Seeds

by Chris Mandeville

  “Is there really a vehicle? How reliable is your information?” Pascal asked.

  Tom nodded, wiping his forehead with a hanky. “I questioned the witnesses myself. The one last night was a young mother up with her baby. Not a drunk or a crazy.”

  “I want to speak with her.”

  “I already sent for her. She’ll be here soon.”

  This was the kind of competence Pascal expected. “What about the first sighting?”

  “At the time, I deemed it less than reliable.” Tom put down his empty bottle, concern tingeing his brow. “A known drunk who swore he was sober. It hardly seemed legitimate. But when the mother came forward, I questioned the drunk again. Would you like to speak to him?”

  “Do I need to?”

  “I don’t think so. All he saw was lights on the 215. Nothing useful beyond that.”

  “Any other news since your last report?”

  “No, but all shifts are out searching for the car. Even the families.”

  The office door creaked open.

  “Excuse me?” A skinny girl with sunken eyes and drab, stringy hair stepped through the doorway. A baby was bundled to her chest with a faded orange cloth.

  Tom ushered her in and shut the door. “You didn’t need to bring the baby.”

  “I can’t leave him,” the girl said. “He cries so much, no one will watch him.”

  “That’s fine,” Pascal barked.

  The girl jumped, her eyes wide.

  “Here, sit down.” Tom showed her to a chair.

  “If I do, he might cry.” She looked like she might cry. “Can I stand?”

  “I don’t care,” Pascal said. “Tell me what you saw.”

  The girl nodded. “The baby had been crying all night. That’s why we live so far away from everyone. Because he cries all the time, and people complain. I was changing his diaper when I saw something moving in the street. At first I thought I imagined it.”

  “What did it look like?” Pascal wondered if the girl had been hallucinating from lack of sleep. If this was all a mistake, someone would pay.

  “It was a big car. Dark colored. Boxy. Normal looking, but big,” she said, a quaver in her voice. “I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if it hadn’t been moving.”

  A loud knock sounded at the door. The baby squawked and started to bawl. The girl bounced it, trying to hush it, while Tom spoke with someone in the hall. The child squalled louder, and Pascal’s patience grew thin. No wonder the girl’s neighbors had complained. That baby was the spawn of the devil.

  “There’s news,” Tom shouted over the wailing. “Should the girl wait down the hall?”

  Pascal nodded, and Tom sent her out. The wailing receded but didn’t disappear completely. Pascal rubbed his temples, hoping the pounding didn’t turn into a migraine.

  “Sir,” Tom said, excitement plain on his face. “There’s been a stranger sighting.”

  “Tell me.”

  “That’s all I know, but the men who saw the stranger are here now.” Tom motioned to someone in the hall. “Come in. Yes, both of you.”

  A small weathered man and a stocky bear of a man, both dirty as pirates, entered. The small one took off his hat, then smacked the big one who then removed his cap, too.

  “Frank Cox and Roger Walker.” Tom gestured to the smaller man, then the larger.

  “Tell me what you saw,” Pascal said.

  “Yesterday morning,” the smaller man said, “me and Roger were collecting in Sector Twelve when we met a girl. She was real pretty. Said she was a Ford girl.”

  “Damn it,” Pascal said, coming forward in the chair. “There was a Ford girl here yesterday. You’re wasting my time.”

  “That’s not it,” Frank continued. “We didn’t think nothing at first because the Supe had said there was a Ford girl looking around. But nobody said nothing about a guy being with her.”

  “What guy?” Pascal asked.

  “The girl said he was helping her, that he came with her from Services.”

  Had Mia deceived him? “Are you certain he wasn’t one of your men?” Pascal asked.

  “We never seen him before,” Roger said.

  “And he talked funny,” Frank said. “So this morning when we heard we were supposed to search for strangers, we got to wondering if those people weren’t from Services after all.”

  “What did the girl look like?” Pascal demanded.

  “Brown hair, big boobs,” Roger said.

  Frank elbowed him. “She was about as tall as me. Clean. I don’t remember what she was wearing.”

