Contaminated 2: Mercy Mode (14 page)

I look at Dillon. “A tractor-trailer tried to crash through
the barriers, so someone must know what’s going on. I mean, it looked planned. It came racing toward the roadblock at, like, eighty miles an hour. It would’ve made it through, too, but they threw out these metal, razor-strip things that blew the tires. The truck crashed and caught on fire. And the kids were in the back of one of the army trucks. I had to get them out, Dillon.”

He pushes back from the table to pace, one hand raking through his hair so that it stands on end. “Velvet …”

“I had to. I couldn’t let them just burn up!”

He looks at me. “They saw you?”

“Yes.” I think of the soldier who’d tried to stop me but then let me go. I think it might’ve been the same one who saw me that day when Opal and I were hiding in the weeds. “You don’t think they’ll be looking for you?”

I lift my chin. “What should I have done? Just watched? Let it happen?”

My mom murmurs something wordless. She pats my hand. I can see she wants to say something, but all she can do is shake her head. I go around the table to hug her.

“I’m okay, Mom.” To Dillon, I say, “They were all so busy running around, they couldn’t have paid much attention to me. And even if they did, what can they do?”

“They could recognize you when you go into town.” He scowls. “They could come through the neighborhood again, looking for you. You think they won’t figure out that you had to come from close by?”

“They’re coming through the neighborhood again, anyway,” I point out. “The patrols are getting more and more frequent.”

We both stay silent for a few seconds, thinking about that.

“They have testing stations set up in town, by the ration station. I had to get tested today again before they’d let me pick up our stuff,” Dillon says.

“Oh …”

“I’m okay, obviously. They didn’t take me. But they’d take you, Velvet. And you wouldn’t come back.”

I can’t answer that. Dillon thinks I’m Contaminated? No question about it, just solid acceptance. I shake my head, stunned into silence, silent as my mom. She pats me again and gets up from the table to wash out the dishcloth.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I say without looking at him. “Was the generator running earlier?”

“Yes. Velvet …”

I don’t answer, I just walk away. Upstairs, I shower quickly in lukewarm water that turns cold before I’m ready to get out. Everything aches, but at least I’m clean. I pull on my pajamas and slide into bed.

After a while, Dillon comes in. He slips into bed behind me, holding me against him. I want to cry, not because he thinks I’m a Connie, but because I’m worried he’s right.

He kisses the back of my head. “I’m sorry I said that.”

I turn in his arms to face him. In this narrow single bed,
there’s not much room for two. “But it’s true. I drank the water. I could be …”

“Shhh.” He kisses my mouth.

We kiss for a long time after that. When he finally stops, we break apart, breathing hard. I touch his face with my fingertips.

“We should think about leaving.” I don’t know where the idea came from, but suddenly it’s all I can think about.

“Where do you want to go? Where can we go?”

“Out of the black zone. The Voice says there are places where the Contamination didn’t hit so hard, right?”

Dillon nods. “Yeah.”

“Where? How do we find out? We can go there.” I say it with more confidence than I feel. I think about what I saw today. “Right now they’re just blocking the roads. What happens if they start to put up fences?”

He is quiet for a minute. “I can’t go anywhere, Velvet.”

“What are you talking about? We could pack bags. Supplies …” I think of Mrs. Holly, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hike very far. My mom probably couldn’t, either. But, despairing, I keep talking. “There has to be a place to go, a way to get there. Right?”

“I can’t leave without my parents.” Dillon’s voice is flat. Hard, but sad.

My heart aches for him. I was stupid, and selfish. I kiss him, not able to say anything that could make it better. Of course he can’t just pick up and go without finding out
what happened to his mom and dad, even if it’s only to learn they’re … but I don’t want to think about that.

“We’ll find them. We can go to the Sanitarium, can’t we? Don’t they have visitation? Something? There have to be records.” It’s a desperate thought, but we are both a little desperate.

“Mario, who works on the truck with me, says that before he was on my route, he handled the pickups for the hospital. He said they have sections for Connies and also for others …” Dillon pauses. “… non-Contaminated. But they’re doing stuff to all of them in there, he’s sure of it.”

I think on this, wishing I didn’t find it so easy to believe. “Like before, in the second and third waves?”

