The Dawn of Dae (Dae Portals Book 1) (9 page)

I wasn’t going to ask how my sentient macaroni and cheese ate, but by the time I had finished my breakfast, my offerings of milk and cheese had vanished without a trace. Colby bounced around the kitchen floor while I cleaned up. Besides the occasional squeak, it was a quiet roommate, something I appreciated after spending so many years living alone in the fringe.

Once the kitchen was restored to rights, I flopped onto the couch with a groan, reaching for the remote. With my luck, the television stations were still offline. I turned on the set.

It automatically changed channels to a news station, which displayed the Seal of the President. Any other day, I would have cursed at the inconvenience, but after the strange shit I had witnessed in Baltimore, I wanted to hear what the President of the United States had to say about it.

I’d have plenty of time to filter out the bullshit after the broadcast and sniff around to find out what was the truth and what wasn’t.

At least this time, the government’s forced broadcasts worked in my favor.
 
It was impossible to miss important addresses; televisions remained on the channel until the broadcast finished, and some of the newer displays would automatically power themselves on and change to the appropriate channel to ensure the majority of the populace saw the program.

A timer appeared on the television screen informing me the broadcast would begin in five minutes. I groaned and kicked my feet up on the coffee table.

I knew one thing for certain: I’d never used a narcotic capable of creating such detailed and realistic hallucinations. At least some of what I’d seen was real, and perhaps the address would clue me in on what was make-believe versus reality.

I didn’t want any of it to be real. Science couldn’t explain away dragons, winged werewolves, and sentient macaroni and cheese. If everything I had witnessed proved to be real, then it was possible I
had
caused my parents’ death.

Magic didn’t exist. It couldn’t exist.

So long as I clung to the idea I was so drugged my reality had been altered into a far-fetched fantasy, everything would be okay. I’d recover, in time. I had gotten clean once. I could again.

“Mommy?” Colby bounced where the tile and carpet met.

For a long moment, I stared at what had once been my dinner. Would continuing to acknowledge Colby add to my woes?

Probably. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to ignore it. It seemed friendly enough, unlike the other nasties I had encountered on the street, including Rob.

“Just don’t leave cheese on the carpet,” I replied, not really caring if it did. If half of the things I had seen in Baltimore proved to be real, stained carpeting was the least of my concerns.

Colby flopped its way across the room and launched itself up onto the coffee table with a squish of wet noodles. I wasn’t sure how it pulled off the stunt, but it left no sign of its passage on the carpet—or on the table.

I was too worn out to try to hold a conversation with a creature possessing a one-word vocabulary. I watched the seconds count down until the screen flickered and an image of the White House appeared.

The seat of American power hadn’t changed over the years. I suspected the rug with the President’s Seal had been replaced countless times, but the Oval Office matched what I had seen in history books—both the government-edited ones and the illegal-but-accurate ones held in more exclusive libraries.

Sometimes sniffing things out for Kenneth Smith had its perks, including access to censored reading material. I’d probably face life in prison or worse if anyone found out about my love of learning the
true
history of the United States, but so long as I kept my mouth shut about it, I’d probably be okay.

Probably.

The camera panned to the President, who sat behind his desk with a solemn expression. Like every other POTUS since the rise of the caste system, President Mayfield was rich, white, and old. He was a devout Christian, something most folks didn’t mind, myself included.

Me, I didn’t believe in anything—I didn’t believe in the Protestant Christian way of thinking, the Catholic way of thinking, or the Islamic way of thinking. They left me alone, and I left them alone. The caste system had done us all a bit of good in that regard.

We were free to believe in whatever we wanted—or not believe, as was the case with me. If others wanted to pray to invisible people in the sky for what they couldn’t obtain with their own hands, that was their choice.

Me? If I couldn’t obtain it through effort, I forgot about it. I’d already learned my lesson.

Prayers were no different from wishes, and I wanted nothing to do with them.

President Mayfield stared into the camera, and as the silence lengthened, I fidgeted on the couch. Normally, the man got straight to business; he didn’t waste his time on us, and we didn’t waste his time—not that anyone but the elite warranted his time.

It was easy to believe in Kenneth’s way of thinking sometimes. There was little to like about the Elite.

“My fellow Americans,” the President murmured, and he gave his usual smile, showing off his perfect teeth. He paused, probably trying for some poignant or dramatic effect. It didn’t work. I sighed, shaking my head.

I wanted to ram my knee into his pearly whites and rearrange his surgically altered perfection. “My fellow Americans, my ass,” I muttered.

Sometimes, it amazed me I counted as an American; between my German last name and my bronzed complexion, too dark to count as a proper white, I didn’t really feel very American. To make matters worse, like everyone else from the lower castes, I couldn’t vote. That honor belonged to the educated upper castes—and to those born into money, like our esteemed leader.

President Mayfield kept smiling, and I would have bet every last cent I had he was basking in the presence of so many cameras recording him. “This morning at sunrise, the United States of America underwent major changes.” He made another one of his dramatic pauses, and I was tempted to hurl the remote at the television.

“Just get on with it,” I muttered.

“The arrival of the dae at dawn alarmed many. We have not yet determined where they came from or why, but we are certain of one thing: they are here to stay. Many of us are coming to terms with being bonded, which brings its own complications. Those of you who are bonded may find this repetitious, but please bear with me for a few minutes. There are many unawakened among us who do not yet have an understanding of what the dae mean for them and for us as a society.”

