Captives (30 page)

Now she was mad again. Ciddah’s moods were like the weather: sunny days, wind, thunderstorms, lightning, and if he waited long enough, the sun would come out again. “Okay,” he said. “But I hope it’ll help you understand why I’m here in the SC.”

W
hen Mason came to work Monday afternoon, Ciddah sent him up to the task director general’s office. “Lawten wants to see you,” she said.

Lawten
? As Mason rode the elevator to the eighth floor, he pondered the reasons Ciddah might be on a first name basis with the task director general. Nothing he came up with pleased him.

Kruse led him inside the office. “It’s the intellectual one, Mr. Renzor.”

See? Even Kruse called the man
Mr. Renzor.
Without waiting to be asked, Mason sat in the red leather chair in front of the task director’s desk. The man looked … weathered. Mason didn’t really know what made men handsome to women. Muscles seemed to matter. And that sort of rugged, courageous hunter thing Levi and Jordan had going on. Lawten Renzor had neither. Surely Ciddah wasn’t romantically involved with this man.

“We’ve taken the time to show you why donation is important to our survival,” the task director said. “Now, will you comply?”

Not going to happen,
Lawten.
“I understand why you ask me to donate. But not why I should help. You killed my father, all the elders
of my village. You claim to value life, yet you willingly destroyed it. And to clean up the mess you’ve made of your city, you ask me to reproduce with my friends and family. It’s completely unacceptable.”

The task director looked at Mason, his eyes dark, unnerving. “What
will
make it acceptable?”

“Nothing. Let my people go back to our village to rebuild our lives as best we can.”

“We can’t do that, Mr. Elias. If we let you go free, we die.”

“And you have yet to show me why that’s my problem.”

Those eyes stripped Mason, making him feel exposed. “If you refuse, we’ll be forced to use infected donations on your women. Then their children will be born infected and the process will likely infect the surrogate as well.”

Anger shot through Mason, but it was short-lived. The man was bluffing. “Then you gain nothing. You need uninfected donors if you’re to survive.”

“Yes … You know, we are receiving regular donations from Omar Strong.”

Omar! That foolish, careless … “Sounds like you got what you want, then.”

“I cannot excuse you from donating simply because you have a brother,” the task director said. “There are no such relationships in the Safe Lands. You must do as every other national does.”

Mason clenched his teeth. This man was cruel. Insane. Depraved. “Your actions … Your procedures … You don’t need donations—you need to find a cure.”

“You’re our cure, trigger,” Kruse said, flashing a glowing smile.

Mason stood up and leaned on the task director’s desk. “If
I
find a cure, will you release me and my people?”

The task director laughed. “What makes you think you can find a cure?”

Mason had no idea how to cure anything, but he said, “What makes you think I can’t?”
God, I hope you plan to help me with this one.

“Uh, let’s see now, shellie …” Kruse said. “Our scientists have been
looking for a cure since the end of the Great Pandemic and keep failing. Yeah … that’s pretty much it.”

“We do healing differently where I come from,” Mason said, as if his head were filled with secret knowledge. “At least let me try.”

The task director leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Very well, Mr. Elias. I’ll allow you to see our history and research. But unless you offer something constructive in one month’s time, this experiment will end and Kruse will take you to the Donation Center himself.”

“I don’t understand,” Ciddah said when Mason returned to the Surrogacy Center and found her sitting at her desk in her office. “Contributing to the population is our responsibility as citizens of the Safe Lands. Every male national
must
donate. Every female
must
be a surrogate. Why would Lawten excuse you?”

Lawten
again. “Because I’m going to find a cure, somehow,” Mason said as he sat in the chair in front of her desk.

Her eyes flew wide, baring every bit of the whites. “For the thin plague?”

When Mason nodded, Ciddah burst into deep laughter, a sound that should’ve annoyed him since she was mocking his plan, but somehow endeared her to him instead.

She stopped laughing. “There
is
no cure, Mason. Everyone knows that. Most people don’t even want one.”

Not want a cure? So people really were insane here. “Ciddah, if I find a cure, the task director promised to free me and my people.”

Ciddah frowned, her eyes growing distant. “Why do you want to leave so badly? How can you stand living in the dirt?”

Man, she got mean when she was angry. “How can you stand living in a gilded cage?”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “A
what
cage?”

“Gilded. It means covered in gold.”

She shook her head, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

“It’s a metaphor, Ciddah. I’m saying the Safe Lands is a beautiful cage, but it is a cage nonetheless.”

Her brow scrunched up, wrinkling her forehead as she tried to think of a retort. Mason liked arguing with her just to see her facial expressions.

She finally said, “We stay inside the bell to be safe from the dangers outside.”

“What dangers? Do I look dangerous?” Mason clapped his hand against his chest. “I’m not even infected! The plague only exists inside your walls. The only serious dangers outside these walls are your enforcers murdering or abducting innocent people and bringing them here. You can’t even leave. It’s a cage.”

She lifted her chin. “Some have left, but they always come back and say it’s dangerous.”

“Probably because they don’t know how to survive without all the gilding. The way everything is handed to you here … Who does your hunting? Butchering? Who plants your food? Who makes your clothing? Even I could kill an animal if I had to, though I’d probably live off tubers and vegetation instead.”

Again with the forehead wrinkle. “Must every word from your lips be a riddle?”

Mason grinned. As fun as it was to debate with her, he had work to do. “No more than the words from yours. If you don’t need me for anything else today, I’d like to leave.
Lawten
said I could work on a cure, but only on my free time.” He stood up and walked toward the door.

“Wait. You’re not going to the HC, are you?”

