Authors: Sophie Littlefield
She’d driven to a grocery store that was open all night and parked under the streetlights and read the first chapter. She couldn’t put the woman’s hungry expression out of her mind. When she couldn’t stand to read any more, she opened the door of her car and leaned out, her hair brushing the ground, and slid the book behind the front tire. She closed her door and backed over the book, then drove ahead and back over it a second time, before driving home with her hands shaking on the wheel, not understanding what had happened. She never went back to that meeting.
But she remembered that first chapter. “Silence is toxic,” was the title. It talked about shame and “interrupting the message,” and so all this time later she knelt before Ruthie and said it was okay to tell, that her mother would always listen and never judge, that she was the most beautiful and loved little girl in the world, perfect in her mother’s and—she felt only a little self-conscious about saying it—in
God’s
eyes, as well.
“Well, you’re all done here,” the woman said now, bringing Cass back to the moment. “I don’t need to check her. I don’t want to upset her, poor thing. I can see you’re clean as whistles, all three of you.”
She summoned Pace, who led them back outside. More hallways, more doors, out in the air again; it took a moment for Cass to get oriented. The wall was visible here and there between the buildings; from a distance it looked pretty, even quaint, as though ivy might grow up its sides, as though kids might lose softballs over the top.
Some people said the Beaters were getting smarter all the time. What would happen if they found a way to get over the wall? There had been evidence of cooperation among them over the summer—hunting in groups, for instance. A single Beater could be overwhelmed, beaten, even killed with a relatively low risk of infection, but three or four were another matter entirely. They had been smart enough to figure that out. What if their next leap forward was to drag things—pallets, wheelbarrows, crates—over to the edge of the wall until they could scale it?
Except that this wall wasn’t meant simply to keep the Beaters out. It also kept the people inside.
Past the old bookstore—there were still pennants and T-shirts and plastic mugs in the display windows, though sun-bleached—toward a pair of low-slung, pebble-walled buildings, among the older ones on campus, built fifty years earlier when they favored odd angles and small windows. Wheelchair ramps led up to the door of each building. Someone had spray painted words on each building, an inexpert job with paint drips along the bottom of the blocky letters. Infirmary was written on the side of the building on the left. Pace led the way up the ramp of the other building, which was labeled Ellis.
“I suppose it’s a little sentimental,” he said. “Ellis Island and all that. Mary can be…what’s the word. Grandiose? Well, you’ll see. She’ll probably come by tonight or tomorrow.”
“Who?”
“Mary Vane. You know. She’s in charge.”
Cass had heard about her back at the library; Smoke and the other guards passed along rumors about her, bits picked up from travelers, from the few who’d encountered the Rebuilders and not been recruited. She was supposed to be some sort of brilliant scientist, a visionary. People said she had worked for the government, or a drug company, or that she taught at the university. A few said she’d been serving time. Really, no one knew for sure.
“What’s she like?” Cass couldn’t resist asking.
Pace hesitated, his posture stiff. “Extraordinary, of course. A natural leader. Gifted…passionate.”
Euphemisms, Cass figured, trying to guess what he was really saying. It was no surprise that he was giving her the party line.
“Who’s in the infirmary?” Dor asked.
“When people arrive here with conditions that cannot be treated quickly, or if they are contagious, they stay there while their case is considered.”
“So it really is like Ellis Island,” Dor said. “What happens to the ones who don’t pass the test—you throw them overboard? Send them back where they came from, like they used to at the real Ellis?”
“We have a clinic,” Pace said, ignoring his tone. “You’ll be amazed. I mean, of course our hope is that you never need it but they do amazing things there. Full triage and emergency facilities, and they can do certain types of surgeries. They’ve done an appendectomy, a cesarean birth. Set lots of broken bones. If people can be cured, they cure them.”
He opened the door with a key and ushered them in.
Little natural light made its way through the high transom windows, and in the large open room a single floor lamp was lit. Two men sat at a dinette table in the semi gloom. They got to their feet, one nearly knocking over a plastic tumbler, and Cass saw that they were armed, guns and Tasers on their belts.
