Flowertown

by S. G. Redling

  Bing settled down on a low, square cardboard box against the wall. Had he been even twenty pounds heavier, the box would have collapsed under his weight, but it suited him perfectly, and he referred to it as his beanbag. Beside him, the handhold opening of a sealed file box provided a perfect ashtray. A teetering wall of matching sealed file boxes cut the area off from the rest of the office. He lit a cigarette and tossed the pack and lighter to Ellie.

  “What would happen if we just burned this whole place to the ground?”

  Ellie laughed, blowing out a smoke ring as she tossed the pack back to Bing. “Funny you should say that. I was just thinking that very thing. Maybe it’s that new weed you’re growing.”

  “Unlike you, young lady, I don’t get high before I come to work.” He flicked a long ash into the file box. “Like other respectable Flowertownians, I wait until lunchtime to get wasted.”

  “See? That’s the problem with you HR drones. You never take the initiative.” She rested the back of her head against the cool file cabinet, hearing the familiar ka-thunk of the thin metal bending under the weight of her skull. “I got a letter from Bev. They’re having a surprise party for Mom. Kegs and everything.”

  “You going?”

  “I was thinking about it. Oh, no, wait!” Ellie smacked her hand against her forehead. “I forgot. I’m in quarantine! Shit! I better call them back.”

  Bing said nothing, only shaped his ash against the red security tape.

  “It’s in three weeks. There isn’t time to get out even if I wanted to.”

  “When did you get it?”

  “This morning.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.” She held the ember of her cigarette against the edge of the cabinet she sat on, adding to a long line of scorch marks. “You’re gonna get a little something in the mail from me today too.”

  “I try not to check my mail at work, knowing what’s coming. It’s not from that stupid missionary group, is it? I swear to God, those crazy bastards have given me a new religion, the Church of I’m Gonna Kick Your Ass. If they request one more Kirk Cameron video—”

  “Whenever I get those I send them to that bitch in the front office. She loves crushing people’s hopes and dreams.” Ellie ground out her cigarette and wedged it into a dent in the back of the cabinet. “No, this was weird. The address looked like code. You know, R four two two six Alpha Dogstar kind of crap. Like mail from a Klingon.”

  Bing fished another cigarette from his pack and talked around the smoke. “Maybe you have family in Nigeria who need help getting their money out of the country. I’ve heard that’s been happening a lot lately. Sounds lucrative.”

  “I wish. All this had was this little dancing clock and this totally cryptic message, like ‘You’re doomed’ or something.”

  “It actually said ‘doomed’? Who says ‘doomed’?”

  “It was something like that.” Ellie rubbed her eyes, trying to think through her morning buzz for the exact message. “Wait, I remember. It was ‘All you want.’ I remember thinking ‘You don’t even want to know what I want right now’ because I had just read Bev’s—”

  “You didn’t send it to me, did you?”

  “What?” She laughed at his sharp tone. “Yeah, why?”

  “Shit, don’t you ever pay attention to anything? All You Want? That doesn’t ring any bells for you? You haven’t seen those words plastered all over buildings everywhere you look?”

  “Oh please, Bing, don’t. Don’t start with your crazy government master plan shit. You know I love you. You are my best friend, but I swear I cannot take another second of—”

  “This isn’t Area 51 crap, Ellie. This isn’t a bunch of geeks looking to get off—”

  “You of all people should know the innate ineffectiveness of government and bureaucracy and political pork. It’s ludicrous—”

  “I’m not the only one who thinks this, Ellie!” He finally succeeded in shouting her down. She rolled her eyes but let him speak. “This isn’t about a government master plan. This isn’t the censorship that is going on right under our noses, even though it’s a fact that every word of our correspondence, digital and paper, is filtered before entering or leaving—”

  “Bing…”

  “Okay, okay, let’s just put that totally off to the side.” He leaned forward on his box, threatening the strength of the sealing tape. “This is something totally different. This is simple economics: supply and demand, widgets and gadgets.”

