Contaminated 2: Mercy Mode (29 page)

I hold on to him like I’m drowning and he’s pulling me out of the water. A year ago, I didn’t know him, and since then I’ve married and lived with him, I’ve made him my family. He’s made me laugh, he’s helped me survive.

“I love you,” I tell him, and can’t believe I never told him this before.

“I love you, too.” He laughs and pulls me close for a kiss. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

We stare at each other with dirty faces and the sound of trucks and soldiers roaming the streets looking for us. I link my fingers with his, squeezing. Everything hurts, even the breath I draw in.

“What if I can’t do it? I’m so tired,” I say. He was right
before. This is an impossible task. Get there, get Opal, get out, get to the train. All without getting caught. All in the space of a few hours. Dillon frowns. “You can do this. You’re right; the last thing they’ll expect you to do is go back. And you
are
strong, Velvet. You’re the strongest girl I’ve ever met. But you don’t have to do this alone, remember that.”

It feels so good not to be alone. But as I move, my arms and legs are practically screaming with weariness and the built-up agony of everything I’ve put my body through. It’s like someone flipped a switch inside me, and I’ve gone from being made of titanium to aluminum foil.

Another rumble reaches my ears, different from the army trucks’. At first, I think it’s a tank, and my stomach sinks, but then Dillon’s looking through the hedge. I try to pull him back, to keep him from giving us away, but he turns to me with a grin.

“I know how we’re going to do it. We’ll get in and out and away, and nobody will even notice us at all.”

I’m so tired, I can’t tell if he’s making any sense. “How?”

“Garbage truck,” he says. “Nobody ever pays attention to the garbage trucks.”

“
I DON’T WANT ANY TROUBLE.” IT’S JUST A
young kid behind the desk, a bandanna around his forehead and the beginnings of wispy growth that’s trying hard to be a beard on his chin. He wears a Waste Disposal Department coverall, but was dozing with his feet on the desk when we came in. He looks guilty now.

Dillon hasn’t even threatened him. All we did was come into the office and knock on the desk. The kid woke up, tossed his hands in the air, and looked like we were waving guns.

“I need the keys to one of the trucks,” Dillon says. “Gimme Mario’s.”

He wouldn’t need it, that’s what we’re both thinking, but the kid behind the desk has no clue. He blinks rapidly, taking in the sight of both of us. Then he shrugs and gestures at the rack of keys hanging on hooks behind him.

“Take it,” he says. “I hate this job. They don’t pay me
enough to deal with crap like this. I wanted to work with the ration trucks, but, no, instead I gotta smell garbage all day long.”

“It’s worse on the truck,” Dillon says with a scowl. “And in the dump.”

The kid shrugs. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Hey, can you punch me in the face or something? Make it look like you mugged me?”

Dillon and I share a look. The kid sees it and lets out a long, hissing sigh. He shakes his head.

“I can’t just say I gave it up.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna punch you in the—”

I punch the kid in the nose. His head rocks back, and he lets out a strangled yelp. Blood starts to leak from his nose, and he claps a hand over it.

To be fair, I did think twice about it. But the kid has a point. We can’t let him get in trouble to help us.

“Ouch,” he complains, then looks at me. “Give me a black eye, too.”

Dillon puts out a hand to stop me. “We don’t have time to play punching bag! Just give me the keys!”

“Fine!” The kid snags a key from the rack behind him and tosses it toward Dillon, who catches it midair. “Freak.”

“I’m not the one begging for a punch in the face,” Dillon mutters as we head out through the back door to the parking lot. When I try to get in the cab, though, he shakes his head. “No. You need to ride in the back.”

“With the garbage? What about the crusher thing?”

“You’ll be fine. Just lay still. I won’t crush you. I promise.”

I trust him, of course I do. But settling into the back of the garbage truck, which isn’t full but smells so bad, I think I might faint, still freaks me out. I breathe in shallow gasps, holding my nose. The noise blocks out everything, except my thoughts.

We drive.

I’m already going over the plan Dillon and I came up with on the way to the WDD office. He will drive the truck around the back of the hospital, outside one of the service entrances. And after that … I will find her.