“Hey, Pace,” the taller one said. “Heard you’d be coming by. We’re ready for ’em.”
“These gentlemen will take good care of you,” Pace said. “Kaufman and Lester, this is Cass Dollar and David MacAlister. They’ll be with you overnight. The young lady’s name is Ruthie.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lester said, giving Ruthie a slight bow and a crooked smile. Cass liked him immediately, then chastised herself for it.
“I’ll be going, then. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The door shut with a resounding click, followed by the sound of a dead bolt sliding home. Pace, locking them in. Cass automatically looked for another door; there it was, through a narrow kitchenette, the bold-lettered Exit sign still in place above. No doubt locked, as well.
“We’re glad to have you folks,” Lester said. “Kind of dull around here today. Sometimes we’re full up and sometimes it’s like this. Ain’t a whole lot going on, and we get sick of each other’s company, mmm-hmm.”
“Thanks, man.” Dor shook hands with both men. Cass watched the way he stepped closer than most men would, the way the quieter Kaufman hesitated, the way Dor pretended not to notice. His grip was hearty, overly so, and Cass knew she was the only one who could tell this was another variation of himself, slipped on for reasons known only to him. “Appreciate it. Nice, the way you have it rigged. Got to say I’m looking forward to a decent night’s sleep. Been a while.”
“’At’s a shame, ain’t it.” Lester shook his head, making a gentle tsking sound. For some reason Cass thought of the skycaps lined up at the airport with their scanners and auto-taggers. The ones like Lester who had that old-fashioned way about them, a retro courtliness, really cleaned up in tips. “’Specially when you got the little ones. I think we have something for her round here. Got some games and puzzles. Let me look, now. Little lady, you want to see what we have back here?”
Ruthie nodded without making any move to let go of Cass. Lester chuckled.
“Well now, maybe in a minute. I think you’ll like what we got, though. This used to be a preschool for kids ’bout your size.”
“A preschool? On campus?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kaufman said. “Little kids here. The infirmary next door was K through three. Student teachers from the School of Education did their practice teaching here. Worked out good for us, since the other one’s got the separate classrooms, which is better for the, uh, communicable type people.
“And we got the one big room,” Lester added. “Not much privacy but most folks are only with us a few nights before they get their more permanent-type arrangements.”
A dozen narrow beds lined the wall, neatly made up and far more uniform than the accommodations in the Box, which were cobbled together from raids on houses and an army surplus store.
“Got those from the FEMA warehouse outside town,” Kaufman said, noticing where they were looking. “Back during the fires in ’14 when they set up a Central Valley supply depot. They never used them all and they’ve been sitting there ever since. Tip-top shape. New as can be. Gotta love the federal government, right?”
Across from the beds, forming small conversation areas between the windows, were easy chairs and love seats clustered around coffee tables to form several conversation areas. Books and games were stacked on the tables; a half-finished jigsaw puzzle was laid out on one of them. In the pool of light cast by the lamp, two people sat silently. A pale, thin young man lay back in a recliner, a blanket pulled up to his chin and tucked all around his slight body. He appeared to be sleeping. Next to him a middle-aged woman sat with her feet tucked under her in the corner of a love seat closest to the young man, a ball of green yarn spinning slowly on the cushions next to her. She didn’t look down at the flashing needles, at her fingers working the yarn, but watched Cass and Dor and Ruthie carefully, as though she were forming an unfavorable opinion of them based on criteria knowable only to her.
“Just the five of you tonight,” Lester said with manufactured cheer. “David, Cass, this is Malena and her son, Devin. Guys, this little one is Ruthie.”
Malena nodded; Devin didn’t stir. Lester turned away from them and spoke quietly: “You might want to just keep to yourselves. I’d say she’s got a fair number of, you know, anger issues. I know you’ve been on the road—no need for you to have to deal with that right now. Why don’t you just relax. Dinner’ll come around in—” he checked his watch, an expensive old gold one, the sort that wound itself “—another half hour or so. There’s towels in the bathroom if you want to clean up. If you need to go to the bathroom, just let one of us know and we’ll escort you. It’s right in back so at least it’s not far.”
