Inhuman (24 page)

Another photo showed the same family members knee-deep in the lake, laughing, their arms entwined. My vision started tunneling. What were the chances that they were all still alive today and together?

Miniscule.

I flipped through the dust-covered mail piled on the dining room table — mostly bills — and then unfolded a yellowed newspaper dated eighteen years ago. The headline: “Containment Fails.” I scanned the article, reading the quotes from the top scientists of the time. “The transgenic virus was accidentally released into the ecosystem and has wreaked havoc within the human and animal populations.” And, “We have been brought low by genetic contamination and yet we never saw it coming. We worried about chemical and nuclear pollution, which turned out to be insignificant by comparison, even though one brought on global warming and the other resulted in waste so toxic it stays lethal for thousands of years.”

On the next page was a photo of Ilsa Prejean promising that her corporation’s manufacturing facilities, which had built Titan’s enormous indoor labyrinths, would now put their efforts toward constructing a quarantine wall. She looked absolutely wrecked in the photo and no wonder: The caption underneath read “Mother of the Plague.” An awful label, and also ironic — Ms. Prejean was clearly pregnant in the photo. It was hard to believe that she’d once been as beloved as Walt Disney. My dad said the Titan labyrinth parks were incredible and that he’d spent way too many weekends in his youth trying to work his way from the fiftieth floor down to the first. He said that often he’d happen upon a beautiful or fascinating room within the maze and end up spending the whole day in it.

I’d never been to a Titan labyrinth park. The company closed their theme parks in the West to focus their efforts on building and maintaining the quarantine line. And all the parks in the East had been long since abandoned.

I set aside the newspaper and glanced up to find Everson turned in his seat, watching me. He ducked his face to consult the yellow pad in his hands. “I have a question….” He flipped a page and then another, and finally looked up with a sigh. “I can’t remember what it was.”

“Well, we’ll be here all night,” I said lightly.

“Yeah, about that … Thanks. I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for you.”

I stiffened. “I didn’t force you to come. Just the opposite. I told you to go back to Arsenal.”

“That wasn’t sarcasm,” he said, smiling. He leaned back against the desk and propped himself on an elbow. “I’ve wanted to see the Feral Zone for I don’t know how long, but it always seemed like this impossible thing. Like something I’d do
someday
… maybe. But you? You just showed up on Arsenal and did it — crossed the bridge. And knocked out anyone who tried to stop you,” he added ruefully, though throughout the rest of it, his expression seemed … admiring?

That couldn’t be right. He was not only a line guard, but the line guard who’d disapproved of me putting my dad’s well-being over the rest of the country’s.

“Same thing in Moline,” he went on. “I was excited to get that far — to finally see stage two ferals up close — and I wouldn’t have gone any farther if you hadn’t hijacked our jeep and” — he swept his hand forward — “blazed the way.”

He was different in the Feral Zone. Warmer, more relaxed. Or maybe this side of him only came out when his guard fatigues came off. Whatever the reason, I liked this new version of him. “So … you’re thanking me for being a bad influence?” I asked with amusement.

“The worst,” he agreed with a straight face, though his eyes held a smile. He then turned his chair back to the desk and his attention to the list.

“You’re welcome,” I said, hoping I didn’t come off breathless. Though that’s I how I felt — like my chest had been pumped full of bubbles. And all because Everson had made me sound bold in his take on the events. In reality, I’d been stymied and scared. But why let facts get in the way of a good feeling?

I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen to see what I could scrounge up foodwise. The cabinets held dishes and glasses that were neat but dusty. The sliding doors on the opposite wall probably hid the pantry — the most likely place to find preserved food. As I crossed the kitchen, my flashlight beam glinted off cans stacked on the floor beside a long board. I plucked one up. Peaches.

I rifled through the drawers and found what I guessed was a can opener, though I’d never used such an old-fashioned tool in my life. I even figured out how to operate it without having to ask for help. The peaches didn’t look spoiled. I picked up a fork and speared a chunk. It smelled like heaven and tasted even better.

On my second bite, I considered the cans on the floor and the board beside to them. A pantry shelf maybe? But why would someone remove it? With the can of peaches in hand, I slid open the pantry door. Yahtzee! Shelves lined with dry goods filled the shallow space. Boxes, jars, cans … a sealed tin of baking mix looked especially promising.

I stepped back to check out the bottom shelf, but it was missing. In its place lay a small, hairy creature in stained overalls. He was curled on his side with his back to me, shivering. His silver fur gleamed in the flashlight’s beam.

I stumbled back with a gasp, right into the pile of cans, sending them every which way. The noise startled the little manimal into action. He leapt to his feet, only to slam into the shelves above. Cans and boxes tumbled across the floor. A bag landed on his head and burst open with a poof of white.

The flour-covered creature tore past me. His hunched body and long arms looked powerful, though he only came up to my chest. When he flew through the swinging door into the dining room, I sagged against the counter. His body was simian — like the chimpacabra — but his frantic escape had come off as pathetic, not scary. Not that I was taking any chances. I waited for the boys to show up, which they did in under a minute. Everson slammed through the swinging door with a “What happened?” just as Rafe clattered down the back stairs, ax in hand.

I exhaled slowly. “We’ve got company.”

Finding the ape-person was easy enough. He was crouched in a corner of the living room with his back to us. Where he wasn’t streaked with flour, his fur appeared to be a fuzzy silver gray. With his forehead pressed into the wall, the little guy seemed to think that we couldn’t see him, and that made him a lot less scary to me.