I wrinkled my nose. While the speech wasn’t exactly clearing things up for me, it did offer one very important hint: the so-called bonded knew something I didn’t, and it involved the dae.

As was his way, the President of the United States took his time, smiled for the camera and posed, and otherwise drove me to the brink of insanity with his posturing. Any one of my teachers from primary to Bach studies could give a better speech than President Mayfield.

“I hate that man,” I informed Colby. “Couldn’t they have elected someone who could talk without having to think five minutes between sentences? Doesn’t he have a speech writer who is supposed to help him make these important announcements?”

“Mommy,” Colby replied. Its solemn tone impressed me.

Who would have thought macaroni and cheese could be so expressive with its one-word vocabulary?

“In order to restore order and calm, non-mandatory services will be closed for the next week. All employees will be paid full-time hours to ensure a smooth transition. Centers of learning will remain open to facilitate research into our new circumstances and help the dae integrate into our society. Tomorrow, all mandatory businesses will open no earlier than one in the afternoon to allow all citizens a chance to adapt to our current situation.”

President Mayfield drew in a long breath and let it out in a sigh. “In recognition of the many missing, all flags will fly at half-mast. We will be opening hotlines for the reporting of missing persons. We will also be opening a registry of all dae. In the upcoming days, I am calling on you, my fellow Americans, to help each other, support each other, and give aid as you can. If you are experiencing difficulties with your dae, please seek help. Go to your local authorities. The police have been ordered to assist all citizens requiring aid. In order to ensure the safety of all Americans, there will be a mandatory curfew of all unbonded and unawakened, extending from sunset to sunrise. God bless, and good night.”

The television screen went blank, and I gawked at it. It took several minutes for me to recover enough to blurt, “Is that it? Seriously? That told me exactly
nothing.
Nothing, Colby.”

Well, President Mayfield had confirmed several things for me. First, I hadn’t been hallucinating, which was a frightening enough realization. Second, I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what had happened to the missing people.

They’d been eaten, just like Terry Moore.

Chapter Six

An hour after the President’s so-called speech, news channels resumed broadcasting. I don’t know why I kept the television on, but the blare of sound and images of Baltimore burning through the night pulled my attention from my woolgathering and held it.

The reporter was babbling, and she was so flustered I couldn’t understand half of what she was saying. I figured out what was going on from the pictures alone, and it didn’t surprise me in the slightest.

While rioting was touching all parts of the city, the worst of the destruction was taking place in the fringe. The fringe always got hit the hardest. When the elite wanted their problems solved, their hitmen were hired to handle it discreetly, and no one cared if a body showed up in the fringe—unless it was the body of an elite.

When it was, the poor took the blame, and the cycle continued.

Most of the folks stuck living in the fringe weren’t troublemakers, bad people, or those deserving their lot in life. Sure, there were killers, rapists, drug dealers, the destitute, and those down on their luck, but many more were either orphans or people trapped in a system designed to keep them in a low caste so they could serve as grunt labor.

The clever gained access to primary school and worked hard to be invited to secondary school. In a way, I had been lucky. If I hadn’t stumbled on Kenneth Smith’s drug operations, I wouldn’t have learned to read, write, and figure. I would have been another fringe statistic. Because I had used him as much as he had used me, I had avoided worse fates. I had learned to defend myself. I had avoided being raped, a rarity among loner girls of the lowest castes.

I had made something of myself.

It still hurt to watch the fringe burn. The upper castes wouldn’t care; they’d relocate the survivors to the other side of the city and rebuild the fringe, giving the impoverished just enough to survive on.

A healthy working populace was all that mattered to the elite. The sick, the dying, and the elderly couldn’t work. I bit my lip. Would the aging population simply disappear? Would the government and its elite take advantage of the dae and the rioting to get rid of the unwanted?

How many would die because they weren’t useful to society? My speculations over what would happen worried me. Even though I had begun clawing my way out of my original caste, being educated and smart would only take me so far.

Unless I became educated, smart, and just as wealthy as the other elite, I wouldn’t ever be free of the system—or be in any position to change it. An elite could, at any moment, take a single look at me, decide I was in the way, and get rid of me with ease.

Even if I made my way to the top, would I become just like them, or would I actually be able to make a difference? Would the emergence of the dae change anything? I grabbed my tablet and the list of names Kenneth wanted sniffed out. While I was good at finding people, my marks were usually alive.

If Terry Moore was any indication, I’d be looking for piles of ash—if the dae had left anything to be found. There was so much I didn’t understand, and until I learned more, leaving my apartment would be as risky as jumping off a skyscraper and expecting a miracle before I hit the ground.

Yesterday, people on the streets had been dangerous enough.

Today, they were as likely to eat me as not.

“This is bullshit,” I informed Colby. My macaroni and cheese jiggled, but it kept quiet. Was it watching the devastation on the television? “You’re one of them, aren’t you? A dae.”

The instant the words had left my mouth, I heard the scorn in my voice.

Colby stilled, and after a long moment, replied, “Mommy.”

There was something sad about its tone, and I grimaced. How could a pasta and cheese dish make me feel so damned guilty? I wanted to yank my hair out from frustration, but I controlled myself, sighed, and mumbled, “Sorry.”

Colby ignored me, and I had no way of knowing if it was offended at my accusatory tone. Maybe it was watching the few parks of the fringe burn. Maybe there was a lot of riffraff in the fringe, maybe drug use was common, and maybe violence was a way of life, but everyone had left the parks alone.