack of emotions made his boredom even worse, removing the very things that might offer some small distraction. Numerous administrative tasks always need to be accomplished and minute details needed his careful attention, but the excitement of overthrowing the ERC Council had waned and left him empty. The distractions of his position provided some degree of relief, but not much. He needed something new to turn his attention towards, and focus on, or otherwise he would become no better than the group of people he had just deposed.

  For lack of a better option, Eldritch punched a few keys on his computer and brought up the video feed from his family’s car crash. Maybe some small splinter of affection laid buried deep within, hidden from his Em-Pak or maybe he was just bored. Either way, Eldritch found himself staring at a topsy-turvy world through the dashboard camera of limo. There was really nothing new to see. The ERC officer covered in blood, crawling out and getting killed by Reds. That nasty little Emo boy showing up to do God knows what. If only there was something in the video that Eldritch could use, some small bit of information that would give him new direction. And perhaps even more importantly, give Captain Ortiz and his men direction.

  Eldritch had trusted Ortiz, but now wondered about the man’s loyalties. Ortiz had already overthrown one set of rulers, so would it really be a stretch for him to do it again, especially now that he knew how? If Eldritch was in Ortiz’s position, he knew that the thought would be forming in his mind. It was the logical next step. Ortiz surely would desire the control and power that he had just helped Eldritch achieve.

  Eldritch broke from his thoughts and cued a series of Em-Pak Identification numbers. Running a quick program put the numbers in a sort of electronic lockbox, one that was linked directly to Eldritch’s own Em-Pak. Should his ever cease to function and sense his vital signals, the lockbox would open and deactivate the loaded identification numbers. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it would ensure that if Ortiz or his men ever got smart enough or brazen enough to kill him that Eldritch could at least take them with him.

  The other small splinter of worry that festered and rotted within Eldritch’s mind was what to do with the Em-Paks. His father’s notes had clearly said that they would eventually lose their effectiveness, but was that because of a body building resistance or because of the Em-Pak’s signal weakening? A physical resistance to the Em-Pak would be far more difficult to manage, but increasing the signal should be easy enough. All Eldritch needed was a guinea pig.

  Pressing the intercom, Eldritch waited impatiently for the three or four seconds it took his aide to respond.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Eldritch?” the aide’s voice sounded robotic and tinny through the intercom speaker. “How can I help you, sir?”

  “I need you in my office,” Eldritch barked. “Now.” He could hear his aide’s chair push back from the desk outside his office doors even before the echo of his words dissipated.

  “Yes, sir?” the aide asked as he stepped through the large oak double doors. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Just stand there, please,” Eldritch said. His aide’s Em-Pak began beeping away, correcting his nerves, no doubt. Eldritch figured it probably was more his use of the word please than it was his odd request that caused his aide’s Em-Pak to work overtime.

  “Okay,” his aide said slowly. “Yes, sir. I can do that.”

  “Good,” Eldritch said without looking up. He began punching keys on his computer. “Do you feel anything? Anything different?”

  “No sir,” his aide responded. “Should I?”

  “We shall see,” Eldritch mumbled and hit more keys. “Maybe if I turn up the frequency on…” Eldritch muttered to himself and hit a sequence of buttons.

  His aide suddenly released a scream and fell to the floor. Eldritch momentarily worried that he had allowed the man to become infected and that he would have a Red to worry about soon. But as he stood up from his desk, gun in hand, Eldritch could see the man rolling back and forth on the polished stone floor. He was in pain, but not infected.

  “Hmm,” Eldritch pondered. “Well that’s good, not helpful, but still worth knowing.” He punched a few more keys, dialing back the intensity of the signal to his aide’s Em-Pak. The man immediately stopped screaming and stood up from the floor. His eyes were wide, unblinking and glassy.

  “What do you feel now?” Eldritch asked.

  “Nothing, sir,” the aide said flatly. “I feel nothing…what are your orders, sir?” The man had the effect of a robot, his breathing barely detectable and face completely blank.

  “Excellent,” Eldritch nodded and began working on a large-scale version of his new Em-Pak program.

  -31-

  “We’re going to get him back,” Cora said firmly, the eyes of those gathered around her going wide with disbelief. “Remmy is alive.”

  The other Emos murmured amongst themselves, but no voices spoke up in support or protest of Cora’s plan. Samuel stood beside her, his presence quiet and strong. With Xander kept in his tent, it was safe for Samuel to be outside of the hospital tent.

  “We need to move,” Samuel spoke up. “There is a large group of Reds heading this way. It’s not the group that has Remmy, but I think they may be moving to meet up with that group. If there’s any chance of saving Remmy, it’s before the two groups join up.”

  “What do you mean another group of Reds?” someone in the crowd shouted.