After another moment’s settling in, Cass took Ruthie to the bathroom and cleaned as much of the grit from the journey as she could, Lester waiting patiently outside in the darkening evening of a tiny courtyard, as though he was her prom date, and she was feeling a little more comfortable. A night in a bed with clean sheets, secure in the knowledge that nothing bad would happen at least until morning,
would
be nice, especially since the presence of the others meant she wouldn’t have to interact much with Dor. Discussions about their next move would have to wait. Cass felt a little guilty about that, knowing he must be even more anxious about Sammi now that they were so close, but there was nothing to be done about it. As nice as Lester was she had no doubt which side he was on.
Dinner had arrived when they got back. Malena was trying to coax her son to eat, holding a fork near his lips and murmuring as though he was a toddler. There had to be something really wrong with him, Cass decided, and she turned away from the unfortunates the way she—the way
everyone—
had learned to do. Tragedy wasn’t contagious, but the emotions that went along with it were, and if you wanted to be able to handle your own burden you had to resist picking up even a fraction of anyone else’s.
Places were laid for them at the dinette table along with Dor and Kaufman and Lester. Cass cut Ruthie’s kaysev curd into bite-size pieces and helped her spoon up her peas—canned, with a sprinkling of fresh mint that made Cass suspect the Rebuilders had an extensive greenhouse of their own—so that none would fall from her spoon and go to waste. She was about to start on her own dinner when a loud, piercing tone filled the large room.
Ruthie jammed her hands over her ears and her mouth wobbled, and Cass wrapped her in her arms. Thankfully, it was quickly over. A man’s voice came on: “Details two and five report to the Tapp Clinic. Repeat, all members of details two and five, please report.”
22
“SHIT,” LESTER EXCLAIMED, PUSHING AWAY THE dinner he’d barely touched. “Can’t believe we got another one. Seems like I was just up.”
“Somebody in five keeps drawing the short straw, I guess,” his partner replied.
“No, it’s not that. I’m just sorry to leave you with the rest of the shift.” He looked genuinely sorry, Cass thought. She wondered if the two men were close. “You know how they drag it out.”
“It’s okay, go. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, it’s just—” He inclined his head in the direction of Malena and Devin and frowned.
“Nothing’s going to happen in the next hour,” Kaufman said quietly. “Nothing I can’t handle. And you know if you don’t go—”
“We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t,” Lester said, pushing back his chair. “Okay, okay, but I’ll get back as fast as I can. It’s probably just another ragbag.”
“Hate that. For your sake I hope it’s just one this time.”
“Yeah. Anyway, have fun. Ladies.” Lester bowed his lanky form deeply, waggling his thick eyebrows, which caused Ruthie to giggle silently. He made a less elaborate bow in Malena’s direction but received no response for his trouble other than a frosty glare. After he let himself out the building’s front door, Kaufman checked the lock before returning to the table.
“Sorry about that, folks.” He stared at his food, frowning.
Cass noticed that Dor had slid his dinner slightly closer to Kaufman’s, his long forearms resting casually on the sides of the tray, a posture that emphasized his size and bulk. He’d made quick work of the curd and vegetables and mopped up the last of the sauce with a piece of bread, a hard-crusted, dense slice that was the characteristic taupe color of kaysev flour and studded with unfamiliar grain. Not wheat. Millet, perhaps.
Cass wondered when she’d be able to see the Rebuilders’ gardens, to discover what they had cultivated here, if there were many plants she had not been able to grow in the Box herself. She’d had little luck with grains so far.
She was surprised by the intensity of her longing to see what else they had managed, to beg or steal cuttings and take them back to her own garden. To the soil she’d amended with compost cultivated in the narrow strip of land between apartment buildings across the street from the Box’s entrance. Smoke and some of his guys had installed chain-link at either end of the plot for safety, and she loved to let her mind wander while she worked, enjoying the sun on her neck, the good earthy smells of the black earth. Even the rotting, decomposing garbage and leftovers did not bother her; when she turned a shovelful of earth and came up with a wriggling clot of worms, she was filled with the kind of intense joy and pride she hadn’t felt in a very long time.