Dr. Donna’s the one who took her; I’m sure the soldiers have brought Opal to the same floor where they kept me, the special one without windows so nobody can jump out of them. Dr. Donna will have already put Opal in a room, maybe drugged her. It’s too early in the morning for experiments with Dr. Billings, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be getting her ready.

One thing is different between my sister and me—Opal isn’t Contaminated. Not a bit. I drank a bottle or two of the ThinPro, swayed by the ads that promised a “beach body” in a few weeks. But Opal had never worried about stuff like that; she was just a kid when everything started, and honestly, that kid lived on juice boxes and chocolate milk. You couldn’t have forced a bottle of water down her throat. But
she
would
drink orange juice, and that’s what Dr. Donna had been giving me to pump me full of whatever proteins had caused the Contamination in the first place.

I have to get to Opal. It’s the only thought I can hold on to as the truck jostles and bounces. At one point, I’m sure my teeth will rattle right out of my head. When we finally stop, I’m not sure I can move until Dillon helps me out. I sag in his arms.

He looks at me, worry painted on his face. “Velvet, are you all right?”

I want to tell him I’m okay, but all I can do is shake my head.

“C’mere.” He tugs me around the side of the truck, between it and the brick wall of the hospital. He pushes me gently to lean against the truck. He lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. “Your pupils are like pinpoints. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

I swallow around a sudden dryness like cotton balls on my tongue and in my throat. I rasp out, “I don’t know. I feel … funny.”

“You can’t do this, not in your condition.”

I force myself to straighten. I shake my head to clear it of the haze, but it’s not working. “I have to. I have to find Opal.”

“I can find her.”

“You have no idea where to go or where she might be. I’m the one who was in there, I’m the one who got out—”

“You can tell me,” he says. “Trust me. Nobody pays attention to the garbage guys, anyway.”

Again, I shake my head, which doesn’t do anything but make me dizzier. The ground is going to come up and hit me in the face at any second. I can already feel it sliding away under my feet.

I bite my tongue.

Hard, on purpose. Blood squirts. I bite again, harder this time. The pain is huge, enormous, ginormous, as Opal would say, but everything shifts back into clarity. I spit to the side and expect to see a fountain of red gush out of me, but it’s not so bad. Just a little pink.

I look at Dillon. “Let’s go.”

WHEN I STAND INSIDE THE BIG, ROLLING GARBAGE
can, it comes up to my chest. I can’t sit down all the way in it. The best I can do is crouch, but I bend and twist until I can fit and Dillon can put the lid on it. It’s way better than being in the back of the truck was, at least. It doesn’t smell nearly as bad, and even though the bottom’s encrusted with a layer of matted paper and stuff, the rest of it’s pretty clean.

I feel bad at first, when he starts to pull the can. Even though all the weeks of everything Dr. Billings and Dr. Donna had me do left me in the best shape I’ve ever been in, I’ll never be a small girl. But then I realize something I hadn’t noticed. Dillon’s used to pulling heavy cans. The long months of working in the WDD have made him stronger, too.

“Maintenance elevator,” he says calmly.

I don’t know if he’s saying that to someone or just to let me know what’s going on. I stay quiet, anyway. The wheels
rumble under me. My neck’s getting a crick in it, so I brace my hands against the side of the garbage can and breathe through the pain, which is really nothing compared to the ache in my tongue. I rub it against my teeth every time I start to feel hazy again, which is every few minutes at first, but starts to get better when I feel the elevator moving.

Dr. Donna and Dr. Billings kept me on the eighth floor, and I’m sure that’s where Opal will be, too. They wouldn’t have put her in the other sections with the Connies. Dr. Donna will be testing her the way they did with me. I know it. I have to believe it, just like I have to believe I still have time to get to her before they do anything to hurt her permanently.

The maintenance elevator is slow and stops at every floor. I listen to the heavy door open and shut while I sip air through my parted lips and try to keep pushing away the desire to sleep. Finally, Dillon murmurs, “Here we go,” and the can moves again. My weight shifts unexpectedly when he tips it, and I bite against my tongue again to keep from crying out.

I told him to find the nurse’s station and see if he could find a list with Opal’s name on it, but the can comes to an abrupt stop that sends me thudding against the inside of it again. I hold my breath, trying to make myself small, even though everything hurts so much from being squeezed up in here that I’m about ready to pop out of the top like a jack-in-the-box.