  Samuel examined the crowd, trying to determine how much to tell them. He had sworn Cora to secrecy regarding his access to the ERC satellite. It was not that Samuel distrusted anyone in the camp. They stood to gain nothing by altering the ERC to his recent activities. What worried Samuel was how the others would react knowing that multiple groups of Reds were converging in one spot. Soon after he had accessed the satellite, Samuel noticed movement amongst the Reds. All seemed to be migrating towards the group that held Remmy. This information would surely cause panic, so Samuel lied. There were far more than two groups of Reds. From what he had seen, there were at least six more heading directly through the Emo camp on their way to converge with the other Reds. Samuel had to tell them just enough to get them to move, but not enough to cause wide spread panic.

  “The rest of you need to pack up and move,” Samuel continued. “I have explained to Remmy’s father where the best place is to move our camp.” Cora and Samuel had known that Remmy’s father would want to go, but they needed him to lead the others. He could be trusted to keep the others focused. His example was one they would follow. If too many central figures from the camp left to go after Remmy
, Samuel worried that, the group would fall apart, making themselves easy targets for the large groups of Reds converging on the area.

  Remmy’s father had taken a great deal of convincing to stay behind, but Cora and Samuel had persisted. What was the point of saving Remmy if there was nothing to bring him back to? It was equally important to ensure the survival of the group, and once Samuel had relented and shown Remmy’s father the large numbers of Reds scattered across the computer screen, he reluctantly agreed to stay behind and lead the others.

  “So who’s going? Who’s going to get Remmy?” a boy about his age demanded. Cora couldn’t tell from the tone in his voice if he was angry or volunteering. Maybe it was both.

  “I’m going,” Cora snapped, glaring at the boy. “So is Samuel.”

  “And what about your brother?” someone shouted. “We’re just supposed to take him along with us? He’s putting us all at risk.” Cora and Samuel had expected this, but hoped that no one would broach the question. They had no argument against this point. Xander was a risk and with Cora gone, no one could be held responsible for him.

  “I’ll watch him,” Remmy’s father growled. “The boy won’t be any trouble.”

  “The boy is nothing but trouble!” someone else shouted. “I say we leave him here for the Reds. Otherwise, you take him with you.”

  “Fine!” Cora screamed. “Just shut up! We were taking him anyway.” She knew that Xander couldn’t be trusted. She also knew that Remmy’s father would do his best to protect her brother and limit the amount of trouble he caused, but Xander was devious. She needed to keep him where she could watch him, but this meant revealing Samuel to him.

  Samuel had said that it was time. Time for Xander to know the truth, but Cora still worried. But honestly, there really wasn’t much Xander could do with the knowledge, other than get angry and even that his Em-Pak would handle…probably.

  “The three of you? An elderly doctor, a teenage girl, and an emotionless city boy?” someone teased from the crowd. “That hardly seems like a rescue party.”

  “I’m a little more than just some elderly doctor,” Samuel smiled. “And Cora will do just fine. A smaller group has a better chance of slipping in undetected. This is a rescue mission, not a war. We get Remmy and we get out. If we don’t come back, Remmy’s father will tell you what to do.”

  Rumbles passed through the crowd. People were understandably worried, but the discussion was over. Cora and the remains of her family were going to save Remmy.

  -32-

  The ground shook with the fevered stomps of countless Reds. Remmy tried to remain calm, but the promise of violence reverberated through the air, jangling his nerves with a strange energy. Jessica pushed him towards the arena.

  The arena was little more than a massive circle of old rusted school buses, placed end to end. Large patches of brown rust stretched down the sides of the buses like old wounds, the blood long since dried and turned brown. A slightly less rusted tow truck had been pushed to the side, creating a small opening that yawned like the hungry mouth of some terrible beast eagerly waiting to consume Remmy. Row upon row of Reds clung to the sides and roofs of the buses. Heads darted in and out of the broken windows, all trying to get a glimpse of the day’s entertainment or perhaps the evening’s meal. Wild faces, smeared with red paint glared at Remmy as he came closer, each wilder and more vicious looking than the next.

  Remmy’s feet involuntarily stopped, his heels digging into the dirt as if some invisible force was trying to prevent him from entering the circle of rusted buses, but Jessica shoved him forward. The Reds began howling with laughter. Jeers and insults were launched from the perimeter of the arena, calling Remmy scared, weak, or worst of all, dinner. Remmy tried to block out the noise, but it overwhelmed him, rattling his insides and shaking loose feelings of doubt and hopelessness.

  “Fight or food, Remmy,” Jessica hissed in his ear. “Make the right choice.”

  There was no way for Remmy to know what waited for him inside the arena, but one thing was clear – the next few minutes would determine whether he lived or died. Something ancient, some ingrained shred of evolution screamed in Remmy’s head, demanding that he prepare himself to fight, to kill. It demanded that he recognize the gravity of his current situation and do whatever was needed to survive.