  “Me neither,” Roger said, scratching his sparse hair.

  “Would you recognize her if you saw her again?” Pascal stood.

  Both men nodded.

  “Come with me,” Pascal said, heading for the door. “You too, Tom. I want you stationed on the train until this is resolved. I don’t trust anyone else to bring me information.”

  “I’ll be on the train,” Tom told his secretary as they passed her desk. “Any news, bring it to the train stop immediately.”

  Pascal gritted his teeth as he hurried toward the train. Either there was a female imposter or Mia had deceived him.

  Sixty-One

  Lost Angeles

  Reid had the feeling they’d made a terrible mistake.

  “Mia, who the hell is this?” the giant boomed.

  “Keep your pants on, Brandt,” Mia said. “You’ll thank me when you hear his story.”

  “Honey, quit acting like such a tough guy.” A tall brunette shoved Brandt aside and kissed Mia’s cheek. “Hiya, sweetie.” Her freckled nose wrinkled as she grinned.

  “Reid,” Mia said. “I’d like you to meet my best friend Justine and her pet ogre, Brandt. Reid has a car that works.”

  “Oh my God.” Justine clung to Brandt, whose expression had softened.

  “It’s what you’ve been wishing for,” Mia said. “With a car, you can go home.”

  “Wait a minute,” Reid said. “I never agreed to this.”

  “Do you have a choice?” Mia asked.

  “Hold on, Mia,” Brandt said. “Who is this guy?”

  There was banging on the door. “Brandt, open up.”

  “Trust me,” Mia said to Brandt. She pulled Reid through a bedroom and into a closet.

  “What’s going on?” Brandt’s booming voice was barely muffled by the thin walls.

  “Everyone has to report to their stations.”

  “What for?”

  “Intruder Alert. Could be a drill. Who the hell knows.”

  “I’ll put on my uniform and be right behind you,” Brandt said.

  Reid’s stomach clenched. Had they found Tinker?

  In a moment, Brandt filled the closet doorway. “Convince me I made the right choice.”

  Reid followed Mia out, thinking he might vomit.

  Mia climbed onto the bed with Justine, leaving Reid standing with Brandt.

  Reid looked up—the guy had to be seven feet tall—then back at Mia. She raised her eyebrows and kept her mouth shut. Apparently it was up to him to convince the ogre.

  “I’m from Colorado,” Reid said. “I came here with my grandfather.”

  “In a car.” Brandt said it like he didn’t believe it.

  “Yes. My people won’t make it much longer on canned food and rats. We came here because we thought you had grown food.”

  “Then you screwed up ’cause we don’t,” Brandt said.

  “Mia told me. Now we’re in this huge mess, and for nothing.”

  “Can I assume the Intruder Alert is about you?”

  “I don’t know,” Reid said. “My grandfather was waiting in the lobby of the Grand while I saw Mia. When we came down, he was gone.”

  “We barely got out of there,” Mia said.

  “They have the grandfather?” Brandt asked.

  “Probably,” Mia said.

  “We don’t know for sure,” Reid said. “He’s smart. He could have gotten out of
there. Didn’t you say this could be a drill?”

  Brandt shrugged. “If I had to bet, I’d say they have him.”

  “If I had to bet, he’s at the car.” Reid wasn’t as sure as he sounded. “I need to go see.”

  “It’s too risky in broad daylight,” Mia said.

  “It’s too risky not to go,” Brandt said. “If they have the grandfather, it won’t be long before he tells them about the car. We have to get there first.”

  “He wouldn’t tell them,” Reid said.

  “He’ll talk with Pascal’s methods, I promise you,” Brandt said.

  Reid grew queasy at the thought of what could be happening to his grandfather right now because he’d gotten distracted by Mia. “Who’s Pascal?”

  “The chancellor,” Mia said. “The leader of Lost Angeles.”

  “The most ruthless son of a bitch you’ll ever meet,” Brandt said. “The other day, I saw him shoot a man in cold blood because he dared to have a different opinion.”

  A shiver ran up Reid’s spine. “Can you get me to my car?”

  Brandt nodded. “Or get us killed trying.”

