“She’s in the early stages of her rehabilitation. The state will be with her every step and will help any way possible. These are matters for us to deal with. You need to get back to your life and concern yourself with the People’s business.”
Rick acted as if he wanted to say more, but the only door available was the one leading out the room. Taking a business card from his pocket, he wrote his cell phone number and a note that said, ‘Call me for any reason, even if you only need someone to listen,’ and slid it toward Lisa. He took Byron by the hand and left the room, closing the door leaving Lisa and Lyn alone.
“Why is it so important for me to forgive that son-of-a-bitch? I’m not the one at fault here. It shouldn’t be about me. He’s the one that did wrong. Screw his feelings. He should feel like he’s hated for what he did.” Lisa added another used tissue to the growing pile on the table.
Lyn warmly smiled. “Forgiving Byron isn’t for his sake, it’s for yours. The block in your life’s road can only be removed if you forgive him for what he did. If you don’t, you’ll just keep bumping into that block again and again. The life you live will be miserable. You’ll never be able to break the chains of the past.”
Lisa listened and let the words sink into her subconscious. She realized the only way to get to the end of the road was to take the first step. There was a block preventing her from moving forward in life. She had to find a way past it.
Chapter 6
When the hospital doors automatically closed behind Lisa, a gray, overcast sky welcomed her to a new world. A world stripped of all illusions, as if the vibrancy in life had faded. It had become a cold, savage place where existence came at the expense of others. Eat or be eaten. Lisa no longer felt like the hunter. She was vulnerable prey.
Cigar smoke assaulted her first breath of outside air. It came from a short, pudgy man standing by the door who looked at a folded sheet of newspaper. His greased-back hair framed a pitted and scarred face. The bulbous nose crooked and red on the tip. His gaze drifted up, back to the paper, then back up again. She quickly walked away.
With little cash in her purse and her car at her apartment, waiting out front for the city bus was the only option. The bus route would bring her to within two blocks of home.
Lisa had no desire to be in close contact with others. She especially wanted to avoid any of the Non-Dead for a while. She wasn’t like them and didn’t want to be thought of as one in the eyes of the Living. Just seeing a crew of Sub Zs cleaning the parking lot turned her stomach.
A grim realization came to her. If she did take the bus, she would have to sit in the back with the rest of the Non-Dead. This had been another law passed to appease the Living, forced into sharing Reconstruction resources with the Non-Dead.
With her purse hanging from her shoulder and a tote bag in each hand, Lisa was lost in her thoughts until she heard footsteps approaching. She quickened her pace, only to hear it matched by her pursuer.
It was broad daylight; there were people about on the sidewalks and driving on the highway. Lisa knew she had no reason to run and would make a scene if necessary. She was about to turn around and confront whoever was following her, when he spoke.
“Miss Goudard?”
Lisa stopped and slowly turned around. “Do I know you?” It was the seedy character with the newspaper.
The man took a long draw off his cigar and spit out a little piece of tobacco. “No, we have not met.”
“Then how do you know my name?”
“I read in the paper about what happened to you and your boyfriend.”
“Good for you. When I first saw you, I wouldn’t have guessed you were intelligent enough to read.” Even though Lisa wore flat shoes, at five feet seven inches she towered above him.
The man frowned but maintained his composure. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Okay, you’re sorry for my loss. Boo-hoo, thank you, and goodbye.” Lisa turned and walked away.
The soles of his shoes slapped the concrete in chase. Lisa had to come to an abrupt halt as he darted in front and blocked her path.
“If you would hold your horses for a sec, I’d like to make a little business proposition.”
“I’ve got a job as a state health inspector. Now piss off before I yell rape.”
The man raised his hands in the air and lowered his head. “Miss Goudard, forgive my lack of professionalism. My name is Normie Cantrell. I’m in the entertainment business.”
Lisa took in a breath of air and exhaled loudly. “Oh, I get it. You want to make a buck off my tragic story—how I lost my boyfriend and became a member of the Non-Dead. I bet you want to start a blog about my daily life, and want me to Twitter every time I blow my nose, or go to the bathroom. I can see it now, For only forty-nine ninety-five a month you can watch Lisa on her live webcam as she sits on her couch and picks at her toenails.”
Normie hesitated. “Ya know, I never thought about that angle before. But it does sound like an idea we could incorporate, to expand your appeal to the national level.”
“Mr. Cantrell, the answer is no. No thank you. Please move or I yell.”
Normie narrowed his eyes. His lips formed an evil grin. “You’re wrong lady. You ain’t got no job no more. You are about to go back to a world that ain’t holding your place in line.”
Lisa’s shoulders rose and her back stiffened. “I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying. I don’t speak asshole.”
Normie shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You’re going to find the only jobs out there for you don’t pay diddly squat. Oh sure, you’ll find work. Like wiping asses and changing diapers on old people at the hospital. Waiting tables while the diners ignore you like you’re nothing more than a piece of furniture. How’s about cleaning? You good at pushing a broom and slinging a mop? That, Young Miss, is what your new world will be like. That is, unless you come work for me.”