  Another piece of Remmy’s mind pleaded with him to hold on to who he was, and remember what he had been taught. He found himself able to think of nothing other than Cora and that brief kiss they shared beside the waterfall. That moment sank into his soul, joining with his heart and defining who he was, or at least who he had hoped he could be. Cora was his hope, his sign that the world was still good and that there was still a reason to strive for a future greater than what he had been given. Bitter tears stung the corners of Remmy’s eyes as he felt his future, and Cora slipping through his fingers, a little more with each step closer to the arena.

  “Stop it! Get your head in it!” Jessica growled and slapped Remmy across the face. “There’s no time for daydreaming! Stop showing weakness. Get angry, get angry right now, Remmy! Whatever it is that you’re thinking about, forget it. Let it go right now! Anger is the only thing that’s going to save you in there.” She snapped her dagger-like teeth to drive her point home. A wicked smile spread across Jessica’s face. Remmy found it hard to guess Jessica’s intentions and even harder to pretend that he cared about them. She had been his friend once, but that person was gone, buried along with the Red that killed her family. Jessica was a Red, a monster, and currently walking him towards what would undoubtedly be the most excruciating experience of his short life.

  Remmy nodded, but was unable to forget about Cora. If he had to fight to live, then so be it. Remmy was willing to do anything to see Cora again. The things that waited for Remmy inside the arena would undoubtedly change him, possibly twist him into someone that Cora wouldn’t recognize, but Remmy knew that no other choice remained. He only hoped that if he were lucky enough to see Cora again that she wouldn’t be repulsed by what she saw.

  These thoughts and countless others were drowned out as Remmy was pushed into the arena. The tow truck was rolled back into place, closing off the only way in or out. An entire chorus of screams rose to a fevered crescendo, suddenly falling silent. Remmy’s eyes went wide as he finally saw what awaited him inside the arena.

  -33-

  “It is the duty of every citizen to ensure that they have a functioning Em-Pak. It is the privilege and honor of every citizen to report those who do not. To remove one’s Em-Pak is to choose death. The Emotions Regulatory Commission will not tolerate such traitorous behavior. All citizens must adhere to the Citizens’ Safety Protocol. The virus cannot be allowed within the walls of your city. The Reds cannot be allowed to return. Emotions are weakness, flaws that lead to only one end. It is the duty of every citizen to ensure that they have a functioning Em-Pak.”

  Eldritch silently mouthed the words of the recording. He had helped the ERC Council write it, let alone had heard it enough times to know it by heart. He was sure there were probably nights that he quietly mumbled it in his sleep. But he hated it, detested what it represented. It was a constant reminder of how his plans had stagnated. What was the point of deposing the ERC Council and taking over leadership of the ERC if he was simply going to do the exact things the Council had done?

  “Status quo,” Eldritch muttered as he sorted through a stack of papers. “Everything and everyone, nothing more than status quo.” He knew nothing of interest or importance awaited him buried within the pile of papers, rather sorting through it was a habit born out of boredom. Eldritch sighed and dropped the papers onto his desk.

  Everything was running smoothly. Order had returned. Ortiz and his men periodically reminded people to stay in line and to fear the combined threat of the Reds and Emos, but still something was missing.

  “Coffee, sir,” Eldritch’s aide said flatly, as he walked into the office. He held a small gold tray. A delicate ch
ina cup and a small saucer with three cubes of sugar rattled faintly as he walked across the room. The man had become little more than a robot since Eldritch had played with the signal to his Em-Pak. Not much for conversation, but dutiful to a fault. Eldritch found that his aide was forgetting to eat and bathe, focusing instead on his administrative tasks. His aide’s dedication was admirable, but his smell was not.

  Eldritch commanded him to return to his housing unit, eat something and wash up. The aide arrived back in the office in under an hour, clearly having followed through with Eldritch’s orders, but what amazed Eldritch was the speed at which his aide had accomplished these errands. Lacking status and money meant living in one of the city’s outer housing units. Transport to his aide’s block would have taken at least fifteen minutes.

  “How did you accomplish that so quickly?” Eldritch questioned as his aide set down his coffee. “There’s no way a transport would have gotten you there and back in under an hour, let alone allowed time to shower and eat.”

  “The transport would have taken too long, sir,” his aide responded.

  “So how then did you get home?” Eldritch asked.

  “Ran, sir,” his aide said flatly. “Running allows for a more direct route. I ate in the shower and then ran back. I estimated that this plan would require the least amount of time away from the office and my duties, sir.”

  “You ran?” Eldritch snapped. “How is that possible? It’s miles from here. You’d be exhausted.”

  “Exhaustion is simply a state of mind, Mr. Eldritch,” his aide responded matter-of-factly. The sweat dotting his forehead spoke otherwise. “With the recent changes to my Em-Pak, I am no longer a slave to my mind and body. Now, it serves me, sir.”