  Sixty-Two

  The Grand Hotel

  “What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Pascal knew in his gut now that Mia was involved. “Is she here and you haven’t found her yet, or is she gone?”

  “I don’t know,” Ellianna said. “She was assigned a client, but the room’s empty.”

  Pascal grabbed her arm. “I gave specific orders she was to be on reserve for me.”

  “I’m sorry, Pascal. When I put in the paperwork, she was already with someone. I realize now I should have seen to it personally last night when you told me.”

  “I want Mia found. Search door-to-door until you locate her or can say with certainty she’s not here.”

  Pascal could almost see Ellianna’s thoughts as she processed them. She was loathe to disturb her clientele, but without him there’d be no clientele, no Ford girls, no Services at all.

  “Of course, Chancellor Worth. Right away.”

  He hated how weary she looked. How old.

  “Father!” Linus burst into Ellianna’s office. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “There was no need,” Pascal said. “Go back to your girl.”

  “But I can help!”

  “Linus,” Pascal said, more sternly than his son was accustomed to.

  “I can help, Father. I’ll prove it.” Linus stomped away, and Pascal decided not to call him back. As long as the boy didn’t get in the way, why not let him think he was contributing?

  Pascal took over Ellianna’s office, with Gomez manning an impromptu command post immediately outside. The filthy World Waste workers, Frank and Roger, were reportedly asleep on lobby couches. He’d considered sending them through intake to get cleaned up, but opted instead to keep them nearby—just not so close that he could smell them—so they could take a look at Mia as soon as she was located.

  He wanted Mia found so he could clear her. Or condemn her. Either would be better than not knowing.

  Could he have been so wrong about Mia? Was he getting old, losing his edge? The idea that the wiles of a woman could have influenced him—

  “Father!” Linus burst in again. “Mia left. About an hour ago.”

  Pascal came to his feet. “How do you know?”

  “A guard saw her.”

  Gomez slipped into the room behind Linus, a guard at his side.

  Pascal turned his attention to Gomez. “Why am I only learning this now?”

  “This is him,” Linus said. “Sergeant Tony Costello. He saw her.”

  “I didn’t realize it was Mia you were looking for,” the sergeant said. “I saw her a block from the east door, an hour and twenty-two minutes ago.”

  “We’ve lost a whole hour.” Pascal kicked the chair aside and strode to the window. If the guard had been properly instructed, they’d have Mia right now. Had his whole operation gone to shit? He wheeled around. “Was she alone?”

  “No, sir. She went out for a smoke with a young man. A regular client, a sailor from the Gull Cruiser, she said. Jimmy something.”

  “Are you sure? Did you recognize him?” Pascal demanded, wondering how many strangers had infiltrated his city.

  “He looked familiar. But begging your pardon, sir, I believed what Mia said because it was Mia. I had no cause to distrust her.”

  “Did they return?”

  “Not past my post. She said they were going around to the front door.”

  “Father, I already checked with the guards at the other doors. They haven’t seen her.”

  “Damn it! She’s got over an hour head start on us.” Heads were going to roll when this was done. “I want a platoon combing the streets. Gomez, send the fastest runner for the Blades. Sergeant, give Gomez all the details you can recall—what the fugitives were wearing, what direction they went, everything they said.”

  “Understood, sir.” The sergeant turned crisply and followed Gomez into the hall.

  “Well done, Linus,” Pascal said, sorry he’d underestimated the boy.

  Linus was beaming. “What’s my next assignment?”

  Pascal considered for a moment. He had indeed proven himself valuable. “Take over for the guard watching the World Waste workers in the lobby—they are not to leave. As soon as Mia is found, bring her and the workers to me.”

  “Yes sir.” Linus grinned, then marched into the hallway, barking orders for someone to give him a gun.

  Good. Linus was rising to the occasion, Pascal thought, returning to the desk.

  Gomez reappeared in the doorway.

  “What do you want?” Pascal barked.

  “Major Minou says the prisoner is ready to talk.”

  “It’s about time. Bring him to me.”