They killed them in the first wave. Lobotomized them and took them away in the second wave. Ran tests and experiments before releasing them into the kennels to wait to be claimed. But that was only Connies. Not regular people.

“He wasn’t sure. He got transferred. Says he never saw anything on the inside, just people being unloaded from trucks and buses, and taken inside. Uncollared, but in handcuffs and stuff.”

“If your parents are in there, we could find out.”

“Stop,” Dillon says then. “It’s impossible. I mean, they’re taking people away and nobody’s stopping them, Velvet. What makes you think we can just walk in there and ask to find her? Or my dad? Or anyone?”

His voice breaks, and I’m not sure what comfort I can offer, but I hold him, anyway. He barely lets me, fighting his tears and swiping at his eyes until they’re dry again. We’re silent together, and I wonder if he’s thinking that I can’t understand how he feels, since I have my mom, at least.

“They can’t keep doing all of this. It’s not right. It’s not legal,” I say finally.

Dillon snorts lightly. “Don’t you know? They can do whatever they want. And they are.”

“Someone should stop them, then.”

“Who can stop the government? The army? You’ve heard the Voice. They’re closing us in, blocking us off from all the green zones. You think the people there are going to care? They’re safe. They’re protected. Who’s going to fight for us, especially if it means losing what they have in order to do it?” he asks, and for that I don’t have a good answer.

“
PHILADELPHIA. NEW YORK. PITTSBURGH.
Boston. Baltimore. DC.” The Voice has been replaced for tonight with the higher-pitched voice of a girl calling herself Raven. The Voice is on the run, she said. In hiding, because the feds are closing in on him. She’s listing the cities that have been black-zoned. “Almost the entire East Coast, folks, yes, that’s right. Ohio seems to be okay, based on what we can find out, but anything east of the Pennsylvania border is toast. On the West Coast, California’s totally gone, obviously. It was the Hollywood virus, am I right?”

Opal looks up from where she’s been working on a word-search puzzle. Dexter yawns from his place beside her, then puts his nose back between his paws. “We’re in a black zone?”

“Yes.” I’m folding laundry and sorting out things that need repairs. Mostly stuff for Dillon, since his clothes get
the most wear and tear. We’ve been raiding closets and dressers as well as pantries, but the whole point of that is to make sure we have enough to last us for a long time—not to toss things when they get worn. So I’m looking for buttons that are missing and holes that can be patched. I feel domestic and housewifely, and I don’t really like it. I spent the morning scrubbing all this stuff in a washtub out back, using a legitimate scrubbing board he brought home after finding it in someone’s garbage.

This is not the life I’d dreamed of.

“So … what does that mean?” Opal bends over the book, with her pencil gripped in her fist, her tongue between her teeth in concentration.

“That there was more Contamination here than in other places, so we’re affected more.”

“There’s still more here, huh?” She gives me a look.

There’s no point in lying to her. “Yes. That’s why we’re on strict rations, so they can help keep it from spreading. All the food’s tested and stuff.”

“How come it’s not working?”

“Because people who were Contaminated already might not know it or show symptoms until later. That’s why they’re testing people.” I sort out a work shirt with a grease stain I couldn’t get clean. There’s a tear in the sleeve, and my fingertips hurt already, thinking of pushing a sewing needle through the thick fabric.

“That’s why you don’t go to town anymore.” Opal stabs
the book with her pencil, snapping the point. “What time is Dillon going to be home?”

“I don’t know.” With a sigh, I put aside the work shirt and focus on the rest of the laundry. Even with the scrub board, none of it’s very clean. But it’s warm from drying in the sun, and I hate to think about what I’ll do when winter comes around again.

“What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What’s Mama doing?”

“Opal,” I snap, “I don’t know, okay? Go find out!”

Opal sniffs, affronted. “Just asking. I’m bored.”

“Finish your word search.” I shake a shirt to get the wrinkles out, but why does it matter? When everything’s dingy and stained, anyway?

“I did!”

“Then help me fold laundry,” I tell her. “Make yourself useful. Maybe it’s time you start helping out a little more around here, Opal. I’m tired of doing all of this myself.”

Opal’s eyes widen, then narrow. Her lower lip pushes out, and she crosses her arms. “I help out. I do lots of stuff.”