  “Garbage in, garbage out.”

  “Exactly.” He pointed his finger at her, and Ellie tried not to smile at how much he looked like a bird at this moment, a big pissed-off bird. “The problem is there is no garbage out. There is only garbage in and the system is overloaded. PennCo was designed to accommodate a limited number of residents for a limited amount of time. Not seven years, I can guaran-fucking-tee you that.”

  “No argument here, brother. What’s your point?”

  “Yeah, well not only has the time frame been stretched way too long, so has the population matrix.”

  “Population matrix?” Ellie asked. “I’m outta here.”

  “This was supposed to be a quarantine zone for a potentially fatal chemical, but instead of the population shrinking, it has grown. And continues to grow. Rescue workers, military, civil engineers…”

  “Racketeers, extortionists—Walmart, for the love of Pete.” This part of the argument Ellie knew well and agreed with. Flowertown had become a high-risk/high-pay zone for a number of ambitious and ruthless businesses hoping to make a quick buck on the sudden need for infrastructure. For those healthy and greedy enough to give it a try, the lucrative contracts, whether from Feno or the government, made the sickening prevention meds worth the trouble. The problem was that infrastructures don’t pop up overnight and they don’t maintain themselves, so the seven and a half miles of restricted space became more congested by the month.

  “So what happens when we outgrow our resources?” Bing had worked himself into a state, perched on the edge of the box. “What happens when our contained water and waste supply breaks down? When our food storage systems can’t meet safety regulations and food ration lines turn into riots? What happens when the power grid fails from yet another amateur entrepreneur overtaxing it to put up another third-rate rat trap of apartments?”

  Ellie knew better than to try to interrupt her friend when he was on a tear, so she simply shook her head and waited.

  “I’ll tell you what’s not going to happen: the government is not going to step in and save us. PennCo bleeds millions of dollars from the American taxpayers every year, and if it looks like there’s a chance to ease that burden, don’t think for a second this administration or the next will hesitate to plug that hole. And the beauty of it is they won’t even have to do anything. All they’ll have to do is withdraw the troops, recall the security forces, and let natural human entropy work its magic. Think about it, Ellie: no law, no power grid, no communication. Just Flowertown. The only people left standing would be those who thought ahead and armed themselves now while there’s still time.”

  “Oh my God, I never thought of it like that. If what you say is true, if that’s really what’s going to happen, then it can only mean one thing.” Ellie put her hand to her forehead. “It would mean that…Soylent Green…is…people.”

  “Fuck you, Ellie!” Bing leapt from his seat, kicking at the file box between them.

  “Sorry. My Charlton Heston’s a bit rusty, but I thought it was okay.”

  “Yeah, sure, you know what?” Bing jammed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a baggie of weed. “Get fucking high. Just get high and hide out here and bang your little soldier boy while you can, and then when the shit goes down, you can sit there like all the other sheep and go ‘Somebody help us! Somebody save us!’ Except there’s not going to be anybody. Nobody’s coming to save you, Ellie. Nobody. Let me hear you say it.”

  “Nobody’s coming to save me.”

>   “Fuck you, Ellie. I don’t know why I waste my time on you.”

  “Because you want to bang my roommate.”

  Bing’s face flushed deep red, but he bit back whatever nasty retort threatened to escape. Ellie could hear the breath tearing through his large nose as he struggled to contain his temper, and then he stomped out of the office and down the stairs. She reached into the baggie and pulled out a half-smoked joint. As she coughed back the harsh smoke, she could hear the alarm going off on her cell phone on her desk. Eleven thirty, time for her meds appointment.

  She held in the smoke so long she began to get lightheaded. There was no need for her to hurry to her appointment. She hadn’t bothered to share the news with her friends, but after last month’s checkup she had received her new medical status—blue tag. It meant she wouldn’t have to stand in line with the other hundred people at the dispensary getting their handfuls of maintenance medications. Nope, now she could swipe the crisp new keychain tag under the scanner and be let into the hallway to the left of registration, to the blue tag lounge. It wasn’t as crowded in there, and last month there had even been snacks on the table. It seemed a nice perk for finding out her liver had betrayed her.