There was no denying her future was uncertain. Cantrell’s words rubbed her nose in the muck of her new reality. “You said you were in the entertainment business. What is it you do?”
His mouth widened and tobacco stained teeth showed ready for the first bite. “From the moment I saw your picture in the paper, I knew we could start a partnership that would make a ton of cash. I’ve been in business for a long time. Baby, let me tell you, you are going to be the hottest thing this city has ever seen.”
“Don’t baby me. Spit it out.”
Normie reached in his front coat pocket pulling out a business card and presented it to her.
She read it aloud, “Dancing Bare, Gentleman’s Club. Normie Cantrell, slime bucket, owner.”
Normie frowned. “Hey, I’m a legitimate businessman. I pay taxes.”
“I think the picture of the dancing bear with the top hat and cane is cute. Why don’t you buy a bear costume, and then you can get up on stage and shake your ass. My ass is going home.” Lisa handed him the card.
“You don’t have to say yes today. Think about it. Sleep on it. I’m in the book—call me.”
Lisa strained a big smile on her face while tilting her head. “Ah, Normie, you big lug . . . Eat shit and die!” With that, Lisa pointed her head forward and sped off, daring him to stop her.
As she brushed past him, he slipped his card into the side pocket of her purse. Planting a seed for the future.
Chapter 7
The midnight blue 2024 North American Motors Elite Sedan passed through the wrought iron double gates as they opened on command of the estate owner, Joel Spencer. The forty-five year old Living Party nominee for U.S. Congress returned home from a campaign luncheon, where the good people of the state parted with hard-earned cash in hopes of sending him to Washington. The rubber chicken lunch had added over ten thousand dollars to his war chest. This solidified him as a serious candidate for the House Republican nomination, challenging his long-time friend and incumbent Republican representative, Rick Poundstone.
A political storm brewed across va
rying demographics setting the country at odds for one of the biggest showdowns since slavery. The Democrats currently pushed legislation to allow the Non-Dead to become full union members in the work force, receiving equal benefits as the Living. The Republican Party sought to prevent equality to maximize profits for business. Unfortunately for the party, the Living Party rose as a splinter group and threatened to divide the membership. The Living Party promoted an agenda in favor of eliminating the Non-Dead from the workforce and instigating a mandatory national birth program. The goal was to replace the Non-Dead with new members of the Living.
The federal government controlled the number of newly dead resurrected with the Resurrection Z treatment. Of course, the state paid a one-time cash benefit to the family as a gesture of gratitude. The state would recover its investment hundreds of times over during the service time of the newly resurrected Sub Z.
The Resurrection Y drug was a derivative from a mutated strain of Resurrection Z virus. RY’s purpose was to counter the original alien virus if given before the victim died of a recent infection. Or, it could be used to heal those with a debilitating disease or injury. Even those dying of cancer could be saved by the application of RY.
Preventing death outside of the alien virus infection using RY was ruled to be illegal in the United States and most of the world. The fear was RY would be used as an immortality drug, changing the future of humanity forever, and ultimately leading man to extinction.
Spencer knew the Living party was gaining momentum. Still, he would have to fight with every dirty trick available if he were to upset the incumbent.
He parked the car in his triple-wide garage and exited with briefcase in hand. Mack Teller, the property caretaker, trimmed branches on the Indian Hawthorns nearby. Mack also provided political cover for Spencer, for he was a member of the Non-Dead, Sub Y.
Mack had spent twenty years of his life in a wheelchair after crashing his bike into a car, right before entering his teens. A one-time program sanctioned by both the government and the Catholic Church made the RY treatment available for paraplegics under fifty years of age.
Mack gave up the status of being a member of the Living for full use of his limbs. His mind and personality remained unaffected, as his treatment allowed him the transition without dying first. The RY treatment of the modified alien virus worked inside his body repairing the neural network, allowing his body to function as nature intended.
After physical rehabilitation, Mack’s legs returned to normal without any restrictions. Spencer hired him to maintain the ten-acre estate, paying him a pittance, and giving him a place to live on the property. Spencer never passed up a chance to use Mack as a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming himself to be a man beyond prejudice.
The clippers snipped an errant branch. It fell to the ground. Joel Spencer came into Mack’s view as he bent over to pick it up. “Hello, Mr. Spencer, back from your luncheon, I see.”
Spencer was fond of Mack, viewing him in his heart as a prized possession. “Yes. It was a very important event. Nothing you should concern yourself with though.”
Mack made two more chops with the clippers, and then stepped back, eying the symmetry of the hedge. “I understand. I have duties around here that I should be more concerned with.”
“Yes you do, like checking the air in the tires on the Harley. Go ahead and change the oil while you’re at it, and give it a good cleaning.”
“Mighty fine, sir. I’m happy to do it.”
“And take your time when polishing the chrome. It was all smeared the last time.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“What’s the matter with the rock pond? On my morning walk I noticed it was dark. Is there a problem with the filter?”
Mack let the clippers down to his side. “No, sir. No problem. I accidentally added half a cup too much dye after I cleaned it. It’ll look normal again in a few days when the level drops enough for me to add some more water.”
“The grass west of the house is scalped. What happened?”