Rafe made a face. “What is
that
doing in here?”

“He was hiding in the pantry,” I explained.

Everson panned his flashlight down the manimal. When the beam got to the overalls, Everson’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“He’s human,” I whispered. Everson looked unconvinced, which I got. Even though the manimal was barely four feet tall, he was as barrel-chested as an ape. But I was sure that he had human DNA as well. “Hey,” I called softly. “We won’t hurt you.”

The little manimal covered his head with his arms.

I gestured to Rafe to put the ax away, but he just tucked it behind his back. I still had the can of peaches in my hand, which gave me an idea. Moving closer, I set the can on the floor with a thunk so that the manimal would know it was there.

“You’re wasting food on him?” Rafe demanded.

“Shh!” I took a step back.

At first the manimal didn’t move, but curiosity must have gotten the better of him because he peeked under one arm to see what I’d left. “Go ahead,” I coaxed. “They’re peaches. You’ll like them.”

He looked from me back to the open can and slowly inched around until he was facing me. He crept forward, not quite on all fours, but leaning heavily on his knuckles. He sniffed the can, bent, and dipped in his tongue. That was all it took. He snatched up the peaches, quickly turned away from me, and drained the can. Once he’d licked out every drop, he looked back at us.

“What’s your name?” Everson asked.

Instead of replying, he crept toward me, his eyes averted.

“Hi,” I said. He crouched swiftly, his back to my legs — near me, but not touching. A show of trust?

Rafe rolled his eyes.

“My name …” a husky little voice said. I froze and looked down at the manimal’s fuzzy head. He kept his face lowered as if that made talking easier. “… is Cosmo.” His words came out oddly and strained, but intelligible. He swallowed and tried again. “My name — is — Cosmo.”

Moving cautiously, I circled to face him. “My name is Lane.” I crouched and gently offered him my hand. “Lane.”

Slowly, he extended one long finger. He poked my hand and then snatched his own away.

Well, it was a start.

“You … think I am — I’m” — he patted his head hard with both hands — “an animal.”

“ ’Cause you are,” Rafe said.

“I don’t.” I smiled when he parted his elbows to steal a glance at me. His eyes were a beautiful sky blue and his face was smooth and pale, but mostly he resembled a small ape. “Are you still hungry?”

He dropped his hands to look at me.

Rafe started to protest, and Everson elbowed him in the ribs. Rafe scowled, but he closed his mouth.

“Let’s go see what else is in the pantry.” This time when I held out my hand, Cosmo slipped his long fingers into mine.

“He’s not staying here tonight,” Rafe snapped. “He could turn while we’re sleeping.”

I ignored him and led Cosmo from the living room. Behind us, Everson said, “What’s your problem? Shove a dresser in front of your door if you’re scared.”

“If a feral wants in, a dresser won’t stop it.” Rafe’s voice turned bitter. “They’re hopped up on adrenaline. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you, silky? This is just a field trip for you.”

“Yeah, trying to help get a cure for the virus that wiped out half of America, that’s a field trip.”

I let the kitchen door swing shut, blocking out their argument.

We ate by candlelight at the dining room table, feasting on peach pancakes that I’d cooked using an iron skillet over a tin can filled with embers from the fire.

“How do you know how to do this?” Everson asked, sounding impressed.

“Bush skills.” Seeing his confusion, I added, “My dad made me take all these crazy survivalist classes.”

“What do you mean crazy? Survival skills are important,” Rafe scolded. “Knowing how to find shelter and clean water, that can mean the difference between life and death.”

“Not in the West,” I told him. “They were a waste of time.”

He scowled. “Mack lived through the plague. He’s trying to prepare you in case there’s another outbreak and things get ugly again. You should thank him.”

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Everson asked Rafe, obviously trying to change the subject.

“Get the photo and get out.”

Everson studied him. “Have you ever been to Chicago?”

“Yeah, lots of times. I haven’t been inside the compound, but that’s only the downtown area.”

“Is Director Spurling’s house in the downtown area?” I asked.

“No,” Rafe said. “Just north of it. But we’ll have plenty of other problems to worry about. Mack says the area is crawling with guys in leather aprons.”

“Handlers,” Cosmo said softly.

The three of us looked at him.

“How do you know what they’re called?” Rafe demanded.

“I was born in the king’s castle.”

“In Chicago?” Everson asked.

When Cosmo nodded, Rafe frowned. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because we didn’t ask him.” I touched Cosmo’s arm. The pale gray fuzz was softer than chick down. “You lived in a castle with a king?”

“In the basement,” he said. “Then the handlers said I was too big to stay in my mom’s pen, so they moved me to the farm. I took care of the chickens,” he said proudly. “I brought eggs to my mom in the kitchen every day.”

“Why’d you leave Chicago?” Everson asked.

“You can’t guess?” Rafe reached for the canteen. “They kicked him out when he got infected.”

“Ignore him,” I told Cosmo. “He’s awful to everyone.”

“Not if they’re human.” Rafe tipped back his head to drink, but the canteen was dry. I’d used the water to make the pancakes, which I now realized might not have been such a good idea.

Cosmo pulled a ratty dish towel from the front pocket of his overalls and scrunched it up under his chin. “That wasn’t why,” he said softly. “Mom was making a cake and I licked the spoon. A handler saw. He took me to Omar.”