  When HF-16 had first been spilled, thousands had been contaminated. The actual numbers were never released, but statistics snuck out to the press. Approximately 17 percent of those contaminated died within two months, including her boyfriend, Josh. Six percent showed no signs of chemical absorption and were released. That left 73 percent of the population required to undertake a maintenance/rehabilitation medication regimen that killed 12 percent of participants in the first year. Adjustments were made to the medications, and if the reports could be believed, as contamination levels slowly receded, the health of Flowertownians remained steady. Mostly steady, that is. One small sector of the population remained resistant to the medications, their livers choosing instead to throw in the towel and leave the rest of the organs to a slow and miserable death. Those residents were switched from the sickening maintenance medications to simply “quality of life” treatments. And their medical records were transferred to the blue folders. These residents were known as blue tags.

  Ellie finally exhaled.

  “Nobody’s coming to save me.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ellie picked through the tray of Twinkies and granola bars until she found the Little Debbie snack cakes she’d been looking for. She grabbed a Nutty Bar for herself, slipping an extra Swiss Roll into her purse on her way to the examination room. Her cottonmouth had not receded with her morning high and she considered turning back for some coffee, but the doctor was already waiting for her. The blue tag lounge had that to recommend it: the service was certainly prompt.

  “Good morning. I’m Dr. Lavange. Please have a seat.”

  Ellie nodded, trying to suck the dry chocolate off her teeth as she allowed the tall woman to hold the door open for her. Dr. Lavange had that skinny, thin-haired look that could have put her anywhere between an unhealthy thirty and a fantastic sixty, and her tendency to talk with her head cocked in permanent sympathy irritated Ellie.

  “Why don’t I get you set up with your sample cups, and as soon as you get back—”

  “I can do it here.” Ellie snatched the urine sample cup from the doctor’s hands and, before the older woman could protest, dropped her pants and squatted. Six years of urine samples on demand had turned most Flowertown residents into pissing sharpshooters.

  Ellie handed the warm cup back to her, not a drop out of place. Dr. Lavange succeeded in hiding her discomfort, and Ellie tried not to grin as the doctor got her fingers damp snapping the plastic lid back on. “I keep telling my roommate that’ll be quite a party trick when we get out of quarantine.”

  “I’m sure it will be.” The doctor put the sample on a sliding tray in the wall. In the older woman’s eyes she saw the certainty that, urinating abilities aside, Ellie would never be leaving quarantine. “We will also need a blood sample before you leave. Or can you do that too?”

  Ellie tried to smirk, but felt that familiar smothering sensation of panic trying to overwhelm her. She shook her head and hopped up on the paper-covered examining table. Dr. Lavange opened her file and began to read.

  “It says here you are an admittedly heavy user of marijuana. Is that still the case?”

  “More than ever.”

  She tilted her head even farther to the side. “Ms. Cauley,” her eyes flickered to the file then back up, “Ellie, I know the laws regarding illegal drug use within the containment area have been relaxed a great deal. After all, security certainly has enough on their hands, don’t they?” Ellie sighed, wondering if Dr. Lavange could actually touch her ear to her shoulder. “But just because there are few criminal consequences for marijuana use, it doesn’t mean there are no medical repercussions.”

  “You mean like liver failure?”

  Dr. Lavange’s face puckered into a sympathetic mess that made Ellie want to smack it back and forth. “It certainly doesn’t help.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m thinking your HF-sixteen did a lot more damage to my liver than a few dank buds, and with a lot less fun attached.”

  “It wasn’t my HF-sixteen.”

  “You work for Feno Chemical.”

  Ellie liked the way the doctor’s head jerked. “No, sorry. Not me. I work with Barlay Pharmaceuticals. As an independent contractor.”

  “Who signs your check?”