“Well, sir, one of the blades on the finish mower got off balance. It chopped up the grass a bit before I realized it. Got a few pieces of sod coming in tomorrow. I’ll have it good as new in no time.”
Spencer glanced down at his watch, then at Mack. “Sounds to me like you need to pay more attention when you’re working. What’s got you so distracted?”
“Nothing. I’m going through a little bit of bad luck, that’s all.”
“Just keep your head in the game.” Spencer pointed to his head. “I don’t believe in bad luck. We make our own luck.” He turned away from Mack and headed for the door.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, Mr. Spencer. I’ll make sure to keep my head in the game and lick it to completion.”
Spencer almost stopped to ask what Mack meant by that last remark, but figured he had wasted enough time making his point. If Mack started to get unruly, he might have to find a replacement. He didn’t want to do that, though. Mack had proven his loyalty unlike anyone else, Living or not, but he wasn’t going to put up with an uppity employee. He would simply find another Sub Y willing to work for the crumbs off his table.
Chapter 8
The parking lot was nearly full, and Lisa found herself at the very back by the security fence. State employees clocked in at 7 a.m. She had never come in to work this late before.
It was Wednesday, the day after she checked out of the hospital. Only a little more than a week had passed since she lost Bob and her full U.S. citizenship. A week she had spent alone except for the doctors, nurses, and other caregivers who helped her adjust to this new life. No one had called from the office or even sent a get-well card. She had no real friends in life who would be concerned enough to check in on her. Of course, Bob’s liberal friends hadn’t called. None of them had any love for his conservative girlfriend to begin with.
She had considered joining a support group but didn’t think the time was right to face a room full of whiny misfits. If God, or fate, had chosen her to bear this affliction, she was going to have to prove to the world of the Living she was not inferior. Her resolve had her determined to be more than just an equal, and she vowed to prove she was superior.
The visor’s mirror showed her dark brown hair hadn’t frizzed from the morning’s humidity. Another application of Toast of the Town on her lips had them plump and sexy as ever.
On the outside she was a well-disciplined activist ready to take on the world. The challenge was to keep it together on the inside.
Tears welled in her eyes and formed large drops before dripping down her cheeks. She patted her face dry with a tissue, being careful not to smear any makeup. “I keep telling myself to be strong, Bob . . . it’s just so hard to go on . . . .”
Death had been a common occurrence over the two years of The Dark Times. Everyone had lost family members or close friends. Lisa had lost her mother and father, her younger sister, and older brother. It was through those tragic events she had learned how to ignore the void left behind by a loved one’s sudden, violent death. It was a survival mechanism. Those who were distracted by mourning the dead were usually the next to die.
Losing Bob had cut deeply, penetrating through the walls of all of her defenses, and churning her insides to mush.
Lisa made a few touchups to her makeup. It’s me against the world.
The mechanical clank of the four door locks cemented the moment in time as she closed the door. I’m locked into my fate too.
The weak click of her four-inch heels against the parking lot’s surface echoed her shattered confidence—not befitting a determined woman. She quickened her pace, and lengthened her stride, until the shoes hitting the pavement drummed out a familiar rhythm.
As Lisa climbed the steps of the State Building, she passed a young man dressed in a business suit. He stopped to watch her backside, his eyes following the sway of her hips. Life is not entirely different from before, after all, she thought as she glanced back.
Lisa entered the building, ignoring the guard as he sat behind his desk reading the morning paper. She walked up to the turnstile and placed the ID badge in front of the card scan. The light on the turnstile blinked red. A raspy alarm buzzed on the guard’s desk. Lisa futilely pushed with both hands on the turnstile bar.
“Excuse me, miss?” the guard had abandoned his post and approached her. “May I see your identification badge, please?”
Lisa feigned surprise. “You know me. We’ve both worked here for years. My name is Lisa Goudard. I work for the Department of Health. The card is old and probably worn out. Would you please let me through?”
“Yes ma’am. You do have a familiar face, but I still need to see your identification badge.”
The guard pried the badge from her fingers and went back to his desk. He tapped his computer screen and entered a few lines of data on the keyboard. A number came up. He picked up the phone and made a brief call.
“Well, are you going to issue me a new badge, or what?”
“No, ma’am.” The guard cleared his throat. “Your supervisor will be down to speak to you shortly.”
She opened her mouth to protest but knew it would be a waste of time. The system was cutting her off. The fantasy of striking some kind of deal with her Department Head or the State’s Attorney General evaporated in the harsh light of reality.
A few minutes passed while she paced the lobby.
“Lisa, we’ve been waiting for you,” a voice said, harboring subtle agitation.
She turned around. Adrian P. Waller, her immediate supervisor, stood alongside Penny, Delayna, and Stacy, her officemates.
Lisa was surprised how much comfort seeing a familiar face brought.
Adrian adjusted his grip around a cardboard box and tilted his head back, peering down his nose. Penny had raised her eyebrows into high, penciled arches. Her traditional fake smile showed enough teeth to use in a toothpaste commercial. Delayna smirked victoriously, as if she’d just stolen Dorothy’s ruby slippers right off her feet. And last of all, Stacy, her gaze glued to the floor.
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