“You should do more.” I straighten, my back aching. “Why don’t you make dinner?”

Her eyes get big again. “You mean it?”

I shrug, thinking about what a big deal it was when my parents started letting me use the stove. I was a little older than Opal is now. And, honestly, I’d love it if someone else
made dinner sometimes. I don’t trust my mom with the stove, and Mrs. Holly says she doesn’t trust herself with it. Old fingers, she says.

“What do you want to make?” I ask in the kitchen as we stand in the pantry and look at all the stuff we’ve collected from Sandra’s basement.

“Macaroni and cheese!”

I laugh. “That’s not very challenging.”

“I wish we could have pizza,” Opal says longingly.

Me, too. My mouth waters at the thought of it. Thick, crisp crust. Layers of gooey, real cheese. Tomato sauce. Garlic.

“We could have spaghetti.” I touch the boxes of pasta, the jars of sauce. “And a salad from the garden. We could make some garlic bread with those saltines and some olive oil and garlic powder.”

Opal sighs. “It’s not pizza.”

“It’s not a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, either.” It’s something my dad always used to say, and for a moment we stare at each other like we both might burst into tears.

Instead, laughter bubbles up and out of me as I think of him. It’s such a silly thing to say, but it was typical of him. I miss my dad so much, but these memories, these good things he gave us, will always stay. Tears sting me, but I laugh and laugh, and after a minute, Opal does, too.

Dillon finds us in hysterics in the pantry, and I can tell by the way he flings himself into the doorway that our
shrieking laughter scared him. Opal holds out the box of crackers, her giggles shaking her so hard, the plastic sleeve of saltines rattles inside the cardboard. I’m doubled over, holding my stomach, each round of laughter rising and leading into the next.

“It’s not a poke in the eye!” Opal cries.

“With a sharp stick,” I add, breathless.

Dillon stares.

“Velvet’s letting me make dinner!” Opal giggles.

He visibly relaxes, leaning against the door frame. His face is dirty, and so are his clothes. He doesn’t smell so great, either. “What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti.” She holds up the crackers. “And garlic bread.”

He looks a little confused, but smiles. “Sounds great. Can’t wait; I’m starving.”

“Were you able to get some gas for the generator?” I ask as we set the pasta, sauce, and crackers on the kitchen island. We ran out a few days ago. I’d given him the last of the money I found in Sandra’s purse this morning, but I knew it wouldn’t buy much. Gas is now close to ten dollars a gallon.

Dillon shakes his head, looking solemn. “No. They’re not letting anyone pump it into containers anymore. You had to have a license plate ending in an odd number today. Tomorrow’s a letter. The day after that, even numbers can get gas.”

“Can we get some from the truck? Siphon it?” I eye
Opal, who’s busy trying to reach a pot from the rack. She’s too short, so I get one down for her. “Fill this with water.”

“I only have a quarter tank. I’ll need it to get back and forth to work. We’ll have to wait a couple days. Sorry,” Dillon says at my look of disappointment.

“You need a hot shower more than I do,” I tell him.

Opal wrinkles her nose. “Yeah. You stink. Bad.”

“Hey.” He swats at her, but she dances out of the way, the full pot of water splashing. This makes Dexter bark, and Opal shushes him.

“Hey, both of you. Don’t make a mess.” I sigh, leaning against the island. It’s been three days since we were able to run the generator. Three days without hot water or lights after dark. I want a real bath, not a five-minute splash in cold water, and I’m sure Dillon feels the same way.

“Where’s your mom and Mrs. Holly?” He opens the cupboard to pull out a bag of pretzels. The last we have, but there’s no point in trying to save them for something special. They’ll just go stale. He offers me one, and I take it.

“Upstairs. Mrs. Holly’s napping. Mom’s … sitting.” She’s been doing that a lot more. Sitting and staring out the window. Sometimes, her hands make the motions of knitting, even when she’s not. It makes me nervous.

Dillon knows what I mean. He kisses me while Opal watches. She scowls.

“Gross!”

“You do stink,” I say against his mouth.

Dillon laughs and sniffs his pits. “Yeah. Sorry. It was so hot again today. You guys don’t know how lucky you are. You come into this neighborhood, and it’s, like, ten degrees cooler ’cuz of the trees.”