“If the HC is the History Center, then yes.
Lawten
gave me permission to read the information on the computers there. Don’t worry. They’ll be monitoring me. I can’t ruin anything.”

She crossed the room and stopped inches from him, bathing him in the smell of vanilla and cinnamon, but she looked down, not to the floor but sort of into nothing, mumbling to herself. “So unfair! Months
away from HC access. Stupid Lawten.” She looked up at Mason, forehead crinkled. “You’ve been here two weeks!”

He couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll tell you what I learn, if it means that much to you.”

“How will you even know what you’re looking for?”

Mason shrugged. It was a good point. “I don’t know. But I have to try.”

She grabbed his arm in both hands and tugged. “Take me with you.”

He wanted to. “I don’t have permission to take anyone along. I don’t want to abuse
Lawten’s
trust.”

Ciddah released his arm. “Why are you calling him that?”

“You do.” Mason waited to see her reaction.

She just stared. Her left eye twitched. “Fine.” Ciddah shoved past Mason and strode down the hall toward the front desk. “I’ll work harder,” she said without looking back. “I’ll reach level ten by the end of the year. Then I’ll have access to the computers too, but
I’ll
be able to work there during the day. And
I’ll
have an HC task director to mentor me.” She glanced back, her hair a golden cape swirling with her movement. “You won’t.”

He chased after her. “Ciddah, I don’t want to compete with you.”

She waved her hand over her head. “I know. You’re just trying to rescue your people from us
caged
barbarians.” She turned around and started to walk away. “Well, I’m sorry that you hate us so much. That you hate me so much!”

Mason felt completely lost by her reaction. Had he insulted her somehow? Insulted her people? Taken the Lawten comment too far? She was clearly jealous that he could visit the History Center. But calling her jealous wouldn’t temper the situation. He could think of nothing to say that would help, so he simply remained silent and followed her to Rimola’s desk.

When he reached her side, she folded her arms and scowled. “You have nothing to say?”

“I don’t hate you.”

Ciddah slouched, then switched her weight to her other foot, her expression softening again.

How long did he have to stand here? “Um … Do I have your permission to leave?”

“Sure, Mason. Have a fun time.” She flashed an ugly smile and patted his arm.

“O … kay. Thanks.” He headed for the elevators.

Behind him Ciddah growled, walked back down the hall, and slammed her office door.

Mason glanced at Rimola, who seemed to be fighting a smile. Embarrassed for reasons he couldn’t define, he pushed the button to call the elevator.

Women made no sense whatsoever.

T
he fight with Omar had earned Levi a broken nose, a second X, three nights in a solitary jail cell, and now a meeting with the man who’d killed his father. Levi sat shackled to a chair in a holding cell across a metal table from General Otley.

“Behavior like yours is only permitted in fight clubs, little rat.”

Levi imagined breaking free from his restraints and strangling Otley. But he couldn’t do that even if he had the strength. He was village elder, and so far, he’d done a pathetic job of upholding that rank. His business with General Otley would have to wait until his people were back in Glenrock. For now, it was time to buck up and do what he had to do to get back on the streets.

“Got two Xs already,” Otley said. “One last chance to get it right. Got more rage to let out, join a fight club. But no attacking enforcers, whether they deserve it or not.”

Levi stared at a dent in the shiny tabletop, wondering if a captive with a temper like Jordan’s had put it there. “I won’t hit Omar again.” There was no point. The kid was drunk on his own ignorance.

“Want to go back and task?”

“More than anything.”

“Sarcasm does not assure me of your compliance.”

“I guess you’ll just have to be surprised, then.”

“Let him go,” Otley told the enforcers. “Return to your tasks and play, rat. I see you again in this room, you’ll be liberated.”

“I look forward to it.”

The enforcers led Levi downstairs and uncuffed him in the lobby.

“Good fortune, shell,” one of them said.

Outside, it was pouring rain. It was Monday. Levi had missed his meeting with Jordan in the park. Now what? He wanted to go look for his pack, but with two Xs, it would be better to wait for dark.

He took a taxi to the steakhouse, but his truck was gone, so he took another taxi to the Highlands Public Tasks building and went inside. Maybe Dayle would tell him to leave and he’d be free to find his backpack and look for Jordan.

But when he found Dayle in his office, the man winced and set his hands on his hips. “Two Xs, huh. What’d you do?”

“Got in a fight with an enforcer.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Look, kid, I don’t want to make trouble for you, but I need people to show up to task, otherwise I look bad. And I don’t want no Xs on me.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s good to hear. Now, I got a flood down at the end of Morning Glory Way. Need you to go check it out.”

“What am I supposed to do about a flood?”

“Check the manhole. Sounds like the one in the cul-de-sac isn’t letting water into the storm drain. Could be plugged up with leaves or trash. I’ll get you a hook. Come on.”

Dayle got Levi a manhole hook and showed him the pressure washer feature on his truck. “You only need to use the pressure washer if you can’t get it open with the hook.”

Once Levi had restocked his truck, he set out. His route was cleaner than it had been last Thursday, though he did find three little diamond flower-shaped hair clips Jemma would like. Who would throw something like that away?

He discovered that the flood at the end of Morning Glory Way had been caused by a plastic sack covering the drain slots on the manhole’s cover. Levi removed it within seconds, and the water started to trickle through. At that rate, the flood would take all day to drain. He tried to remove the cover with the manhole hook but couldn’t get it to budge, so he drove his truck next to the manhole and tried the pressure washer. The lid came free, and the water poured through.

When he finished his route, it was just after four. He was hungry but figured it was about time he saw his new home. He needed a base of operations. He typed his apartment address into the GPS and drove where it told him to. He found himself nearing the wall that separated the Highlands from the Midlands. Another wall between him and Jemma.