“What’s this? What are you doing?”

It’s Dr. Donna. I’d know that voice anywhere. I force myself not to move.

“Switching out the receptacles. Got an order you needed a larger bin for this floor.” Dillon sounds bored. “Got the order for new cans for each of these rooms, too, but they’ll come later. Got a back order. You know how it is, everything’s on back order—”

“I don’t know anything about garbage,” Dr. Donna snaps. “Just put it where it belongs. And get out of my way!”

“Sorry,” Dillon says in that same bored tone. “It’s a real big bin.”

“I can see that. I’m trying to get through … fine, just go.” She sounds exasperated, and I love it.

“You can move your cart first. I’ll wait.”

“I can’t get my cart around that can!”

All I can picture now is Dr. Donna and Dillon pushing the can and the cart against each other, dancing from side to side, and laughter threatens to explode out of me, so I clap my hands over my mouth to keep it inside. Then we’re moving again. Faster, this time.
Clack, clack, clack
, on the tiles. I don’t know what room she’ll be in. Dillon pauses at every door, long enough to look inside.

“Sorry,” he says once. “You need a new can in that room? I’m placing an order.”

“No, this one’s fine.”

At the sound of Arnaldo’s voice, I again want to pop out
of the can. He was always good to me. I want to ask him to help me, even though I’m not sure he would. I force myself still.

“Hey,” Dillon says then. “Aren’t any of these rooms in use? I’m only supposed to get new cans for the rooms that are being used. All these look empty.”

He’s a genius.

“The only one in use right now is that one, second to the left at the end of the hall,” Arnaldo says.

“Thanks, man. I’ll get out of your way now.”

“Hey. Hang on a—”

There’s a grunt, then a thud. Oh, poor Arnaldo. I’d always liked him. Cody had been a real jerk, but Arnaldo had always tried to make life at least a little easier for me.

A few more tiles, another couple of minutes. The can moves, then tilts upright. I wait, listening hard.

“Shhh,” I hear Dillon say. “Don’t say anything. We’re here for you, Opal.”

That’s when I push upward, knocking off the lid to leap out of the can.

“
VELVET!” OPAL’S ACROSS THE ROOM AND IN
my arms so fast, she knocks me back, and I stagger.

It’s impossible that she’s grown so much again in the time we’ve been apart, but she has, by at least another few inches. I push her hair off her face and take it in my hands to stare into her eyes. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Bruises on the inside corners of the eyes or signs of Contamination, maybe—not that you can see that on a person. It’s not like a scar or stain. It’s always hidden.

“I told that bad doctor you’d come for me,” Opal says.

“Of course,” Dillon says from behind me. He’s at the door, watching to make sure nobody’s coming. “But we have to go. Fast. I’m not sure I hit him hard enough to keep him down for long. And where is everyone else?”

That’s a good question. Even for a small staff, someone other than Arnaldo should be on this floor.

“In that?” Opal makes a face. “Gross.”

I laugh and hug her. Hard, until she squirms free. “Yeah. In that. C’mon.”

“We won’t both fit.” She looks inside the can, then at both of us. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Get in,” Dillon says—not yelling, his voice low and calm but urgent. “Someone’s coming.”

I get in first and press my knees against the inside of the can. I can’t crouch, not yet, but as soon as Dillon lifts Opal inside and fits her next to me, I try to hunker down. She was right; there isn’t enough room. I get an elbow in the face, then in the gut. Opal doesn’t seem to be cooperating, and even though a few seconds ago I was overjoyed to see her, now I’m ready to snap at her to stop digging her bones into me.

Without warning, Dillon slams the lid down on my head. It’s hard enough to shove me deeper into the can with Opal wedged in next to me. In the next second, we’re moving, tilted on our sides so that I have to brace myself hard against the walls with my hands, or else I’ll crush her. She cries out, and I manage to press my arm against her face. It’s not enough to silence her if she really wants to yell, but she gets the hint.

We’re moving too fast. Dillon must almost be running, and that can’t be good. I can’t tell which direction we’re going in, and it’s hard enough to keep myself from completely squishing Opal every time the can tilts. From
the sound of her breathing, she’s either crying or trying hard not to. I don’t blame her. I want to cry myself.