  Sixty-Three

  Lost Angeles

  “Here, put these on.” Mia handed Reid a pair of dark glasses and a hat as dirty as the overalls he was now wearing.

  He turned and his heart stopped at the sight of a man in police uniform. Thank God, it was only Brandt.

  “Aren’t you ready yet?” Brandt asked.

  “What’s to get ready?” Mia asked. “I’m climbing in the trashcan, right?”

  “Yeah, but you need garbage on top of you. For realism,” Brandt said.

  “Sadist,” Mia said.

  “Here’s the trashcan. I got it as clean as I could.” Justine deposited it on the living room floor. She was wearing a pair of overalls grubbier than the ones she’d given Reid. She wore a long blond wig fastened into two ponytails that hung in front of her shoulders, and the effect was completed with a red kerchief. He’d never have recognized her.

  “Get in.” Brandt lifted the lid from the can.

  “You were kidding about the garbage, right?” Mia asked.

  “Don’t worry, princess,” Brandt said as Mia climbed in. “If they suspect us enough to open the can, we’re done for anyway.”

  “That’s reassuring.” Sweat ran down Reid’s neck. He hoped to God Tinker was at the car, but he wasn’t feeling optimistic.

  “I guess I’m ready,” Mia said, settling cross-legged in the can. “Though I still say I could walk with you guys and no one would recognize me.”

  Justine snorted. “Wrong. There’s no way we could make you ugly enough. Even if no one recognized you, they’d see you were too pretty to be a collector. Services takes any girls half as attractive as you.”

  “I’d have you in a trashcan, too,” Brandt told Reid. “But Justine can’t pull you both.”

  “It smells in here.” Mia half-smiled. She looked so vulnerable, Reid had the urge to kiss her, but winked at her instead.

  Brandt put the lid on the can, and Justine held open the front door while Reid helped Brandt carry Mia out. They set the can in the back of a wagon and secured it with a yellow nylon rope. Justine loaded a full black trash bag in front of the can and tied it on, too.

  “Reid, you pull,” Brandt said. �
��You’re sure you know where the car is?”

  “As sure as I can be.” Reid pulled the wagon to the road.

  “Slow down,” Justine said under her breath. “Collectors don’t move that fast, even with a police escort. Look more bored and less terrified.”

  Though his heart hammered in his chest, Reid attempted to traipse lazily down the road. There were only a few other people out, and he wondered if that was normal or because of the Intruder Alert.

  Justine walked next to the wagon, her hand resting on the lid to Mia’s trashcan. When there was garbage in the street, she picked it up and deposited it in a bag she carried.

  Brandt whistled tunelessly a couple of paces behind the wagon. Reid worried it would call undue attention to them, but told himself Brandt knew what he was doing.

  “Why did you think there were seeds in Lost Angeles?” Justine asked in a low voice.

  “A stranger with grown food. She said she was from the City of Angels. Apparently she didn’t mean Ellay.”

  “Out of curiosity, what was her name?”

  They came to a crossroad and Reid turned right. “Cumorah,” he said, wondering why Justine cared.

  “Quit foolin’ around, joker,” Brandt said loudly.

  “Laugh like you’re kidding and turn the other way,” Justine whispered.

  “Ha! Just playin’ with you,” Reid said, turning the wagon around.

  Brandt spoke into his ear. “If we don’t head for a trash pickup, we’re dead. And stop talking. If someone hears you, you sure to hell don’t sound like one of us.” Brandt resumed his place behind them.

  As they walked, more people trickled onto the road, pulling wagons and pushing wheelbarrows. They were all ages, but mostly kids and a few elderly. Reid hoped he looked like he was one of them, trudging through a never-ending, mind-numbing job.

  A few of the people cast curious looks at them.

  “Whatchoo lookin’ at?” Justine yelled at a particularly nosy old woman. “Mind yer business.”

  “Move on,” Brandt said, shooing the woman. “They’re new rehabs, nothing exciting.”

  At the tracks, the people clumped in groups tossing their cargo onto platforms where strong teens stacked it.

  “Keep it moving,” Brandt called to everyone in general.