  “Who signs yours?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Ellie could see the doctor’s regret at having allowed herself to be baited so. Lavange turned back to the file, her fingernail tapping out her irritation. Everyone knew Barlay Pharma was a subsidiary of the multinational that also owned Feno Chemical. It made sense, at least to Ellie. Feno had made the mess; their parent company had to clean it up. Why everyone acted like it was some dirty little secret was beyond her. It came in handy, though, when one of the med-techs needed to be put back a step.

  Speaking to Ellie’s file, the doctor said, “I suppose it would be a waste of both of our times to suggest that you reduce, if not completely stop, your use of marijuana.”

  “I suspect that is true.”

  The doctor kept her eyes on the paper. “Have you been informed of the comprehensive counseling services we offer for quality of life treatment?”

  “They sound very comprehensive.”

  She flipped through several pages of the file, searching for something, then closed the folder, clutched it to her chest, and looked at Ellie. “I don’t see any mention of family within the containment area. Are our records accurate?”

  “They are.” Ellie sat very still, promising herself that if Lavange tilted her head so much as a centimeter, she would kick her. Lavange did not move. “I’m not from Iowa.”

  “May I ask how you came to be in this area?”

  “You mean in the spill zone? You can call it that, Doctor. We all do. We all know why we’re here.” This time, the older woman did not take the bait. Ellie wished she could eat that other Little Debbie in her purse so she wouldn’t have to keep talking. “I’m from Pennsylvania, near Hershey.”

  “Is your family still there?”

  “Yes. My parents rented a place in Iowa City for a while, in the early days. They and my sisters took turns living there, visiting me, back when they had the suits and all. Well, my mom never did. Visit, I mean. She couldn’t handle the suit and the rest of it.”

  Lavange nodded, still clutching the file. “And do they still come visit? The clean rooms have gotten much better in the last two years.” When Ellie was quiet, Lavange asked, “Do you keep in touch?”

  Ellie could feel her throat closing as that gray hairy panic descended once more. “Yeah, you know, they’ve all got kids and stuff. We e-mail when it’s working.” She tapped her foot against the table leg, rhythmically soothing herself. Lavange said nothing, just let her tap-tap-tap until Ellie found herself speaking without thinking.

  “I wasn’t
supposed to be here. I quit my job. Advertising. I had a big job in Chicago and I hated it, so my boyfriend, Josh, and I decided to save up our money and take a summer off and go to Spain. My parents were furious. They said I was wasting my education and destroying my career, but when I looked ahead, I just couldn’t see myself spending the next forty years churning out demographic reports and test-marketing jingles.” The words spilled out so fast, Ellie had to gasp to catch her breath but could not stop her thoughts.

  “I was packed. I was packed.” Her foot pounded against the table. “I had all my stuff packed in my trunk and we were staying with Josh’s parents for a month before we left, out on Blair’s Branch Road on the edge of the county. They had the nicest little farm. And you know what’s funny? I remember thinking, ‘God, it’s so beautiful here, why don’t we just stay here and skip Spain?’ Isn’t that funny?” Ellie dragged in a ragged breath and then crossed her feet at the ankles to stop her nervous pounding. She had to tuck her hands under her thighs to keep her fingers from fluttering. Another deep breath, this one smoother, and her tone returned to normal. “So long story short, no, I have no family here.”

  “And your boyfriend, Josh, and his family?”

  Ellie found her sneer once more. “You must not be familiar with the area. Blair’s Branch Road is right off Furman Creek. What your people like to call the epicenter of the incident.”

  The tech Lavange had turned her over to jabbed Ellie’s finger like it was personal, but Ellie didn’t flinch. All they needed was a drop of blood and her finger complied. Bing had told her once that the maintenance meds contained a blood thinner to make the constant blood samples easier to obtain. She hadn’t cared then; she cared less now. Everyone in Flowertown bore the constant bruises and prick marks of needles on their arms and hands and feet. The tech signed off on the blue form and handed it back to Ellie, waving her off to the dispensary window. Lavange had checked off several boxes on the preprinted form for the first tier of quality of life meds.